"Come," she said, "accompany me a few paces, and we will talk about my mother."
Melchior shook his head sorrowfully, but said nothing.
"Poor mother!" Diana murmured.
"Oh, yes, most unhappy," the young man remarked with a sigh.
"I think you love my mother, dearest?"
"Is it not to her that I am indebted for being what I am?"
"Listen to me, Melchior," she said resolutely; "we love each other, and some day you will be my husband, for I swear to you that I will never have another. As you see, I speak frankly and boldly, more so perhaps than a girl of my age and position ought to do; but you are an honourable man, and will never abuse the confession I have made you."
"Thanks," he said, simply. "Speak, Diana, speak. Your words are engraved in letters of fire on my heart."
"It is well, my friend. You, my mother, and my father occupy all my affections. It is a holy trinity, to which I will never break faith. You know in what a horrible position my mother finds herself, and what fearful hallucinations seize upon her."
"Alas!"