The hours of the Hatchard Memorial librarian were fromthree to five; and Charity Royall's sense of dutyusually kept her at her desk until nearly half-pastfour.

　　But she had never perceived that any practicaladvantage thereby accrued either to North Dormer or toherself; and she had no scruple in decreeing, when itsuited her, that the library should close an hourearlier. A few minutes after Mr. Harney's departureshe formed this decision, put away her lace, fastenedthe shutters, and turned the key in the door of thetemple of knowledge.

　　The street upon which she emerged was still empty: andafter glancing up and down it she began to walk towardher house. But instead of entering she passed on,turned into a field-path and mounted to a pasture onthe hillside. She let down the bars of the gate,followed a trail along the crumbling wall of thepasture, and walked on till she reached a knoll where aclump of larches shook out their fresh tassels to thewind. There she lay down on the slope, tossed off herhat and hid her face in the grass.

　　She was blind and insensible to many things, and dimlyknew it; but to all that was light and air, perfume andcolour, every drop of blood in her responded. Sheloved the roughness of the dry mountain grass under herpalms, the smell of the thyme into which she crushedher face, the fingering of the wind in her hair andthrough her cotton blouse, and the creak of the larchesas they swayed to it.

　　She often climbed up the hill and lay there alone forthe mere pleasure of feeling the wind and of rubbingher cheeks in the grass. Generally at such times shedid not think of anything, but lay immersed in aninarticulate well-being. Today the sense of well-beingwas intensified by her joy at escaping from thelibrary. She liked well enough to have a friend drop inand talk to her when she was on duty, but she hated tobe bothered about books. How could she remember wherethey were, when they were so seldom asked for? Orma Fryoccasionally took out a novel, and her brother Ben wasfond of what he called "jography," and of booksrelating to trade and bookkeeping; but no one elseasked for anything except, at intervals, "Uncle Tom'sCabin," or "Opening of a Chestnut Burr," or Longfellow.

　　She had these under her hand, and could have found themin the dark; but unexpected demands came so rarely thatthey exasperated her like an injustice....

　　She had liked the young man's looks, and his short-sighted eyes, and his odd way of speaking, that wasabrupt yet soft, just as his hands were sun-burnt andsinewy, yet with smooth nails like a woman's. His hairwas sunburnt-looking too, or rather the colour ofbracken after frost; his eyes grey, with the appealinglook of the shortsighted, his smile shy yet confident,as if he knew lots of things she had never dreamed of,and yet wouldn't for the world have had her feel hissuperiority. But she did feel it, and liked thefeeling; for it was new to her. Poor and ignorant asshe was, and knew herself to be--humblest of the humbleeven in North Dormer, where to come from the Mountainwas the worst disgrace--yet in her narrow world she hadalways ruled. It was partly, of course, owing to thefact that lawyer Royall was "the biggest man in NorthDormer"; so much too big for it, in fact, thatoutsiders, who didn't know, always wondered how it heldhim. In spite of everything--and in spite even of MissHatchard--lawyer Royall ruled in North Dormer; andCharity ruled in lawyer Royall's house. She had neverput it to herself in those terms; but she knew herpower, knew what it was made of, and hated it.

　　Confusedly, the young man in the library had made herfeel for the first time what might be the sweetness ofdependence.

　　She sat up, brushed the bits of grass from her hair,and looked down on the house where she held sway. Itstood just below her, cheerless and untended, its fadedred front divided from the road by a "yard" with a pathbordered by gooseberry bushes, a stone well overgrownwith traveller's joy, and a sickly Crimson Rambler tiedto a fan-shaped support, which Mr. Royall had oncebrought up from Hepburn to please her. Behind thehouse a bit of uneven ground with clothes-lines strungacross it stretched up to a dry wall, and beyond thewall a patch of corn and a few rows of potatoes strayedvaguely into the adjoining wilderness of rock and fern.

　　Charity could not recall her first sight of the house.

　　She had been told that she was ill of a fever when shewas brought down from the Mountain; and she could onlyremember waking one day in a cot at the foot of Mrs.

　　Royall's bed, and opening her eyes on the cold neatnessof the room that was afterward to be hers.

　　Mrs. Royall died seven or eight years later; and bythat time Charity had taken the measure of most thingsabout her. She knew that Mrs. Royall was sad and timidand weak; she knew that lawyer Royall was harsh andviolent, and still weaker. She knew that she had beenchristened Charity (in the white church at the otherend of the village) to commemorate Mr. Royall'sdisinterestedness in "bringing her down," and to keepalive in her a becoming sense of her dependence; sheknew that Mr. Royall was her guardian, but that he hadnot legally adopted her, though everybody spoke of heras Charity Royall; and she knew why he had come back tolive at North Dormer, instead of practising atNettleton, where he had begun his legal career.

　　After Mrs. Royall's death there was some talk ofsending her to a boarding-school. Miss Hatchardsuggested it, and had a long conference with Mr.

　　Royall, who, in pursuance of her plan, departed one dayfor Starkfield to visit the institution sherecommended. He came back the next night with a blackface; worse, Charity observed, than she had ever seenhim; and by that time she had had some experience.

