XVII + 

Charity lay on the floor on a mattress, as her dead motherтАЩs body had lain. The room in which she lay was cold and dark and low-ceilinged, and even poorer and barer than the scene of Mary HyattтАЩs earthly pilgrimage. On the other side of the fireless stove Liff HyattтАЩs mother slept on a blanket, with two childrenтБатАФher grandchildren, she saidтБатАФrolled up against her like sleeping puppies. They had their thin clothes spread over them, having given the only other blanket to their guest. + 

Through the small square of glass in the opposite wall Charity saw a deep funnel of sky, so black, so remote, so palpitating with frosty stars that her very soul seemed to be sucked into it. Up there somewhere, she supposed, the God whom Mr.┬аMiles had invoked was waiting for Mary Hyatt to appear. What a long flight it was! And what would she have to say when she reached Him? + 

CharityтАЩs bewildered brain laboured with the attempt to picture her motherтАЩs past, and to relate it in any way to the designs of a just but merciful God; but it was impossible to imagine any link between them. She herself felt as remote from the poor creature she had seen lowered into her hastily dug grave as if the height of the heavens divided them. She had seen poverty and misfortune in her life; but in a community where poor thrifty Mrs.┬аHawes and the industrious Ally represented the nearest approach to destitution there was nothing to suggest the savage misery of the Mountain farmers. + 

As she lay there, half-stunned by her tragic initiation, Charity vainly tried to think herself into the life about her. But she could not even make out what relationship these people bore to each other, or to her dead mother; they seemed to be herded together in a sort of passive promiscuity in which their common misery was the strongest link. She tried to picture to herself what her life would have been if she had grown up on the Mountain, running wild in rags, sleeping on the floor curled up against her mother, like the pale-faced children huddled against old Mrs.┬аHyatt, and turning into a fierce bewildered creature like the girl who had apostrophized her in such strange words. She was frightened by the secret affinity she had felt with this girl, and by the light it threw on her own beginnings. Then she remembered what Mr.┬аRoyall had said in telling her story to Lucius Harney: тАЬYes, there was a mother; but she was glad to have the child go. SheтАЩd have given her to anybody.тБатАКтБатАжтАЭ + 

Well! after all, was her mother so much to blame? Charity, since that day, had always thought of her as destitute of all human feeling; now she seemed merely pitiful. What mother would not want to save her child from such a life? Charity thought of the future of her own child, and tears welled into her aching eyes, and ran down over her face. If she had been less exhausted, less burdened with his weight, she would have sprung up then and there and fled away.тБатАКтБатАж + 

The grim hours of the night dragged themselves slowly by, and at last the sky paled and dawn threw a cold blue beam into the room. She lay in her corner staring at the dirty floor, the clothesline hung with decaying rags, the old woman huddled against the cold stove, and the light gradually spreading across the wintry world, and bringing with it a new day in which she would have to live, to choose, to act, to make herself a place among these peopleтБатАФor to go back to the life she had left. A mortal lassitude weighed on her. There were moments when she felt that all she asked was to go on lying there unnoticed; then her mind revolted at the thought of becoming one of the miserable herd from which she sprang, and it seemed as though, to save her child from such a fate, she would find strength to travel any distance, and bear any burden life might put on her. + 

Vague thoughts of Nettleton flitted through her mind. She said to herself that she would find some quiet place where she could bear her child, and give it to decent people to keep; and then she would go out like Julia Hawes and earn its living and hers. She knew that girls of that kind sometimes made enough to have their children nicely cared for; and every other consideration disappeared in the vision of her baby, cleaned and combed and rosy, and hidden away somewhere where she could run in and kiss it, and bring it pretty things to wear. Anything, anything was better than to add another life to the nest of misery on the Mountain.тБатАКтБатАж + 

The old woman and the children were still sleeping when Charity rose from her mattress. Her body was stiff with cold and fatigue, and she moved slowly lest her heavy steps should rouse them. She was faint with hunger, and had nothing left in her satchel; but on the table she saw the half of a stale loaf. No doubt it was to serve as the breakfast of old Mrs.┬аHyatt and the children; but Charity did not care; she had her own baby to think of. She broke off a piece of the bread and ate it greedily; then her glance fell on the thin faces of the sleeping children, and filled with compunction she rummaged in her satchel for something with which to pay for what she had taken. She found one of the pretty chemises that Ally had made for her, with a blue ribbon run through its edging. It was one of the dainty things on which she had squandered her savings, and as she looked at it the blood rushed to her forehead. She laid the chemise on the table, and stealing across the floor lifted the latch and went out.тБатАКтБатАж + 

