It was the last of September when she left Paris for London, where she
remained several days to make preparations for her voyage, before
proceeding to Glasgow to take the steamer, she having decided to sail
from there, because she could obtain a comfortable passage at cheaper
rates on the Anchor Line, and it was now becoming necessary for her to
husband her funds a little.

It was the fifth of October when she left London for Glasgow, and it was
her face that Wallace had seen looking from that carriage window as he
was detained for a few minutes by a blockade in the street.

Violet, however, was wholly unconscious of her proximity to her
lover--or her husband, as we now know him to be. She was deeply absorbed
in her own thoughts, and was gazing at nothing in particular; therefore,
the carriage that she was in had passed Lord Cameron's without her
having a suspicion that she had attracted the attention of any one.

She was driven on to the Midland Grand station, where she took a train
for Glasgow, and that evening boarded the Circassia for New York, where
she arrived eleven days later--three days after the return of Wallace,
who had sailed on a faster vessel.

One can imagine something of the loneliness and desolation which this
young and delicately reared girl experienced upon finding herself adrift
and an utter stranger in that great city and with but little money in
her purse.

She longed to learn the circumstances of Wallace's supposed death, her
grief over which had been newly aroused on returning to her native land.

She had known before leaving for Europe that he had received an offer of
partnership with some New York architect; but he had not mentioned the
name of the gentleman before she left, and not having received any of
his letters, she did not know whether he had closed with the offer, and
therefore, did not know where to go to make any inquiries relative to
his movements after her departure.

She dare not go to Cincinnati to ascertain--she dare not write to ask
anything about him, for she was determined that her sister should not
know where she was. She had become entirely alienated by her unkindness,
and felt that she would much prefer to toil for her daily bread than to
go back to her and be subject to her arbitrary control again.

"There are hundreds of girls as young as I, even younger, who have to
support themselves, and I believe I am just as capable of earning my own
living," she mused, con