Лето

           Todoso,shehadtofollowtheCrestonroadforamileortwo,andgowithinhalfamileofthevillage;andshewalkedquickly,fearingtomeetHarney.Buttherewasnosignofhim,andshehadalmostreachedthebranchroadwhenshesawtheflanksofalargewhitetentprojectingthroughthetreesbytheroadside.ShesupposedthatitshelteredatravellingcircuswhichhadcometherefortheFourth;butasshedrewnearershesaw,overthefolded-backflap,alargesignbearingtheinscription,“GospelTent.”Theinteriorseemedtobeempty;butayoungmaninablackalpacacoat,hislankhairpartedoveraroundwhiteface,steppedfromundertheflapandadvancedtowardherwithasmile.

           “Sister,yourSaviourknowseverything.Won’tyoucomeinandlayyourguiltbeforeHim?”heaskedinsinuatingly,puttinghishandonherarm.

           Charitystartedbackandflushed.ForamomentshethoughttheevangelistmusthaveheardareportofthesceneatNettleton;thenshesawtheabsurdityofthesupposition.

           “Ion’ywish’tIhadanytolay!”sheretorted,withoneofherfierceflashesofself-derision;andtheyoungmanmurmured,aghast:“Oh,Sister,don’tspeakblasphemy....”

           Butshehadjerkedherarmoutofhishold,andwasrunningupthebranchroad,tremblingwiththefearofmeetingafamiliarface.Presentlyshewasoutofsightofthevillage,andclimbingintotheheartoftheforest.ShecouldnothopetodothefifteenmilestotheMountainthatafternoon;butsheknewofaplacehalf-waytoHamblinwhereshecouldsleep,andwherenoonewouldthinkoflookingforher.