That night, as usual, they said good-bye at the wood'sedge.
Harney was to leave the next morning early. He askedCharity to say nothing of their plans till his return,and, strangely even to herself, she was glad of thepostponement. A leaden weight of shame hung on her,benumbing every other sensation, and she bade him good-bye with hardly a sign of emotion. His reiteratedpromises to return seemed almost wounding. She had nodoubt that he intended to come back; her doubts werefar deeper and less definable.
Since the fanciful vision of the future that hadflitted through her imagination at their first meetingshe had hardly ever thought of his marrying her. Shehad not had to put the thought from her mind; it hadnot been there. If ever she looked ahead she feltinstinctively that the gulf between them was too deep,and that the bridge their passion had flung across itwas as insubstantial as a rainbow. But she seldomlooked ahead; each day was so rich that it absorbedher....Now her first feeling was that everything wouldbe different, and that she herself would be a differentbeing to Harney. Instead of remaining separate andabsolute, she would be compared with other people, andunknown things would be expected of her. She was tooproud to be afraid, but the freedom of her spiritdrooped....
Harney had not fixed any date for his return; he hadsaid he would have to look about first, and settlethings. He had promised to write as soon as there wasanything definite to say, and had left her his address,and asked her to write also. But the addressfrightened her. It was in New York, at a club with along name in Fifth Avenue: it seemed to raise aninsurmountable barrier between them. Once or twice, inthe first days, she got out a sheet of paper, and satlooking at it, and trying to think what to say; but shehad the feeling that her letter would never reach itsdestination. She had never written to anyone fartheraway than Hepburn.
Harney's first letter came after he had been gone aboutten days. It was tender but grave, and bore noresemblance to the gay little notes he had sent her bythe freckled boy from Creston River. He spokepositively of his intention of coming back, but namedno date, and reminded Charity of their agreement thattheir plans should not be divulged till he had had timeto "settle things." When that would be he could not yetforesee; but she could count on his returning as soonas the way was clear.
She read the letter with a strange sense of its comingfrom immeasurable distances and having lost most of itsmeaning on the way; and in reply she sent him acoloured postcard of Creston Falls, on which she wrote:
"With love from Charity." She felt the pitifulinadequacy of this, and understood, with a sense ofdespair, that in her inability to express herself shemust give him an impression of coldness and reluctance;but she could not help it. She could not forget thathe had never spoken to her of marriage till Mr. Royallhad forced the word from his lips; though she had nothad the strength to shake off the spell that bound herto him she had lost all spontaneity of feeling, andseemed to herself to be passively awaiting a fate shecould not avert.
She had not seen Mr. Royall on her return to thered house. The morning after her parting from Harney,when she came down from her room, Verena told her thather guardian had gone off to Worcester and Portland.
It was the time of year when he usually reported to theinsurance agencies he represented, and there wasnothing unusual in his departure except its suddenness.
She thought little about him, except to be glad he wasnot there....
She kept to herself for the first days, while NorthDormer was recovering from its brief plunge intopublicity, and the subsiding agitation left herunnoticed. But the faithful Ally could not be longavoided. For the first few days after the close of theOld Home Week festivities Charity escaped her byroaming the hills all day when she was not at her postin the library; but after that a period of rain set in,and one pouring afternoon, Ally, sure that she wouldfind her friend indoors, came around to the red housewith her sewing.
The two girls sat upstairs in Charity's room. Charity,her idle hands in her lap, was sunk in a kind of leadendream, through which she was only half-conscious ofAlly, who sat opposite her in a low rush-bottomedchair, her work pinned to her knee, and her thin lipspursed up as she bent above it.
