SHE had the of time, and did not know how late it was till she came out into the and saw that all the were dark Miss Hatchard's and the Royall house.
As she passed from under the black of the Norway she she saw two in the about the duck-pond. She and watched; but nothing moved, and she had so long into the lamp-lit room that the her, and she she must have been mistaken.
She walked on, Mr. Royall was still in the porch. In her mood she did not he was waiting for her or not: she to be high over life, on a great cloud of which every-day had to in space. But the was empty, Mr. Royall's on its in the passage, and the lamp had been left to light her to bed. She took it and up.
The hours of the next day by without incident. Charity had that, in some way or other, she would learn Harney had already left; but Verena's her being a of news, and no one came to the house who enlightenment.
Mr. Royall out early, and did not return till Verena had set the table for the meal. When he came in he to the and to the old woman: “Ready for dinner——” then he into the dining-room, where Charity was already seated. Harney's plate was in its place, but Mr. Royall offered no of his absence, and Charity asked none. The of the night had dropped, and she said to herself that he had gone away, indifferently, almost callously, and that now her life would again into the narrow out of which he had it. For a moment she was to at herself for not having used the that might have him.
She sat at table till the was over, Mr. Royall should on her leaving; but when he up she rose also, without waiting to help Verena. She had her on the stairs when he called to her to come back.
“I've got a headache. I'm going up to down.”
“I want you should come in here first; I've got something to say to you.”
She was sure from his that in a moment she would learn what every nerve in her to know; but as she she a last of indifference.
Mr. Royall in the middle of the office, his thick beetling, his a little. At she he had been drinking; then she saw that he was sober, but by a and totally his angers. And she that, until then, she had noticed him or about him. Except on the occasion of his one he had been to her the person who is always there, the of life, as but as as North Dormer itself, or any of the other had on her. Even then she had him only in relation to herself, and had as to his own feelings, that he would not trouble her again in the same way. But now she to wonder what he was like.
He had the of his chair with hands, and looking hard at her. At length he said: “Charity, for once let's you and me talk together like friends.”
Instantly she that something had happened, and that he her in his hand.
“Where is Mr. Harney? Why hasn't he come back? Have you sent him away?” she out, without what she was saying.
The in Mr. Royall her. All the blood to his and against his the lines in his looked black.
“Didn't he have time to answer some of those questions last night? You was with him long enough!” he said.
Charity speechless. The was so to what had been in her that she it. But the of self-defense in her.
“Who says I was with him last night?”
“The whole place is saying it by now.”
“Then it was you that put the into their mouths.—Oh, how I've always you!” she cried.
She had a in kind, and it her to her on through silence.
“Yes, I know,” Mr. Royall said slowly. “But that ain't going to help us much now.”
“It helps me not to a what you tell about me!”
“If they're lies, they're not my lies: my Bible on that, Charity. I didn't know where you were: I wasn't out of this house last night.”
She no answer and he on: “Is it a that you were out of Miss Hatchard's onto midnight?”
She herself with a laugh, all her recovered. “I didn't look to see what time it was.”
“You girl... you... you.... Oh, my God, why did you tell me?” he out, into his chair, his like an old man's.
Charity's self-possession had returned with the of her danger. “Do you I'd take the trouble to to YOU? Who are you, anyhow, to ask me where I go to when I go out at night?”
Mr. Royall his and looked at her. His had and almost gentle, as she it sometimes when she was a little girl, Mrs. Royall died.
“Don't let's go on like this, Charity. It can't do any good to either of us. You were going into that fellow's house... you were out of it.... I've this thing coming, and I've to stop it. As God sees me, I have....”
“Ah, it WAS you, then? I it was you that sent him away!”
He looked at her in surprise. “Didn't he tell you so? I he understood.” He spoke slowly, with difficult pauses, “I didn't name you to him: I'd have cut my hand off sooner. I just told him I couldn't the any longer; and that the cooking was too for Verena. I he's the that's the same thing before. Anyhow, he took it enough. He said his job here was about done, anyhow; and there didn't another word pass us.... If he told you otherwise he told you an untruth.”
Charity in a cold of anger. It was nothing to her what the village said... but all this of her dreams!
“I've told you he didn't tell me anything. I didn't speak with him last night.”
“You didn't speak with him?”
“No.... It's not that I what any of you say... but you may as well know. Things ain't us the way you think... and the other people in this place. He was to me; he was my friend; and all of a he stopped coming, and I it was you that done it—YOU!” All her memory of the past out at him. “So I there last night to out what you'd said to him: that's all.”
Mr. Royall a breath. “But, then—if he wasn't there, what were you doing there all that time?—Charity, for pity's sake, tell me. I've got to know, to stop their talking.”
This of all authority over her did not move her: she only the of his interference.
“Can't you see that I don't what says? It's true I there to see him; and he was in his room, and I for so long and him; but I dursn't go in for he'd think I'd come after him....” She her voice breaking, and it up in a last defiance. “As long as I live I'll you!” she cried.
Mr. Royall no answer. He sat and with head, his hands about the arms of his chair. Age to have come on him as winter comes on the after a storm. At length he looked up.
