She supposed that it sheltered a
travelling circus which had come there for the Fourth; but as she drew
nearer she saw, over the folded-back flap, a large sign bearing the
inscription, "Gospel Tent." The interior seemed to be empty; but a young
man in a black alpaca coat, his lank hair parted over a round white
face, stepped from under the flap and advanced toward her with a smile.
"Sister, your Saviour knows everything. Won't you come in and lay your
guilt before Him?" he asked insinuatingly, putting his hand on her arm.
Charity started back and flushed. For a moment she thought the
evangelist must have heard a report of the scene at Nettleton; then she
saw the absurdity of the supposition.
"I on'y wish't I had any to lay!" she retorted, with one of her fierce
flashes of self-derision; and the young man murmured, aghast: "Oh,
Sister, don't speak blasphemy...."
But she had jerked her arm out of his hold, and was running up the
branch road, trembling with the fear of meeting a familiar face.
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