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diff --git a/old/141-0.txt b/old/141-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6fe309b..0000000 --- a/old/141-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16054 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Mansfield Park - -Author: Jane Austen - -Release Date: June, 1994 [eBook #141] -[Last updated: September 21, 2022] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MANSFIELD PARK *** - - - - -MANSFIELD PARK - -(1814) - -By Jane Austen - - -Contents - - CHAPTER I - CHAPTER II - CHAPTER III - CHAPTER IV - CHAPTER V - CHAPTER VI - CHAPTER VII - CHAPTER VIII - CHAPTER IX - CHAPTER X - CHAPTER XI - CHAPTER XII - CHAPTER XIII - CHAPTER XIV - CHAPTER XV - CHAPTER XVI - CHAPTER XVII - CHAPTER XVIII - CHAPTER XIX - CHAPTER XX - CHAPTER XXI - CHAPTER XXII - CHAPTER XXIII - CHAPTER XXIV - CHAPTER XXV - CHAPTER XXVI - CHAPTER XXVII - CHAPTER XXVIII - CHAPTER XXIX - CHAPTER XXX - CHAPTER XXXI - CHAPTER XXXII - CHAPTER XXXIII - CHAPTER XXXIV - CHAPTER XXXV - CHAPTER XXXVI - CHAPTER XXXVII - CHAPTER XXXVIII - CHAPTER XXXIX - CHAPTER XL - CHAPTER XLI - CHAPTER XLII - CHAPTER XLIII - CHAPTER XLIV - CHAPTER XLV - CHAPTER XLVI - CHAPTER XLVII - CHAPTER XLVIII - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven -thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of -Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised -to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences -of an handsome house and large income. All Huntingdon exclaimed on the -greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her -to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to -it. She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation; and such of -their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as -handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their marrying with -almost equal advantage. But there certainly are not so many men of -large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them. -Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to -be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, -with scarcely any private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse. -Miss Ward’s match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not -contemptible: Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an -income in the living of Mansfield; and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their -career of conjugal felicity with very little less than a thousand a -year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her -family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, without education, -fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly. She could hardly have -made a more untoward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had interest, which, -from principle as well as pride—from a general wish of doing right, and -a desire of seeing all that were connected with him in situations of -respectability, he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of -Lady Bertram’s sister; but her husband’s profession was such as no -interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any other method -of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken -place. It was the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such -as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces. To save herself -from useless remonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the -subject till actually married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very -tranquil feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would -have contented herself with merely giving up her sister, and thinking -no more of the matter; but Mrs. Norris had a spirit of activity, which -could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to -Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her with all -its possible ill consequences. Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and -angry; and an answer, which comprehended each sister in its bitterness, -and bestowed such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir -Thomas as Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to -all intercourse between them for a considerable period. - -Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so -distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each -other’s existence during the eleven following years, or, at least, to -make it very wonderful to Sir Thomas that Mrs. Norris should ever have -it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did, in an angry -voice, that Fanny had got another child. By the end of eleven years, -however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride or -resentment, or to lose one connexion that might possibly assist her. A -large and still increasing family, an husband disabled for active -service, but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very -small income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the -friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady -Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despondence, -such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost everything -else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She was -preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after bewailing the circumstance, -and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she -could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future -maintenance of the eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten -years old, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world; -but what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter -useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property? No -situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomas think of -Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to the East? - -The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and kindness. -Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, Lady Bertram -dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters. - -Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a more -important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. Norris was -often observing to the others that she could not get her poor sister -and her family out of her head, and that, much as they had all done for -her, she seemed to be wanting to do more; and at length she could not -but own it to be her wish that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from -the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number. -“What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest -daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more -attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The trouble and -expense of it to them would be nothing, compared with the benevolence -of the action.” Lady Bertram agreed with her instantly. “I think we -cannot do better,” said she; “let us send for the child.” - -Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a consent. -He debated and hesitated;—it was a serious charge;—a girl so brought up -must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of -kindness in taking her from her family. He thought of his own four -children, of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;—but no sooner had -he deliberately begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris -interrupted him with a reply to them all, whether stated or not. - -“My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do justice to the -generosity and delicacy of your notions, which indeed are quite of a -piece with your general conduct; and I entirely agree with you in the -main as to the propriety of doing everything one could by way of -providing for a child one had in a manner taken into one’s own hands; -and I am sure I should be the last person in the world to withhold my -mite upon such an occasion. Having no children of my own, who should I -look to in any little matter I may ever have to bestow, but the -children of my sisters?—and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just—but you -know I am a woman of few words and professions. Do not let us be -frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, and -introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one but she has the -means of settling well, without farther expense to anybody. A niece of -ours, Sir Thomas, I may say, or at least of _yours_, would not grow up -in this neighbourhood without many advantages. I don’t say she would be -so handsome as her cousins. I dare say she would not; but she would be -introduced into the society of this country under such very favourable -circumstances as, in all human probability, would get her a creditable -establishment. You are thinking of your sons—but do not you know that, -of all things upon earth, _that_ is the least likely to happen, brought -up as they would be, always together like brothers and sisters? It is -morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it. It is, in fact, the -only sure way of providing against the connexion. Suppose her a pretty -girl, and seen by Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, -and I dare say there would be mischief. The very idea of her having -been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in poverty and -neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear, sweet-tempered -boys in love with her. But breed her up with them from this time, and -suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will never be -more to either than a sister.” - -“There is a great deal of truth in what you say,” replied Sir Thomas, -“and far be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment in the way of a -plan which would be so consistent with the relative situations of each. -I only meant to observe that it ought not to be lightly engaged in, and -that to make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to -ourselves, we must secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged -to secure to her hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision -of a gentlewoman, if no such establishment should offer as you are so -sanguine in expecting.” - -“I thoroughly understand you,” cried Mrs. Norris, “you are everything -that is generous and considerate, and I am sure we shall never disagree -on this point. Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready -enough to do for the good of those I love; and, though I could never -feel for this little girl the hundredth part of the regard I bear your -own dear children, nor consider her, in any respect, so much my own, I -should hate myself if I were capable of neglecting her. Is not she a -sister’s child? and could I bear to see her want while I had a bit of -bread to give her? My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I have a warm -heart; and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries of -life than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you are not against it, I will -write to my poor sister tomorrow, and make the proposal; and, as soon -as matters are settled, _I_ will engage to get the child to Mansfield; -_you_ shall have no trouble about it. My own trouble, you know, I never -regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed -at her cousin the saddler’s, and the child be appointed to meet her -there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, -under the care of any creditable person that may chance to be going. I -dare say there is always some reputable tradesman’s wife or other going -up.” - -Except to the attack on Nanny’s cousin, Sir Thomas no longer made any -objection, and a more respectable, though less economical rendezvous -being accordingly substituted, everything was considered as settled, -and the pleasures of so benevolent a scheme were already enjoyed. The -division of gratifying sensations ought not, in strict justice, to have -been equal; for Sir Thomas was fully resolved to be the real and -consistent patron of the selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the -least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As -far as walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly -benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others; -but her love of money was equal to her love of directing, and she knew -quite as well how to save her own as to spend that of her friends. -Having married on a narrower income than she had been used to look -forward to, she had, from the first, fancied a very strict line of -economy necessary; and what was begun as a matter of prudence, soon -grew into a matter of choice, as an object of that needful solicitude -which there were no children to supply. Had there been a family to -provide for, Mrs. Norris might never have saved her money; but having -no care of that kind, there was nothing to impede her frugality, or -lessen the comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they -had never lived up to. Under this infatuating principle, counteracted -by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her to aim -at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so expensive a -charity; though perhaps she might so little know herself as to walk -home to the Parsonage, after this conversation, in the happy belief of -being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world. - -When the subject was brought forward again, her views were more fully -explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram’s calm inquiry of “Where shall -the child come to first, sister, to you or to us?” Sir Thomas heard -with some surprise that it would be totally out of Mrs. Norris’s power -to take any share in the personal charge of her. He had been -considering her as a particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as -a desirable companion to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he -found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say that the -little girl’s staying with them, at least as things then were, was -quite out of the question. Poor Mr. Norris’s indifferent state of -health made it an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a -child than he could fly; if, indeed, he should ever get well of his -gouty complaints, it would be a different matter: she should then be -glad to take her turn, and think nothing of the inconvenience; but just -now, poor Mr. Norris took up every moment of her time, and the very -mention of such a thing she was sure would distract him. - -“Then she had better come to us,” said Lady Bertram, with the utmost -composure. After a short pause Sir Thomas added with dignity, “Yes, let -her home be in this house. We will endeavour to do