The house was snug and secure against the biting wind. Diana sat in one chair, her book in her lap. Mary and I, warm in our respective seats, Mary in the facing chair and I at Diana's feet, listening as Diana read St. John's latest letter from India aloud. Afterward she sighed and said, "I am glad, for his sake, that he has gone; but I wish it were not so far. At least you have not left us, Jane. Will you read for us?"

My German was no so bad, now, that I was embarrassed to read for them. The fire crackled. Reader, I was content.