brain presented in the way of record of the weeks which
followed, were, first, a series of dim pictures of a hurried journey,
partaking of the nature of a flight from some impending danger. Her
father, she remembered, held her almost constantly against his breast,
while they were on this journey, so tightly that the clasp of his
strong arms was, sometimes, almost painful, and watched continually
from carriage windows, from the deck of a small vessel, and,
afterwards, from the windows of a railway train, when they paused at
stations in the pleasant English country, as if he ever feared that
someone would appear to intercept them and carry her away from him.
Then her home had been of a kind new to her--the lodging-house.
Instead of being in the midst of splendid lawns and mighty trees, she
had been hedged about by grimy streets and dull brick buildings; the
air which had been all a-sparkle for her in her babyhood, was, through
her youth, dull, smoke-grimed, fog-soaked; for roomy spaciousness and
gentle luxury had been exchanged the dinginess and squalor of the
place in Soho. The occasional visits to the theatre where her father
played the flute, now and then a Sunday walk with him when the weather
was sufficiently urbane (marred, always, by his peering watch of every
passing face, which had never been rewarded till they met the staring
stranger in Hyde Park) had been almost the only variations of a dull
routine of life, until this journey had begun which had just brought
them to the mighty New World harbor. She was vastly puzzled by
existence as she stood there in the stuffy crowd and let her mind roam
back in retrospect. Her life was all a mystery to her.

This journey was the one tremendous episode of her career; her life in
London had been singularly bare of real events; there had only been
her daily grind at books which her father wished to have her
diligently study, the bi-weekly visits of a woman who had taught her
languages and needlework and never talked of anything but youth and
romance, although she, herself, was old, and, presumably, beyond the
pale of romance. Except for this old woman and the landlady of the
cheap lodging-house she had had no friends except poor M'riar.

From such a dull existence, to be thrust into the whirl of this
amazing voyage, had been very wonderful, for what might not the new
life in the new land mean? Anything, to her young and keen
imagination. In this marvelous new country the old