e world, and she had none.

"I can think of nobody to whom I should like to send you," he said.
"Unless"--

He waited, and Diana waited; then he finished his sentence.

"I was going to say, unless a certain old grandaunt of mine. Perhaps
she would do."

"I do not care where or who it is," said Diana.

"I care, though."

"Where does she live?"

"On Staten Island."

"Staten Island?" repeated Diana.

"Yes. It is near New York; about an hour from the city, down the bay."

"The bay of New York?"

"Yes."

"May I go there?" said Diana. "That would do."

"How soon do you wish to go?"

"To-day, if I could!" she said with a half-caught breath. "Can I,
Basil? To-day is best."

Mr. Masters considered again.

"Will you be ready to go by the seven o'clock train this evening?"

"Yes. O yes!"

"Very well. We will take that."

"_We?_" Diana repeated. "Must I take you, Basil, away from your work?
Cannot I go alone?"

He looked up at her with a very sweet grave smile as he answered, "Not
possibly."

"I am a great deal of trouble"--she said with a woful expression.

"Go and make your preparations," he said cheerfully; "and I will tell
you about Aunt Sutphen when we are off."

There was no bustle in the house that day, there was no undue stir of
making arrangements; but at the time appointed Diana was ready. She had
managed to keep Miss Collins in the dark down to the very last minute,
and answered her questions then with, "I can't tell you. You must ask
Mr. Masters." And Diana knew anybody might as well get the Great
Pyramid to disclose its secrets.

That night's train took them to Boston. The next morning they went on
their way towards New York; and so far Mr. Masters had found no good
time for his proposed explanations. Diana was busied with the baby, and
contrived to keep herself away from him or from communication with him.
He saw that she was engrossed, preoccupied, suffering, and that she
shunned him; and he fell back and waited. In New York, he established
Diana in a hotel and left her, to go himself alone to the Island and
have an interview with his aunt.

Diana alone in a Broadway hotel, felt a little like a person
shipwrecked in mid-ocean. What was all this bustling, restless, driving
multitude around her like, but the waves of the sea, to which Scripture
likens them? and the roar of their tumult almost bewildered her senses.
Proverbially there is no situation more lonely to the feeling than the