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Vague
thoughts
of
Nettleton
flitted
through
her
mind
.
She
said
to
herself
that
she
would
find
some
quiet
place
where
she
could
bear
her
child
,
and
give
it
to
decent
people
to
keep
;
and
then
she
would
go
out
like
Julia
Hawes
and
earn
its
living
and
hers
.
She
knew
that
girls
of
that
kind
sometimes
made
enough
to
have
their
children
nicely
cared
for
;
and
every
other
consideration
disappeared
in
the
vision
of
her
baby
,
cleaned
and
combed
and
rosy
,
and
hidden
away
somewhere
where
she
could
run
in
and
kiss
it
,
and
bring
it
pretty
things
to
wear
.
Anything
,
anything
was
better
than
to
add
another
life
to
the
nest
of
misery
on
the
Mountain
.
.
.
.
The
old
woman
and
the
children
were
still
sleeping
when
Charity
rose
from
her
mattress
.
Her
body
was
stiff
with
cold
and
fatigue
,
and
she
moved
slowly
lest
her
heavy
steps
should
rouse
them
.
She
was
faint
with
hunger
,
and
had
nothing
left
in
her
satchel
;
but
on
the
table
she
saw
the
half
of
a
stale
loaf
.
No
doubt
it
was
to
serve
as
the
breakfast
of
old
Mrs
.
Hyatt
and
the
children
;
but
Charity
did
not
care
;
she
had
her
own
baby
to
think
of
.
She
broke
off
a
piece
of
the
bread
and
ate
it
greedily
;
then
her
glance
fell
on
the
thin
faces
of
the
sleeping
children
,
and
filled
with
compunction
she
rummaged
in
her
satchel
for
something
with
which
to
pay
for
what
she
had
taken
.
She
found
one
of
the
pretty
chemises
that
Ally
had
made
for
her
,
with
a
blue
ribbon
run
through
its
edging
.
It
was
one
of
the
dainty
things
on
which
she
had
squandered
her
savings
,
and
as
she
looked
at
it
the
blood
rushed
to
her
forehead
.
She
laid
the
chemise
on
the
table
,
and
stealing
across
the
floor
lifted
the
latch
and
went
out
.
.
.
.
The
morning
was
icy
cold
and
a
pale
sun
was
just
rising
above
the
eastern
shoulder
of
the
Mountain
.
The
houses
scattered
on
the
hillside
lay
cold
and
smokeless
under
the
sun
-
flecked
clouds
,
and
not
a
human
being
was
in
sight
.
Charity
paused
on
the
threshold
and
tried
to
discover
the
road
by
which
she
had
come
the
night
before
.
Across
the
field
surrounding
Mrs
.
Hyatt
’
s
shanty
she
saw
the
tumble
-
down
house
in
which
she
supposed
the
funeral
service
had
taken
place
.
The
trail
ran
across
the
ground
between
the
two
houses
and
disappeared
in
the
pine
-
wood
on
the
flank
of
the
Mountain
;
and
a
little
way
to
the
right
,
under
a
wind
-
beaten
thorn
,
a
mound
of
fresh
earth
made
a
dark
spot
on
the
fawn
-
coloured
stubble
.
Charity
walked
across
the
field
to
the
ground
.
As
she
approached
it
she
heard
a
bird
’
s
note
in
the
still
air
,
and
looking
up
she
saw
a
brown
song
-
sparrow
perched
in
an
upper
branch
of
the
thorn
above
the
grave
.
She
stood
a
minute
listening
to
his
small
solitary
song
;
then
she
rejoined
the
trail
and
began
to
mount
the
hill
to
the
pine
-
wood
.
Thus
far
she
had
been
impelled
by
the
blind
instinct
of
flight
;
but
each
step
seemed
to
bring
her
nearer
to
the
realities
of
which
her
feverish
vigil
had
given
only
a
shadowy
image
.
Now
that
she
walked
again
in
a
daylight
world
,
on
the
way
back
to
familiar
things
,
her
imagination
moved
more
soberly
.
On
one
point
she
was
still
decided
:
she
could
not
remain
at
North
Dormer
,
and
the
sooner
she
got
away
from
it
the
better
.
But
everything
beyond
was
darkness
.
As
she
continued
to
climb
the
air
grew
keener
,
and
when
she
passed
from
the
shelter
of
the
pines
to
the
open
grassy
roof
of
the
Mountain
the
cold
wind
of
the
night
before
sprang
out
on
her
.
She
bent
her
shoulders
and
struggled
on
against
it
for
a
while
;
but
presently
her
breath
failed
,
and
she
sat
down
under
a
ledge
of
rock
overhung
by
shivering
birches
.
From
where
she
sat
she
saw
the
trail
wandering
across
the
bleached
grass
in
the
direction
of
Hamblin
,
and
the
granite
wall
of
the
Mountain
falling
away
to
infinite
distances
.
On
that
side
of
the
ridge
the
valleys
still
lay
in
wintry
shadow
;
but
in
the
plain
beyond
the
sun
was
touching
village
roofs
and
steeples
,
and
gilding
the
haze
of
smoke
over
far
-
off
invisible
towns
.
Charity
felt
herself
a
mere
speck
in
the
lonely
circle
of
the
sky
.
The
events
of
the
last
two
days
seemed
to
have
divided
her
forever
from
her
short
dream
of
bliss
.
Even
Harney
’
s
image
had
been
blurred
by
that
crushing
experience
:
she
thought
of
him
as
so
remote
from
her
that
he
seemed
hardly
more
than
a
memory
.
In
her
fagged
and
floating
mind
only
one
sensation
had
the
weight
of
reality
;
it
was
the
bodily
burden
of
her
child
.
But
for
it
she
would
have
felt
as
rootless
as
the
whiffs
of
thistledown
the
wind
blew
past
her
.
Her
child
was
like
a
load
that
held
her
down
,
and
yet
like
a
hand
that
pulled
her
to
her
feet
.
She
said
to
herself
that
she
must
get
up
and
struggle
on
.
.
.
.
Her
eyes
turned
back
to
the
trail
across
the
top
of
the
Mountain
,
and
in
the
distance
she
saw
a
buggy
against
the
sky
.
She
knew
its
antique
outline
,
and
the
gaunt
build
of
the
old
horse
pressing
forward
with
lowered
head
;
and
after
a
moment
she
recognized
the
heavy
bulk
of
the
man
who
held
the
reins
.
The
buggy
was
following
the
trail
and
making
straight
for
the
pine
-
wood
through
which
she
had
climbed
;
and
she
knew
at
once
that
the
driver
was
in
search
of
her
.
Her
first
impulse
was
to
crouch
down
under
the
ledge
till
he
had
passed
;
but
the
instinct
of
concealment
was
overruled
by
the
relief
of
feeling
that
someone
was
near
her
in
the
awful
emptiness
.
She
stood
up
and
walked
toward
the
buggy
.
