That night, as usual, they said good-bye at the wood's edge.
Harney was to the next early. He asked Charity to say nothing of their plans till his return, and, to herself, she was of the postponement. A weight of on her, every other sensation, and she him good-bye with a of emotion. His promises to return almost wounding. She had no that he to come back; her were and less definable.
Since the of the that had through her at their meeting she had of his marrying her. She had not had to put the from her mind; it had not been there. If she looked ahead she that the them was too deep, and that the their had across it was as as a rainbow. But she looked ahead; each day was so rich that it her.... Now her was that would be different, and that she herself would be a different being to Harney. Instead of and absolute, she would be with other people, and unknown would be of her. She was too proud to be afraid, but the of her drooped....
Harney had not any date for his return; he had said he would have to look about first, and settle things. He had promised to as soon as there was anything to say, and had left her his address, and asked her to also. But the address her. It was in New York, at a with a long name in Fifth Avenue: it to an them. Once or twice, in the days, she got out a of paper, and sat looking at it, and trying to think what to say; but she had the that her would its destination. She had to anyone away than Hepburn.
Harney's came after he had been gone about ten days. It was but grave, and no to the little notes he had sent her by the boy from Creston River. He spoke positively of his of back, but named no date, and Charity of their agreement that their plans should not be till he had had time to “settle things.” When that would be he not yet foresee; but she count on his returning as soon as the way was clear.
She read the with a of its from and having most of its meaning on the way; and in reply she sent him a of Creston Falls, on which she wrote: “With love from Charity.” She the of this, and understood, with a of despair, that in her to herself she must give him an of and reluctance; but she not help it. She not that he had spoken to her of marriage till Mr. Royall had the word from his lips; though she had not had the to shake off the spell that her to him she had all of feeling, and to herself to be a she not avert.
She had not Mr. Royall on her return to the red house. The after her from Harney, when she came from her room, Verena told her that her had gone off to Worcester and Portland. It was the time of year when he reported to the he represented, and there was nothing in his its suddenness. She little about him, to be he was not there....
She to herself for the days, while North Dormer was from its into publicity, and the left her unnoticed. But the Ally not be long avoided. For the days after the close of the Old Home Week Charity her by the all day when she was not at her post in the library; but after that a period of rain set in, and one afternoon, Ally, sure that she would her friend indoors, came around to the red house with her sewing.
The two girls sat in Charity's room. Charity, her hands in her lap, was in a of dream, through which she was only half-conscious of Ally, who sat opposite her in a low rush-bottomed chair, her work to her knee, and her thin up as she above it.
“It was my idea a through the gauging,” she said proudly, to the she was trimming. “It's for Miss Balch: she was pleased.” She paused and then added, with a in her voice: “I darsn't have told her I got the idea from one I saw on Julia.”
Charity her listlessly. “Do you still see Julia sometimes?”
Ally reddened, as if the had her unintentionally. “Oh, it was a long time ago I her with those gaugings....”
Silence again, and Ally presently continued: “Miss Balch left me a whole of to do over this time.”
“Why—has she gone?” Charity with an start of apprehension.
“Didn't you know? She off the after they had the at Hamblin. I her drive by early with Mr. Harney.”
There was another silence, by the of the rain against the window, and, at intervals, by the of Ally's scissors.
Ally gave a laugh. “Do you know what she told me she away? She told me she was going to send for me to come over to Springfield and make some for her wedding.”
Charity again her and at Ally's pointed face, which moved to and above her moving fingers.
“Is she going to married?”
Ally let the to her knee, and sat at it. Her dry, and she them a little with her tongue.
“Why, I so... from what she said.... Didn't you know?”
“Why should I know?”
Ally did not answer. She above the blouse, and out a with the point of the scissors.
“Why should I know?” Charity harshly.
“I didn't know but what... here say she's to Mr. Harney.”
Charity up with a laugh, and her arms above her head.
“If all the people got married that say are going to you'd have your time full making wedding-dresses,” she said ironically.
“Why—don't you it?” Ally ventured.
“It would not make it true if I did—nor prevent it if I didn't.”
“That's so.... I only know I her the night of the party her dress didn't set right. That was why she wouldn't any....”
Charity at the on Ally's knee. Abruptly she and it up.
