As she passed from under the black pall of the Norway spruces she
fancied she saw two figures in the shade about the duck-pond. She drew
back and watched; but nothing moved, and she had stared so long into the
lamp-lit room that the darkness confused her, and she thought she must
have been mistaken.

She walked on, wondering whether Mr. Royall was still in the porch. In
her exalted mood she did not greatly care whether he was waiting for her
or not: she seemed to be floating high over life, on a great cloud of
misery beneath which every-day realities had dwindled to mere specks in
space. But the porch was empty, Mr. Royall's hat hung on its peg in the
passage, and the kitchen lamp had been left to light her to bed. She
took it and went up.

The morning hours of the next day dragged by without incident. Charity
had imagined that, in some way or other, she would learn whether Harney
had already left; but Verena's deafness prevented her being a source of
news, and no one came to the house who could bring enlightenment.

Mr. Royall went out early, and did not return till Verena had set the
table for the midday meal. When he came in he went straight to the
kitchen and shouted to the old woman: "Ready for dinner----" then he
turned into the dining-room, where Charity was already seated. Harney's
plate was in its usual place, but Mr. Royall offered no explanation
of his absence, and Charity asked none. The feverish exaltation of the
night before had dropped, and she said to herself that he had gone away,
indifferently, almost callously, and that now her life would lapse again
into the narrow rut out of which he had lifted it. For a moment she was
inclined to sneer at herself for not having used the arts that might
have kept him.