propriately to princesses and palaces? Why tell me that
this, that, or the other step is not 'proper,' when you know that
necessity goads me? Sir, I feel now like that isolated Florentine,
and echo her words,--

... 'And since help
Must come to me from those who love me not,
Farewell, all helpers. I must help myself,
And am alone from henceforth.'"

"You prefer that I should not accompany you to New York?"

"Yes, sir; but I gratefully accept a letter to Professor V----."

"Very well; it shall be in readiness when you wish it. Have you fixed
any time for your departure?"

"This is Friday,--and I shall go on the six o'clock train, Monday
morning."

"Is there any service that I can render you in the interim?"

"No, thank you."

"As you have no likeness of the children, would it be agreeable to you
to have their photographs taken to-day,--and, at the same time, a
picture of yourself to be left with them? If you desire it I will meet
you in town, at the gallery, at any hour you may designate."

Standing before him, she answered, almost scornfully,--

"I shall not have time. Some day--if I succeed--I will send them my
photograph, taken in gorgeous robes as _prima donna_; provided you
promise that said robes shall not constitute a _San Benito_, and doom
the picture to the flames. I will detain you no longer, Dr. Grey, as
the sole object of the interview has been accomplished."

"Pardon me; but I have a word to say. Your career will probably be
brilliantly successful, in which event you will feel no want of
admirers and friends,--and will doubtless ignore me for those who
flatter you more, and really love you less. But, Salome, failure may
overtake you, bringing in its train countless evils that at present
you can not realize,--poverty, disease, desolation, in the midst of
strangers,--and all the woes that, like hungry wolves, attack
homeless, isolated women. I earnestly hope that the leprous hand of
disaster and defeat may never be laid upon your future, but the most
cautious human schemes are fallible--often futile--and if you should
be unsuccessful in your programme, and find yourself unable to
consummate your plans, I ask you now, by the memory of our friendship,
by the sacred memory of the dead, to promise me that you will
immediately write and acquaint me with all your needs, your wishes,
your real condition. Promise me, dear Salome, that you will turn
instantly to me, as you would to S