THE rain held off, and an hour later, when she started,wild gleams of sunlight were blowing across the fields.
After Harney's departure she had returned her bicycleto its owner at Creston, and she was not sure of beingable to walk all the way to the Mountain. The desertedhouse was on the road; but the idea of spending thenight there was unendurable, and she meant to try topush on to Hamblin, where she could sleep under a wood-shed if her strength should fail her. Her preparationshad been made with quiet forethought. Before startingshe had forced herself to swallow a glass of milk andeat a piece of bread; and she had put in her canvassatchel a little packet of the chocolate that Harneyalways carried in his bicycle bag. She wanted aboveall to keep up her strength, and reach her destinationwithout attracting notice....
Mile by mile she retraced the road over which she hadso often flown to her lover. When she reached theturn where the wood-road branched off from the Crestonhighway she remembered the Gospel tent--long sincefolded up and transplanted--and her start ofinvoluntary terror when the fat evangelist had said:
"Your Saviour knows everything. Come and confess yourguilt." There was no sense of guilt in her now, butonly a desperate desire to defend her secret fromirreverent eyes, and begin life again among people towhom the harsh code of the village was unknown. Theimpulse did not shape itself in thought: she only knewshe must save her baby, and hide herself with itsomewhere where no one would ever come to trouble them.
She walked on and on, growing more heavy-footed as theday advanced. It seemed a cruel chance that compelledher to retrace every step of the way to the desertedhouse; and when she came in sight of the orchard, andthe silver-gray roof slanting crookedly through theladen branches, her strength failed her and she satdown by the road-side. She sat there a long time,trying to gather the courage to start again, and walkpast the broken gate and the untrimmed rose-bushesstrung with scarlet hips. A few drops of rain werefalling, and she thought of the warm evenings whenshe and Harney had sat embraced in the shadowy room,and the noise of summer showers on the roof had rustledthrough their kisses. At length she understood that ifshe stayed any longer the rain might compel her to takeshelter in the house overnight, and she got up andwalked on, averting her eyes as she came abreast of thewhite gate and the tangled garden.
The hours wore on, and she walked more and more slowly,pausing now and then to rest, and to eat a little breadand an apple picked up from the roadside. Her bodyseemed to grow heavier with every yard of the way, andshe wondered how she would be able to carry her childlater, if already he laid such a burden on her....Afresh wind had sprung up, scattering the rain andblowing down keenly from the mountain. Presently theclouds lowered again, and a few white darts struck herin the face: it was the first snow falling overHamblin. The roofs of the lonely village were onlyhalf a mile ahead, and she was resolved to push beyondit, and try to reach the Mountain that night. She hadno clear plan of action, except that, once in thesettlement, she meant to look for Liff Hyatt, and gethim to take her to her mother. She herself hadbeen born as her own baby was going to be born; andwhatever her mother's subsequent life had been, shecould hardly help remembering the past, and receiving adaughter who was facing the trouble she had known.
Suddenly the deadly faintness came over her once moreand she sat down on the bank and leaned her headagainst a tree-trunk. The long road and the cloudylandscape vanished from her eyes, and for a time sheseemed to be circling about in some terrible wheelingdarkness. Then that too faded.
She opened her eyes, and saw a buggy drawn up besideher, and a man who had jumped down from it and wasgazing at her with a puzzled face. Slowlyconsciousness came back, and she saw that the man wasLiff Hyatt.
She was dimly aware that he was asking her something,and she looked at him in silence, trying to findstrength to speak. At length her voice stirred in herthroat, and she said in a whisper: "I'm going up theMountain.""Up the Mountain?" he repeated, drawing aside a little;and as he moved she saw behind him, in the buggy, aheavily coated figure with a familiar pink faceand gold spectacles on the bridge of a Grecian nose.
"Charity! What on earth are you doing here?" Mr. Milesexclaimed, throwing the reins on the horse's back andscrambling down from the buggy.
She lifted her heavy eyes to his. "I'm going to see mymother."The two men glanced at each other, and for a momentneither of them spoke.
Then Mr. Miles said: "You look ill, my dear, and it's along way. Do you think it's wise?"Charity stood up. "I've got to go to her."A vague mirthless grin contracted Liff Hyatt's face,and Mr. Miles again spoke uncertainly. "You know,then--you'd been told?"She stared at him. "I don't know what you mean. Iwant to go to her."Mr. Miles was examining her thoughtfully. She fanciedshe saw a change in his expression, and the bloodrushed to her forehead. "I just want to go to her,"she repeated.
He laid his hand on her arm. "My child, your mother isdying. Liff Hyatt came down to fetch me....Get in andcome with us."He helped her up to the seat at his side, LiffHyatt clambered in at the back, and they drove offtoward Hamblin. At first Charity had hardly graspedwhat Mr. Miles was saying; the physical relief offinding herself seated in the buggy, and securely onher road to the Mountain, effaced the impression of hiswords. But as her head cleared she began tounderstand. She knew the Mountain had but the mostinfrequent intercourse with the valleys; she had oftenenough heard it said that no one ever went up thereexcept the minister, when someone was dying. And nowit was her mother who was dying...and she would findherself as much alone on the Mountain as anywhere elsein the world. The sense of unescapable isolation wasall she could feel for the moment; then she began towonder at the strangeness of its being Mr. Miles whohad undertaken to perform this grim errand. He did notseem in the least like the kind of man who would careto go up the Mountain. But here he was at her side,guiding the horse with a firm hand, and bending on herthe kindly gleam of his spectacles, as if there werenothing unusual in their being together in suchcircumstances.
