Another woman, the
unkempt creature that Charity had once noticed in driving by, stood
leaning against the window-frame and stared at them; and near the stove
an unshaved man in a tattered shirt sat on a barrel asleep.
The place was bare and miserable and the air heavy with the smell of
dirt and stale tobacco. Charity's heart sank. Old derided tales of
the Mountain people came back to her, and the woman's stare was so
disconcerting, and the face of the sleeping man so sodden and bestial,
that her disgust was tinged with a vague dread. She was not afraid for
herself; she knew the Hyatts would not be likely to trouble her; but she
was not sure how they would treat a "city fellow."
Lucius Harney would certainly have laughed at her fears. He glanced
about the room, uttered a general "How are you?" to which no one
responded, and then asked the younger woman if they might take shelter
till the storm was over.
She turned her eyes away from him and looked at Charity.
"You're the girl from Royall's, ain't you?"
The colour rose in Charity's face.
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