Лето
XII
TwentyminutesfromthetimewhenshehadleftMissHatchard’sdoorshewasturningupthewood-roadonwhichHarneyhadovertakenheronthedayofherflight;andafewminutesafterwardshehadjumpedfromherbicycleatthegateofthedesertedhouse.
Inthegold-powderedsunsetitlookedmorethaneverlikesomefrailshelldriedandwashedbymanyseasons;butattheback,whitherCharityadvanced,drawingherbicycleafterher,thereweresignsofrecenthabitation.Aroughdoormadeofboardshunginthekitchendoorway,andpushingitopensheenteredaroomfurnishedinprimitivecampingfashion.Inthewindowwasatable,alsomadeofboards,withanearthenwarejarholdingabigbunchofwildasters,twocanvaschairsstoodnearby,andinonecornerwasamattresswithaMexicanblanketoverit.
Theroomwasempty,andleaningherbicycleagainstthehouseCharityclambereduptheslopeandsatdownonarockunderanoldapple-tree.Theairwasperfectlystill,andfromwhereshesatshewouldbeabletohearthetinkleofabicycle-bellalongwaydowntheroad....
ShewasalwaysgladwhenshegottothelittlehousebeforeHarney.Shelikedtohavetimetotakeineverydetailofitssecretsweetness—theshadowsoftheapple-treesswayingonthegrass,theoldwalnutsroundingtheirdomesbelowtheroad,themeadowsslopingwestwardintheafternoonlight—beforehisfirstkissblotteditallout.Everythingunrelatedtothehoursspentinthattranquilplacewasasfaintastheremembranceofadream.