The morning was icy cold and a pale sun was just rising above the eastern shoulder of the Mountain. The houses scattered on the hillside lay cold and smokeless under the sun-flecked clouds, and not a human being was in sight. Charity paused on the threshold and tried to discover the road by which she had come the night before. Across the field surrounding Mrs.┬аHyattтАЩs shanty she saw the tumbledown house in which she supposed the funeral service had taken place. The trail ran across the ground between the two houses and disappeared in the pinewood on the flank of the Mountain; and a little way to the right, under a wind-beaten thorn, a mound of fresh earth made a dark spot on the fawn-coloured stubble. Charity walked across the field to the ground. As she approached it she heard a birdтАЩs note in the still air, and looking up she saw a brown song-sparrow perched in an upper branch of the thorn above the grave. She stood a minute listening to his small solitary song; then she rejoined the trail and began to mount the hill to the pinewood. + 

Thus far she had been impelled by the blind instinct of flight; but each step seemed to bring her nearer to the realities of which her feverish vigil had given only a shadowy image. Now that she walked again in a daylight world, on the way back to familiar things, her imagination moved more soberly. On one point she was still decided: she could not remain at North Dormer, and the sooner she got away from it the better. But everything beyond was darkness. + 

As she continued to climb the air grew keener, and when she passed from the shelter of the pines to the open grassy roof of the Mountain the cold wind of the night before sprang out on her. She bent her shoulders and struggled on against it for a while; but presently her breath failed, and she sat down under a ledge of rock overhung by shivering birches. From where she sat she saw the trail wandering across the bleached grass in the direction of Hamblin, and the granite wall of the Mountain falling away to infinite distances. On that side of the ridge the valleys still lay in wintry shadow; but in the plain beyond the sun was touching village roofs and steeples, and gilding the haze of smoke over far-off invisible towns. + 

Charity felt herself a mere speck in the lonely circle of the sky. The events of the last two days seemed to have divided her forever from her short dream of bliss. Even HarneyтАЩs image had been blurred by that crushing experience: she thought of him as so remote from her that he seemed hardly more than a memory. In her fagged and floating mind only one sensation had the weight of reality; it was the bodily burden of her child. But for it she would have felt as rootless as the whiffs of thistledown the wind blew past her. Her child was like a load that held her down, and yet like a hand that pulled her to her feet. She said to herself that she must get up and struggle on.тБатАКтБатАж + 

Her eyes turned back to the trail across the top of the Mountain, and in the distance she saw a buggy against the sky. She knew its antique outline, and the gaunt build of the old horse pressing forward with lowered head; and after a moment she recognized the heavy bulk of the man who held the reins. The buggy was following the trail and making straight for the pinewood through which she had climbed; and she knew at once that the driver was in search of her. Her first impulse was to crouch down under the ledge till he had passed; but the instinct of concealment was overruled by the relief of feeling that someone was near her in the awful emptiness. She stood up and walked toward the buggy. + 

Mr.┬аRoyall saw her, and touched the horse with the whip. A minute or two later he was abreast of Charity; their eyes met, and without speaking he leaned over and helped her up into the buggy. + 

She tried to speak, to stammer out some explanation, but no words came to her; and as he drew the cover over her knees he simply said: тАЬThe minister told me heтАЩd left you up here, so I come up for you.тАЭ + 

He turned the horseтАЩs head, and they began to jog back toward Hamblin. Charity sat speechless, staring straight ahead of her, and Mr.┬аRoyall occasionally uttered a word of encouragement to the horse: тАЬGet along there, Dan.тБатАКтБатАж I gave him a rest at Hamblin; but I brought him along pretty quick, and itтАЩs a stiff pull up here against the wind.тАЭ + 

As he spoke it occurred to her for the first time that to reach the top of the Mountain so early he must have left North Dormer at the coldest hour of the night, and have travelled steadily but for the halt at Hamblin; and she felt a softness at her heart which no act of his had ever produced since he had brought her the Crimson Rambler because she had given up boarding-school to stay with him. + 

After an interval he began again: тАЬIt was a day just like this, only spitting snow, when I come up here for you the first time.тАЭ Then, as if fearing that she might take his remark as a reminder of past benefits, he added quickly: тАЬI dunnoтАЩs you think it was such a good job, either.тАЭ + 

тАЬYes, I do,тАЭ she murmured, looking straight ahead of her. + 

тАЬWell,тАЭ he said, тАЬI triedтБатАФтАЭ + 

He did not finish the sentence, and she could think of nothing more to say. + 

тАЬHo, there, Dan, step out,тАЭ he muttered, jerking the bridle. тАЬWe ainтАЩt home yet.тБатАФYou cold?тАЭ he asked abruptly. + 

She shook her head, but he drew the cover higher up, and stooped to tuck it in about the ankles. She continued to look straight ahead. Tears of weariness and weakness were dimming her eyes and beginning to run over, but she dared not wipe them away lest he should observe the gesture. + 

They drove in silence, following the long loops of the descent upon Hamblin, and Mr.┬аRoyall did not speak again till they reached the outskirts of the village. Then he let the reins droop on the dashboard and drew out his watch. + 

тАЬCharity,тАЭ he said, тАЬyou look fair done up, and North DormerтАЩs a goodish way off. IтАЩve figured out that weтАЩd do better to stop here long enough for you to get a mouthful of breakfast and then drive down to Creston and take the train.тАЭ + 

