She went; and the next day Julie went also. She went in the early morning when most of the people of the village were still asleep--when lacy mists hung over the mountains, and all the flowers in her little garden were drenched with summer dew. She went out of her side door, locking it after her. In her garden she lingered a moment to pluck a little nosegay of sweet peas and to touch the wet faces of the other flowers with a caressing finger; then she went swiftly. She went with no compunctions. “Ain’t I got a right to life?” she asked herself fiercely. “Goodness knows we don’t owe folks anything. They never did anything for us!” But though she went unhesitatingly she could not bring herself to turn for a last look at the garden with its row of sweet peas and nasturtiums, nor at the shop staring into the street with its blank shuttered windows. Not for anything would she have looked back at that side door. Somehow, as she went up the street to the station, she visualized her mother’s figure standing there following her with her eyes, as she had stood so often in life. Julie knew she was not there; she knew she just imagined this vision; yet not for worlds would she have turned to glance back. With her eyes set steadily forward up the street, the picture of her mother standing there in the doorway looking after her hung persistently in the back of her mind. Her mother had worn very neat white aprons; they used to stand out distinctly against the black of her dress when she stood in the doorway, and sometimes the wind would flutter them a little. She had a way of putting her hand up to shade her eyes as she looked and looked after Julie. There was one point in the street where Julie had been in the habit of turning to wave to her mother, and her mother used to wave the hand that had been shading her eyes, and with that final gesture turn back into the house. But Julie did not pause or turn at this point to-day. Whispering defiantly, “Ain’t I got a right to my life?” she went steadily on. So the remembered vision of her mother did not turn away, but continued to stand there in the door, watching her go, with the hand still shading the eyes. XIV At the Hart’s Run station Julie bought a ticket to Washington, but when the train reached Gordonsville she slipped out of it unnoticed and, buying another ticket, crossed the tracks and boarded the Richmond train which was waiting there. At the station in Richmond, Timothy Bixby met her.