I strolled to and fro among the grassy mounds, not consciously seeking one of them; though, very deep down in my inmost spirit, there must have been an impulse which unwittingly directed me.  I did not stay my feet, or turn away from the village burial-place, until I came upon a grave, the latest made among them.  It was solitary, unmarked; with no cross to throw its shadow along it, as the sun was setting.  I knew then that I had come to seek it, to bid farewell to it, to leave it behind me for evermore.

The next morning Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, as far as the cross at the entrance to the valley.  He parted with us there; and when 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, silent, but gazing upon this new abode with wide-open eyes.