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.