Літо
XII
Theonlyrealitywasthewondrousunfoldingofhernewself,thereachingouttothelightofallhercontractedtendrils.Shehadlivedallherlifeamongpeoplewhosesensibilitiesseemedtohavewitheredforlackofuse;andmorewonderful,atfirst,thanHarney’sendearmentswerethewordsthatwereapartofthem.Shehadalwaysthoughtofloveassomethingconfusedandfurtive,andhemadeitasbrightandopenasthesummerair.
OnthemorrowofthedaywhenshehadshownhimthewaytothedesertedhousehehadpackedupandleftCrestonRiverforBoston;butatthefirststationhehadjumpedonthetrainwithahand-bagandscrambledupintothehills.FortwogoldenrainlessAugustweekshehadcampedinthehouse,gettingeggsandmilkfromthesolitaryfarminthevalley,wherenooneknewhim,anddoinghiscookingoveraspirit-lamp.Hegotupeverydaywiththesun,tookaplungeinabrownpoolheknewof,andspentlonghourslyinginthescentedhemlock-woodsabovethehouse,orwanderingalongtheyokeoftheEagleRidge,farabovethemistybluevalleysthatsweptawayeastandwestbetweentheendlesshills.AndintheafternoonCharitycametohim.
Withpartofwhatwasleftofhersavingsshehadhiredabicycleforamonth,andeverydayafterdinner,assoonasherguardianstartedtohisoffice,shehurriedtothelibrary,gotoutherbicycle,andflewdowntheCrestonroad.SheknewthatMr.Royall,likeeveryoneelseinNorthDormer,wasperfectlyawareofheracquisition:possiblyhe,aswellastherestofthevillage,knewwhatuseshemadeofit.
