She then began to reflect upon her position.
She had a house beautifully furnished; and she possessed a considerable sum of ready money. She had therefore no disquietude for the present, and but little apprehension for the future; for she knew that her personal beauty and mental qualifications would at any moment bring another lover to her feet.
But she seriously thought of renouncing the species of life to which she had for some years been devoted: she longed to live independently and respectably.
In this frame of mind she passed the remainder of the day, pondering upon a variety of plans in accordance with her new desire.
She retired early to rest; but, not feeling an inclination to sleep, she amused herself with a book. The candle stood upon a table by the side of the bed; and Diana, luxuriously propped up by the downy pillows, culled the choicest flowers from Byron's miscellaneous poetic wreath.
An hour elapsed; and at length she grew sleepy. The book fell from her hand, and her eye-lids closed.
Then she remembered no more until she was suddenly aroused by a sensation of acute pain: she started up, and found the bed enveloped in flames.
She sprang upon the floor; but her night-dress was on fire:—she threw herself on the carpet, and rolled over and over in terrible agony, piercing screams issuing from her lips.
Those screams were echoed by loud cries of "Fire!" from the street; and then there was a rush of footsteps upon the stairs.
The door of the chamber was forced open; and Diana was caught up in the arms of a policeman, who had effected an entry into the house through the ground-floor windows.