girl, one eye on the window, chanted out the titles of a pile of books.
Charity's thoughts were far away, in the dismal house by the swamp, and
under the twilight sky during the long drive home, when Lucius Harney
had consoled her with endearing words. That day, for the first time
since he had been boarding with them, he had failed to appear as usual
at the midday meal. No message had come to explain his absence, and Mr.
Royall, who was more than usually taciturn, had betrayed no surprise,
and made no comment. In itself this indifference was not particularly
significant, for Mr. Royall, in common with most of his fellow-citizens,
had a way of accepting events passively, as if he had long since come
to the conclusion that no one who lived in North Dormer could hope to
modify them. But to Charity, in the reaction from her mood of passionate
exaltation, there was something disquieting in his silence. It was
almost as if Lucius Harney had never had a part in their lives: Mr.
Royall's imperturbable indifference seemed to relegate him to the domain
of unreality.

As she sat at work, she tried to shake off her disappointment at
Harney's non-appearing. Some trifling incident had probably kept him
from joining them at midday; but she was sure he must be eager to see
her again, and that he would not want to wait till they met at supper,
between Mr. Royall and Verena. She was wondering what his first words
would be, and trying to devise a way of getting rid of the Targatt girl
before he came, when she heard steps outside, and he walked up the path
with Mr. Miles.

The clergyman from Hepburn seldom came to North Dormer except when he
drove over to officiate at the old white church which, by an unusual
chance, happened to belong to the Episcopal communion. He was a brisk
affable man, eager to make the most of the fact that a little nucleus of