Charity did not speak. It seemed to her that nothing could exceed the bitterness of hearing such words from such lips.
Mr. Royall rose from his seat. “See here, Charity Royall: I had a shameful thought once, and you’ve made me pay for it. Isn’t that score pretty near wiped out?…There’s a streak in me I ain’t always master of; but I’ve always acted straight to you but that once. And you’ve known I would–you’ve trusted me. For all your sneers and your mockery you’ve always known I loved you the way a man loves a decent woman. I’m a good many years older than you, but I’m head and shoulders above this place and everybody in it, and you know that too. I slipped up once, but that’s no reason for not starting again. If you’ll come with me I’ll do it. If you’ll marry me we’ll leave here and settle in some big town, where there’s men, and business, and things doing. It’s not too late for me to find an opening….I can see it by the way folks treat me when I go down to Hepburn or Nettleton….”
Charity made no movement. Nothing in his appeal reached her heart, and she thought only of words to wound and wither. But a growing lassitude restrained her. What did anything matter that he was saying? She saw the old life closing in on her, and hardly heeded his fanciful picture of renewal.
“Charity–Charity–say you’ll do it,” she heard him urge, all his lost years and wasted passion in his voice.
“Oh, what’s the use of all this? When I leave here it won’t be with you.”
She moved toward the door as she spoke, and he stood up and placed himself between her and the threshold. He seemed suddenly tall and strong, as though the extremity of his humiliation had given him new vigour.
“That’s all, is it? It’s not much.” He leaned against the door, so towering and powerful that he seemed to fill the narrow room. “Well, then look here….You’re right: I’ve no claim on you–why should you look at a broken man like me? You want the other fellow…and I don’t blame you. You picked out the best when you seen it…well, that was always my way.” He fixed his stern eyes on her, and she had the sense that the struggle within him was at its highest. “Do you want him to marry you?” he asked.
They stood and looked at each other for a long moment, eye to eye, with the terrible equality of courage that sometimes made her feel as if she had his blood in her veins.
“Do you want him to–say? I’ll have him here in an hour if you do. I ain’t been in the law thirty years for nothing. He’s hired Carrick Fry’s team to take him to Hepburn, but he ain’t going to start for another hour. And I can put things to him so he won’t be long deciding….He’s soft: I could see that. I don’t say you won’t be sorry afterward–but, by God, I’ll give you the chance to be, if you say so.”
She heard him out in silence, too remote from all he was feeling and saying for any sally of scorn to relieve her. As she listened, there flitted through her mind the vision of Liff Hyatt’s muddy boot coming down on the white bramble-flowers. The same thing had happened now; something transient and exquisite had flowered in her, and she had stood by and seen it trampled to earth. While the thought passed through her she was aware of Mr. Royall, still leaning against the door, but crestfallen, diminished, as though her silence were the answer he most dreaded.
“I don’t want any chance you can give me: I’m glad he’s going away,” she said.
He kept his place a moment longer, his hand on the door-knob. “Charity!” he pleaded. She made no answer, and he turned the knob and went out. She heard him fumble with the latch of the front door, and saw him walk down the steps. He passed out of the gate, and his figure, stooping and heavy, receded slowly up the street.