SINCE her in Miss Hatchard's Charity had not to by a moment her hours of at the library. She a point of the time, and a when the Targatt girl, who had been to help in the and of the books, came in late and neglected her to through the window at the Sollas boy. Nevertheless, “library days” more than to Charity after her hours of liberty; and she would have it hard to set a good example to her if Lucius Harney had not been commissioned, Miss Hatchard's departure, to with the local the best means of the “Memorial.”
He was to this on the days when the library was open to the public; and Charity was therefore sure of part of the in his company. The Targatt girl's presence, and the of being by some passer-by with a thirst for letters, restricted their to the of commonplaces; but there was a to Charity in the these public and their intimacy.
The day after their drive to the house was “library day,” and she sat at her at the catalogue, while the Targatt girl, one on the window, out the titles of a of books. Charity's were away, in the house by the swamp, and under the sky the long drive home, when Lucius Harney had her with words. That day, for the time since he had been with them, he had failed to appear as at the meal. No message had come to his absence, and Mr. Royall, who was more than taciturn, had no surprise, and no comment. In itself this was not particularly significant, for Mr. Royall, in common with most of his fellow-citizens, had a way of events passively, as if he had long since come to the that no one who in North Dormer to them. But to Charity, in the from her mood of exaltation, there was something in his silence. It was almost as if Lucius Harney had had a part in their lives: Mr. Royall's to him to the of unreality.
As she sat at work, she to shake off her at Harney's non-appearing. Some had him from joining them at midday; but she was sure he must be to see her again, and that he would not want to wait till they met at supper, Mr. Royall and Verena. She was what his would be, and trying to a way of of the Targatt girl he came, when she steps outside, and he walked up the path with Mr. Miles.
The from Hepburn came to North Dormer when he over to at the old white church which, by an chance, to to the Episcopal communion. He was a man, to make the most of the that a little of “church-people” had in the wilderness, and to the of the ginger-bread-coloured Baptist at the other end of the village; but he was by work at Hepburn, where there were paper-mills and saloons, and it was not often that he time for North Dormer.
Charity, who to the white church (like all the best people in North Dormer), Mr. Miles, and had even, the to Nettleton, herself married to a man who had such a nose and such a way of speaking, and who in a brown-stone with Virginia creeper. It had been a to that the was already by a lady with and a large baby; but the of Lucius Harney had long since Mr. Miles from Charity's dreams, and as he walked up the path at Harney's she saw him as he was: a middle-aged man with a under his hat, and on his Grecian nose. She what had called him to North Dormer on a weekday, and a little that Harney should have him to the library.
It presently appeared that his presence there was to Miss Hatchard. He had been a days at Springfield, to a friend's pulpit, and had been by Miss Hatchard as to Harney's plan for the “Memorial.” To hands on the Hatchard was a matter, and Miss Hatchard, always full of about her (it was Harney's phrase), to have Mr. Miles's opinion deciding.
“I couldn't,” Mr. Miles explained, “quite make out from your what you wanted to make, and as the other did not either I I had drive over and take a look—though I'm sure,” he added, his on the man, “that no one be more competent—but of this spot has its sanctity!”
“I a little fresh air won't it,” Harney laughingly rejoined; and they walked to the other end of the library while he set his idea to the Rector.
Mr. Miles had the two girls with his friendliness, but Charity saw that he was with other things, and she presently aware, by the of over to her, that he was still under the of his visit to Springfield, which appeared to have been full of incidents.
“Ah, the Coopersons... yes, you know them, of course,” she heard. “That's a old house! And Ned Cooperson has some pictures....” The names he were unknown to Charity. “Yes; yes; the Schaefer played at Lyric Hall on Saturday evening; and on Monday I had the of them again at the Towers. Beautifully done... Bach and Beethoven... a lawn-party first... I saw Miss Balch times, by the way... looking handsome....”
Charity her pencil and to to the Targatt girl's sing-song. Why had Mr. Miles up Annabel Balch's name?
“Oh, really?” she Harney rejoin; and, his stick, he pursued: “You see, my plan is to move these away, and open a window in this wall, on the of the one under the pediment.”
“I she'll be up here later to with Miss Hatchard?” Mr. Miles on, on his train of thought; then, about and his back: “Yes, yes, I see—I understand: that will give a without the look of things. I can see no objection.”