　　When she asked him how soon she was to start heanswered shortly, "You ain't going," and shut himselfup in the room he called his office; and the next daythe lady who kept the school at Starkfield wrote that"under the circumstances" she was afraid she could notmake room just then for another pupil.

　　Charity was disappointed; but she understood. Itwasn't the temptations of Starkfield that had been Mr.

　　Royall's undoing; it was the thought of losing her. Hewas a dreadfully "lonesome" man; she had made that outbecause she was so "lonesome" herself. He and she,face to face in that sad house, had sounded the depthsof isolation; and though she felt no particularaffection for him, and not the slightest gratitude, shepitied him because she was conscious that he wassuperior to the people about him, and that she was theonly being between him and solitude. Therefore, whenMiss Hatchard sent for her a day or two later, to talkof a school at Nettleton, and to say that this time afriend of hers would "make the necessary arrangements,"Charity cut her short with the announcement that shehad decided not to leave North Dormer.

　　Miss Hatchard reasoned with her kindly, but to nopurpose; she simply repeated: "I guess Mr. Royall's toolonesome."Miss Hatchard blinked perplexedly behind her eye-glasses. Her long frail face was full of puzzledwrinkles, and she leant forward, resting her hands onthe arms of her mahogany armchair, with the evidentdesire to say something that ought to be said.

　　"The feeling does you credit, my dear."She looked about the pale walls of her sitting-room,seeking counsel of ancestral daguerreotypes anddidactic samplers; but they seemed to make utterancemore difficult.

　　"The fact is, it's not only--not only because of theadvantages. There are other reasons. You're too youngto understand----""Oh, no, I ain't," said Charity harshly; and MissHatchard blushed to the roots of her blonde cap. Butshe must have felt a vague relief at having herexplanation cut short, for she concluded, againinvoking the daguerreotypes: "Of course I shall alwaysdo what I can for you; and in case....in case....youknow you can always come to me...."Lawyer Royall was waiting for Charity in the porch whenshe returned from this visit. He had shaved, andbrushed his black coat, and looked a magnificentmonument of a man; at such moments she really admiredhim.

　　"Well," he said, "is it settled?""Yes, it's settled. I ain't going.""Not to the Nettleton school?""Not anywhere."He cleared his throat and asked sternly: "Why?""I'd rather not," she said, swinging past him on herway to her room. It was the following week that hebrought her up the Crimson Rambler and its fan fromHepburn. He had never given her anything before.

　　The next outstanding incident of her life had happenedtwo years later, when she was seventeen. LawyerRoyall, who hated to go to Nettleton, had been calledthere in connection with a case. He still exercisedhis profession, though litigation languished in NorthDormer and its outlying hamlets; and for once he hadhad an opportunity that he could not afford to refuse.

　　He spent three days in Nettleton, won his case, andcame back in high good-humour. It was a rare mood withhim, and manifested itself on this occasion by histalking impressively at the supper-table of the"rousing welcome" his old friends had given him. Hewound up confidentially: "I was a damn fool ever toleave Nettleton. It was Mrs. Royall that made me doit."Charity immediately perceived that something bitter hadhappened to him, and that he was trying to talk downthe recollection. She went up to bed early, leavinghim seated in moody thought, his elbows propped on theworn oilcloth of the supper table. On the way up shehad extracted from his overcoat pocket the key of thecupboard where the bottle of whiskey was kept.

　　She was awakened by a rattling at her door and jumpedout of bed. She heard Mr. Royall's voice, low andperemptory, and opened the door, fearing an accident.

　　No other thought had occurred to her; but when she sawhim in the doorway, a ray from the autumn moon fallingon his discomposed face, she understood.

　　For a moment they looked at each other in silence;then, as he put his foot across the threshold, shestretched out her arm and stopped him.

　　"You go right back from here," she said, in a shrillvoice that startled her; "you ain't going to have thatkey tonight.""Charity, let me in. I don't want the key. I'm alonesome man," he began, in the deep voice thatsometimes moved her.

　　Her heart gave a startled plunge, but she continued tohold him back contemptuously. "Well, I guess you madea mistake, then. This ain't your wife's room anylonger."She was not frightened, she simply felt a deep disgust;and perhaps he divined it or read it in her face, forafter staring at her a moment he drew back and turnedslowly away from the door. With her ear to her keyholeshe heard him feel his way down the dark stairs, andtoward the kitchen; and she listened for the crash ofthe cupboard panel, but instead she heard him, after aninterval, unlock the door of the house, and his heavysteps came to her through the silence as he walked downthe path. She crept to the window and saw his bentfigure striding up the road in the moonlight. Then abelated sense of fear came to her with theconsciousness of victory, and she slipped into bed,cold to the bone.

　　A day or two later poor Eudora Skeff, who for twentyyears had been the custodian of the Hatchard library,died suddenly of pneumonia; and the day after thefuneral Charity went to see Miss Hatchard, and asked tobe appointed librarian. The request seemed to surpriseMiss Hatchard: she evidently questioned the newcandidate's qualifications.

