But the night-air was as hot as his heart; and, almost suffocated by the sultry closeness, he was about to start for a plunge in the river, when the sound of coming footsteps and voices arrested him.

He had met with so many odd ad ventures to-night that he stopped now to see who was coming; for on every hand all was silent and forsaken.
Footsteps and voices came closer; two figures took shape in the gloom, and emerged from the darkness into the glimmering lamp light.

He recognised them both.

One was the Earl of Rochester; the other, his dark-eyed, handsome page--that strange page with the face of the lost lady! The earl was chatting familiarly, and laughing obstreperously at something or other, while the boy merely wore a languid smile, as if anything further in that line were quite beneath his dignity.
"Silence and solitude," said the earl, with a careless glance around, "I protest, Hubert, this night seems endless.

How long is it till midnight ?" "An hour and a half at least, I should fancy," answered the boy, with a strong foreign accent.