From where she sat she saw the trail wandering across the
bleached grass in the direction of Hamblin, and the granite wall of the
Mountain falling away to infinite distances. On that side of the ridge
the valleys still lay in wintry shadow; but in the plain beyond the sun
was touching village roofs and steeples, and gilding the haze of smoke
over far-off invisible towns.
Charity felt herself a mere speck in the lonely circle of the sky. The
events of the last two days seemed to have divided her forever from
her short dream of bliss. Even Harney's image had been blurred by that
crushing experience: she thought of him as so remote from her that he
seemed hardly more than a memory. In her fagged and floating mind only
one sensation had the weight of reality; it was the bodily burden of
her child. But for it she would have felt as rootless as the whiffs of
thistledown the wind blew past her. Her child was like a load that held
her down, and yet like a hand that pulled her to her feet. She said to
herself that she must get up and struggle on.
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