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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
evangelist
must
have
heard
a
report
of
the
scene
at
Nettleton
;
then
she
saw
the
absurdity
of
the
supposition
.
“
I
on
’
y
wish
’
t
I
had
any
to
lay
!
”
she
retorted
,
with
one
of
her
fierce
flashes
of
self
-
derision
;
and
the
young
man
murmured
,
aghast
:
“
Oh
,
Sister
,
don
’
t
speak
blasphemy
.
.
.
.
”
But
she
had
jerked
her
arm
out
of
his
hold
,
and
was
running
up
the
branch
road
,
trembling
with
the
fear
of
meeting
a
familiar
face
.
Presently
she
was
out
of
sight
of
the
village
,
and
climbing
into
the
heart
of
the
forest
.
She
could
not
hope
to
do
the
fifteen
miles
to
the
Mountain
that
afternoon
;
but
she
knew
of
a
place
half
-
way
to
Hamblin
where
she
could
sleep
,
and
where
no
one
would
think
of
looking
for
her
.
It
was
a
little
deserted
house
on
a
slope
in
one
of
the
lonely
rifts
of
the
hills
.
She
had
seen
it
once
,
years
before
,
when
she
had
gone
on
a
nutting
expedition
to
the
grove
of
walnuts
below
it
.
The
party
had
taken
refuge
in
the
house
from
a
sudden
mountain
storm
,
and
she
remembered
that
Ben
Sollas
,
who
liked
frightening
girls
,
had
told
them
that
it
was
said
to
be
haunted
.
She
was
growing
faint
and
tired
,
for
she
had
eaten
nothing
since
morning
,
and
was
not
used
to
walking
so
far
.
Her
head
felt
light
and
she
sat
down
for
a
moment
by
the
roadside
.
As
she
sat
there
she
heard
the
click
of
a
bicycle
-
bell
,
and
started
up
to
plunge
back
into
the
forest
;
but
before
she
could
move
the
bicycle
had
swept
around
the
curve
of
the
road
,
and
Harney
,
jumping
off
,
was
approaching
her
with
outstretched
arms
.
“
Charity
!
What
on
earth
are
you
doing
here
?
”