"It was my idea running a ribbon through the gauging,"she said proudly, drawing back to contemplate theblouse she was trimming. "It's for Miss Balch: she wasawfully pleased." She paused and then added, with aqueer tremor in her piping voice: "I darsn't have toldher I got the idea from one I saw on Julia."Charity raised her eyes listlessly. "Do you still seeJulia sometimes?"Ally reddened, as if the allusion had escaped herunintentionally. "Oh, it was a long time ago I seenher with those gaugings...."Silence fell again, and Ally presently continued: "MissBalch left me a whole lot of things to do over thistime.""Why--has she gone?" Charity inquired with an innerstart of apprehension.
"Didn't you know? She went off the morning after theyhad the celebration at Hamblin. I seen her drive byearly with Mr. Harney."There was another silence, measured by the steady tickof the rain against the window, and, at intervals, bythe snipping sound of Ally's scissors.
Ally gave a meditative laugh. "Do you know whatshe told me before she went away? She told me she wasgoing to send for me to come over to Springfield andmake some things for her wedding."Charity again lifted her heavy lids and stared atAlly's pale pointed face, which moved to and fro aboveher moving fingers.
"Is she going to get married?"Ally let the blouse sink to her knee, and sat gazing atit. Her lips seemed suddenly dry, and she moistenedthem a little with her tongue.
"Why, I presume so...from what she said....Didn't youknow?""Why should I know?"Ally did not answer. She bent above the blouse, andbegan picking out a basting thread with the point ofthe scissors.
"Why should I know?" Charity repeated harshly.
"I didn't know but what...folks here say she's engagedto Mr. Harney."Charity stood up with a laugh, and stretched her armslazily above her head.
"If all the people got married that folks say aregoing to you'd have your time full making wedding-dresses," she said ironically.
"Why--don't you believe it?" Ally ventured.
"It would not make it true if I did--nor prevent it ifI didn't.""That's so....I only know I seen her crying the nightof the party because her dress didn't set right. Thatwas why she wouldn't dance any...."Charity stood absently gazing down at the lacy garmenton Ally's knee. Abruptly she stooped and snatched itup.
"Well, I guess she won't dance in this either," shesaid with sudden violence; and grasping the blouse inher strong young hands she tore it in two and flung thetattered bits to the floor.
"Oh, Charity----" Ally cried, springing up. For a longinterval the two girls faced each other across theruined garment. Ally burst into tears.
"Oh, what'll I say to her? What'll I do? It was reallace!" she wailed between her piping sobs.
Charity glared at her unrelentingly. "You'd oughtn'tto have brought it here," she said, breathing quickly.
"I hate other people's clothes--it's just as if theywas there themselves." The two stared at each otheragain over this avowal, till Charity brought out,in a gasp of anguish: "Oh, go--go--go--or I'll hate youtoo...."When Ally left her, she fell sobbing across her bed.
The long storm was followed by a north-west gale, andwhen it was over, the hills took on their first umbertints, the sky grew more densely blue, and the bigwhite clouds lay against the hills like snow-banks. Thefirst crisp maple-leaves began to spin across MissHatchard's lawn, and the Virginia creeper on theMemorial splashed the white porch with scarlet. It wasa golden triumphant September. Day by day the flame ofthe Virginia creeper spread to the hillsides in widerwaves of carmine and crimson, the larches glowed likethe thin yellow halo about a fire, the maples blazedand smouldered, and the black hemlocks turned to indigoagainst the incandescence of the forest.
The nights were cold, with a dry glitter of stars sohigh up that they seemed smaller and more vivid.
Sometimes, as Charity lay sleepless on her bed throughthe long hours, she felt as though she were bound tothose wheeling fires and swinging with them around thegreat black vault. At night she planned manythings...it was then she wrote to Harney. But theletters were never put on paper, for she did not knowhow to express what she wanted to tell him. So shewaited. Since her talk with Ally she had felt surethat Harney was engaged to Annabel Balch, and that theprocess of "settling things" would involve the breakingof this tie. Her first rage of jealousy over, she feltno fear on this score. She was still sure that Harneywould come back, and she was equally sure that, for themoment at least, it was she whom he loved and not MissBalch. Yet the girl, no less, remained a rival, sinceshe represented all the things that Charity feltherself most incapable of understanding or achieving.