She roused herself from her apathetic musing. тАЬThe trainтБатАФwhat train?тАЭ + 

Mr.┬аRoyall, without answering, let the horse jog on till they reached the door of the first house in the village. тАЬThis is old Mrs.┬аHobartтАЩs place,тАЭ he said. тАЬSheтАЩll give us something hot to drink.тАЭ + 

Charity, half unconsciously, found herself getting out of the buggy and following him in at the open door. They entered a decent kitchen with a fire crackling in the stove. An old woman with a kindly face was setting out cups and saucers on the table. She looked up and nodded as they came in, and Mr.┬аRoyall advanced to the stove, clapping his numb hands together. + 

тАЬWell, Mrs.┬аHobart, you got any breakfast for this young lady? You can see sheтАЩs cold and hungry.тАЭ + 

Mrs.┬аHobart smiled on Charity and took a tin coffeepot from the fire. тАЬMy, you do look pretty mean,тАЭ she said compassionately. + 

Charity reddened, and sat down at the table. A feeling of complete passiveness had once more come over her, and she was conscious only of the pleasant animal sensations of warmth and rest. + 

Mrs.┬аHobart put bread and milk on the table, and then went out of the house: Charity saw her leading the horse away to the barn across the yard. She did not come back, and Mr.┬аRoyall and Charity sat alone at the table with the smoking coffee between them. He poured out a cup for her, and put a piece of bread in the saucer, and she began to eat. + 

As the warmth of the coffee flowed through her veins her thoughts cleared and she began to feel like a living being again; but the return to life was so painful that the food choked in her throat and she sat staring down at the table in silent anguish. + 

After a while Mr.┬аRoyall pushed back his chair. тАЬNow, then,тАЭ he said, тАЬif youтАЩre a mind to go alongтБатАФтАЭ She did not move, and he continued: тАЬWe can pick up the noon train for Nettleton if you say so.тАЭ + 

The words sent the blood rushing to her face, and she raised her startled eyes to his. He was standing on the other side of the table looking at her kindly and gravely; and suddenly she understood what he was going to say. She continued to sit motionless, a leaden weight upon her lips. + 

тАЬYou and me have spoke some hard things to each other in our time, Charity; and thereтАЩs no good that I can see in any more talking now. But IтАЩll never feel any way but one about you; and if you say so weтАЩll drive down in time to catch that train, and go straight to the ministerтАЩs house; and when you come back home youтАЩll come as Mrs.┬аRoyall.тАЭ + 

His voice had the grave persuasive accent that had moved his hearers at the Home Week festival; she had a sense of depths of mournful tolerance under that easy tone. Her whole body began to tremble with the dread of her own weakness. + 

тАЬOh, I canтАЩtтБатАФтАЭ she burst out desperately. + 

тАЬCanтАЩt what?тАЭ + 

She herself did not know: she was not sure if she was rejecting what he offered, or already struggling against the temptation of taking what she no longer had a right to. She stood up, shaking and bewildered, and began to speak: + 

тАЬI know I ainтАЩt been fair to you always; but I want to be now.тБатАКтБатАж I want you to knowтБатАКтБатАж I wantтБатАКтБатАжтАЭ Her voice failed her and she stopped. + 

Mr.┬аRoyall leaned against the wall. He was paler than usual, but his face was composed and kindly and her agitation did not appear to perturb him. + 

тАЬWhatтАЩs all this about wanting?тАЭ he said as she paused. тАЬDo you know what you really want? IтАЩll tell you. You want to be took home and took care of. And I guess thatтАЩs all there is to say.тАЭ + 

тАЬNoтБатАКтБатАж itтАЩs not all.тБатАКтБатАжтАЭ + 

тАЬAinтАЩt it?тАЭ He looked at his watch. тАЬWell, IтАЩll tell you another thing. All I want is to know if youтАЩll marry me. If there was anything else, IтАЩd tell you so; but there ainтАЩt. Come to my age, a man knows the things that matter and the things that donтАЩt; thatтАЩs about the only good turn life does us.тАЭ + 

His tone was so strong and resolute that it was like a supporting arm about her. She felt her resistance melting, her strength slipping away from her as he spoke. + 

тАЬDonтАЩt cry, Charity,тАЭ he exclaimed in a shaken voice. She looked up, startled at his emotion, and their eyes met. + 

тАЬSee here,тАЭ he said gently, тАЬold DanтАЩs come a long distance, and weтАЩve got to let him take it easy the rest of the way.тБатАКтБатАжтАЭ + 

He picked up the cloak that had slipped to her chair and laid it about her shoulders. She followed him out of the house, and then walked across the yard to the shed, where the horse was tied. Mr.┬аRoyall unblanketed him and led him out into the road. Charity got into the buggy and he drew the cover about her and shook out the reins with a cluck. When they reached the end of the village he turned the horseтАЩs head toward Creston. + 