CHAPTER XIX.
SALOME'S REFUGE.
Salome was scarcely sane.

Married that morning, with the approval and congratulations of all her friends, by one of the most venerable fathers of the church, to one of the most distinguished young noblemen in the peerage, who was also the sole master of her heart, and-- Flying from her bridegroom this afternoon as from her worst and most hated enemy! She could not realize her situation at all.
All seemed a horrible nightmare dream, from which she was powerless to arouse herself; in which she was compelled to act a painful part, until some merciful influence from without should awaken and deliver her! In this dream she was whirled onward toward the South Coast, on that clear, autumnal afternoon.
In this dream she reached Dover, and got out at the station amid all the confusion attending the arrival of the tidal train, and the babel of voices from cabmen, porters, hotel runners, and such, shouting their offers of: "Carriage, sir!" "Carriage, ma'am!" "Steamboat!" "Calais steamer!" "Lord Warden's!" "Victoria!" and so forth.
Acting instinctively and mechanically, she made her way to the steamboat.
There seemed to be an unusually large number of people going across.
She saw no one among the passengers, whom she recognized; but still she kept her vail folded twice across her face, as she passed to a settee on deck.
She was scarcely seated before the boat left the pier.
Wind and tide was against her, and the passage promised to be a slow and rough one.
And soon indeed the steamer began to roll and toss amid the short, crisp waves of Dover Straits, now whipped to a froth by wind against tide.
Most of the passengers succumbed and went below.
Now, whether intense mental pre-occupation be an antidote to sea-sickness, we cannot tell.

But it is certain that Salome did not suffer from the violent motion of the boat.

She was indeed scarcely conscious of it.
She sat upon the deck, wrapped in a large shepherd's plaid shawl, with her gray vail thickly folded over her face, which was turned toward the west, where the setting sun was sinking below the ocean horizon, and drawing down after him a long train of glory from over the troubled waters.
But it is doubtful if Salome even saw this, or knew what hour, what season it was! A rough night followed.

Wrapped in her shawl, absorbed in her dream, Salome remained on deck, unaffected by the weather, and indifferent to its consequences, although more than once the captain approached and kindly advised her to go below.
It was after midnight when the boat reached her pier at Calais.
In the same dream Salome left her seat and landed among the sea-sick crowd.
In the same dream she allowed the custom-house officers to tumble out the contents of her little valise, and satisfied, without cavil, all their demands, and answered without hesitation all the questions put to her by the officials.
In the same dream she made her way to a carriage on the railway train just about to start for Paris.
There were three other occupants of the carriage, which was but dimly lighted by two oil lamps.