XVIII

           TheybegantojogdownthewindingroadtothevalleyatoldDan’slanguidpace.Charityfeltherselfsinkingintodeeperdepthsofweariness,andastheydescendedthroughthebarewoodsthereweremomentswhenshelosttheexactsenseofthings,andseemedtobesittingbesideherloverwiththeleafyarchofsummerbendingoverthem.Butthisillusionwasfaintandtransitory.Forthemostpartshehadonlyaconfusedsensationofslippingdownasmoothirresistiblecurrent;andsheabandonedherselftothefeelingasarefugefromthetormentofthought.

           Mr.Royallseldomspoke,buthissilentpresencegaveher,forthefirsttime,asenseofpeaceandsecurity.Sheknewthatwherehewastherewouldbewarmth,rest,silence;andforthemomenttheywereallshewanted.Sheshuthereyes,andeventhesethingsgrewdimtoher....

           Inthetrain,duringtheshortrunfromCrestontoNettleton,thewarmtharousedher,andtheconsciousnessofbeingunderstrangeeyesgaveheramomentaryenergy.Shesatupright,facingMr.Royall,andstaredoutofthewindowatthedenudedcountry.Forty-eighthoursearlier,whenshehadlasttraversedit,manyofthetreesstillheldtheirleaves;butthehighwindofthelasttwonightshadstrippedthem,andthelinesofthelandscape’wereasfinelypencilledasinDecember.AfewdaysofautumncoldhadwipedoutalltraceoftherichfieldsandlanguidgrovesthroughwhichshehadpassedontheFourthofJuly;andwiththefadingofthelandscapethosefervidhourshadfaded,too.