our duty by her, and -she will, at least, have the advantage of companions of her own age, -and of a regular instructress.” - -“Very true,” cried Mrs. Norris, “which are both very important -considerations; and it will be just the same to Miss Lee whether she -has three girls to teach, or only two—there can be no difference. I -only wish I could be more useful; but you see I do all in my power. I -am not one of those that spare their own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch -her, however it may put me to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor -away for three days. I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the -little white attic, near the old nurseries. It will be much the best -place for her, so near Miss Lee, and not far from the girls, and close -by the housemaids, who could either of them help to dress her, you -know, and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not think -it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed, I -do not see that you could possibly place her anywhere else.” - -Lady Bertram made no opposition. - -“I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl,” continued Mrs. Norris, -“and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having such friends.” - -“Should her disposition be really bad,” said Sir Thomas, “we must not, -for our own children’s sake, continue her in the family; but there is -no reason to expect so great an evil. We shall probably see much to -wish altered in her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, -some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner; -but these are not incurable faults; nor, I trust, can they be dangerous -for her associates. Had my daughters been _younger_ than herself, I -should have considered the introduction of such a companion as a matter -of very serious moment; but, as it is, I hope there can be nothing to -fear for _them_, and everything to hope for _her_, from the -association.” - -“That is exactly what I think,” cried Mrs. Norris, “and what I was -saying to my husband this morning. It will be an education for the -child, said I, only being with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her -nothing, she would learn to be good and clever from _them_.” - -“I hope she will not tease my poor pug,” said Lady Bertram; “I have but -just got Julia to leave it alone.” - -“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir -Thomas, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as -they grow up: how to preserve in the minds of my _daughters_ the -consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of -their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make -her remember that she is not a _Miss Bertram_. I should wish to see -them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorise in my girls -the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they -cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will -always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must -assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of -conduct.” - -Mrs. Norris was quite at his service; and though she perfectly agreed -with him as to its being a most difficult thing, encouraged him to hope -that between them it would be easily managed. - -It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to her -sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a girl should -be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but accepted the offer -most thankfully, assuring them of her daughter’s being a very -well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting they would never have -cause to throw her off. She spoke of her farther as somewhat delicate -and puny, but was sanguine in the hope of her being materially better -for change of air. Poor woman! she probably thought change of air might -agree with many of her children. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The little girl performed her long journey in safety; and at -Northampton was met by Mrs. Norris, who thus regaled in the credit of -being foremost to welcome her, and in the importance of leading her in -to the others, and recommending her to their kindness. - -Fanny Price was at this time just ten years old, and though there might -not be much in her first appearance to captivate, there was, at least, -nothing to disgust her relations. She was small of her age, with no -glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty; exceedingly timid -and shy, and shrinking from notice; but her air, though awkward, was -not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and when she spoke her countenance was -pretty. Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly; and Sir -Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that -was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of -deportment; and Lady Bertram, without taking half so much trouble, or -speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere aid of a -good-humoured smile, became immediately the less awful character of the -two. - -The young people were all at home, and sustained their share in the -introduction very well, with much good humour, and no embarrassment, at -least on the part of the sons, who, at seventeen and sixteen, and tall -of their age, had all the grandeur of men in the eyes of their little -cousin. The two girls were more at a loss from being younger and in -greater awe of their father, who addressed them on the occasion with -rather an injudicious particularity. But they were too much used to -company and praise to have anything like natural shyness; and their -confidence increasing from their cousin’s total want of it, they were -soon able to take a full survey of her face and her frock in easy -indifference. - -They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well-looking, the -daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them well-grown and forward of -their age, which produced as striking a difference between the cousins -in person, as education had given to their address; and no one would -have supposed the girls so nearly of an age as they really were. There -were in fact but two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia -Bertram was only twelve, and Maria but a year older. The little visitor -meanwhile was as unhappy as possible. Afraid of everybody, ashamed of -herself, and longing for the home she had left, she knew not how to -look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying. Mrs. -Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her -wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and -good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of -misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing -for her not to be happy. The fatigue, too, of so long a journey, became -soon no trifling evil. In vain were the well-meant condescensions of -Sir Thomas, and all the officious prognostications of Mrs. Norris that -she would be a good girl; in vain did Lady Bertram smile and make her -sit on the sofa with herself and pug, and vain was even the sight of a -gooseberry tart towards giving her comfort; she could scarcely swallow -two mouthfuls before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming to be her -likeliest friend, she was taken to finish her sorrows in bed. - -“This is not a very promising beginning,” said Mrs. Norris, when Fanny -had left the room. “After all that I said to her as we came along, I -thought she would have behaved better; I told her how much might depend -upon her acquitting herself well at first. I wish there may not be a -little sulkiness of temper—her poor mother had a good deal; but we must -make allowances for such a child—and I do not know that her being sorry -to leave her home is really against her, for, with all its faults, it -_was_ her home, and she cannot as yet understand how much she has -changed for the better; but then there is moderation in all things.” - -It required a longer time, however, than Mrs. Norris was inclined to -allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty of Mansfield Park, and the -separation from everybody she had been used to. Her feelings were very -acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody -meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to -secure her comfort. - -The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams the next day, on purpose to -afford leisure for getting acquainted with, and entertaining their -young cousin, produced little union. They could not but hold her cheap -on finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; -and when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were -so good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous -present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, -while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport -of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper. - -Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in the schoolroom, the -drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was equally forlorn, finding something -to fear in every person and place. She was disheartened by Lady -Bertram’s silence, awed by Sir Thomas’s grave looks, and quite overcome -by Mrs. Norris’s admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified her by -reflections on her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss -Lee wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her -clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea of the brothers -and sisters among whom she had always been important as playfellow, -instructress, and nurse, the despondence that sunk her little heart was -severe. - -The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The -rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she touched -she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of -something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry; -and the little girl who was spoken of in the drawing-room when she left -it at night as seeming so desirably sensible of her peculiar good -fortune, ended every day’s sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A week -had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet -passive manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, -the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs. - -“My dear little cousin,” said he, with all the gentleness of an -excellent nature, “what can be the matter?” And sitting down by her, he -was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and -persuade her to speak openly. Was she ill? or was anybody angry with -her? or had she quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled -about anything in her lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, -want anything he could possibly get her, or do for her? For a long -while no answer could be obtained beyond a “no, no—not at all—no, thank -you”; but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to -her own home, than her increased sobs explained to him where the -grievance lay. He tried to console her. - -“You are sorry to leave Mama, my dear little Fanny,” said he, “which -shows you to be a very good girl; but you must remember that you are -with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you -happy. Let us walk out in the park, and you shall tell me all about -your brothers and sisters.” - -On pursuing the subject, he found that, dear as all these brothers and -sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her -thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and -wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her -constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he -was the darling) in every distress. “William did not like she should -come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed.” “But -William will write to you, I dare say.” “Yes, he had promised he would, -but he had told _her_ to write first.” “And when shall you do it?” She -hung her head and answered hesitatingly, “she did not know; she had not -any paper.” - -“If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and -every other material, and you may write your letter whenever you -choose. Would it make you happy to write to William?” - -“Yes, very.” - -“Then let it be done now. Come with me into the breakfast-room, we -shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to -ourselves.” - -“But, cousin, will it go to the post?” - -“Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall go with the other letters; and, -as your uncle will frank it, it will cost William nothing.” - -“My uncle!” repeated Fanny, with a frightened look. - -“Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it to my father to -frank.” - -Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offered no further resistance; and -they went together into the breakfast-room, where Edmund prepared her -paper, and ruled her lines with all the goodwill that her brother could -himself have felt, and probably with somewhat more exactness. He -continued with her the whole time of her writing, to assist her with -his penknife or his orthography, as either were wanted; and added to -these attentions, which she felt very much, a kindness to her brother -which delighted her beyond all the rest. He wrote with his own hand his -love to his cousin William, and sent him half a guinea under the seal. -Fanny’s feelings on the occasion were such as she believed herself -incapable of expressing; but her countenance and a few artless words -fully conveyed all their gratitude and delight, and her cousin began to -find her an interesting object. He talked to her more, and, from all -that she said, was convinced of her having an affectionate heart, and a -strong desire of doing right; and he could perceive her to be farther -entitled to attention by great sensibility of her situation, and great -timidity. He had never knowingly given her pain, but he now felt that -she required more positive kindness; and with that view endeavoured, in -the first place, to lessen her fears of them all, and gave her -especially a great deal of good advice as to playing with Maria and -Julia, and being as merry as possible. - -From this day Fanny grew more comfortable. She felt that she had a -friend, and the kindness of her cousin Edmund gave her better spirits -with everybody else. The place became less strange, and the people less -formidable; and if there were some amongst them whom she could not -cease to fear, she began at least to know their ways, and to catch the -best manner of conforming to them. The little rusticities and -awkwardnesses which had at first made grievous inroads on the -tranquillity of all, and not least of herself, necessarily wore away, -and she was no longer materially afraid to appear before her uncle, nor -did her aunt Norris’s voice make her start very much. To her cousins -she became occasionally an acceptable companion. Though unworthy, from -inferiority of age and strength, to be their constant associate, their -pleasures and schemes were sometimes of a nature to make a third very -useful, especially when that third was of an obliging, yielding temper; -and they could not but own, when their aunt inquired into her faults, -or their brother Edmund urged her claims to their kindness, that “Fanny -was good-natured enough.” - -Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing worse to endure -on the part of Tom than that sort of merriment which a young man of -seventeen will always think fair with a child of ten. He was just -entering into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal -dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born only for expense and -enjoyment. His kindness to his little cousin was consistent with his -situation and rights: he made her some very pretty presents, and -laughed at her. - -As her appearance and spirits improved, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris -thought with greater satisfaction of their benevolent plan; and it was -pretty soon decided between them that, though far from clever, she -showed a tractable disposition, and seemed likely to give them little -trouble. A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to _them_. -Fanny could read, work, and write, but she had been taught nothing -more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things with which -they had been long familiar, they thought her prodigiously stupid, and -for the first two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh -report of it into the drawing-room. “Dear mama, only think, my cousin -cannot put the map of Europe together—or my cousin cannot tell the -principal rivers in Russia—or, she never heard of Asia Minor—or she -does not know the difference between water-colours and crayons!