Perhaps she had never been subjected to so hard an ordeal as now. She sat with her hands tightly clasped on the table, her lips painfully smiling, a dark dew of pain in her eyes--hearing her own humiliation, her downfall from the heights of worship and service where she had been placed all her life by those who loved her, recounted like a well-known history. She thought it had been all secret to herself, that nobody had known of the wondering discoveries, the bitter findings out, the confusion of all her ideas, as one thing after another became clear to her. It was not all clear to her yet; she had found out some things, but not all. And that all should be clear as daylight to others, to the friends whom she had hoped knew nothing about it! this knowledge transfixed Anne like a sword. Fiery arrows had struck into her before, winged and blazing, but now it was all one great burning scorching wound. She held her hands clasped tight to keep herself still. She would not writhe at least upon the sword that was through her, she said to herself, and upon her mouth there was the little contortion of a smile. Was it to try and make it credible that she did not believe what he was saying, or that she did not feel it, that she kept that smile?--or had it got frozen upon her lips so that the ghost could not pass away? When he stopped at last, half frightened by his own vehemence, and alarmed at her calm, Anne was some time without making any reply. At last she said, speaking with some difficulty, her lips being dry: ‘Mr. Ashley, some of what you say is true.’ ‘Some--oh, my dear, my dear, it is all true--don’t lay that flattering unction to your soul. Once you have looked at it calmly, dispassionately----’ Here Anne broke forth into a little laugh, which made Mr. Ashley hold out his hands in eager deprecation, ‘Oh, don’t, my darling, don’t, don’t!’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, no--I will not laugh--that would be too much. Am I so dispassionate, do you think? Able to judge calmly, though the case is my own----’ ‘Yes, Anne,’ cried the old Rector; his feelings were too much for him--he broke down and sobbed like a woman. ‘Yes, my beautiful Anne, my dearest child! you are capable of it--you are capable of everything that is heroic. Would I have ventured to come to you but for that? You are capable of everything, my dear.’