The on for some minutes, and the two men moved toward the desk. Mr. Miles stopped again and looked at Charity. “Aren't you a little pale, my dear? Not overworking? Mr. Harney tells me you and Mamie are the library a overhauling.” He was always to his parishioners' Christian names, and at the right moment he his on the Targatt girl.
Then he to Charity. “Don't take hard, my dear; don't take hard. Come and see Mrs. Miles and me some day at Hepburn,” he said, pressing her hand and a to Mamie Targatt. He out of the library, and Harney him.
Charity she a look of in Harney's eyes. She he did not want to be alone with her; and with a she if he the he had said to her the night before. His had been more than lover-like; but she had their exact in the of his voice. He had her that the of her being a from the Mountain was only another for her close and her with murmurs; and when the drive was over, and she got out of the buggy, tired, cold, and with emotion, she as if the ground were a and she the on its crest.
Why, then, had his manner changed, and why did he the library with Mr. Miles? Her on the name of Annabel Balch: from the moment it had been mentioned she that Harney's had altered. Annabel Balch at a garden-party at Springfield, looking “extremely handsome”... Mr. Miles had her there at the very moment when Charity and Harney were in the Hyatts' hovel, a and a half-witted old woman! Charity did not know what a garden-party was, but her of the flower-edged of Nettleton helped her to the scene, and of the “old things” which Miss Balch “wore out” when she came to North Dormer it only too easy to picture her in her splendour. Charity what the name must have called up, and the of against the in Harney's life.
When she came from her room for supper he was not there; and while she waited in the she the in which Mr. Royall had the day on their early start. Mr. Royall sat at her side, his chair back, his black with side-elastics against the of the railings. His up above his like the of an angry bird, and the leather-brown of his was with red. Charity that those red were the of a explosion.
Suddenly he said: “Where's supper? Has Verena Marsh up again on her soda-biscuits?”
Charity a at him. “I she's waiting for Mr. Harney.”
“Mr. Harney, is she? She'd dish up, then. He ain't coming.” He up, walked to the door, and called out, in the necessary to the old woman's tympanum: “Get along with the supper, Verena.”
Charity was with apprehension. Something had happened—she was sure of it now—and Mr. Royall what it was. But not for the world would she have him by her anxiety. She took her place, and he seated himself opposite, and out a cup of tea her the tea-pot. Verena some eggs, and he his plate with them. “Ain't you going to take any?” he asked. Charity herself and to eat.
The with which Mr. Royall had said “He's not coming” to her full of an satisfaction. She saw that he had to Lucius Harney, and herself to be the of this of feeling. But she had no means of out some act of on his part had the man away, or he to avoid her again after their drive from the house. She ate her supper with a of indifference, but she that Mr. Royall was her and that her did not him.
After supper she up to her room. She Mr. Royall the passage, and presently the her window that he had returned to the porch. She seated herself on her and to against the to go and ask him what had happened. “I'd die than do it,” she to herself. With a word he have her uncertainty: but would she him by saying it.
She rose and out of the window. The had into night, and she the of the moon to the of the hills. Through the she saw one or two moving the road; but the was too cold for loitering, and presently the disappeared. Lamps were to here and there in the windows. A of light out the of a of in the Hawes's yard: and the Carrick Fry's Rochester lamp its on the flower-tub in the middle of his grass-plot.
For a long time she to in the window. But a of her, and she downstairs, took her from its hook, and out of the house. Mr. Royall sat in the porch, Verena him, her old hands on her skirt. As Charity the steps Mr. Royall called after her: “Where you going?” She easily have answered: “To Orma's,” or “Down to the Targatts'”; and either answer might have been true, for she had no purpose. But she on in silence, not to his right to question her.
At the gate she paused and looked up and the road. The her, and she of the hill and into the of the larch-wood above the pasture. Then she along the street, and as she did so a appeared through the at Miss Hatchard's gate. Lucius Harney was there, then—he had not gone to Hepburn with Mr. Miles, as she had at imagined. But where had he taken his meal, and what had him to away from Mr. Royall's? The light was positive proof of his presence, for Miss Hatchard's were away on a holiday, and her farmer's wife came only in the mornings, to make the man's and prepare his coffee. Beside that lamp he was at this moment. To know the truth Charity had only to walk the length of the village, and at the window. She a minute or two longer, and then toward Miss Hatchard's.
