NORTH DORMER'S celebration naturally included thevillages attached to its township, and the festivitieswere to radiate over the whole group, from Dormer andthe two Crestons to Hamblin, the lonely hamlet on thenorth slope of the Mountain where the first snow alwaysfell. On the third day there were speeches andceremonies at Creston and Creston River; on the fourththe principal performers were to be driven in buck-boards to Dormer and Hamblin.

　　It was on the fourth day that Charity returned for thefirst time to the little house. She had not seenHarney alone since they had parted at the wood's edgethe night before the celebrations began. In theinterval she had passed through many moods, but for themoment the terror which had seized her in the Town Hallhad faded to the edge of consciousness. She hadfainted because the hall was stiflingly hot, andbecause the speakers had gone on and on....Severalother people had been affected by the heat, andhad had to leave before the exercises were over. Therehad been thunder in the air all the afternoon, andeveryone said afterward that something ought to havebeen done to ventilate the hall....

　　At the dance that evening--where she had gonereluctantly, and only because she feared to stay away,she had sprung back into instant reassurance. As soonas she entered she had seen Harney waiting for her, andhe had come up with kind gay eyes, and swept her off ina waltz. Her feet were full of music, and though heronly training had been with the village youths she hadno difficulty in tuning her steps to his. As theycircled about the floor all her vain fears dropped fromher, and she even forgot that she was probably dancingin Annabel Balch's slippers.

　　When the waltz was over Harney, with a last hand-clasp,left her to meet Miss Hatchard and Miss Balch, who werejust entering. Charity had a moment of anguish as MissBalch appeared; but it did not last. The triumphantfact of her own greater beauty, and of Harney's senseof it, swept her apprehensions aside. Miss Balch, inan unbecoming dress, looked sallow and pinched, andCharity fancied there was a worried expression inher pale-lashed eyes. She took a seat near MissHatchard and it was presently apparent that she did notmean to dance. Charity did not dance often either.

　　Harney explained to her that Miss Hatchard had beggedhim to give each of the other girls a turn; but he wentthrough the form of asking Charity's permission eachtime he led one out, and that gave her a sense ofsecret triumph even completer than when she waswhirling about the room with him.

　　She was thinking of all this as she waited for him inthe deserted house. The late afternoon was sultry, andshe had tossed aside her hat and stretched herself atfull length on the Mexican blanket because it wascooler indoors than under the trees. She lay with herarms folded beneath her head, gazing out at the shaggyshoulder of the Mountain. The sky behind it was fullof the splintered glories of the descending sun, andbefore long she expected to hear Harney's bicycle-bellin the lane. He had bicycled to Hamblin, instead ofdriving there with his cousin and her friends, so thathe might be able to make his escape earlier and stop onthe way back at the deserted house, which was onthe road to Hamblin. They had smiled together at thejoke of hearing the crowded buck-boards roll by on thereturn, while they lay close in their hiding above theroad. Such childish triumphs still gave her a sense ofreckless security.

　　Nevertheless she had not wholly forgotten the vision offear that had opened before her in the Town Hall. Thesense of lastingness was gone from her and every momentwith Harney would now be ringed with doubt.

　　The Mountain was turning purple against a fiery sunsetfrom which it seemed to be divided by a knife-edge ofquivering light; and above this wall of flame the wholesky was a pure pale green, like some cold mountain lakein shadow. Charity lay gazing up at it, and watchingfor the first white star....

　　Her eyes were still fixed on the upper reaches of thesky when she became aware that a shadow had flittedacross the glory-flooded room: it must have been Harneypassing the window against the sunset....She halfraised herself, and then dropped back on her foldedarms. The combs had slipped from her hair, and ittrailed in a rough dark rope across her breast. Shelay quite still, a sleepy smile on her lips, herindolent lids half shut. There was a fumbling at thepadlock and she called out: "Have you slipped thechain?" The door opened, and Mr. Royall walked into theroom.

　　She started up, sitting back against the cushions, andthey looked at each other without speaking. Then Mr.

　　Royall closed the door-latch and advanced a few steps.

　　Charity jumped to her feet. "What have you come for?"she stammered.

　　The last glare of the sunset was on her guardian'sface, which looked ash-coloured in the yellow radiance.

　　"Because I knew you were here," he answered simply.

　　She had become conscious of the hair hanging looseacross her breast, and it seemed as though she couldnot speak to him till she had set herself in order. Shegroped for her comb, and tried to fasten up the coil.

　　Mr. Royall silently watched her.

　　"Charity," he said, "he'll be here in a minute. Let metalk to you first.""You've got no right to talk to me. I can do what Iplease.""Yes. What is it you mean to do?""I needn't answer that, or anything else."He had glanced away, and stood looking curiously aboutthe illuminated room. Purple asters and red maple-leaves filled the jar on the table; on a shelf againstthe wall stood a lamp, the kettle, a little pile ofcups and saucers. The canvas chairs were groupedabout the table.

　　"So this is where you meet," he said.

　　His tone was quiet and controlled, and the factdisconcerted her. She had been ready to give himviolence for violence, but this calm acceptance ofthings as they were left her without a weapon.

　　"See here, Charity--you're always telling me I've gotno rights over you. There might be two ways of lookingat that--but I ain't going to argue it. All I know isI raised you as good as I could, and meant fairly byyou always except once, for a bad half-hour. There'sno justice in weighing that half-hour against the rest,and you know it. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have goneo............