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She
hurried
upstairs
and
felt
her
way
into
her
dark
room
.
Her
hands
trembled
as
she
groped
for
the
matches
and
lit
her
candle
,
and
the
flap
of
the
envelope
was
so
closely
stuck
that
she
had
to
find
her
scissors
and
slit
it
open
.
At
length
she
read
:
“
DEAR
CHARITY
:
“
I
have
your
letter
,
and
it
touches
me
more
than
I
can
say
.
Won
’
t
you
trust
me
,
in
return
,
to
do
my
best
?
There
are
things
it
is
hard
to
explain
,
much
less
to
justify
;
but
your
generosity
makes
everything
easier
.
All
I
can
do
now
is
to
thank
you
from
my
soul
for
understanding
.
Your
telling
me
that
you
wanted
me
to
do
right
has
helped
me
beyond
expression
.
If
ever
there
is
a
hope
of
realizing
what
we
dreamed
of
you
will
see
me
back
on
the
instant
;
and
I
haven
’
t
yet
lost
that
hope
.
"
She
read
the
letter
with
a
rush
;
then
she
went
over
and
over
it
,
each
time
more
slowly
and
painstakingly
.
It
was
so
beautifully
expressed
that
she
found
it
almost
as
difficult
to
understand
as
the
gentleman
’
s
explanation
of
the
Bible
pictures
at
Nettleton
;
but
gradually
she
became
aware
that
the
gist
of
its
meaning
lay
in
the
last
few
words
.
“
If
ever
there
is
a
hope
of
realizing
what
we
dreamed
of
.
.
.
”
But
then
he
wasn
’
t
even
sure
of
that
?
She
understood
now
that
every
word
and
every
reticence
was
an
avowal
of
Annabel
Balch
’
s
prior
claim
.
It
was
true
that
he
was
engaged
to
her
,
and
that
he
had
not
yet
found
a
way
of
breaking
his
engagement
.
As
she
read
the
letter
over
Charity
understood
what
it
must
have
cost
him
to
write
it
.
He
was
not
trying
to
evade
an
importunate
claim
;
he
was
honestly
and
contritely
struggling
between
opposing
duties
.
She
did
not
even
reproach
him
in
her
thoughts
for
having
concealed
from
her
that
he
was
not
free
:
she
could
not
see
anything
more
reprehensible
in
his
conduct
than
in
her
own
.
From
the
first
she
had
needed
him
more
than
he
had
wanted
her
,
and
the
power
that
had
swept
them
together
had
been
as
far
beyond
resistance
as
a
great
gale
loosening
the
leaves
of
the
forest
.
.
.
.
Only
,
there
stood
between
them
,
fixed
and
upright
in
the
general
upheaval
,
the
indestructible
figure
of
Annabel
Balch
.
.
.
.
Face
to
face
with
his
admission
of
the
fact
,
she
sat
staring
at
the
letter
.
A
cold
tremor
ran
over
her
,
and
the
hard
sobs
struggled
up
into
her
throat
and
shook
her
from
head
to
foot
.
For
a
while
she
was
caught
and
tossed
on
great
waves
of
anguish
that
left
her
hardly
conscious
of
anything
but
the
blind
struggle
against
their
assaults
.
Then
,
little
by
little
,
she
began
to
relive
,
with
a
dreadful
poignancy
,
each
separate
stage
of
her
poor
romance
.
Foolish
things
she
had
said
came
back
to
her
,
gay
answers
Harney
had
made
,
his
first
kiss
in
the
darkness
between
the
fireworks
,
their
choosing
the
blue
brooch
together
,
the
way
he
had
teased
her
about
the
letters
she
had
dropped
in
her
flight
from
the
evangelist
.
All
these
memories
,
and
a
thousand
others
,
hummed
through
her
brain
till
his
nearness
grew
so
vivid
that
she
felt
his
fingers
in
her
hair
,
and
his
warm
breath
on
her
cheek
as
he
bent
her
head
back
like
a
flower
.
These
things
were
hers
;
they
had
passed
into
her
blood
,
and
become
a
part
of
her
,
they
were
building
the
child
in
her
womb
;
it
was
impossible
to
tear
asunder
strands
of
life
so
interwoven
.
The
conviction
gradually
strengthened
her
,
and
she
began
to
form
in
her
mind
the
first
words
of
the
letter
she
meant
to
write
to
Harney
.
She
wanted
to
write
it
at
once
,
and
with
feverish
hands
she
began
to
rummage
in
her
drawer
for
a
sheet
of
letter
paper
.
But
there
was
none
left
;
she
must
go
downstairs
to
get
it
.
She
had
a
superstitious
feeling
that
the
letter
must
be
written
on
the
instant
,
that
setting
down
her
secret
in
words
would
bring
her
reassurance
and
safety
;
and
taking
up
her
candle
she
went
down
to
Mr
.
Royall
’
s
office
.
At
that
hour
she
was
not
likely
to
find
him
there
:
he
had
probably
had
his
supper
and
walked
over
to
Carrick
Fry
’
s
.
She
pushed
open
the
door
of
the
unlit
room
,
and
the
light
of
her
lifted
candle
fell
on
his
figure
,
seated
in
the
darkness
in
his
high
-
backed
chair
.
His
arms
lay
along
the
arms
of
the
chair
,
and
his
head
was
bent
a
little
;
but
he
lifted
it
quickly
as
Charity
entered
.
She
started
back
as
their
eyes
met
,
remembering
that
her
own
were
red
with
weeping
,
and
that
her
face
was
livid
with
the
fatigue
and
emotion
of
her
journey
.
But
it
was
too
late
to
escape
,
and
she
stood
and
looked
at
him
in
silence
.
