She was, she guessed, close to the library. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. Then the incredible happened. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. That is all I ask. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna.
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