“Well, I she won't in this either,” she said with violence; and the in her hands she it in two and the to the floor.
“Oh, Charity——” Ally cried, up. For a long the two girls each other across the garment. Ally into tears.
“Oh, what'll I say to her? What'll I do? It was lace!” she her sobs.
Charity at her unrelentingly. “You'd oughtn't to have it here,” she said, quickly. “I other people's clothes—it's just as if they was there themselves.” The two at each other again over this avowal, till Charity out, in a of anguish: “Oh, go—go—go—or I'll you too....”
When Ally left her, she across her bed.
The long was by a north-west gale, and when it was over, the took on their tints, the sky more blue, and the big white clouds against the like snow-banks. The maple-leaves to across Miss Hatchard's lawn, and the Virginia on the Memorial the white with scarlet. It was a September. Day by day the of the Virginia spread to the in of and crimson, the like the thin yellow about a fire, the and smouldered, and the black to against the of the forest.
The nights were cold, with a of so high up that they smaller and more vivid. Sometimes, as Charity on her through the long hours, she as though she were to those and with them around the great black vault. At night she planned many things... it was then she to Harney. But the were put on paper, for she did not know how to what she wanted to tell him. So she waited. Since her talk with Ally she had sure that Harney was to Annabel Balch, and that the of “settling things” would involve the of this tie. Her of over, she no on this score. She was still sure that Harney would come back, and she was sure that, for the moment at least, it was she he loved and not Miss Balch. Yet the girl, no less, a rival, since she all the that Charity herself most of or achieving. Annabel Balch was, if not the girl Harney ought to marry, at least the of girl it would be natural for him to marry. Charity had been able to picture herself as his wife; had been able to the and it out in its daily consequences; but she perfectly Annabel Balch in that relation to him.
The more she of these the more the of on her: she the of against the circumstances. She had how to herself; she only and tear and destroy. The with Ally had left her with at her own savagery. What would Harney have if he had it? But when she the over in her puzzled mind she not what a person would have done in her place. She herself too against unknown forces....
At length this moved her to action. She took a of paper from Mr. Royall's office, and by the lamp, one night after Verena had gone to bed, her to Harney. It was very short:
I want you should Annabel Balch if you promised to. I think maybe you were I'd too about it. I I'd you right. Your CHARITY.
She posted the early the next morning, and for a days her light. Then she to wonder why she no answer.
One day as she sat alone in the library these the of books to around her, and the to under her elbows. The was by a of like that she had on the day of the in the Town Hall. But the Town Hall had been and hot, and the library was empty, and so that she had on her jacket. Five minutes she had perfectly well; and now it as if she were going to die. The of at which she still from her fingers, and the to the floor. She pressed her temples hard her hands, herself against the while the of over her. Little by little it subsided, and after a minutes she up, and terrified, for her hat, and out into the air. But the whole autumn whirled, and around her as she herself along the length of the road home.
As she approached the red house she saw a at the door, and her gave a leap. But it was only Mr. Royall who got out, his travelling-bag in hand. He saw her coming, and waited in the porch. She was that he was looking at her intently, as if there was something in her appearance, and she her with a at ease. Their met, and she said: “You back?” as if nothing had happened, and he answered: “Yes, I'm back,” and walked in ahead of her, pushing open the door of his office. She to her room, every step of the stairs her fast as if her were with glue.
Two days later, she from the train at Nettleton, and walked out of the station into the square. The of cold weather was over, and the day was as soft, and almost as hot, as when she and Harney had on the same on the Fourth of July. In the square the same broken-down and carry-alls up in a line, and the with fly-nets over their their to and fro. She the over the eating-houses and saloons, and the long lines of on the main to the park at its other end. Taking the way the pointed, she on hastily, with head, till she a wide with a at the corner. She this and up at the of the building; then she returned, and entered a door opening on a of brass-rimmed stairs. On the second landing she a bell, and a girl with a and a let her into a where a on his a card-tray to visitors. At the of the was a door marked: “Office.” After waiting a minutes in a room, with by large gold-framed of women, Charity was into the office....