She walked quickly, her to anyone who might be along the street; and the Frys' she over to avoid the light from their window. Whenever she was she herself at against a world, and a of animal her. But the was empty, and she passed through the gate and up the path to the house. Its white through the trees, only one of light on the floor. She had that the lamp was in Miss Hatchard's sitting-room; but she now saw that it through a window at the of the house. She did not know the room to which this window belonged, and she paused under the trees, by a of strangeness. Then she moved on, on the grass, and so close to the house that was in the room, if by her approach, would not be able to see her.
The window opened on a narrow with a arch. She close to the trellis, and the of that it looked into a of the room. She saw the of a bed, an on the wall, a wash-stand on which a had been tossed, and one end of the green-covered table which the lamp. Half of the into her of vision, and just under it two hands, one a pencil and the other a ruler, were moving to and over a drawing-board.
Her jumped and then still. He was there, a away; and while her was on of he had been at his drawing-board. The of those two hands, moving with their skill and precision, her out of her dream. Her were opened to the what she had and the of her agitation; and she was away from the window when one hand pushed the drawing-board and the other the pencil.
Charity had often noticed Harney's of his drawings, and the and method with which he on and each task. The of the drawing-board to a new mood. The discouragement, or for his work and she if he too were by perplexities. Her of was checked; she up on the and looked into the room.
Harney had put his on the table and was his on his locked hands. He had taken off his and waistcoat, and the low of his shirt; she saw the lines of his throat, and the of the where they joined the chest. He sat ahead of him, a look of and self-disgust on his face: it was almost as if he had been at a of his own features. For a moment Charity looked at him with a of terror, as if he had been a under familiar lineaments; then she past him and saw on the an open full of clothes. She that he was preparing to leave, and that he had to go without her. She saw that the decision, from it was taken, had him deeply; and she that his of plan was to some of Mr. Royall's. All her old and up, with the by Harney's nearness. Only a hours she had secure in his pity; now she was on herself, alone after that moment of communion.
Harney was still of her presence. He sat without moving, him at the same spot in the wall-paper. He had not had the energy to his packing, and his and papers on the about the portmanteau. Presently he his hands and up; and Charity, hastily, on the step of the verandah. The night was so dark that there was not much of his her unless he opened the window and that she would have time to away and be in the of the trees. He for a minute or two looking around the room with the same of self-disgust, as if he himself and about him; then he sat again at the table, a more strokes, and his pencil aside. Finally he walked across the floor, kicking the out of his way, and on the bed, his arms under his head, and up at the ceiling. Just so, Charity had him at her on the or the pine-needles, his on the sky, and over his like the of sun the on it. But now the was so that she it; and at his in her throat, rose to her and ran over.
She to on the steps, her and herself into complete immobility. One motion of her hand, one on the pane, and she picture the in his face. In every of her she was aware of the welcome his and would give her; but something her from moving. It was not the of any sanction, or heavenly; she had in her life been afraid. It was that she had what would if she in. It was the thing that did men and girls, and that North Dormer in public and over on the sly. It was what Miss Hatchard was still of, but every girl of Charity's class about she left school. It was what had to Ally Hawes's sister Julia, and had ended in her going to Nettleton, and in people's her name.
It did not, of course, always end so sensationally; nor, perhaps, on the whole, so untragically. Charity had always that the Julia's might have its compensations. There were others, that the village of, mean, miserable, unconfessed; other that on drearily, without visible change, in the same setting of hypocrisy. But these were not the that her back. Since the day before, she had what she would if Harney should take her in his arms: the melting of into and mouth on mouth, and the long her from to foot. But mixed with this was another: the in his for her, the that his had put into her heart. Sometimes, when her up in her, she had like other girls to in the twilight; but she not so herself to Harney. She did not know why he was going; but since he was going she she must do nothing to the image of her that he away. If he wanted her he must her: he must not be into taking her as girls like Julia Hawes were taken....
No came from the sleeping village, and in the of the garden she now and then a of branches, as though some night-bird them. Once a passed the gate, and she into her corner; but the steps died away and left a quiet. Her were still on Harney's face: she she not move till he moved. But she was to from her position, and at times her were so that she to be there only by a weight of weariness.
A long time passed in this vigil. Harney still on the bed, and with eyes, as though his to its end. At last he and his slightly, and Charity's to tremble. But he only out his arms and into his position. With a he the from his forehead; then his whole relaxed, his on the pillow, and she saw that he had asleep. The sweet came to his lips, and the from his face, it as fresh as a boy's.
She rose and away.
