NORTH DORMER'S naturally the villages to its township, and the were to over the whole group, from Dormer and the two Crestons to Hamblin, the on the north of the Mountain where the always fell. On the third day there were speeches and at Creston and Creston River; on the fourth the were to be in buck-boards to Dormer and Hamblin.
It was on the fourth day that Charity returned for the time to the little house. She had not Harney alone since they had at the wood's the night the began. In the she had passed through many moods, but for the moment the terror which had her in the Town Hall had to the of consciousness. She had the was hot, and the speakers had gone on and on.... Several other people had been by the heat, and had had to the were over. There had been in the air all the afternoon, and said that something ought to have been done to the hall....
At the that evening—where she had gone reluctantly, and only she to away, she had into reassurance. As soon as she entered she had Harney waiting for her, and he had come up with eyes, and her off in a waltz. Her were full of music, and though her only had been with the village she had no in her steps to his. As they about the all her from her, and she that she was dancing in Annabel Balch's slippers.
When the was over Harney, with a last hand-clasp, left her to meet Miss Hatchard and Miss Balch, who were just entering. Charity had a moment of as Miss Balch appeared; but it did not last. The of her own beauty, and of Harney's of it, her aside. Miss Balch, in an dress, looked and pinched, and Charity there was a in her pale-lashed eyes. She took a seat near Miss Hatchard and it was presently that she did not to dance. Charity did not often either. Harney to her that Miss Hatchard had him to give each of the other girls a turn; but he through the of Charity's permission each time he one out, and that gave her a of than when she was about the room with him.
She was of all this as she waited for him in the house. The late was sultry, and she had her and herself at full length on the Mexican it was than under the trees. She with her arms her head, out at the of the Mountain. The sky it was full of the of the sun, and long she to Harney's bicycle-bell in the lane. He had to Hamblin, of there with his and her friends, so that he might be able to make his and stop on the way at the house, which was on the road to Hamblin. They had together at the joke of the buck-boards roll by on the return, while they close in their above the road. Such still gave her a of security.
Nevertheless she had not the of that had opened her in the Town Hall. The of was gone from her and every moment with Harney would now be with doubt.
The Mountain was against a from which it to be by a knife-edge of light; and above this of the whole sky was a pure green, like some cold in shadow. Charity up at it, and for the white star....
Her were still on the upper of the sky when she aware that a had across the glory-flooded room: it must have been Harney the window against the sunset.... She herself, and then on her arms. The had from her hair, and it in a dark rope across her breast. She still, a on her lips, her shut. There was a at the and she called out: “Have you the chain?” The door opened, and Mr. Royall walked into the room.
She started up, against the cushions, and they looked at each other without speaking. Then Mr. Royall closed the door-latch and a steps.
Charity jumped to her feet. “What have you come for?” she stammered.
The last of the was on her guardian's face, which looked ash-coloured in the yellow radiance.
“Because I you were here,” he answered simply.
She had of the across her breast, and it as though she not speak to him till she had set herself in order. She for her comb, and to up the coil. Mr. Royall her.
“Charity,” he said, “he'll be here in a minute. Let me talk to you first.”
“You've got no right to talk to me. I can do what I please.”
“Yes. What is it you to do?”
“I needn't answer that, or anything else.”
He had away, and looking about the room. Purple and red maple-leaves the on the table; on a against the a lamp, the kettle, a little of cups and saucers. The chairs were about the table.
“So this is where you meet,” he said.
His was and controlled, and the her. She had been to give him for violence, but this of as they were left her without a weapon.
“See here, Charity—you're always telling me I've got no over you. There might be two of looking at that—but I ain't going to argue it. All I know is I you as good as I could, and meant by you always once, for a half-hour. There's no in that half-hour against the rest, and you know it. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have gone on under my roof. Seems to me the of your doing that me some of a right; the right to try and keep you out of trouble. I'm not you to any other.”
She in silence, and then gave a laugh. “Better wait till I'm in trouble,” she said. He paused a moment, as if her words. “Is that all your answer?”