—How -strange!—Did you ever hear anything so stupid?” - -“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you -must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as -yourself.” - -“But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant!—Do you know, we asked her -last night which way she would go to get to Ireland; and she said, she -should cross to the Isle of Wight. She thinks of nothing but the Isle -of Wight, and she calls it _the_ _Island_, as if there were no other -island in the world. I am sure I should have been ashamed of myself, if -I had not known better long before I was so old as she is. I cannot -remember the time when I did not know a great deal that she has not the -least notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat -the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of -their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns!” - -“Yes,” added the other; “and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; -besides a great deal of the heathen mythology, and all the metals, -semi-metals, planets, and distinguished philosophers.” - -“Very true indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with wonderful -memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at all. There is a -vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in everything else, and -therefore you must make allowance for your cousin, and pity her -deficiency. And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever -yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you know already, -there is a great deal more for you to learn.” - -“Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell you another -thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. Do you know, she says she does -not want to learn either music or drawing.” - -“To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great -want of genius and emulation. But, all things considered, I do not know -whether it is not as well that it should be so, for, though you know -(owing to me) your papa and mama are so good as to bring her up with -you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as -you are;—on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should -be a difference.” - -Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her -nieces’ minds; and it is not very wonderful that, with all their -promising talents and early information, they should be entirely -deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity -and humility. In everything but disposition they were admirably taught. -Sir Thomas did not know what was wanting, because, though a truly -anxious father, he was not outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of -his manner repressed all the flow of their spirits before him. - -To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest -attention. She had not time for such cares. She was a woman who spent -her days in sitting, nicely dressed, on a sofa, doing some long piece -of needlework, of little use and no beauty, thinking more of her pug -than her children, but very indulgent to the latter when it did not put -herself to inconvenience, guided in everything important by Sir Thomas, -and in smaller concerns by her sister. Had she possessed greater -leisure for the service of her girls, she would probably have supposed -it unnecessary, for they were under the care of a governess, with -proper masters, and could want nothing more. As for Fanny’s being -stupid at learning, “she could only say it was very unlucky, but some -people _were_ stupid, and Fanny must take more pains: she did not know -what else was to be done; and, except her being so dull, she must add -she saw no harm in the poor little thing, and always found her very -handy and quick in carrying messages, and fetching what she wanted.” - -Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity, was fixed at -Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer in its favour much of her -attachment to her former home, grew up there not unhappily among her -cousins. There was no positive ill-nature in Maria or Julia; and though -Fanny was often mortified by their treatment of her, she thought too -lowly of her own claims to feel injured by it. - -From about the time of her entering the family, Lady Bertram, in -consequence of a little ill-health, and a great deal of indolence, gave -up the house in town, which she had been used to occupy every spring, -and remained wholly in the country, leaving Sir Thomas to attend his -duty in Parliament, with whatever increase or diminution of comfort -might arise from her absence. In the country, therefore, the Miss -Bertrams continued to exercise their memories, practise their duets, -and grow tall and womanly: and their father saw them becoming in -person, manner, and accomplishments, everything that could satisfy his -anxiety. His eldest son was careless and extravagant, and had already -given him much uneasiness; but his other children promised him nothing -but good. His daughters, he felt, while they retained the name of -Bertram, must be giving it new grace, and in quitting it, he trusted, -would extend its respectable alliances; and the character of Edmund, -his strong good sense and uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for -utility, honour, and happiness to himself and all his connexions. He -was to be a clergyman. - -Amid the cares and the complacency which his own children suggested, -Sir Thomas did not forget to do what he could for the children of Mrs. -Price: he assisted her liberally in the education and disposal of her -sons as they became old enough for a determinate pursuit; and Fanny, -though almost totally separated from her family, was sensible of the -truest satisfaction in hearing of any kindness towards them, or of -anything at all promising in their situation or conduct. Once, and once -only, in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being with -William. Of the rest she saw nothing: nobody seemed to think of her -ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed -to want her; but William determining, soon after her removal, to be a -sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire -before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their -exquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and -moments of serious conference, may be imagined; as well as the sanguine -views and spirits of the boy even to the last, and the misery of the -girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas -holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin -Edmund; and he told her such charming things of what William was to do, -and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession, as made her -gradually admit that the separation might have some use. Edmund’s -friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for Oxford made no change -in his kind dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunities -of proving them. Without any display of doing more than the rest, or -any fear of doing too much, he was always true to her interests, and -considerate of her feelings, trying to make her good qualities -understood, and to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being -more apparent; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement. - -Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support could not -bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise of the highest -importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its -pleasures. He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as -well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly -directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, -and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he recommended the -books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and -corrected her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of -what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise. In -return for such services she loved him better than anybody in the world -except William: her heart was divided between the two. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -The first event of any importance in the family was the death of Mr. -Norris, which happened when Fanny was about fifteen, and necessarily -introduced alterations and novelties. Mrs. Norris, on quitting the -Parsonage, removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a small house -of Sir Thomas’s in the village, and consoled herself for the loss of -her husband by considering that she could do very well without him; and -for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter -economy. - -The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, had his uncle died a few -years sooner, it would have been duly given to some friend to hold till -he were old enough for orders. But Tom’s extravagance had, previous to -that event, been so great as to render a different disposal of the next -presentation necessary, and the younger brother must help to pay for -the pleasures of the elder. There was another family living actually -held for Edmund; but though this circumstance had made the arrangement -somewhat easier to Sir Thomas’s conscience, he could not but feel it to -be an act of injustice, and he earnestly tried to impress his eldest -son with the same conviction, in the hope of its producing a better -effect than anything he had yet been able to say or do. - -“I blush for you, Tom,” said he, in his most dignified manner; “I blush -for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust I may pity your -feelings as a brother on the occasion. You have robbed Edmund for ten, -twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income -which ought to be his. It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I -hope it will), to procure him better preferment; but it must not be -forgotten that no benefit of that sort would have been beyond his -natural claims on us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent -for the certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the -urgency of your debts.” - -Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow; but escaping as quickly -as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect, firstly, -that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his friends; -secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece of work of it; -and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would, in -all probability, die very soon. - -On Mr. Norris’s death the presentation became the right of a Dr. Grant, -who came consequently to reside at Mansfield; and on proving to be a -hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to disappoint Mr. Bertram’s -calculations. But “no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of -fellow, and, plied well with good things, would soon pop off.” - -He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children; and they -entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair report of being very -respectable, agreeable people. - -The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-in-law to -claim her share in their niece, the change in Mrs. Norris’s situation, -and the improvement in Fanny’s age, seeming not merely to do away any -former objection to their living together, but even to give it the most -decided eligibility; and as his own circumstances were rendered less -fair than heretofore, by some recent losses on his West India estate, -in addition to his eldest son’s extravagance, it became not undesirable -to himself to be relieved from the expense of her support, and the -obligation of her future provision. In the fullness of his belief that -such a thing must be, he mentioned its probability to his wife; and the -first time of the subject’s occurring to her again happening to be when -Fanny was present, she calmly observed to her, “So, Fanny, you are -going to leave us, and live with my sister. How shall you like it?” - -Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her aunt’s words, -“Going to leave you?” - -“Yes, my dear; why should you be astonished? You have been five years -with us, and my sister always meant to take you when Mr. Norris died. -But you must come up and tack on my patterns all the same.” - -The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unexpected. She -had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, and could not love -her. - -“I shall be very sorry to go away,” said she, with a faltering voice. - -“Yes, I dare say you will; _that’s_ natural enough. I suppose you have -had as little to vex you since you came into this house as any creature -in the world.” - -“I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt,” said Fanny modestly. - -“No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you a very good girl.” - -“And am I never to live here again?” - -“Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable home. It can make -very little difference to you, whether you are in one house or the -other.” - -Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart; she could not feel the -difference to be so small, she could not think of living with her aunt -with anything like satisfaction. As soon as she met with Edmund she -told him her distress. - -“Cousin,” said she, “something is going to happen which I do not like -at all; and though you have often persuaded me into being reconciled to -things that I disliked at first, you will not be able to do it now. I -am going to live entirely with my aunt Norris.