She lifted her heavy eyes to his. "I'm going to see my mother."
The two men glanced at each other, and for a moment neither of them
spoke.
Then Mr. Miles said: "You look ill, my dear, and it's a long way. Do you
think it's wise?"
Charity stood up. "I've got to go to her."
A vague mirthless grin contracted Liff Hyatt's face, and Mr. Miles again
spoke uncertainly. "You know, then--you'd been told?"
She stared at him. "I don't know what you mean. I want to go to her."
Mr. Miles was examining her thoughtfully. She fancied she saw a change
in his expression, and the blood rushed to her forehead. "I just want to
go to her," she repeated.
He laid his hand on her arm. "My child, your mother is dying. Liff Hyatt
came down to fetch me.... Get in and come with us."
He helped her up to the seat at his side, Liff Hyatt clambered in at
the back, and they drove off toward Hamblin. At first Charity had
hardly grasped what Mr. Miles was saying; the physical relief of finding
herself seated in the buggy, and securely on her road to the Mountain,
effaced the impression of his words.
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