Annabel Balch was, if not the girl Harney ought tomarry, at least the kind of girl it would be naturalfor him to marry. Charity had never been able topicture herself as his wife; had never been able toarrest the vision and follow it out in its dailyconsequences; but she could perfectly imagine AnnabelBalch in that relation to him.
The more she thought of these things the more the senseof fatality weighed on her: she felt the uselessness ofstruggling against the circumstances. She had neverknown how to adapt herself; she could only breakand tear and destroy. The scene with Ally had left herstricken with shame at her own childish savagery. Whatwould Harney have thought if he had witnessed it? Butwhen she turned the incident over in her puzzled mindshe could not imagine what a civilized person wouldhave done in her place. She felt herself too unequallypitted against unknown forces....
At length this feeling moved her to sudden action. Shetook a sheet of letter paper from Mr. Royall's office,and sitting by the kitchen lamp, one night after Verenahad gone to bed, began her first letter to Harney. Itwas very short:
I want you should marry Annabel Balch if you promisedto. I think maybe you were afraid I'd feel too badabout it. I feel I'd rather you acted right.
Your lovingCHARITY.
She posted the letter early the next morning, and for afew days her heart felt strangely light. Then shebegan to wonder why she received no answer.
One day as she sat alone in the library pondering thesethings the walls of books began to spin around her, andthe rosewood desk to rock under her elbows. Thedizziness was followed by a wave of nausea like thatshe had felt on the day of the exercises in the TownHall. But the Town Hall had been crowded andstiflingly hot, and the library was empty, and sochilly that she had kept on her jacket. Five minutesbefore she had felt perfectly well; and now it seemedas if she were going to die. The bit of lace at whichshe still languidly worked dropped from her fingers,and the steel crochet hook clattered to the floor. Shepressed her temples hard between her damp hands,steadying herself against the desk while the wave ofsickness swept over her. Little by little it subsided,and after a few minutes she stood up, shaken andterrified, groped for her hat, and stumbled out intothe air. But the whole sunlit autumn whirled, reeledand roared around her as she dragged herself along theinterminable length of the road home.
As she approached the red house she saw a buggystanding at the door, and her heart gave a leap. Butit was only Mr. Royall who got out, his travelling-bagin hand. He saw her coming, and waited in the porch.
She was conscious that he was looking at her intently,as if there was something strange in her appearance,and she threw back her head with a desperateeffort at ease. Their eyes met, and she said: "Youback?" as if nothing had happened, and he answered:
"Yes, I'm back," and walked in ahead of her, pushingopen the door of his office. She climbed to her room,every step of the stairs holding her fast as if herfeet were lined with glue.
Two days later, she descended from the train atNettleton, and walked out of the station into the dustysquare. The brief interval of cold weather was over,and the day was as soft, and almost as hot, as when sheand Harney had emerged on the same scene on the Fourthof July. In the square the same broken-down hacks andcarry-alls stood drawn up in a despondent line, and thelank horses with fly-nets over their withers swayedtheir heads drearily to and fro. She recognized thestaring signs over the eating-houses and billiardsaloons, and the long lines of wires on lofty polestapering down the main street to the park at its otherend. Taking the way the wires pointed, she went onhastily, with bent head, till she reached a widetransverse street with a brick building at the corner.
She crossed this street and glanced furtively up at thefront of the brick building; then she returned,and entered a door opening on a flight of steepbrass-rimmed stairs. On the second landing she rang abell, and a mulatto girl with a bushy head and afrilled apron let her into a hall where a stuffed foxon his hind legs proffered a brass card-tray tovisitors. At the back of the hall was a glazed doormarked: "Office." After waiting a few minutes in ahandsomely furnished room, with plush sofas surmountedby large gold-framed photographs of showy young women,Charity was shown into the office....
When she came out of the glazed door Dr. Merklefollowed, and led her into another room, smaller, andstill more crowded with plush and gold frames. Dr.
