at it, and trying to think
what to say; but she had the feeling that her letter would never reach
its destination. She had never written to anyone farther away than
Hepburn.

Harney's first letter came after he had been gone about ten days. It was
tender but grave, and bore no resemblance to the gay little notes he had
sent her by the freckled boy from Creston River. He spoke positively of
his intention of coming back, but named no date, and reminded Charity of
their agreement that their plans should not be divulged till he had had
time to "settle things." When that would be he could not yet foresee;
but she could count on his returning as soon as the way was clear.

She read the letter with a strange sense of its coming from immeasurable
distances and having lost most of its meaning on the way; and in reply
she sent him a coloured postcard of Creston Falls, on which she wrote:
"With love from Charity." She felt the pitiful inadequacy of this, and
understood, with a sense of despair, that in her inability to express
herself she must give him an impression of coldness and reluctance; but
she could not help it. She could not forget that he had never spoken
to her of marriage till Mr. Royall had forced the word from his lips;
though she had not had the strength to shake off the spell that bound
her to him she had lost all spontaneity of feeling, and seemed to
herself to be passively awaiting a fate she could not avert.

She had not seen Mr. Royall on her return to the red house. The morning
after her parting from Harney, when she came down from her room, Verena
told her that her guardian had gone off to Worcester and Portland. It
was the time of year when he usually reported to the insurance agencies
he represented, and there was nothing unusual in his departure except
its suddenness. She thought little about him, except to be glad he was
not there....

She kept to herself for the first days, while North Dormer was
recovering from its brief plunge into publicity, and the subsiding
agitation left her unnoticed. But the faithful Ally could not be long
avoided. For the first few days after the close of the Old Home Week
festivities Charity escaped her by roaming the hills all day when she
was not at her post in the library; but after that a period of rain set
in, and one pouring afternoon, Ally, sure that she would find her friend
indoors, came around to the red house with her sewing.

The two girls sat upstairs in Char