Page:The Portrait of a Lady (London, Macmillan & Co., 1881) Volume 2.djvu/151

 that for a week past her imagination had been going forward to meet; but here, when it came, she stopped—her imagination halted. The working of this young lady's spirit was strange, and I can only give it to you as I see it, not hoping to make it seem altogether natural. Her imagination stopped, as I say; there was a last vague space it could not cross—a dusky, uncertain tract which looked ambiguous, and even slightly treacherous, like a moorland seen in the winter twilight. But she was to cross it yet.