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so. It is quite settled. I am to -leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House, I suppose, as soon as -she is removed there.” - -“Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I should call -it an excellent one.” - -“Oh, cousin!” - -“It has everything else in its favour. My aunt is acting like a -sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing a friend and -companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love of money does -not interfere. You will be what you ought to be to her. I hope it does -not distress you very much, Fanny?” - -“Indeed it does: I cannot like it. I love this house and everything in -it: I shall love nothing there. You know how uncomfortable I feel with -her.” - -“I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child; but it was the -same with us all, or nearly so. She never knew how to be pleasant to -children. But you are now of an age to be treated better; I think she -is behaving better already; and when you are her only companion, you -_must_ be important to her.” - -“I can never be important to any one.” - -“What is to prevent you?” - -“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.” - -“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you -never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. -There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where -you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure -you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without -wishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a -friend and companion.” - -“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I -ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me. Oh! cousin, if I -am to go away, I shall remember your goodness to the last moment of my -life.” - -“Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at such a distance -as the White House. You speak as if you were going two hundred miles -off instead of only across the park; but you will belong to us almost -as much as ever. The two families will be meeting every day in the -year. The only difference will be that, living with your aunt, you will -necessarily be brought forward as you ought to be. _Here_ there are too -many whom you can hide behind; but with _her_ you will be forced to -speak for yourself.” - -“Oh! do not say so.” - -“I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs. Norris is much better -fitted than my mother for having the charge of you now. She is of a -temper to do a great deal for anybody she really interests herself -about, and she will force you to do justice to your natural powers.” - -Fanny sighed, and said, “I cannot see things as you do; but I ought to -believe you to be right rather than myself, and I am very much obliged -to you for trying to reconcile me to what must be. If I could suppose -my aunt really to care for me, it would be delightful to feel myself of -consequence to anybody. _Here_, I know, I am of none, and yet I love -the place so well.” - -“The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though you quit the -house. You will have as free a command of the park and gardens as ever. -Even _your_ constant little heart need not take fright at such a -nominal change. You will have the same walks to frequent, the same -library to choose from, the same people to look at, the same horse to -ride.” - -“Very true. Yes, dear old grey pony! Ah! cousin, when I remember how -much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave me to hear it talked -of as likely to do me good (oh! how I have trembled at my uncle’s -opening his lips if horses were talked of), and then think of the kind -pains you took to reason and persuade me out of my fears, and convince -me that I should like it after a little while, and feel how right you -proved to be, I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well.” - -“And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris will be as -good for your mind as riding has been for your health, and as much for -your ultimate happiness too.” - -So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate service it -could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, for Mrs. Norris had -not the smallest intention of taking her. It had never occurred to her, -on the present occasion, but as a thing to be carefully avoided. To -prevent its being expected, she had fixed on the smallest habitation -which could rank as genteel among the buildings of Mansfield parish, -the White House being only just large enough to receive herself and her -servants, and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very -particular point. The spare rooms at the Parsonage had never been -wanted, but the absolute necessity of a spare room for a friend was now -never forgotten. Not all her precautions, however, could save her from -being suspected of something better; or, perhaps, her very display of -the importance of a spare room might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose -it really intended for Fanny. Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a -certainty by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris— - -“I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when Fanny goes -to live with you.” - -Mrs. Norris almost started. “Live with me, dear Lady Bertram! what do -you mean?” - -“Is she not to live with you? I thought you had settled it with Sir -Thomas.” - -“Me! never. I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thomas, nor he to -me. Fanny live with me! the last thing in the world for me to think of, -or for anybody to wish that really knows us both. Good heaven! what -could I do with Fanny? Me! a poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfit for -anything, my spirits quite broke down; what could I do with a girl at -her time of life? A girl of fifteen! the very age of all others to need -most attention and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test! -Sure Sir Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing! Sir Thomas is -too much my friend. Nobody that wishes me well, I am sure, would -propose it. How came Sir Thomas to speak to you about it?” - -“Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thought it best.” - -“But what did he say? He could not say he _wished_ me to take Fanny. I -am sure in his heart he could not wish me to do it.” - -“No; he only said he thought it very likely; and I thought so too. We -both thought it would be a comfort to you. But if you do not like it, -there is no more to be said. She is no encumbrance here.” - -“Dear sister, if you consider my unhappy state, how can she be any -comfort to me? Here am I, a poor desolate widow, deprived of the best -of husbands, my health gone in attending and nursing him, my spirits -still worse, all my peace in this world destroyed, with hardly enough -to support me in the rank of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so as -not to disgrace the memory of the dear departed—what possible comfort -could I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny? If I could wish -it for my own sake, I would not do so unjust a thing by the poor girl. -She is in good hands, and sure of doing well. I must struggle through -my sorrows and difficulties as I can.” - -“Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone?” - -“Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot live as I have done, -but I must retrench where I can, and learn to be a better manager. I -_have_ _been_ a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall not be ashamed -to practise economy now. My situation is as much altered as my income. -A great many things were due from poor Mr. Norris, as clergyman of the -parish, that cannot be expected from me. It is unknown how much was -consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At the White House, -matters must be better looked after. I _must_ live within my income, or -I shall be miserable; and I own it would give me great satisfaction to -be able to do rather more, to lay by a little at the end of the year.” - -“I dare say you will. You always do, don’t you?” - -“My object, Lady Bertram, is to be of use to those that come after me. -It is for your children’s good that I wish to be richer. I have nobody -else to care for, but I should be very glad to think I could leave a -little trifle among them worth their having.” - -“You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about them. They are -sure of being well provided for. Sir Thomas will take care of that.” - -“Why, you know, Sir Thomas’s means will be rather straitened if the -Antigua estate is to make such poor returns.” - -“Oh! _that_ will soon be settled. Sir Thomas has been writing about it, -I know.” - -“Well, Lady Bertram,” said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, “I can only say -that my sole desire is to be of use to your family: and so, if Sir -Thomas should ever speak again about my taking Fanny, you will be able -to say that my health and spirits put it quite out of the question; -besides that, I really should not have a bed to give her, for I must -keep a spare room for a friend.” - -Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her husband to -convince him how much he had mistaken his sister-in-law’s views; and -she was from that moment perfectly safe from all expectation, or the -slightest allusion to it from him. He could not but wonder at her -refusing to do anything for a niece whom she had been so forward to -adopt; but, as she took early care to make him, as well as Lady -Bertram, understand that whatever she possessed was designed for their -family, he soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same -time that it was advantageous and complimentary to them, would enable -him better to provide for Fanny himself. - -Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears of a removal; and -her spontaneous, untaught felicity on the discovery, conveyed some -consolation to Edmund for his disappointment in what he had expected to -be so essentially serviceable to her. Mrs. Norris took possession of -the White House, the Grants arrived at the Parsonage, and these events -over, everything at Mansfield went on for some time as usual. - -The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and sociable, gave -great satisfaction in the main among their new acquaintance. They had -their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out. The Doctor was very -fond of eating, and would have a good dinner every day; and Mrs. Grant, -instead of contriving to gratify him at little expense, gave her cook -as high wages as they did at Mansfield Park, and was scarcely ever seen -in her offices. Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such -grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were regularly -consumed in the house. “Nobody loved plenty and hospitality more than -herself; nobody more hated pitiful doings; the Parsonage, she believed, -had never been wanting in comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad -character in _her_ _time_, but this was a way of going on that she -could not understand. A fine lady in a country parsonage was quite out -of place. _Her_ store-room, she thought, might have been good enough -for Mrs. Grant to go into. Inquire where she would, she could not find -out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than five thousand pounds.” - -Lady Bertram listened without much interest to this sort of invective. -She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist, but she felt all -the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant’s being so well settled in life -without being handsome, and expressed her astonishment on that point -almost as often, though not so diffusely, as Mrs. Norris discussed the -other. - -These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year before another event -arose of such importance in the family, as might fairly claim some -place in the thoughts and conversation of the ladies. Sir Thomas found -it expedient to go to Antigua himself, for the better arrangement of -his affairs, and he took his eldest son with him, in the hope of -detaching him from some bad connexions at home. They left England with -the probability of being nearly a twelvemonth absent. - -The necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light, and the hope of its -utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to the effort of quitting the -rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to the direction of -others at their present most interesting time of life. He could not -think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply his place with them, or -rather, to perform what should have been her own; but, in Mrs. Norris’s -watchful attention, and in Edmund’s judgment, he had sufficient -confidence to make him go without fears for their conduct. - -Lady Bertram did not at all like to have her husband leave her; but she -was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, or solicitude for his -comfort, being one of those persons who think nothing can be dangerous, -or difficult, or fatiguing to anybody but themselves. - -The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied on the occasion: not for their -sorrow, but for their want of it. Their father was no object of love to -them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his -absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all -restraint; and without aiming at one gratification that would probably -have been forbidden by Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at -their own disposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. -Fanny’s relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her -cousins’; but a more tender nature suggested that her feelings were -ungrateful, and she really grieved because she could not grieve. “Sir -Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers, and who was gone -perhaps never to return! that she should see him go without a tear! it -was a shameful insensibility.” He had said to her, moreover, on the -very last morning, that he hoped she might see William again in the -course of the ensuing winter, and had charged her to write and invite -him to Mansfield as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be -known to be in England. “This was so thoughtful and kind!” and would he -only have smiled upon her, and called her “my dear Fanny,” while he -said it, every former frown or cold address might have been forgotten. -But he had ended his speech in a way to sink her in sad mortification, -by adding, “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able -to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted -have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, -I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much -like his sister at ten.” She cried bitterly over this reflection when -her uncle was gone; and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set -her down as a hypocrite. