AT two o'clock in the morning the freckled boy fromCreston stopped his sleepy horse at the door of the redhouse, and Charity got out. Harney had taken leave ofher at Creston River, charging the boy to drive herhome. Her mind was still in a fog of misery, and shedid not remember very clearly what had happened, orwhat they said to each other, during the interminableinterval since their departure from Nettleton; but thesecretive instinct of the animal in pain was so strongin her that she had a sense of relief when Harney gotout and she drove on alone.
The full moon hung over North Dormer, whitening themist that filled the hollows between the hills andfloated transparently above the fields. Charity stooda moment at the gate, looking out into the waningnight. She watched the boy drive off, his horse's headwagging heavily to and fro; then she went around to thekitchen door and felt under the mat for the key. Shefound it, unlocked the door and went in. Thekitchen was dark, but she discovered a box of matches,lit a candle and went upstairs. Mr. Royall's door,opposite hers, stood open on his unlit room; evidentlyhe had not come back. She went into her room, boltedher door and began slowly to untie the ribbon about herwaist, and to take off her dress. Under the bed shesaw the paper bag in which she had hidden her new hatfrom inquisitive eyes....
She lay for a long time sleepless on her bed, staringup at the moonlight on the low ceiling; dawn was in thesky when she fell asleep, and when she woke the sun wason her face.
She dressed and went down to the kitchen. Verena wasthere alone: she glanced at Charity tranquilly, withher old deaf-looking eyes. There was no sign of Mr.
Royall about the house and the hours passed without hisreappearing. Charity had gone up to her room, and satthere listlessly, her hands on her lap. Puffs ofsultry air fanned her dimity window curtains and fliesbuzzed stiflingly against the bluish panes.
At one o'clock Verena hobbled up to see if she were notcoming down to dinner; but she shook her head, andthe old woman went away, saying: "I'll cover up, then."The sun turned and left her room, and Charity seatedherself in the window, gazing down the village streetthrough the half-opened shutters. Not a thought was inher mind; it was just a dark whirlpool of crowdingimages; and she watched the people passing along thestreet, Dan Targatt's team hauling a load of pine-trunks down to Hepburn, the sexton's old white horsegrazing on the bank across the way, as if she looked atthese familiar sights from the other side of the grave.
She was roused from her apathy by seeing Ally Hawescome out of the Frys' gate and walk slowly toward thered house with her uneven limping step. At the sightCharity recovered her severed contact with reality. Shedivined that Ally was coming to hear about her day: noone else was in the secret of the trip to Nettleton,and it had flattered Ally profoundly to be allowed toknow of it.
At the thought of having to see her, of having to meether eyes and answer or evade her questions, the wholehorror of the previous night's adventure rushed backupon Charity. What had been a feverish nightmarebecame a cold and unescapable fact. Poor Ally, at thatmoment, represented North Dormer, with all its meancuriosities, its furtive malice, its shamunconsciousness of evil. Charity knew that, althoughall relations with Julia were supposed to be severed,the tender-hearted Ally still secretly communicatedwith her; and no doubt Julia would exult in the chanceof retailing the scandal of the wharf. The story,exaggerated and distorted, was probably already on itsway to North Dormer.
Ally's dragging pace had not carried her far from theFrys' gate when she was stopped by old Mrs. Sollas, whowas a great talker, and spoke very slowly because shehad never been able to get used to her new teeth fromHepburn. Still, even this respite would not last long;in another ten minutes Ally would be at the door, andCharity would hear her greeting Verena in the kitchen,and then calling up from the foot of the stairs.
Suddenly it became clear that flight, and instantflight, was the only thing conceivable. The longing toescape, to get away from familiar faces, from placeswhere she was known, had always been strong in her inmoments of distress. She had a childish belief inthe miraculous power of strange scenes and new faces totransform her life and wipe out bitter memories. Butsuch impulses were mere fleeting whims compared to thecold resolve which now possessed her. She felt shecould not remain an hour longer under the roof of theman who had publicly dishonoured her, and face to facewith the people who would presently be gloating overall the details of her humiliation.
Her passing pity for Mr. Royall had been swallowed upin loathing: everything in her recoiled from thedisgraceful spectacle of the drunken old manapostrophizing her in the presence of a band of loafersand street-walkers. Suddenly, vividly, she relivedagain the horrible moment when he had tried to forcehimself into her room, and what she had before supposedto be a mad aberration now appeared to her as a vulgarincident in a debauched and degraded life.
While these thoughts were hurrying through her she haddragged out her old canvas school-bag, and wasthrusting into it a few articles of clothing and thelittle packet of letters she had received from Harney.
From under her pincushion she took the library key, andlaid it in full view; then she felt at the back ofa drawer for the blue brooch that Harney had given her.
She would not have dared to wear it openly at NorthDormer, but now she fastened it on her bosom as if itwere a talisman to protect her in her flight. Thesepreparations had taken but a few minutes, and when theywere finished Ally Hawes was still at the Frys' cornertalking to old Mrs. Sollas....
She had said to herself, as she always said in momentsof revolt: "I'll go to the Mountain--I'll go back to myown folks." She had never really meant it before; butnow, as she considered her case, no other course seemedopen. She had never learned any trade that would havegiven her independence in a strange place, and she knewno one in the big towns of the valley, where she mighthave hoped to find employment. Miss Hatchard was stillaway; but even had she been at North Dormer she was thelast person to whom Charity would have turned, sinceone of the motives urging her to flight was the wishnot to see Lucius Harney. Travelling back fromNettleton, in the crowded brightly-lit train, allexchange of confidence between them had beenimpossible; but during their drive from Hepburn toCreston River she had gathered from Harney's snatchesof consolatory talk--again hampered by the freckledboy's presence--that he intended to see her the nextday. At the moment she had found a vague comfort inthe assurance; but in the desolate lucidity of thehours that followed she had come to see theimpossibility of meeting him again. Her dream ofcomradeship was over; and the scene on the wharf--vileand disgraceful as it had been--had after all shed thelight of truth on her minute of madness. It was as ifher guardian's words had stripped her bare in the faceof the grinning crowd and proclaimed to the world thesecret admonitions of her conscience.
She did not think these things out clearly; she simplyfollowed the blind propulsion of her wretchedness. Shedid not want, ever again, to see anyone she had known;above all, she did not want to see Harney....
She climbed the hill-path behind the house and struckthrough the woods by a short-cut leading to the Crestonroad. A lead-coloured sky hung heavily over thefields, and in the forest the motionless air wasstifling; but she pushed on, impatient to reachthe road which was the shortest way to the Mountain.
To do so, she had to follow the Creston road for a mileor two, and go within half a mile of the village; andshe walked quickly, fearing to meet Harney. But therewas no sign of him, and she had almost reached thebranch road when she saw the flanks of a large whitetent projecting through the trees by the roadside. Shesupposed that it sheltered a travelling circus whichhad come there for the Fourth; but as she drew nearershe saw, over the folded-back flap, a large signbearing the inscription, "Gospel Tent." The interiorseemed to be empty; but a young man in a black alpacacoat, his lank hair parted over a round white face,stepped from under the flap and advanced toward herwith a smile.
"Sister, your Saviour knows everything. Won't you comein and lay your guilt before Him?" he askedinsinuatingly, putti............