“Charity, you say you don't care; but you're the girl I know, and the last to want people to talk against you. You know there's always you: you're and than the rest, and that's enough. But till you've them a chance. Now they've got it, and they're going to use it. I what you say, but they won't.... It was Mrs. Tom Fry you going in... and two or three of them for you to come out again.... You've been with the all day long every day since he come here... and I'm a lawyer, and I know how hard dies.” He paused, but she motionless, without him any of or of attention. “He's a to talk to—I liked having him here myself. The men up here ain't had his chances. But there's one thing as old as the and as plain as daylight: if he'd wanted you the right way he'd have said so.”
Charity did not speak. It to her that nothing the of such from such lips.
Mr. Royall rose from his seat. “See here, Charity Royall: I had a once, and you've me pay for it. Isn't that score near out?... There's a in me I ain't always master of; but I've always to you but that once. And you've I would—you've me. For all your and your you've always I loved you the way a man loves a woman. I'm a good many years older than you, but I'm and above this place and in it, and you know that too. I up once, but that's no for not starting again. If you'll come with me I'll do it. If you'll me we'll here and settle in some big town, where there's men, and business, and doing. It's not too late for me to an opening.... I can see it by the way me when I go to Hepburn or Nettleton....”
Charity no movement. Nothing in his her heart, and she only of to and wither. But a her. What did anything that he was saying? She saw the old life in on her, and his picture of renewal.
“Charity—Charity—say you'll do it,” she him urge, all his years and in his voice.
“Oh, what's the use of all this? When I here it won't be with you.”
She moved toward the door as she spoke, and he up and himself her and the threshold. He tall and strong, as though the of his had him new vigour.
“That's all, is it? It's not much.” He against the door, so and powerful that he to the narrow room. “Well, then look here.... You're right: I've no on you—why should you look at a man like me? You want the other fellow... and I don't you. You out the best when you it... well, that was always my way.” He his on her, and she had the that the him was at its highest. “Do you want him to you?” he asked.
They and looked at each other for a long moment, to eye, with the terrible of that sometimes her as if she had his blood in her veins.
“Do you want him to—say? I'll have him here in an hour if you do. I ain't been in the law thirty years for nothing. He's Carrick Fry's team to take him to Hepburn, but he ain't going to start for another hour. And I can put to him so he won't be long deciding.... He's soft: I see that. I don't say you won't be sorry afterward—but, by God, I'll give you the to be, if you say so.”
She him out in silence, too from all he was and saying for any of to her. As she listened, there through her mind the of Liff Hyatt's on the white bramble-flowers. The same thing had now; something and had in her, and she had by and it to earth. While the passed through her she was aware of Mr. Royall, still against the door, but crestfallen, diminished, as though her were the answer he most dreaded.
“I don't want any you can give me: I'm he's going away,” she said.
He his place a moment longer, his hand on the door-knob. “Charity!” he pleaded. She no answer, and he the and out. She him with the of the door, and saw him walk the steps. He passed out of the gate, and his figure, and heavy, slowly up the street.
For a while she where he had left her. She was still with the of his last words, which so loud in her ears that it as though they must echo through the village, her a to herself to such suggestions. Her on her like a physical oppression: the and to be in on her, and she was by the to away, under the open sky, where there would be room to breathe. She to the door, and as she did so Lucius Harney opened it.
He looked and less than usual, and for a moment or two neither of them spoke. Then he out his hand. “Are you going out?” he asked. “May I come in?”
Her was so that she was to speak, and looking at him with tear-dilated eyes; then she aware of what her must betray, and said quickly: “Yes: come in.”
She the way into the dining-room, and they sat on opposite of the table, the cruet-stand and bread-basket them. Harney had his on the table, and as he sat there, in his easy-looking clothes, a tie under his collar, and his from his forehead, she pictured him, as she had him the night before, on his bed, with the into his eyes, and his out of his shirt. He had so as at the moment when that through her mind.
“I'm so sorry it's good-bye: I you know I'm leaving,” he began, and awkwardly; she that he was how much she of his for going.
“I you your work was over than what you expected,” she said.
“Well, yes—that is, no: there are of I should have liked to do. But my holiday's limited; and now that Mr. Royall needs the for himself it's difficult to means of about.”
“There ain't any too many for around here,” she acquiesced; and there was another silence.
“These days here have been—awfully pleasant: I wanted to thank you for making them so,” he continued, his colour rising.
She not think of any reply, and he on: “You've been to me, and I wanted to tell you.... I wish I think of you as happier, less lonely.... Things are sure to for you by and by....”
“Things don't at North Dormer: people just used to them.”
The answer to up the order of his consolations, and he sat looking at her uncertainly. Then he said, with his sweet smile: “That's not true of you. It can't be.”
The was like a knife-thrust through her heart: in her to and loose. She her over, and up.
“Well, good-bye,” she said.
She was aware of his taking her hand, and of that his touch was lifeless.
“Good-bye.” He away, and stopped on the threshold. “You'll say good-bye for me to Verena?”
She the of the door and the of his quick along the path. The of the gate after him.
The next when she in the cold and opened her she saw a boy on the other of the road and looking up at her. He was a boy from a farm three or four miles the Creston road, and she what he was doing there at that hour, and why he looked so hard at her window. When he saw her he over and against the gate unconcernedly. There was no one in the house, and she a over her night-gown and ran and let herself out. By the time she the gate the boy was the road, carelessly; but she saw that a had been the and the of the gate. She took it out and to her room.
The her name, and was a from a pocket-diary.
DEAR CHARITY:
I can't go away like this. I am for a days at Creston River. Will you come and meet me at Creston pool? I will wait for you till evening.