“Yes, that's all.”
“Well—I'll wait.”
He away slowly, but as he did so the thing she had been waiting for happened; the door opened again and Harney entered.
He stopped with a of astonishment, and then, himself, up to Mr. Royall with a look.
“Have you come to see me, sir?” he said coolly, his cap on the table with an air of proprietorship.
Mr. Royall again looked slowly about the room; then his to the man.
“Is this your house?” he inquired.
Harney laughed: “Well—as much as it's anybody's. I come here to sketch occasionally.”
“And to Miss Royall's visits?”
“When she me the honour——”
“Is this the home you to her to when you married?”
There was an and silence. Charity, with anger, started forward, and then silent, too for speech. Harney's had under the old man's gaze; but he them presently, and looking at Mr. Royall, said: “Miss Royall is not a child. Isn't it to talk of her as if she were? I she herself free to come and go as she pleases, without any questions from anyone.” He paused and added: “I'm to answer any she to ask me.”
Mr. Royall to her. “Ask him when he's going to you, then——” There was another silence, and he laughed in his turn—a laugh, with a in it. “You darsn't!” he out with passion. He close up to Charity, his right arm lifted, not in but in exhortation.
“You darsn't, and you know it—and you know why!” He again upon the man. “And you know why you ain't asked her to you, and why you don't to. It's you hadn't need to; any other man either. I'm the only one that was not to know that; and I nobody'll repeat my mistake—not in Eagle County, anyhow. They all know what she is, and what she came from. They all know her mother was a woman of the town from Nettleton, that one of those Mountain up to his place and there with him like a heathen. I saw her there sixteen years ago, when I to this child down. I to save her from the of life her mother was leading—but I'd have left her in the she came from....” He paused and at the two people, and out them, at the Mountain with its of fire; then he sat the table on which they had so often spread their supper, and his with his hands. Harney in the window, a on his face: he was his a small that from a of string.... Charity Mr. Royall a hard or two, and his a little. Presently he up and walked across the room. He did not look again at the people: they saw him his way to the door and for the latch; and then he out into the darkness.
After he had gone there was a long silence. Charity waited for Harney to speak; but he at not to anything to say. At length he out irrelevantly: “I wonder how he out?”
She no answer and he the he had been holding, and up to her.
“I'm so sorry, dear... that this should have happened....”
She her proudly. “I ain't been sorry—not a minute!”
“No.”
She waited to be into his arms, but he away from her irresolutely. The last was gone from the Mountain. Everything in the room had and indistinct, and an up from the the orchard, its cold touch on their faces. Harney walked the length of the room, and then and sat at the table.
“Come,” he said imperiously.
She sat him, and he the about the and spread out a of sandwiches.
“I them from the love-feast at Hamblin,” he said with a laugh, pushing them over to her. She laughed too, and took one, and to eat.
“Didn't you make the tea?”
“No,” she said. “I forgot——”
“Oh, well—it's too late to the water now.” He said nothing more, and opposite to each other they on the sandwiches. Darkness had in the little room, and Harney's was a to Charity. Suddenly he across the table and his hand on hers.
“I shall have to go off for a while—a month or two, perhaps—to some things; and then I'll come back... and we'll married.”
His voice like a stranger's: nothing was left in it of the she knew. Her hand under his, and she left it there, and her head, trying to answer him. But the died in her throat. They sat motionless, in their of endearment, as if some death had them. At length Harney to his with a shiver. “God! it's damp—we couldn't have come here much longer.” He to the shelf, took a candle-stick and the candle; then he an against the empty window-frame and put the on the table. It a on his forehead, and the on his a grimace.
“But it's been good, though, hasn't it, Charity?... What's the matter—why do you there at me? Haven't the days here been good?” He up to her and her to his breast. “And there'll be others—lots of others... jollier... jollier... won't there, darling?”
He her back, for the of her the ear, and here there, and on the and and lips. She to him desperately, and as he her to his on the she as if they were being together into some abyss.