　　"Why, I don't know, my dear. Aren't you rather tooyoung?" she hesitated.

　　"I want to earn some money," Charity merely answered.

　　"Doesn't Mr. Royall give you all you require? No one isrich in North Dormer.""I want to earn money enough to get away.""To get away?" Miss Hatchard's puzzled wrinklesdeepened, and there was a distressful pause. "You wantto leave Mr. Royall?""Yes: or I want another woman in the house with me,"said Charity resolutely.

　　Miss Hatchard clasped her nervous hands about the armsof her chair. Her eyes invoked the faded countenanceson the wall, and after a faint cough of indecision shebrought out: "The...the housework's too hard for you, Isuppose?"Charity's heart grew cold. She understood that MissHatchard had no help to give her and that she wouldhave to fight her way out of her difficulty alone. Adeeper sense of isolation overcame her; she feltincalculably old. "She's got to be talked to like ababy," she thought, with a feeling of compassion forMiss Hatchard's long immaturity. "Yes, that's it," shesaid aloud. "The housework's too hard for me: I'vebeen coughing a good deal this fall."She noted the immediate effect of this suggestion. MissHatchard paled at the memory of poor Eudora's taking-off, and promised to do what she could. But of coursethere were people she must consult: the clergyman, theselectmen of North Dormer, and a distant Hatchardrelative at Springfield. "If you'd only gone toschool!" she sighed. She followed Charity to the door,and there, in the security of the threshold, said witha glance of evasive appeal: "I know Mr. Royallis...trying at times; but his wife bore with him; andyou must always remember, Charity, that it was Mr.

　　Royall who brought you down from the Mountain." Charitywent home and opened the door of Mr. Royall's "office."He was sitting there by the stove reading DanielWebster's speeches. They had met at meals during thefive days that had elapsed since he had come to herdoor, and she had walked at his side at Eudora'sfuneral; but they had not spoken a word to each other.

　　He glanced up in surprise as she entered, and shenoticed that he was unshaved, and that he lookedunusually old; but as she had always thought of him asan old man the change in his appearance did not moveher. She told him she had been to see Miss Hatchard,and with what object. She saw that he was astonished;but he made no comment.

　　"I told her the housework was too hard for me, and Iwanted to earn the money to pay for a hired girl. ButI ain't going to pay for her: you've got to. I want tohave some money of my own."Mr. Royall's bushy black eyebrows were drawn togetherin a frown, and he sat drumming with ink-stained nailson the edge of his desk.

　　"What do you want to earn money for?" he asked.

　　"So's to get away when I want to.""Why do you want to get away?"Her contempt flashed out. "Do you suppose anybody'dstay at North Dormer if they could help it? Youwouldn't, folks say!"With lowered head he asked: "Where'd you go to?""Anywhere where I can earn my living. I'll try herefirst, and if I can't do it here I'll go somewhereelse. I'll go up the Mountain if I have to." Shepaused on this threat, and saw that it had takeneffect. "I want you should get Miss Hatchard and theselectmen to take me at the library: and I want a womanhere in the house with me," she repeated.

　　Mr. Royall had grown exceedingly pale. When she endedhe stood up ponderously, leaning against the desk; andfor a second or two they looked at each other.

　　"See here," he said at length as though utterance weredifficult, "there's something I've been wanting to sayto you; I'd ought to have said it before. I want youto marry me."The girl still stared at him without moving. "I wantyou to marry me," he repeated, clearing his throat.

　　"The minister'll be up here next Sunday and we can fixit up then. Or I'll drive you down to Hepburn to theJustice, and get it done there. I'll do whatever yousay." His eyes fell under the merciless stare shecontinued to fix on him, and he shifted his weightuneasily from one foot to the other. As he stood therebefore her, unwieldy, shabby, disordered, the purpleveins distorting the hands he pressed against the desk,and his long orator's jaw trembling with the effort ofhis avowal, he seemed like a hideous parody of thefatherly old man she had always known.

　　"Marry you? Me?" she burst out with a scornful laugh.

　　"Was that what you came to ask me the other night?

　　What's come over you, I wonder? How long is it sinceyou've looked at yourself in the glass?" Shestraightened herself, insolently conscious of her youthand strength. "I suppose you think it would be cheaperto marry me than to keep a hired girl. Everybody knowsyou're the closest man in Eagle County; but I guessyou're not going to get your mending done for you thatway twice."Mr. Royall did not move while she spoke. His face wasash-coloured and his black eyebrows quivered as thoughthe blaze of her scorn had blinded him. When sheceased he held up his hand.

　　"That'll do--that'll about do," he said. He turned tothe door and took his hat from the hat-peg. On thethreshold he paused. "People ain't been fair to me--from the first they ain't been fair to me," he said.

　　Then he went out.

　　A few days later North Dormer learned with surprisethat Charity had been appointed librarian of theHatchard Memorial at a salary of eight dollars a month,and that old Verena Marsh, from the Creston Almshouse,was coming to live at lawyer Royall's and do thecooking.