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- Стр. 86/109
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He
had
risen
from
his
chair
,
and
came
toward
her
with
outstretched
hands
.
The
gesture
was
so
unexpected
that
she
let
him
take
her
hands
in
his
and
they
stood
thus
,
without
speaking
,
till
Mr
.
Royall
said
gravely
:
“
Charity
—
was
you
looking
for
me
?
”
She
freed
herself
abruptly
and
fell
back
.
“
Me
?
No
—
—
”
She
set
down
the
candle
on
his
desk
.
“
I
wanted
some
letter
-
paper
,
that
’
s
all
.
”
His
face
contracted
,
and
the
bushy
brows
jutted
forward
over
his
eyes
.
Without
answering
he
opened
the
drawer
of
the
desk
,
took
out
a
sheet
of
paper
and
an
envelope
,
and
pushed
them
toward
her
.
“
Do
you
want
a
stamp
too
?
”
he
asked
.
She
nodded
,
and
he
gave
her
the
stamp
.
As
he
did
so
she
felt
that
he
was
looking
at
her
intently
,
and
she
knew
that
the
candle
light
flickering
up
on
her
white
face
must
be
distorting
her
swollen
features
and
exaggerating
the
dark
rings
about
her
eyes
.
She
snatched
up
the
paper
,
her
reassurance
dissolving
under
his
pitiless
gaze
,
in
which
she
seemed
to
read
the
grim
perception
of
her
state
,
and
the
ironic
recollection
of
the
day
when
,
in
that
very
room
,
he
had
offered
to
compel
Harney
to
marry
her
.
His
look
seemed
to
say
that
he
knew
she
had
taken
the
paper
to
write
to
her
lover
,
who
had
left
her
as
he
had
warned
her
she
would
be
left
.
She
remembered
the
scorn
with
which
she
had
turned
from
him
that
day
,
and
knew
,
if
he
guessed
the
truth
,
what
a
list
of
old
scores
it
must
settle
.
She
turned
and
fled
upstairs
;
but
when
she
got
back
to
her
room
all
the
words
that
had
been
waiting
had
vanished
.
.
.
.
If
she
could
have
gone
to
Harney
it
would
have
been
different
;
she
would
only
have
had
to
show
herself
to
let
his
memories
speak
for
her
.
But
she
had
no
money
left
,
and
there
was
no
one
from
whom
she
could
have
borrowed
enough
for
such
a
journey
.
There
was
nothing
to
do
but
to
write
,
and
await
his
reply
.
For
a
long
time
she
sat
bent
above
the
blank
page
;
but
she
found
nothing
to
say
that
really
expressed
what
she
was
feeling
.
.
.
.
Harney
had
written
that
she
had
made
it
easier
for
him
,
and
she
was
glad
it
was
so
;
she
did
not
want
to
make
things
hard
.
She
knew
she
had
it
in
her
power
to
do
that
;
she
held
his
fate
in
her
hands
.
All
she
had
to
do
was
to
tell
him
the
truth
;
but
that
was
the
very
fact
that
held
her
back
.
.
.
.
Her
five
minutes
face
to
face
with
Mr
.
Royall
had
stripped
her
of
her
last
illusion
,
and
brought
her
back
to
North
Dormer
’
s
point
of
view
.
Distinctly
and
pitilessly
there
rose
before
her
the
fate
of
the
girl
who
was
married
“
to
make
things
right
.
”
She
had
seen
too
many
village
love
-
stories
end
in
that
way
.
Poor
Rose
Coles
’
s
miserable
marriage
was
of
the
number
;
and
what
good
had
come
of
it
for
her
or
for
Halston
Skeff
?
They
had
hated
each
other
from
the
day
the
minister
married
them
;
and
whenever
old
Mrs
.
Skeff
had
a
fancy
to
humiliate
her
daughter
-
in
-
law
she
had
only
to
say
:
“
Who
’
d
ever
think
the
baby
’
s
only
two
?
And
for
a
seven
months
’
child
—
ain
’
t
it
a
wonder
what
a
size
he
is
?
”
North
Dormer
had
treasures
of
indulgence
for
brands
in
the
burning
,
but
only
derision
for
those
who
succeeded
in
getting
snatched
from
it
;
and
Charity
had
always
understood
Julia
Hawes
’
s
refusal
to
be
snatched
.
.
.
.
Only
—
was
there
no
alternative
but
Julia
’
s
?
Her
soul
recoiled
from
the
vision
of
the
white
-
faced
woman
among
the
plush
sofas
and
gilt
frames
.
In
the
established
order
of
things
as
she
knew
them
she
saw
no
place
for
her
individual
adventure
.
.
.
.
She
sat
in
her
chair
without
undressing
till
faint
grey
streaks
began
to
divide
the
black
slats
of
the
shutters
.
Then
she
stood
up
and
pushed
them
open
,
letting
in
the
light
.
The
coming
of
a
new
day
brought
a
sharper
consciousness
of
ineluctable
reality
,
and
with
it
a
sense
of
the
need
of
action
.
She
looked
at
herself
in
the
glass
,
and
saw
her
face
,
white
in
the
autumn
dawn
,
with
pinched
cheeks
and
dark
-
ringed
eyes
,
and
all
the
marks
of
her
state
that
she
herself
would
never
have
noticed
,
but
that
Dr
.
Merkle
’
s
diagnosis
had
made
plain
to
her
.
She
could
not
hope
that
those
signs
would
escape
the
watchful
village
;
even
before
her
figure
lost
its
shape
she
knew
her
face
would
betray
her
.
Leaning
from
her
window
she
looked
out
on
the
dark
and
empty
scene
;
the
ashen
houses
with
shuttered
windows
,
the
grey
road
climbing
the
slope
to
the
hemlock
belt
above
the
cemetery
,
and
the
heavy
mass
of
the
Mountain
black
against
a
rainy
sky
.
To
the
east
a
space
of
light
was
broadening
above
the
forest
;
but
over
that
also
the
clouds
hung
.
Slowly
her
gaze
travelled
across
the
fields
to
the
rugged
curve
of
the
hills
.
She
had
looked
out
so
often
on
that
lifeless
circle
,
and
wondered
if
anything
could
ever
happen
to
anyone
who
was
enclosed
in
it
.
.
.
.
