She gave a deep and weary sigh. Three hours! Hardly till then had she realised how far she was from Briar Farm--or how entirely she had cut herself off from all the familiar surroundings of her childhood's home, her girlhood's life. She leaned back in her seat, and one or two tears escaped from under her drooping eyelids and trickled slowly down her cheeks. The train started off again, rushing at what she thought an awful speed,--she imagined herself as being torn away from the peaceful past and hurled into a stormy future. Yet it was her own doing--whatever chanced to her now she would have no one but herself to blame. The events of the past few days had crushed and beaten her so with blows,--the old adage "Misfortunes never come singly" had been fulfilled for her with cruel and unlooked-for plenitude. There is a turning-point in every human life--or rather several turning-points--and at each one are gathered certain threads of destiny which may either be involved in a tangle or woven distinctly as a clue--but which in any case lead to change in the formerly accepted order of things. We may thank the gods that this is so--otherwise in the jog-trot of a carefully treasured conservatism and sameness of daily existence we should become the easy prey of adventurers, who, discovering our desire for the changelessness of a convenient and comfortable routine, would mulct us of all individuality. Our very servants would become our masters, and would take advantage of our easy-going ways to domineer over us, as in the case of "lone ladies" who are often half afraid to claim obedience from the domestics they keep and pay. Ignorant of the ways of the world and full of such dreams as the world considers madness, Innocent had acted on a powerful inward impetus which pushed her spirit towards liberty and independence--but of any difficulties or dangers she might have to encounter she never thought. She had the blind confidence of a child that runs along heedless of falling, being instinctively sure that some hand will be stretched out to save it should it run into positive danger. Mastering the weakness of tears, she furtively dried her eyes and endeavoured not to think at all--not to dwell on the memory of her "Dad" whom she had loved so tenderly, and all the sweet surroundings of Briar Farm which already seemed so far away. Robin would be sorry she had gone--indeed he would be very miserable for a time--she was certain of that!--and Priscilla! yes, Priscilla had loved her as her own child,--here her thoughts began running riot again, and she moved impatiently. Just then the old gentleman with the "Morning Post" folded it neatly and, bending forward, offered it to her. "Would you like to see the paper?" he asked, politely. The warm colour flushed her cheeks--she accepted it shyly.