But when those voices and that hearty laughter from the street fell upon her ears, and when she saw the blood rush to the earl's countenance as he glanced in that direction, she knew that all was over.
The earl rose and said, "Give me your hand, Diana: we will part, as I said, good friends; and remember that I shall always be ready to serve you. Farewell!"
"Farewell, my lord," returned Mrs. Arlington, extending her hand, which the nobleman pressed with lingering tenderness.
Then, afraid of another access of weakness, the Earl of Warrington wrung her hand warmly, and precipitated himself from the room.
The Enchantress hurried to the window, concealed herself behind the curtain, and watched him as he mounted his horse to depart.
He did not glance once upwards to the window: perhaps he knew that she was there!
And yet her pride prompted her to conceal herself in that manner.
When he was out of sight she threw herself upon the sofa and wept.
"Oh! if I had but said one word when his hand pressed mine," she exclaimed, "I might still have retained him! He is gone!—my best, my only friend!"
But Diana was not a woman to give way to grief for any length of time. She possessed great mental fortitude, which, though subdued for a short space, soon rose predominant over this cruel affliction.