Diana sat silent. The warmth of the room was very pleasant. Also the security. Not from the storm, which howled and dashed upon the windows and raged round the building and the world generally; but from that other storm and whirl of life. Diana did not want just yet to be at home. Furthermore, she had a dim notion of using her opportunity. She thought how she could do it; and the minister, standing by, watched her, with some secret anxiety but an extremely calm exterior. "You must give me the text, Miss Diana," he ventured presently. Diana sat still, musing. "Mr. Masters," she said at last, very slowly, in order that the composure of it might be perfect,--"will you tell me what is the good of life?" "To yourself, you mean?" "Yes. For me--or for anybody." "I should say briefly, that God makes all His creatures to be happy." "Happy!" echoed Diana, with more sharpness of accent than she knew. "Yes." "But, Mr. Masters, suppose--suppose that is impossible?" "It never is impossible." "That sounds--like--mockery," said Diana. "Only you never do say mocking things." "I do not about this." "But, Mr. Masters!--surely there are a great many people in the world that are not happy?" "A sorrowful truth. How comes Diana Starling to be one of them?" And saying this, the minister himself drew up a chair and sat down. The question was daring, but the whole way and manner of the man were so quiet and gentle, so sympathizing and firm at once, that it would have lured a bird off its nest; much more the brooding reserve from a heart it is not nursing but killing. Diana looked at him, met the wise, kind, grave eye she had learned long ago to trust,--and broke down. All of a sudden; she had not dreamed she was in any danger; she was as much surprised as he was; but that helped nothing. Diana buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. He looked very much concerned. Wisely, however, he kept perfectly quiet and let the storm pass; the little inner storm which caused the outer violence of winds and clouds to be for the time forgotten. Diana sobbed bitterly. When after a few minutes she checked herself, the minister went off and brought her a glass of water. Diana lifted her flushed face and drank it, making no word of excuse or apology. As he took the glass back, Mr. Masters spoke in the tone of mixed sympathy and authority--it was a winning kind of authority--which was peculiar to him. "Now, Miss Diana, what is it?" But there was a long pause. Diana was regaining self-command and searching for words. The minister was patient, and waited. "There seems to be nothing left in life," she said at last. "Except duty, you mean?" "There is enough of that; common sort of duties. But duty is very cold and bare if it is all alone, Mr. Masters." "Undoubtedly true. But who has told you that your life must be filled with only common sorts of duties?"