And so they proceeded on their journey and came to the Corkscrew. After a brief consultation, they decided to take this short cut out of the Cave, instead of going over what is now somewhat familiar ground. So up they climbed, partly by means of the three ladders, now through cracks, again over huge boulders scattered here and there in wild confusion, now twisting up through round holes—five hundred feet of climbing, although they were assured by their guide that the vertical distance was only one hundred and fifty feet.
At last they emerged on the edge of a cliff just over the main cave, and, as they stopped to take breath, wondered for a moment if they were in another Star Chamber, for the stars were shining bright above them! But no; this time it was no illusion, for though they had left the bright sunlight behind them when they made the descent into the lantern-lighted darkness, they had been all day in the cave, and were indeed glad that they had saved the mile and a half walk by their ascent through the Corkscrew.
Altogether it was a trip long to be remembered; the more so that, at its close, when they were all back in "dear, old, smoky Cincinnati," as Miss Kitty fondly called it, came the first parting of the ways for the Warrior Maidens. Not the ordinary summer parting, but one which entirely changed the parallel grooves in which their lives had been running, at least for one of them, for Ernestine was to go home with her uncle to New York. The whole Burton family had become so attached to her that they would gladly have kept her with them as a much-loved member of their circle, necessary not only to their happiness but to their comfort, and Ralph expressed his opinion that Ernie's uncle was a bad, bad man.
But, while in compliance with his sister's wish, expressed to Mr. Allen on that day on which Mrs. Alroy had sent for him, he had waited for the end of the school year before coming for his niece, he was now only too impatient to take to her kindred the lovely child—the last living link between their family and the sister whom he and his brothers had so loved and so mourned.
And so, one bright morning in July, the little company, each wearing her badge of warriorhood, went to the station to see their dear friend start on her journey. There were tearful faces on the outside of the car, and a pale but earnest and loving face hidden behind a handkerchief on the inside, as the train slowly moved out of the station.
CHAPTER XXI.
AN EXCHANGE OF LETTERS.
Ernestine to Winnifred.
New York, Sept. 12.
Dearest Winnifred:
It seems a long time since I left you standing in the station, the afternoon I said good-by to the city which had been my home. I can never forget you nor the dear schoolmates who made my life there so pleasant, nor the friends who took me to their hearts in my great sorrow.