But the address frightened her. It was in New
York, at a club with a long name in Fifth Avenue: it seemed to raise an
insurmountable barrier between them. Once or twice, in the first days,
she got out a sheet of paper, and sat looking at it, and trying to think
what to say; but she had the feeling that her letter would never reach
its destination. She had never written to anyone farther away than
Hepburn.
Harney's first letter came after he had been gone about ten days. It was
tender but grave, and bore no resemblance to the gay little notes he had
sent her by the freckled boy from Creston River. He spoke positively of
his intention of coming back, but named no date, and reminded Charity of
their agreement that their plans should not be divulged till he had had
time to "settle things." When that would be he could not yet foresee;
but she could count on his returning as soon as the way was clear.
She read the letter with a strange sense of its coming from immeasurable
distances and having lost most of its meaning on the way; and in reply
she sent him a coloured postcard of Creston Falls, on which she wrote:
"With love from Charity.
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