pursued her; wherever she went she was haunted by a morbid
fear that all her resolute will could not shake off. Where, for example,
could she go for sweeter consolation, for more cheering solace than to
the simple and reassuring services of the church? But before she
entered, eager to hear words of hope and strengthening, there was the
graveyard to pass through, with the misery of generations recorded on
its melancholy stones.

CHAPTER XLV.

"OH, GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH SOUTH."

But if this girl, partly through her great yearning love, and partly
through the overshadowing of her past sufferings, was haunted by a
mysterious dread, that was not the prevailing feeling within this small
household which was now pulling itself together for a flight to the
south. Even she caught something of the brisk and cheerful spirit
awakened by all the bustle of departure; and when her father, who had
come to London Bridge station to see the whole of them off, noticed the
businesslike fashion in which she ordered everybody about, so that the
invalid should have his smallest comforts attended to, he could not help
saying, with a laugh--

"Well, Violet, this is better than starting for America all by yourself,
isn't it? But I don't think you would have been much put out by that
either."

A smart young man came up, and was for entering the carriage.

"I beg your pardon," said she, respectfully but firmly. "This carriage
is reserved."

The young man looked at both windows.

"I don't see that it is," he retorted coolly.

He took hold of the handle of the door, when she immediately rose and
stood before him, an awful politeness and decorum on her face, but the
fire of Bruenhilde the warrior maiden in her eyes.

"You will please call the guard before coming in here. The carriage is
reserved."

At this moment her father came forward--not a little inclined to laugh.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the carriage is really reserved. There was
a written paper put up--it has fallen down, I suppose--there it is."

So the smart young man went away; but was it fair, after this notable
victory, that they should all begin to make fun of her fierce and
majestic bearing, and that the very person for whose sake she had
confronted the enemy should begin to make ridiculous rhymes about her,
such as these:

"Then out spake Violet Northimus--
Of Euston Square was she--
'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And guard the door