n I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I saw
his black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, and
the sun shining upon his silvery head.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.

TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED.

For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shores
first I was worse than friendless, with foes of my own household
surrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, in
poverty, with a dreary, life-long future stretching before me. Now every
want of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a child
again, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, good
and tried and true, could I count! All the rough paths were made smooth
for me.

It was dusk before we reached London; but before the train stopped at
the platform, a man's hand was laid upon the carriage-door, and a
handsome face was smiling over it upon us. I scarcely dared look who it
was; but the voice that reached my ears was not Martin Dobree's.

"I am here in Martin's place," said Dr. John Senior, as soon as he could
make himself heard; "he has been hindered by a wretch of a
patient.--Welcome home, Miss Martineau!"

"She is not Miss Martineau, John," remarked Dr. Senior. There was a
tinge of stateliness about him, bordering upon formality, which had kept
me a little in awe of him all the journey through. His son laughed, with
a pleasant audacity.

"Welcome home. Olivia, then!" he said, clasping my hand warmly. "Martin
and I never call you by any other name."

A carriage was waiting for us, and Dr. John took Minima beside him,
chattering with her as the child loved to chatter. As for me, I felt a
little anxious and uneasy. Once more I was about to enter upon an
entirely new life; upon the untried ways of a wealthy, conventional,
punctilious English household. Hitherto my mode of life had been almost
as wandering and free as that of a gypsy. Even at home, during my
pleasant childhood, our customs had been those of an Australian
sheep-farm, exempt from all the usages of any thing like fashion. Dr.
John's kid gloves, which fitted his hand to perfection, made me
uncomfortable.

I felt still more abashed and oppressed when we reached Dr. Senior's
house, and a footman ran down to the carriage, to open the door and to
carry in my poor little portmanteau. It looked miserably poor and out of
place in the large, brilliantly-lit hall. Minima kept close beside me,
s