When she came out of the door Dr. Merkle followed, and her into another room, smaller, and still more with and gold frames. Dr. Merkle was a woman with small eyes, an of black low on her forehead, and white and teeth. She a rich black dress, with gold and from her bosom. Her hands were large and smooth, and quick in all their movements; and she of and acid.
She on Charity with all her teeth. “Sit down, my dear. Wouldn't you like a little of something to you up?... No.... Well, just a minute then.... There's nothing to be done just yet; but in about a month, if you'll step again... I take you right into my own house for two or three days, and there wouldn't be a of trouble. Mercy me! The next time you'll know better'n to like this....”
Charity at her with eyes. This woman with the false hair, the false teeth, the false smile—what was she her but from some crime? Charity, till then, had been only of a self-disgust and a physical distress; now, of a sudden, there came to her the of motherhood. She had come to this place she of no other way of making sure that she was not about her state; and the woman had taken her for a like Julia.... The was so that she up, white and shaking, one of her great of anger over her.
Dr. Merkle, still smiling, also rose. “Why do you off in such a hurry? You can out right here on my sofa....” She paused, and her more motherly. “Afterwards—if there's been any talk at home, and you want to away for a while... I have a lady friend in Boston who's looking for a companion... you're the very one to her, my dear....”
Charity had the door. “I don't want to stay. I don't want to come here,” she stammered, her hand on the knob; but with a movement, Dr. Merkle her from the threshold.
“Oh, very well. Five dollars, please.”
Charity looked at the doctor's tight and face. Her last savings had gone in Ally for the cost of Miss Balch's blouse, and she had had to borrow four from her friend to pay for her railway ticket and the doctor's fee. It had to her that medical cost more than two dollars.
“I didn't know... I haven't got that much...” she faltered, into tears.
Dr. Merkle gave a laugh which did not her teeth, and with if Charity she ran the for her own amusement? She her against the door as she spoke, like a making terms with her captive.
“You say you'll come and settle later? I've that often too. Give me your address, and if you can't pay me I'll send the bill to your folks.... What? I can't what you say.... That don't you either? My, you're particular for a girl that ain't got to settle her own bills....” She paused, and her on the with a that Charity had to her blouse.
“Ain't you to talk that way to a lady that's got to earn her living, when you go about with like that on you?... It ain't in my line, and I do it only as a favour... but if you're a mind to that as a pledge, I don't say no.... Yes, of course, you can it when you me my money....”
On the way home, she an and quietude. It had been to have to Harney's gift in the woman's hands, but at that price the news she away had not been too bought. She sat with half-closed as the train through the familiar landscape; and now the memories of her journey, of her like leaves, to be in her blood like sleeping grain. She would again know what it was to herself alone. Everything to have clear and simple. She no longer had any in herself as Harney's wife now that she was the mother of his child; and to her right Annabel Balch's no more than a girl's fancy.
That evening, at the gate of the red house, she Ally waiting in the dusk. “I was at the post-office just as they were up, and Will Targatt said there was a for you, so I it.”
Ally out the letter, looking at Charity with sympathy. Since the of the there had been a new and in the she on her friend.
Charity the with a laugh. “Oh, thank you—good-night,” she called out over her as she ran up the path. If she had a moment she she would have had Ally at her heels.
She and her way into her dark room. Her hands as she for the matches and her candle, and the of the was so closely that she had to her scissors and it open. At length she read:
“DEAR CHARITY:
“I have your letter, and it touches me more than I can say. Won't you trust me, in return, to do my best? There are it is hard to explain, much less to justify; but your makes easier. All I can do now is to thank you from my for understanding. Your telling me that you wanted me to do right has helped me expression. If there is a of what we of you will see me on the instant; and I haven't yet that hope."
She read the with a rush; then she over and over it, each time more slowly and painstakingly. It was so that she it almost as difficult to as the gentleman's of the Bible pictures at Nettleton; but she aware that the of its meaning in the last words. “If there is a of what we of...”
But then he wasn't sure of that? She now that every word and every was an of Annabel Balch's claim. It was true that he was to her, and that he had not yet a way of his engagement.
As she read the over Charity what it must have cost him to it. He was not trying to an claim; he was and duties. She did not him in her for having from her that he was not free: she not see anything more in his than in her own. From the she had needed him more than he had wanted her, and the power that had them together had been as as a great the of the forest.... Only, there them, and in the upheaval, the of Annabel Balch....
