it." How, she did not know; and her fear was the greater because it
was undefinable. If she had been accepting the attentions of one of the
village youths she would have been less apprehensive: Mr. Royall could
not prevent her marrying when she chose to. But everybody knew that
"going with a city fellow" was a different and less straightforward
affair: almost every village could show a victim of the perilous
venture. And her dread of Mr. Royall's intervention gave a sharpened
joy to the hours she spent with young Harney, and made her, at the same
time, shy of being too generally seen with him.

As he approached she rose to her knees, stretching her arms above her
head with the indolent gesture that was her way of expressing a profound
well-being.

"I'm going to take you to that house up under Porcupine," she announced.

"What house? Oh, yes; that ramshackle place near the swamp, with the
gipsy-looking people hanging about. It's curious that a house with
traces of real architecture should have been built in such a place. But
the people were a sulky-looking lot--do you suppose they'll let us in?"

"They'll do whatever I tell them," she said with assurance.

He threw himself down beside her. "Will they?" he rejoined with a smile.
"Well, I should like to see what's left inside the house. And I should
like to have a talk with the people. Who was it who was telling me the
other day that they had come down from the Mountain?"

Charity shot a sideward look at him. It was the first time he had spoken
of the Mountain except as a feature of the landscape. What else did he