For a while she found it impossible to speak, and heseemed to understand this, and made no attempt toquestion her. But presently she felt her tears riseand flow down over her drawn cheeks; and he must haveseen them too, for he laid his hand on hers, and saidin a low voice: "Won't you tell me what is troublingyou?"She shook her head, and he did not insist: but after awhile he said, in the same low tone, so that theyshould not be overheard: "Charity, what do you know ofyour childhood, before you came down to North Dormer?"She controlled herself, and answered: "Nothing onlywhat I heard Mr. Royall say one day. He said hebrought me down because my father went to prison.""And you've never been up there since?""Never."Mr. Miles was silent again, then he said: "I'm gladyou're coming with me now. Perhaps we may find yourmother alive, and she may know that you have come."They had reached Hamblin, where the snow-flurry hadleft white patches in the rough grass on the roadside,and in the angles of the roofs facing north. It was apoor bleak village under the granite flank of theMountain, and as soon as they left it they beganto climb. The road was steep and full of ruts, andthe horse settled down to a walk while they mounted andmounted, the world dropping away below them in greatmottled stretches of forest and field, and stormy darkblue distances.
Charity had often had visions of this ascent of theMountain but she had not known it would reveal so widea country, and the sight of those strange landsreaching away on every side gave her a new sense ofHarney's remoteness. She knew he must be miles andmiles beyond the last range of hills that seemed to bethe outmost verge of things, and she wondered how shehad ever dreamed of going to New York to find him....
As the road mounted the country grew bleaker, and theydrove across fields of faded mountain grass bleached bylong months beneath the snow. In the hollows a fewwhite birches trembled, or a mountain ash lit itsscarlet clusters; but only a scant growth of pinesdarkened the granite ledges. The wind was blowingfiercely across the open slopes; the horse faced itwith bent head and straining flanks, and now and thenthe buggy swayed so that Charity had to clutch itsside.
Mr. Miles had not spoken again; he seemed tounderstand that she wanted to be left alone.
After a while the track they were following forked, andhe pulled up the horse, as if uncertain of the way.
Liff Hyatt craned his head around from the back, andshouted against the wind: "Left----" and they turnedinto a stunted pine-wood and began to drive down theother side of the Mountain.
A mile or two farther on they came out on a clearingwhere two or three low houses lay in stony fields,crouching among the rocks as if to brace themselvesagainst the wind. They were hardly more than sheds,built of logs and rough boards, with tin stove-pipessticking out of their roofs. The sun was setting, anddusk had already fallen on the lower world, but ayellow glare still lay on the lonely hillside and thecrouching houses. The next moment it faded and leftthe landscape in dark autumn twilight.
"Over there," Liff called out, stretching his long armover Mr. Miles's shoulder. The clergyman turned to theleft, across a bit of bare ground overgrown with docksand nettles, and stopped before the most ruinous of thesheds. A stove-pipe reached its crooked arm out of onewindow, and the broken panes of the other were stuffedwith rags and paper.
In contrast to such a dwelling the brown house inthe swamp might have stood for the home of plenty.
As the buggy drew up two or three mongrel dogs jumpedout of the twilight with a great barking, and a youngman slouched to the door and stood there staring. Inthe twilight Charity saw that his face had the samesodden look as Bash Hyatt's, the day she had seen himsleeping by the stove. He made no effort to silencethe dogs, but leaned in the door, as if roused from adrunken lethargy, while Mr. Miles got out of the buggy.
"Is it here?" the clergyman asked Liff in a low voice;and Liff nodded.
Mr. Miles turned to Charity. "Just hold the horse aminute, my dear: I'll go in first," he said, puttingthe reins in her hands. She took them passively, andsat staring straight ahead of her at the darkeningscene while Mr. Miles and Liff Hyatt went up to thehouse. They stood a few minutes talking with the manin the door, and then Mr. Miles came back. As he cameclose, Charity saw that his smooth pink face wore afrightened solemn look.
"Your mother is dead, Charity; you'd better come withme," he said.
She got down and followed him while Liff led thehorse away. As she approached the door she saidto herself: "This is where I was born...this is where Ibelong...." She had said it to herself often enough asshe looked across the sunlit valleys at the Mountain;but it had meant nothing then, and now it had become areality. Mr. Miles took her gently by the arm, andthey entered what appeared to be the only room in thehouse. It was so dark that she could just discern agroup of a dozen people sitting or sprawling about atable made of boards laid across two barrels. Theylooked up listlessly as Mr. Miles and Charity came in,and a woman's thick voice said: &quo............