Face to with his of the fact, she sat at the letter. A cold ran over her, and the hard up into her and her from to foot. For a while she was and on great of that left her of anything but the against their assaults. Then, little by little, she to relive, with a poignancy, each stage of her romance. Foolish she had said came to her, Harney had made, his in the the fireworks, their the together, the way he had her about the she had in her from the evangelist. All these memories, and a thousand others, through her brain till his so that she his in her hair, and his warm on her as he her like a flower. These were hers; they had passed into her blood, and a part of her, they were the child in her womb; it was to tear of life so interwoven.
The her, and she to in her mind the of the she meant to to Harney. She wanted to it at once, and with hands she to in her for a of paper. But there was none left; she must go to it. She had a that the must be on the instant, that setting her in would her and safety; and taking up her she to Mr. Royall's office.
At that hour she was not likely to him there: he had had his supper and walked over to Carrick Fry's. She pushed open the door of the room, and the light of her on his figure, seated in the in his high-backed chair. His arms along the arms of the chair, and his was a little; but he it as Charity entered. She started as their met, that her own were red with weeping, and that her was with the and of her journey. But it was too late to escape, and she and looked at him in silence.
He had from his chair, and came toward her with hands. The was so that she let him take her hands in his and they thus, without speaking, till Mr. Royall said gravely: “Charity—was you looking for me?”
She herself and back. “Me? No——” She set the on his desk. “I wanted some letter-paper, that's all.” His contracted, and the over his eyes. Without he opened the of the desk, took out a of paper and an envelope, and pushed them toward her. “Do you want a too?” he asked.
She nodded, and he gave her the stamp. As he did so she that he was looking at her intently, and she that the light up on her white must be her and the dark about her eyes. She up the paper, her under his gaze, in which she to read the of her state, and the of the day when, in that very room, he had offered to Harney to her. His look to say that he she had taken the paper to to her lover, who had left her as he had her she would be left. She the with which she had from him that day, and knew, if he the truth, what a list of old it must settle. She and upstairs; but when she got to her room all the that had been waiting had vanished....
If she have gone to Harney it would have been different; she would only have had to herself to let his memories speak for her. But she had no money left, and there was no one from she have for such a journey. There was nothing to do but to write, and his reply. For a long time she sat above the blank page; but she nothing to say that what she was feeling....
Harney had that she had it for him, and she was it was so; she did not want to make hard. She she had it in her power to do that; she his in her hands. All she had to do was to tell him the truth; but that was the very that her back.... Her five minutes to with Mr. Royall had her of her last illusion, and her to North Dormer's point of view. Distinctly and there rose her the of the girl who was married “to make right.” She had too many village love-stories end in that way. Poor Rose Coles's marriage was of the number; and what good had come of it for her or for Halston Skeff? They had each other from the day the minister married them; and old Mrs. Skeff had a to her daughter-in-law she had only to say: “Who'd think the baby's only two? And for a seven months' child—ain't it a wonder what a size he is?” North Dormer had of for in the burning, but only for those who succeeded in from it; and Charity had always Julia Hawes's to be snatched....
Only—was there no but Julia's? Her from the of the white-faced woman among the and frames. In the order of as she them she saw no place for her adventure....
She sat in her chair without till to the black of the shutters. Then she up and pushed them open, in the light. The of a new day a of reality, and with it a of the need of action. She looked at herself in the glass, and saw her face, white in the autumn dawn, with and dark-ringed eyes, and all the marks of her that she herself would have noticed, but that Dr. Merkle's had plain to her. She not that those would the village; her its shape she her would her.
Leaning from her window she looked out on the dark and empty scene; the houses with windows, the road the to the above the cemetery, and the of the Mountain black against a rainy sky. To the east a space of light was above the forest; but over that also the clouds hung. Slowly her across the to the of the hills. She had looked out so often on that circle, and if anything to anyone who was in it....
Almost without her had been reached; as her had the circle of the her mind had also the old round. She it was something in her blood that the Mountain the only answer to her questioning, the from all that her in and her. At any it to against the rainy dawn; and the longer she looked at it the more she that now at last she was going there.
