He looked at her and his face grew grave, as though the shadow of a
premonition brushed it.

"Going away--from me, Charity?"

"From everybody. I want you should leave me."

He stood glancing doubtfully up and down the lonely forest road that
stretched away into sun-flecked distances.

"Where were you going?'

"Home."

"Home--this way?"

She threw her head back defiantly. "To my home--up yonder: to the
Mountain."

As she spoke she became aware of a change in his face. He was no longer
listening to her, he was only looking at her, with the passionate
absorbed expression she had seen in his eyes after they had kissed on
the stand at Nettleton. He was the new Harney again, the Harney abruptly
revealed in that embrace, who seemed so penetrated with the joy of
her presence that he was utterly careless of what she was thinking or
feeling.

He caught her hands with a laugh. "How do you suppose I found you?" he
said gaily. He drew out the little packet of his letters and flourished
them before her bewildered eyes.