till away; but even had she been at North Dormer she was the last
person to whom Charity would have turned, since one of the motives
urging her to flight was the wish not to see Lucius Harney. Travelling
back from Nettleton, in the crowded brightly-lit train, all exchange of
confidence between them had been impossible; but during their drive
from Hepburn to Creston River she had gathered from Harney's snatches of
consolatory talk--again hampered by the freckled boy's presence--that
he intended to see her the next day. At the moment she had found a vague
comfort in the assurance; but in the desolate lucidity of the hours that
followed she had come to see the impossibility of meeting him again.
Her dream of comradeship was over; and the scene on the wharf--vile and
disgraceful as it had been--had after all shed the light of truth on her
minute of madness. It was as if her guardian's words had stripped her
bare in the face of the grinning crowd and proclaimed to the world the
secret admonitions of her conscience.

She did not think these things out clearly; she simply followed the
blind propulsion of her wretchedness. She did 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 struck through the woods
by a short-cut leading to the Creston road. A lead-coloured sky hung
heavily over the fields, and in the forest the motionless air was
stifling; but she pushed on, impatient to reach the road which was the
shortest way to the Mountain.

To do so, she had to follow the Creston road for a mile or two, and go
within half a mile of the village; and she walked quickly, fearing to
meet Harney. But there was no sign of him, and she had almost reached
the branch road when she saw the flanks of a large white tent projecting
through the trees by the roadside. She supposed that it sheltered a
travelling circus which had come there for the Fourth; but as she drew
nearer she saw, over the folded-back flap, a large sign bearing the
inscription, "Gospel Tent." The interior seemed to be empty; but a young
man in a black alpaca coat, his lank hair parted over a round white
face, stepped from under the flap and advanced toward her with a smile.

"Sister, your Saviour knows everything. Won't you come in and lay your
guilt before Him?" he asked insinuatingly, putting his hand on her arm.

Charity started back and flushed. For a moment she thought the