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Tom Bertram had of late spent so little of his time at home that he -could be only nominally missed; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished to -find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund -could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to -the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her from -all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of -directing her letters. - -The earliest intelligence of the travellers’ safe arrival at Antigua, -after a favourable voyage, was received; though not before Mrs. Norris -had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund -participate them whenever she could get him alone; and as she depended -on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, -she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others, -when Sir Thomas’s assurances of their both being alive and well made it -necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatory speeches -for a while. - -The winter came and passed without their being called for; the accounts -continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for -her nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying their accomplishments, -and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, in -addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those of -her sister, and Mrs. Grant’s wasteful doings to overlook, left her very -little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent. - -The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the -neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements -a manner naturally easy, and carefully formed to general civility and -obligingness, they possessed its favour as well as its admiration. -Their vanity was in such good order that they seemed to be quite free -from it, and gave themselves no airs; while the praises attending such -behaviour, secured and brought round by their aunt, served to -strengthen them in believing they had no faults. - -Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. She was too -indolent even to accept a mother’s gratification in witnessing their -success and enjoyment at the expense of any personal trouble, and the -charge was made over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a -post of such honourable representation, and very thoroughly relished -the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to -hire. - -Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she enjoyed -being avowedly useful as her aunt’s companion when they called away the -rest of the family; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally -became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a -party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the -tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect security in such a -_tête-à-tête_ from any sound of unkindness, was unspeakably welcome to -a mind which had seldom known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. -As to her cousins’ gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, -especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but thought -too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be admitted -to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of any nearer -concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her; -for though it brought no William to England, the never-failing hope of -his arrival was worth much. - -The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend, the old grey -pony; and for some time she was in danger of feeling the loss in her -health as well as in her affections; for in spite of the acknowledged -importance of her riding on horse-back, no measures were taken for -mounting her again, “because,” as it was observed by her aunts, “she -might ride one of her cousin’s horses at any time when they did not -want them,” and as the Miss Bertrams regularly wanted their horses -every fine day, and had no idea of carrying their obliging manners to -the sacrifice of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came. -They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; -and Fanny either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked -beyond her strength at the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram -holding exercise to be as unnecessary for everybody as it was -unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all day, -thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was absent at this -time, or the evil would have been earlier remedied. When he returned, -to understand how Fanny was situated, and perceived its ill effects, -there seemed with him but one thing to be done; and that “Fanny must -have a horse” was the resolute declaration with which he opposed -whatever could be urged by the supineness of his mother, or the economy -of his aunt, to make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help -thinking that some steady old thing might be found among the numbers -belonging to the Park that would do vastly well; or that one might be -borrowed of the steward; or that perhaps Dr. Grant might now and then -lend them the pony he sent to the post. She could not but consider it -as absolutely unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a -regular lady’s horse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was -sure Sir Thomas had never intended it: and she must say that, to be -making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great expenses -of his stable, at a time when a large part of his income was unsettled, -seemed to her very unjustifiable. “Fanny must have a horse,” was -Edmund’s only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the same light. -Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed with her son as to the necessity -of it, and as to its being considered necessary by his father; she only -pleaded against there being any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till -Sir Thomas’s return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. -He would be at home in September, and where would be the harm of only -waiting till September? - -Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his -mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help -paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a -method of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s -thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny -the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be -without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a -woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this -third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he -knew where such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his -mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a -treasure; with a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for -the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. -She had not supposed before that anything could ever suit her like the -old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund’s mare was far beyond any -former pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever receiving in -the consideration of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, was -beyond all her words to express. She regarded her cousin as an example -of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but -herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from -her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments -towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, -confiding, and tender. - -As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property of -Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny’s use; and had -Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection again, he might have -been excused in her eyes for not waiting till Sir Thomas’s return in -September, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad, and -without any near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourable -circumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to -turn all his thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty -in which everything was then involved determined him on sending home -his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived -safely, bringing an excellent account of his father’s health; but to -very little purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas’s -sending away his son seemed to her so like a parent’s care, under the -influence of a foreboding of evil to himself, that she could not help -feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long evenings of autumn came -on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of -her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room -of the Park. The return of winter engagements, however, was not without -its effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so -pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece, -as tolerably to quiet her nerves. “If poor Sir Thomas were fated never -to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria -well married,” she very often thought; always when they were in the -company of men of fortune, and particularly on the introduction of a -young man who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates and -finest places in the country. - -Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of Miss -Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He -was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but as there -was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady was -well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, -Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a -marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger -income than her father’s, as well as ensure her the house in town, -which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral -obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs. -Norris was most zealous in promoting the match, by every suggestion and -contrivance likely to enhance its desirableness to either party; and, -among other means, by seeking an intimacy with the gentleman’s mother, -who at present lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram -to go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. It -was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady -and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself very desirous that her -son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had -ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her amiable qualities and -accomplishments, the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris -accepted the compliment, and admired the nice discernment of character -which could so well distinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and -delight of them all—perfectly faultless—an angel; and, of course, so -surrounded by admirers, must be difficult in her choice: but yet, as -far as Mrs. Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an -acquaintance, Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to deserve -and attach her. - -After dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young -people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a due -reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much to the -satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general -lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, felt the -expediency of Mr. Rushworth’s marrying Miss Bertram. - -It was some months before Sir Thomas’s consent could be received; but, -in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his most cordial pleasure -in the connexion, the intercourse of the two families was carried on -without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecy than Mrs. -Norris’s talking of it everywhere as a matter not to be talked of at -present. - -Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault in the -business; but no representation of his aunt’s could induce him to find -Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He could allow his sister to be -the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her -happiness should centre in a large income; nor could he refrain from -often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth’s company—“If this man had -not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow.” - -Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance so -unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard nothing but the -perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connexion exactly of the right -sort—in the same county, and the same interest—and his most hearty -concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that -the marriage should not take place before his return, which he was -again looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong -hopes of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving -Antigua before the end of the summer. - -Such was the state of affairs in the month of July; and Fanny had just -reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the village received -an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss -Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were -young people of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the -daughter twenty thousand pounds. As children, their sister had been -always very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon -followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the -care of a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she -had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle’s house they had found a -kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, -were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no -farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite, -to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral -delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the -lady’s death which now obliged her _protegee_, after some months’ -further trial at her uncle’s house, to find another home. Admiral -Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining -his niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs. -Grant was indebted for her sister’s proposal of coming to her, a -measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expedient on the -other; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run through the usual -resources of ladies residing in the country without a family of -children—having more than filled her favourite sitting-room with pretty -furniture, and made a choice collection of plants and poultry—was very -much in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a -sister whom she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as -long as she remained single, was highly agreeable; and her chief -anxiety was lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a young -woman who had been mostly used to London. - -Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions, though -they arose principally from doubts of her sister’s style of living and -tone of society; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to -persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house, that -she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. To -anything like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry -Crawford had, unluckily, a great dislike: he could not accommodate his -sister in an article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the -utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch -her away again, at half an hour’s notice, whenever she were weary of -the place. - -The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Crawford found a -sister without preciseness or rusticity, a sister’s husband who looked -the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs. -Grant received in those whom she hoped to love better than ever a young -man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was -remarkably pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; -the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant -immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was delighted -with each, but Mary was her dearest object; and having never been able -to glory in beauty of her own, she thoroughly enjoyed the power of -being proud of her sister’s. She had not waited her arrival to look out -for a suitable match for her: she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest -son of a baronet was not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, -with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in -her; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been -three hours in the house before she told her what she had planned. - -Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence so very -near them, and not at all displeased either at her sister’s early care, -or the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her object, provided she -could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that -objection could no more be made to his person than to his situation in -life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to -think of it seriously. The scheme was soon repeated to Henry. - -“And now,” added Mrs. Grant, “I have thought of something to make it -complete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; and -therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, -handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very -happy.” - -Henry bowed and thanked her. - -“My dear sister,” said Mary, “if you can persuade him into anything of -the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to find myself -allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret that you have not -half a dozen daughters to dispose of. If you can persuade Henry to -marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. All that English -abilities can do has been tried already. I have three very particular -friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains -which they, their mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt -and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is -inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If -your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them -avoid Henry.” - -“My dear brother, I will not believe this of you.” - -“No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than Mary. You will -allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I am of a cautious -temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think -more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider the -blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of -the poet—‘Heaven’s _last_ best gift.’” - -“There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at -his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; the Admiral’s lessons -have quite spoiled him.” - -“I pay very little regard,” said Mrs. Grant, “to what any young person -says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for -it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.” - -Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no -disinclination to the state herself. - -“Oh yes! I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if -they can do it properly: I do not like to have people throw themselves -away; but everybody should marry as soon as they can do it to -advantage.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -The young people were pleased with each other from the first. On each -side there was much to attract, and their acquaintance soon promised as -early an intimacy as good manners would warrant. Miss Crawford’s beauty -did her no disservice with the Miss Bertrams. They were too handsome -themselves to dislike any woman for being so too, and were almost as -much charmed as their brothers with her lively dark eye, clear brown -complexion, and general prettiness. Had she been tall, full formed, and -fair, it might have been more of a trial: but as it was, there could be -no comparison; and she was most allowably a sweet, pretty girl, while -they were the finest young women in the country. - -Her brother was not handsome: no, when they first saw him he was -absolutely plain, black and plain; but still he was the gentleman, with -a pleasing address. The second meeting proved him not so very plain: he -was plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, and his -teeth were so good, and he was so well made, that one soon forgot he -was plain; and after a third interview, after dining in company with -him at the Parsonage, he was no longer allowed to be called so by -anybody. He was, in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had -ever known, and they were equally delighted with him. Miss Bertram’s -engagement made him in equity the property of Julia, of which Julia was -fully aware; and before he had been at Mansfield a week, she was quite -ready to be fallen in love with. - -Maria’s notions on the subject were more confused and indistinct. She -did not want to see or understand. “There could be no harm in her -liking an agreeable man—everybody knew her situation—Mr. Crawford must -take care of himself.” Mr. Crawford did not mean to be in any danger! -the Miss Bertrams were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased; -and he began with no object but of making them like him. He did not -want them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have -made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on -such points. - -“I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly, sister,” said he, as he -returned from attending them to their carriage after the said dinner -visit; “they are very elegant, agreeable girls.” - -“So they are indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it. But you -like Julia best.” - -“Oh yes! I like Julia best.” - -“But do you really? for Miss Bertram is in general thought the -handsomest.” - -“So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every feature, and I -prefer her countenance; but I like Julia best; Miss Bertram is -certainly the handsomest, and I have found her the most agreeable, but -I shall always like Julia best, because you order me.” - -“I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you _will_ like her best at -last.” - -“Do not I tell you that I like her best _at_ _first_?” - -“And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Remember that, my dear brother. -Her choice is made.” - -“Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged woman is always more -agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied with herself. Her cares -are over, and she feels that she may exert all her powers of pleasing -without suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged: no harm can be -done.” - -“Why, as to that, Mr. Rushworth is a very good sort of young man, and -it is a great match for her.” - -“But Miss Bertram does not care three straws for him; _that_ is your -opinion of your intimate friend. _I_ do not subscribe to it. I am sure -Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Rushworth. I could see it in -her eyes, when he was mentioned. I think too well of Miss Bertram to -suppose she would ever give her hand without her heart.” - -“Mary, how shall we manage him?” - -“We must leave him to himself, I believe. Talking does no good. He will -be taken in at last.” - -“But I would not have him _taken_ _in_; I would not have him duped; I -would have it all fair and honourable.” - -“Oh dear! let him stand his chance and be taken in. It will do just as -well. Everybody is taken in at some period or other.” - -“Not always in marriage, dear Mary.” - -“In marriage especially. With all due respect to such of the present -company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant, there is not one -in a hundred of either sex who is not taken in when they marry. Look -where I will, I see that it _is_ so; and I feel that it _must_ be so, -when I consider that it is, of all transactions, the one in which -people expect most from others, and are least honest themselves.” - -“Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in Hill Street.” - -“My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the state; but, -however, speaking from my own observation, it is a manoeuvring -business. I know so many who have married in the full expectation and -confidence of some one particular advantage in the connexion, or -accomplishment, or good quality in the person, who have found -themselves entirely deceived, and been obliged to put up with exactly -the reverse. What is this but a take in?” - -“My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. I beg your -pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Depend upon it, you see but -half. You see the evil, but you do not see the consolation. There will -be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to -expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human -nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a -second better: we find comfort somewhere—and those evil-minded -observers, dearest Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken in -and deceived than the parties themselves.” - -“Well done, sister! I honour your _esprit_ _du_ _corps_. When I am a -wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish my friends in -general would be so too. It would save me many a heartache.” - -“You are as bad as your brother, Mary; but we will cure you both. -Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any taking in. Stay with us, -and we will cure you.” - -The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very willing to stay. -Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a present home, and Henry -equally ready to lengthen his visit. He had come, intending to spend -only a few days with them; but Mansfield promised well, and there was -nothing to call him elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them -both with her, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it -so: a talking pretty young woman like Miss Crawford is always pleasant -society to an indolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr. Crawford’s being his -guest was an excuse for drinking claret every day. - -The Miss Bertrams’ admiration of Mr. Crawford was more rapturous than -anything which Miss Crawford’s habits made her likely to feel. She -acknowledged, however, that the Mr. Bertrams were very fine young men, -that two such young men were not often seen together even in London, -and that their manners, particularly those of the eldest, were very -good. _He_ had been much in London, and had more liveliness and -gallantry than Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and, indeed, -his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an early -presentiment that she _should_ like the eldest best. She knew it was -her way. - -Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, at any rate; he -was the sort of young man to be generally liked, his agreeableness was -of the kind to be oftener found agreeable than some endowments of a -higher stamp, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, a large -acquaintance, and a great deal to say; and the reversion of Mansfield -Park, and a baronetcy, did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt -that he and his situation might do. She looked about her with due -consideration, and found almost everything in his favour: a park, a -real park, five miles round, a spacious modern-built house, so well -placed and well screened as to deserve to be in any collection of -engravings of gentlemen’s seats in the kingdom, and wanting only to be -completely new furnished—pleasant sisters, a quiet mother, and an -agreeable man himself—with the advantage of being tied up from much -gaming at present by a promise to his father, and of being Sir Thomas -hereafter. It might do very well; she believed she should accept him; -and she began accordingly to interest herself a little about the horse -which he had to run at the B—— races. - -These races were to call him away not long after their acquaintance -began; and as it appeared that the family did not, from his usual -goings on, expect him back again for many weeks, it would bring his -passion to an early proof. Much was