The stars began to creep out and blink at the tiny figure in the window-seat. Gradually the entire house grew quiet. All—even the servants—had joined the revelry in the park. The music crashed louder. Fiery showers of illumination could be seen shooting and flaming into the sky. It grew cold. Tighter she drew the coverlet and held closer the small puppy that nestled warm in her arms and slept. In the adjoining room Mabel, Lady Kerhill’s little daughter, lay fast asleep. "It’s Jim’s last night. I must say good-bye," the child whispered to the fleecy white bundle in her arms. "I must keep awake and say good-bye." Fainter grew the music, darker the sky, and heavier the curved eyelids. Slowly, with a sigh the child slipped to the floor, and the brown head pillowed itself on the cushioned window-seat. Diana slept. In the park, the tenantry, eager to meet their young master, were shouting themselves hoarse. A speech of welcome followed the dazzling illuminations. Over it all, Lady Elizabeth, with Sir Charles Marjoribanks, presided. Diana and her father lived on a neighboring estate, and Sir Charles had come to-night to rejoice with his old friend on the return of her son. Sir Charles was a man of slender physique, with a gentle, winning manner; extremely delicate in health, he led for the most part a secluded life, and since the death of his wife, at Diana’s birth, went little into the social world. Diana’s childhood had been almost as lonely as Jim’s had been in his aunt’s home. To-night Sir Charles delighted in seeing the house of Wynnegate honored. He scarcely noted the reckless demeanor and wild spirits of Henry as unusual; only for Jim and Lady Elizabeth was it a night of anxiety. Never for a moment did Henry escape Jim’s watchful eyes; slip after slip made by Henry was covered by Jim’s tact and thoughtfulness, and with simple dignity he carried the night to success. Only when he stood aside and saw Henry receive the demonstrations of the county and tenantry did the bitterness of his position force itself upon him. Not once did Henry remember his promise to the child waiting for him. Jim remembered; but the look of appeal from his aunt, and the sullen defiance of Henry, kept him close to his cousin’s side. The final bars of the last dance were dying away and the ball was drawing to its brilliant end. In the east, a pale streak of light was beginning to show over the horizon. Sir Charles, half an hour before, had gone to his room. Exhausted by the long evening’s anxiety and late festivities, Lady Kerhill forgot that Jim was to leave early in the morning and that she would not see him again, and had retired to her own apartment. In the great hall, tired and excited groups of guests were saying good-night. "It’s good-bye for Jim," Sir John Applegate, Diana’s cousin, called as the last carriage drove away.