arriving before the time, and showed a laudable
indignation when the youngest Targatt girl, who had been engaged to help
in the cleaning and rearranging of the books, came trailing in late
and neglected her task to peer through the window at the Sollas boy.
Nevertheless, "library days" seemed more than ever irksome to Charity
after her vivid hours of liberty; and she would have found it hard to
set a good example to her subordinate if Lucius Harney had not been
commissioned, before Miss Hatchard's departure, to examine with the
local carpenter the best means of ventilating the "Memorial."

He was careful to prosecute this inquiry on the days when the library
was open to the public; and Charity was therefore sure of spending part
of the afternoon in his company. The Targatt girl's presence, and the
risk of being interrupted by some passer-by suddenly smitten with a
thirst for letters, restricted their intercourse to the exchange of
commonplaces; but there was a fascination to Charity in the contrast
between these public civilities and their secret intimacy.

The day after their drive to the brown house was "library day," and
she sat at her desk working at the revised catalogue, while the Targatt
girl, one eye on the window, chanted out the titles of a pile of books.
Charity's thoughts were far away, in the dismal house by the swamp, and
under the twilight sky during the long drive home, when Lucius Harney
had consoled her with endearing words. That day, for the first time
since he had been boarding with them, he had failed to appear as usual
at the midday meal. No message had come to explain his absence, and Mr.
Royall, who was more than usually taciturn, had betrayed no surprise,
and made no comment. In itself this indifference was not particularly
significant, for Mr. Royall, in common with most of his fellow-citizens,
had a way of accepting events passively, as if he had long since come
to the conclusion that no one who lived in North Dormer could hope to
modify them. But to Charity, in the reaction from her mood of passionate
exaltation, there was something disquieting in his silence. It was
almost as if Lucius Harney had never had a part in their lives: Mr.
Royall's imperturbable indifference seemed to relegate him to the domain
of unreality.

As she sat at work, she tried to shake off her disappointment at
Harney's non-appearing. Some trifling incident had probably kept him
from joining them at midday; but she wa