ened his eyes. They
rested vacantly for a moment on Charity and Harney, and then closed
again, and his head drooped; but a look of anxiety came into the woman's
face. She glanced out of the window and then came up to Harney. "I guess
you better go along now," she said. The young man understood and got to
his feet. "Thank you," he said, holding out his hand. She seemed not to
notice the gesture, and turned away as they opened the door.

The rain was still coming down, but they hardly noticed it: the pure air
was like balm in their faces. The clouds were rising and breaking, and
between their edges the light streamed down from remote blue hollows.
Harney untied the horse, and they drove off through the diminishing
rain, which was already beaded with sunlight.

For a while Charity was silent, and her companion did not speak. She
looked timidly at his profile: it was graver than usual, as though he
too were oppressed by what they had seen. Then she broke out abruptly:
"Those people back there are the kind of folks I come from. They may be
my relations, for all I know." She did not want him to think that she
regretted having told him her story.

"Poor creatures," he rejoined. "I wonder why they came down to that
fever-hole."

She laughed ironically. "To better themselves! It's worse up on the
Mountain. Bash Hyatt married the daughter of the farmer that used to own
the brown house. That was him by the stove, I suppose."

Harney seemed to find nothing to say and she went on: "I saw you take
out a dollar to give to that poor woman. Why did you put it back?"

He reddened, and leaned forward to flick a swamp-fly from the horse's
neck. "I wasn't sure----"

"Was it because you knew they were my folks, and thought I'd be ashamed
to see you give them money?"

He turned to her with eyes full of reproach. "Oh, Charity----" It was
the first time he had ever called her by her name. Her misery welled
over.

"I ain't--I ain't ashamed. They're my people, and I ain't ashamed of
them," she sobbed.

"My dear..." he murmured, putting his arm about her; and she leaned
against him and wept out her pain.

It was too late to go around to Hamblin, and all the stars were out in a
clear sky when they reached the North Dormer valley and drove up to the
red house.

VII

SINCE her reinstatement in Miss Hatchard's favour Charity had not dared
to curtail by a moment her hours of attendance at the library. She
even made a point of