” They clambered down the hill together. Anna, you shall not go. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. She leaves me almost without comparisons. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis.
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