The place was bare and miserable and the air heavy with the smell of dirt and stale tobacco.Charity's heart sank.Old derided tales of the Mountain people came back to her, and the woman's stare was so disconcerting, and the face of the sleeping man so sodden and bestial, that her disgust was tinged with a vague dread.She was not afraid for herself; she knew the Hyatts would not be likely to trouble her; but she was not sure how they would treat a "city fellow."Lucius Harney would certainly have laughed at her fears.He glanced about the room, uttered a general "How are you?" to which no one responded, and then asked the younger woman if they might take shelter till the storm was over.
She turned her eyes away from him and looked at Charity.
"You're the girl from Royall's, ain't you?"
The colour rose in Charity's face."I'm Charity Royall," she said, as if asserting her right to the name in the very place where it might have been most open to question.
The woman did not seem to notice."You kin stay," she merely said; then she turned away and stooped over a dish in which she was stirring something.
Harney and Charity sat down on a bench made of a board resting on two starch boxes.They faced a door hanging on a broken hinge, and through the crack they saw the eyes of the tow-headed boy and of a pale little girl with a scar across her cheek.Charity smiled, and signed to the children to come in; but as soon as they saw they were discovered they slipped away on bare feet.It occurred to her that they were afraid of rousing the sleeping man; and probably the woman shared their fear, for she moved about as noiselessly and avoided going near the stove.
The rain continued to beat against the house, and in one or two places it sent a stream through the patched panes and ran into pools on the floor.
Every now and then the kitten mewed and struggled down, and the old woman stooped and caught it, holding it tight in her bony hands; and once or twice the man on the barrel half woke, changed his position and dozed again, his head falling forward on his hairy breast.As the minutes passed, and the rain still streamed against the windows, a loathing of the place and the people came over Charity.The sight of the weak-minded old woman, of the cowed children, and the ragged man sleeping off his liquor, made the setting of her own life seem a vision of peace and plenty.She thought of the kitchen at Mr.Royall's, with its scrubbed floor and dresser full of china, and the peculiar smell of yeast and coffee and soft-soap that she had always hated, but that now seemed the very symbol of household order.She saw Mr.Royall's room, with the high-backed horsehair chair, the faded rag carpet, the row of books on a shelf, the engraving of "The Surrender of Burgoyne" over the stove, and the mat with a brown and white spaniel on a moss-green border.And then her mind travelled to Miss Hatchard's house, where all was freshness, purity and fragrance, and compared to which the red house had always seemed so poor and plain.
"This is where I belong--this is where I belong," she kept repeating to herself; but the words had no meaning for her.Every instinct and habit made her a stranger among these poor swamp-people living like vermin in their lair.With all her soul she wished she had not yielded to Harney's curiosity, and brought him there.
The rain had drenched her, and she began to shiver under the thin folds of her dress.The younger woman must have noticed it, for she went out of the room and came back with a broken tea-cup which she offered to Charity.It was half full of whiskey, and Charity shook her head; but Harney took the cup and put his lips to it.When he had set it down Charity saw him feel in his pocket and draw out a dollar; he hesitated a moment, and then put it back, and she guessed that he did not wish her to see him offering money to people she had spoken of as being her kin.
The sleeping man stirred, lifted his head and opened his eyes.They rested vacantly for a moment on Charity and Harney, and then closed again, and his head drooped; but a look of anxiety came into the woman's face.She glanced out of the window and then came up to Harney."I guess you better go along now," she said.The young man understood and got to his feet.
"Thank you," he said, holding out his hand.She seemed not to notice the gesture, and turned away as they opened the door.
The rain was still coming down, but they hardly noticed it: the pure air was like balm in their faces.The clouds were rising and breaking, and between their edges the light streamed down from remote blue hollows.
Harney untied the horse, and they drove off through the diminishing rain, which was already beaded with sunlight.
For a while Charity was silent, and her companion did not speak.She looked timidly at his profile: it was graver than usual, as though he too were oppressed by what they had seen.Then she broke out abruptly:
"Those people back there are the kind of folks I come from.They may be my relations, for all I know." She did not want him to think that she regretted having told him her story.
"Poor creatures," he rejoined."I wonder why they came down to that fever-hole."She laughed ironically."To better themselves! It's worse up on the Mountain.Bash Hyatt married the daughter of the farmer that used to own the brown house.That was him by the stove, I suppose."Harney seemed to find nothing to say and she went on:
"I saw you take out a dollar to give to that poor woman.Why did you put it back?"He reddened, and leaned forward to flick a swamp-fly from the horse's neck."I wasn't sure----""Was it because you knew they were my folks, and thought I'd be ashamed to see you give them money?"He turned to her with eyes full of reproach."Oh, Charity----" It was the first time he had ever called her by her name.Her misery welled over.
"I ain't--I ain't ashamed.They're my people, and Iain't ashamed of them," she sobbed.
"My dear..." he murmured, putting his arm about her;and she leaned against him and wept out her pain.
It was too late to go around to Hamblin, and all the stars were out in a clear sky when they reached the North Dormer valley and drove up to the red house.