"I suppose she'll be coming up here later to stay with Miss Hatchard?"
Mr. Miles went on, following on his train of thought; then, spinning
about and tilting his head back: "Yes, yes, I see--I understand: that
will give a draught without materially altering the look of things. I
can see no objection."

The discussion went on for some minutes, and gradually the two men moved
back toward the desk. Mr. Miles stopped again and looked thoughtfully at
Charity. "Aren't you a little pale, my dear? Not overworking? Mr. Harney
tells me you and Mamie are giving the library a thorough overhauling."
He was always careful to remember his parishioners' Christian names,
and at the right moment he bent his benignant spectacles on the Targatt
girl.

Then he turned to Charity. "Don't take things hard, my dear; don't take
things hard. Come down and see Mrs. Miles and me some day at Hepburn,"
he said, pressing her hand and waving a farewell to Mamie Targatt. He
went out of the library, and Harney followed him.

Charity thought she detected a look of constraint in Harney's eyes. She
fancied he did not want to be alone with her; and with a sudden pang she
wondered if he repented the tender things he had said to her the night
before. His words had been more fraternal than lover-like; but she had
lost their exact sense in the caressing warmth of his voice. He had made
her feel that the fact of her being a waif from the Mountain was only
another reason for holding her close and soothing her with consolatory
murmurs; and when the drive was over, and she got out of the buggy,
tired, cold, and aching with emotion, she stepped as if the ground were
a sunlit wave and she the spray on its crest.