"That's right, Violet," Mr. Wyndham said approvingly; "don't cry any more, there's a good girl." He spoke in a cheerful tone, though his heart was sorer than he would have liked to admit at the thought of separation from his little daughter. "If you're not happy with the Reeds you know you can come home," he proceeded to tell her; "but I believe you will be happy, I shall be greatly surprised and disappointed if you are not. And you'll be a good girl, won't you, and make the most of the advantages you will have? You'll obey Dr. Reed and his wife implicitly, remembering how generously they are treating you, and try to please them, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," Violet assented; "I promise I will."
"It will be a great change for you, child, a very great change," Mr. Wyndham said impressively, "for you are going from a comparatively poor home to one of affluence. But you won't forget the old home, eh?"
"No, indeed, father," was the earnest response; "and I shall write very often, at least once a week."
"Do so, my dear; we shall look forward to your letters with much pleasure."
When the station was reached Mr. Wyndham found the train for the north was nearly due to start. He saw Violet's luggage labelled and obtained her ticket, then found her a corner seat in a second-class compartment, opposite to an elderly lady, who, warmly clad, with her knees covered with a thick rug, was evidently prepared for a long journey.
"Is the little girl going far?" inquired the lady, looking with kindly interest from Violet to her father.
"To Barford," Mr. Wyndham answered, adding that his daughter had never taken a journey alone before, a piece of information which Violet considered he need not have given.
"Then we shall be fellow-travellers," observed the lady cordially, "for Barford is my destination, too." She spoke in a clear, decisive voice.
"I am glad to hear that," said Mr. Wyndham, with a smile, as he shut the carriage door.