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The word Australia had thrilled her. That was where Tony was, unless he had started for home by now; at least it sounded familiar and beautifully far away from California and possible pursuit.

“Oh, Mrs. Taylor,” she cried, with clasped hands and imploring eyes, “may I come too? Oh, of course I don’t mean that you would be in any way responsible for me I have enough money—but I do want to get away. I—I can’t stay here, and it would be such a relief to feel there was someone on the ship I might talk to sometimes. Then, you see, I am no worse off in Australia than I am here. If you were not able to recommend me to anyone (and please don’t think I should expect it), at least I should have quite as good a chance there.”

It is probable that Pamela would have decided to sail even if Mrs. Taylor had been a great deal more discouraging than she felt bound to be now. In the end, Pamela had her way, and slept soundly and peacefully that night, having booked her passage to Brisbane. Before leaving she wrote two letters: one to Aunt Sophia, in which she evaded the truth, and merely said that she was safe and well with her friend Mrs. Taylor, and if no letter followed for two or three weeks, no anxiety need be felt; the other to Uncle Markham, briefer still. She would rather not have written at all, but after all he had not meant to be unkind, and she knew he must be worried. She told him simply that she had been obliged to leave, but everything was all right now—she would write again later. “If he does not understand, it can’t be helped,” she thought, her eyes darkened by memories she could not stifle. “And Aunt Sophia—she won’t find that very satisfactory either. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk any more till I know what—she has heard.”

So America was left behind—for ever, Pamela sincerely hoped, drawing deep breaths of freedom as she set her