“He is very kind, Anna, really, and not half such a prig as he seems. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. . ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek.
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