said on his side to induce her to -attend the races, and schemes were made for a large party to them, with -all the eagerness of inclination, but it would only do to be talked of. - -And Fanny, what was _she_ doing and thinking all this while? and what -was _her_ opinion of the newcomers? Few young ladies of eighteen could -be less called on to speak their opinion than Fanny. In a quiet way, -very little attended to, she paid her tribute of admiration to Miss -Crawford’s beauty; but as she still continued to think Mr. Crawford -very plain, in spite of her two cousins having repeatedly proved the -contrary, she never mentioned _him_. The notice, which she excited -herself, was to this effect. “I begin now to understand you all, except -Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, as she was walking with the Mr. -Bertrams. “Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at -the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being _out_; and -yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she _is_.” - -Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, “I believe I know -what you mean, but I will not undertake to answer the question. My -cousin is grown up. She has the age and sense of a woman, but the outs -and not outs are beyond me.” - -“And yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. The -distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, generally -speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not have supposed it -possible to be mistaken as to a girl’s being out or not. A girl not out -has always the same sort of dress: a close bonnet, for instance; looks -very demure, and never says a word. You may smile, but it is so, I -assure you; and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far, -it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The most -objectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being -introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass -in such very little time from reserve to quite the opposite—to -confidence! _That_ is the faulty part of the present system. One does -not like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to -every thing—and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to speak the -year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say _you_ have sometimes met with such -changes.” - -“I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You -are quizzing me and Miss Anderson.” - -“No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am -quite in the dark. But I _will_ quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, -if you will tell me what about.” - -“Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite so far imposed -on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in describing an -altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It was -exactly so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the -other day, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles -Anderson. The circumstance was precisely as this lady has represented -it. When Anderson first introduced me to his family, about two years -ago, his sister was not _out_, and I could not get her to speak to me. -I sat there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and -a little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run away, -and the mother in and out every moment with letters of business, and I -could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady—nothing like a -civil answer—she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such an -air! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then _out_. I -met her at Mrs. Holford’s, and did not recollect her. She came up to -me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and -talked and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that I -must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is -plain, has heard the story.” - -“And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I dare say, -than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common a fault. Mothers -certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their -daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set -people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.” - -“Those who are showing the world what female manners _should_ be,” said -Mr. Bertram gallantly, “are doing a great deal to set them right.” - -“The error is plain enough,” said the less courteous Edmund; “such -girls are ill brought up. They are given wrong notions from the -beginning. They are always acting upon motives of vanity, and there is -no more real modesty in their behaviour _before_ they appear in public -than afterwards.” - -“I do not know,” replied Miss Crawford hesitatingly. “Yes, I cannot -agree with you there. It is certainly the modestest part of the -business. It is much worse to have girls not out give themselves the -same airs and take the same liberties as if they were, which I have -seen done. That is worse than anything—quite disgusting!” - -“Yes, _that_ is very inconvenient indeed,” said Mr. Bertram. “It leads -one astray; one does not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure -air you describe so well (and nothing was ever juster), tell one what -is expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from the want -of them. I went down to Ramsgate for a week with a friend last -September, just after my return from the West Indies. My friend -Sneyd—you have heard me speak of Sneyd, Edmund—his father, and mother, -and sisters, were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion Place -they were out; we went after them, and found them on the pier: Mrs. and -the two Miss Sneyds, with others of their acquaintance. I made my bow -in form; and as Mrs. Sneyd was surrounded by men, attached myself to -one of her daughters, walked by her side all the way home, and made -myself as agreeable as I could; the young lady perfectly easy in her -manners, and as ready to talk as to listen. I had not a suspicion that -I could be doing anything wrong. They looked just the same: both -well-dressed, with veils and parasols like other girls; but I -afterwards found that I had been giving all my attention to the -youngest, who was not _out_, and had most excessively offended the -eldest. Miss Augusta ought not to have been noticed for the next six -months; and Miss Sneyd, I believe, has never forgiven me.” - -“That was bad indeed. Poor Miss Sneyd. Though I have no younger sister, -I feel for her. To be neglected before one’s time must be very -vexatious; but it was entirely the mother’s fault. Miss Augusta should -have been with her governess. Such half-and-half doings never prosper. -But now I must be satisfied about Miss Price. Does she go to balls? -Does she dine out every where, as well as at my sister’s?” - -“No,” replied Edmund; “I do not think she has ever been to a ball. My -mother seldom goes into company herself, and dines nowhere but with -Mrs. Grant, and Fanny stays at home with _her_.” - -“Oh! then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Mr. Bertram set off for————, and Miss Crawford was prepared to find a -great chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedly in the meetings -which were now becoming almost daily between the families; and on their -all dining together at the Park soon after his going, she retook her -chosen place near the bottom of the table, fully expecting to feel a -most melancholy difference in the change of masters. It would be a very -flat business, she was sure. In comparison with his brother, Edmund -would have nothing to say. The soup would be sent round in a most -spiritless manner, wine drank without any smiles or agreeable trifling, -and the venison cut up without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any -former haunch, or a single entertaining story, about “my friend such a -one.” She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the upper -end of the table, and in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now making -his appearance at Mansfield for the first time since the Crawfords’ -arrival. He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and -that friend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, -Mr. Rushworth was returned with his head full of the subject, and very -eager to be improving his own place in the same way; and though not -saying much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The subject had -been already handled in the drawing-room; it was revived in the -dining-parlour. Miss Bertram’s attention and opinion was evidently his -chief aim; and though her deportment showed rather conscious -superiority than any solicitude to oblige him, the mention of Sotherton -Court, and the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling of complacency, -which prevented her from being very ungracious. - -“I wish you could see Compton,” said he; “it is the most complete -thing! I never saw a place so altered in my life. I told Smith I did -not know where I was. The approach _now_, is one of the finest things -in the country: you see the house in the most surprising manner. I -declare, when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a -prison—quite a dismal old prison.” - -“Oh, for shame!” cried Mrs. Norris. “A prison indeed? Sotherton Court -is the noblest old place in the world.” - -“It wants improvement, ma’am, beyond anything. I never saw a place that -wanted so much improvement in my life; and it is so forlorn that I do -not know what can be done with it.” - -“No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,” said Mrs. -Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; “but depend upon it, Sotherton will -have _every_ improvement in time which his heart can desire.” - -“I must try to do something with it,” said Mr. Rushworth, “but I do not -know what. I hope I shall have some good friend to help me.” - -“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly, -“would be Mr. Repton, I imagine.” - -“That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so well by Smith, I -think I had better have him at once. His terms are five guineas a day.” - -“Well, and if they were _ten_,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am sure _you_ -need not regard it. The expense need not be any impediment. If I were -you, I should not think of the expense. I would have everything done in -the best style, and made as nice as possible. Such a place as Sotherton -Court deserves everything that taste and money can do. You have space -to work upon there, and grounds that will well reward you. For my own -part, if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of -Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, for naturally I -am excessively fond of it. It would be too ridiculous for me to attempt -anything where I am now, with my little half acre. It would be quite a -burlesque. But if I had more room, I should take a prodigious delight -in improving and planting. We did a vast deal in that way at the -Parsonage: we made it quite a different place from what it was when we -first had it. You young ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; -but if dear Sir Thomas were here, he could tell you what improvements -we made: and a great deal more would have been done, but for poor Mr. -Norris’s sad state of health. He could hardly ever get out, poor man, -to enjoy anything, and _that_ disheartened me from doing several things -that Sir Thomas and I used to talk of. If it had not been for _that_, -we should have carried on the garden wall, and made the plantation to -shut out the churchyard, just as Dr. Grant has done. We were always -doing something as it was. It was only the spring twelvemonth before -Mr. Norris’s death that we put in the apricot against the stable wall, -which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting to such perfection, -sir,” addressing herself then to Dr. Grant. - -“The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt, madam,” replied Dr. Grant. “The -soil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit -should be so little worth the trouble of gathering.” - -“Sir, it is a Moor Park, we bought it as a Moor Park, and it cost -us—that is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw the bill—and I -know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as a Moor Park.” - -“You were imposed on, ma’am,” replied Dr. Grant: “these potatoes have -as much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot as the fruit from that tree. -It is an insipid fruit at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, -which none from my garden are.” - -“The truth is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Grant, pretending to whisper across -the table to Mrs. Norris, “that Dr. Grant hardly knows what the natural -taste of our apricot is: he is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it -is so valuable a fruit; with a little assistance, and ours is such a -remarkably large, fair sort, that what with early tarts and preserves, -my cook contrives to get them all.” - -Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and, for a little -while, other subjects took place of the improvements of Sotherton. Dr. -Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends; their acquaintance had -begun in dilapidations, and their habits were totally dissimilar. - -After a short interruption Mr. Rushworth began again. “Smith’s place is -the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before -Repton took it in hand. I think I shall have Repton.” - -“Mr. Rushworth,” said Lady Bertram, “if I were you, I would have a very -pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine -weather.” - -Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of his acquiescence, and -tried to make out something complimentary; but, between his submission -to _her_ taste, and his having always intended the same himself, with -the superadded objects of professing attention to the comfort of ladies -in general, and of insinuating that there was one only whom he was -anxious to please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end -to his speech by a proposal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, however, though not -usually a great talker, had still more to say on the subject next his -heart. “Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his -grounds, which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the -place can have been so improved. Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven -hundred, without reckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so -much could be done at Compton, we need not despair. There have been two -or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house, and it -opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton, or -anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton -down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hill, -you know,” turning to Miss Bertram particularly as he spoke. But Miss -Bertram thought it most becoming to reply— - -“The avenue! Oh! I do not recollect it. I really know very little of -Sotherton.” - -Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, exactly opposite -Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening, now looked at -him, and said in a low voice— - -“Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it not make you think of Cowper? -‘Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited.’” - -He smiled as he answered, “I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, -Fanny.” - -“I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, to see the place -as it is now, in its old state; but I do not suppose I shall.” - -“Have you never been there? No, you never can; and, unluckily, it is -out of distance for a ride. I wish we could contrive it.” - -“Oh! it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you will tell me how it -has been altered.” - -“I collect,” said Miss Crawford, “that Sotherton is an old place, and a -place of some grandeur. In any particular style of building?” - -“The house was built in Elizabeth’s time, and is a large, regular, -brick building; heavy, but respectable looking, and has many good -rooms. It is ill placed. It stands in one of the lowest spots of the -park; in that respect, unfavourable for improvement. But the woods are -fine, and there is a stream, which, I dare say, might be made a good -deal of. Mr. Rushworth is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a -modern dress, and I have no doubt that it will be all done extremely -well.” - -Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself, “He is a -well-bred man; he makes the best of it.” - -“I do not wish to influence Mr. Rushworth,” he continued; “but, had I a -place to new fashion, I should not put myself into the hands of an -improver. I would rather have an inferior degree of beauty, of my own -choice, and acquired progressively. I would rather abide by my own -blunders than by his.” - -“_You_ would know what you were about, of course; but that would not -suit _me_. I have no eye or ingenuity for such matters, but as they are -before me; and had I a place of my own in the country, I should be most -thankful to any Mr. Repton who would undertake it, and give me as much -beauty as he could for my money; and I should never look at it till it -was complete.” - -“It would be delightful to _me_ to see the progress of it all,” said -Fanny. - -“Ay, you have been brought up to it. It was no part of my education; -and the only dose I ever had, being administered by not the first -favourite in the world, has made me consider improvements _in_ _hand_ -as the greatest of nuisances. Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured -uncle, bought a cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend our summers -in; and my aunt and I went down to it quite in raptures; but it being -excessively pretty, it was soon found necessary to be improved, and for -three months we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel walk to -step on, or a bench fit for use. I would have everything as complete as -possible in the country, shrubberies and flower-gardens, and rustic -seats innumerable: but it must all be done without my care. Henry is -different; he loves to be doing.” - -Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was much disposed to -admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suit his sense of -propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further smiles and -liveliness to put the matter by for the present. - -“Mr. Bertram,” said she, “I have tidings of my harp at last. I am -assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been -these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often -received to the contrary.” Edmund expressed his pleasure and surprise. -“The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; we sent a servant, -we went ourselves: this will not do seventy miles from London; but this -morning we heard of it in the right way. It was seen by some farmer, -and he told the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the -butcher’s son-in-law left word at the shop.” - -“I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever means, and hope -there will be no further delay.” - -“I am to have it to-morrow; but how do you think it is to be conveyed? -Not by a wagon or cart: oh no! nothing of that kind could be hired in -the village. I might as well have asked for porters and a handbarrow.” - -“You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the middle of a -very late hay harvest, to hire a horse and cart?” - -“I was astonished to find what a piece of work was made of it! To want -a horse and cart in the country seemed impossible, so I told my maid to -speak for one directly; and as I cannot look out of my dressing-closet -without seeing one farmyard, nor walk in the shrubbery without passing -another, I thought it would be only ask and have, and was rather -grieved that I could not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, -when I found that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most -impossible thing in the world; had offended all the farmers, all the -labourers, all the hay in the parish! As for Dr. Grant’s bailiff, I -believe I had better keep out of _his_ way; and my brother-in-law -himself, who is all kindness in general, looked rather black upon me -when he found what I had been at.” - -“You could not be expected to have thought on the subject before; but -when you _do_ think of it, you must see the importance of getting in -the grass. The hire of a cart at any time might not be so easy as you -suppose: our farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but, in -harvest, it must be quite out of their power to spare a horse.” - -“I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the -true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a -little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country -customs. However, I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who is -good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it -not be honourably conveyed?” - -Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be -soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard the harp at all, and -wished for it very much. - -“I shall be most happy to play to you both,” said Miss Crawford; “at -least as long as you can like to listen: probably much longer, for I -dearly love music myself, and where the natural taste is equal the -player must always be best off, for she is gratified in more ways than -one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to -tell him that my harp is come: he heard so much of my misery about it. -And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive -airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his -horse will lose.” - -“If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, at present, -foresee any occasion for writing.” - -“No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, would you -ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped. The occasion -would never be foreseen. What strange creatures brothers are! You would -not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the -world; and when obliged to take up the pen to say that such a horse is -ill, or such a relation dead, it is done in the fewest possible words. -You have but one style among you. I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in -every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, -consults me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, -has never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing -more than—‘Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems full, and -everything as usual. Yours sincerely.’ That is the true manly style; -that is a complete brother’s letter.” - -“When they are at a distance from all their family,” said Fanny, -colouring for William’s sake, “they can write long letters.” - -“Miss Price has a brother at sea,” said Edmund, “whose excellence as a -correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us.” - -“At sea, has she? In the king’s service, of course?” - -Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his determined -silence obliged her to relate her brother’s situation: her voice was -animated in speaking of his profession, and the foreign stations he had -been on; but she could not mention the number of years that he had been -absent without tears in her eyes. Miss Crawford civilly wished him an -early promotion. - -“Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain?” said Edmund; “Captain -Marshall? You have a large acquaintance in the navy, I conclude?” - -“Among admirals, large enough; but,” with an air of grandeur, “we know -very little of the inferior ranks. Post-captains may be very good sort -of men, but they do not belong to _us_. Of various admirals I could -tell you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of -their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But, in general, I can -assure you that they are all passed over, and all very ill used. -Certainly, my home at my uncle’s brought me acquainted with a circle of -admirals. Of _Rears_ and _Vices_ I saw enough. Now do not be suspecting -me of a pun, I entreat.” - -Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, “It is a noble profession.” - -“Yes, the profession is well enough under two circumstances: if it make -the fortune, and there be discretion in spending it; but, in short, it -is not a favourite profession of mine. It has never worn an amiable -form to _me_.” - -Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect -of hearing her play. - -The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under -consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help -addressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from Miss -Julia Bertram. - -“My dear Henry, have _you_ nothing to say? You have been an improver -yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it may vie with any place -in England. Its natural beauties, I am sure, are great. Everingham, as -it _used_ to be, was perfect in my estimation: such a happy fall of -ground, and such timber! What would I not give to see it again!” - -“Nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your opinion of it,” -was his answer; “but I fear there would be some disappointment: you -would not find it equal to your present ideas. In extent, it is a mere -nothing; you would be surprised at its insignificance; and, as for -improvement, there was very little for me to do—too little: I should -like to have been busy much longer.” - -“You are fond of the sort of thing?” said Julia. - -“Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the ground, which -pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little remained to be done, -and my own consequent resolutions, I had not been of age three months -before Everingham was all that it is now. My plan was laid at -Westminster, a little altered, perhaps, at Cambridge, and at -one-and-twenty executed. I am inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having -so much happiness yet before him. I have been a devourer of my own.” - -“Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly,” said -Julia. “_You_ can never want employment. Instead of envying Mr. -Rushworth, you should assist him with your opinion.” - -Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it warmly, -persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her brother’s; and as Miss -Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and gave it her full support, -declaring that, in her opinion, it was infinitely better to consult -with friends and disinterested advisers, than immediately to throw the -business into the hands of a professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very -ready to request the favour of Mr. Crawford’s assistance; and Mr. -Crawford, after properly depreciating his own abilities, was quite at -his service in any way that could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then began -to propose Mr. Crawford’s doing him the honour of coming over to -Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if reading in -her two nieces’ minds their little approbation of a plan which was to -take Mr. Crawford away, interposed with an amendment. - -“There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford’s willingness; but why should -not more of us go? Why should not we make a little party? Here are many -that would be interested in your improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, -and that would like to hear Mr. Crawford’s opinion on the spot, and -that might be of some small use to you with _their_ opinions; and, for -my own part, I have been long wishing to wait upon your good mother -again; nothing but having no horses of my own could have made me so -remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with Mrs. Rushworth, -while the rest of you walked about and settled things, and then we -could all return to a late dinner here, or dine at Sotherton, just as -might be most agreeable to your mother, and have a pleasant drive home -by moonlight. I dare say Mr. Crawford would take my two nieces and me -in his barouche, and Edmund can go on horseback, you know, sister, and -Fanny will stay at home with you.” - -Lady Bertram made no objection; and every one concerned in the going -was forward in expressing their ready concurrence, excepting Edmund, -who heard it all and said nothing. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -“Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford _now_?” said Edmund the -next day, after thinking some time on the subject himself. “How did you -like her yesterday?” - -“Very well—very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and -she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at -her.” - -“It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has a wonderful play -of feature! But was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, -Fanny, as not quite right?” - -“Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did. I was -quite astonished. An uncle with whom she has been living so many years, -and who, whatever his faults may be, is so very fond of her brother, -treating him, they say, quite like a son. I could not have believed -it!” - -“I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong; very indecorous.” - -“And very ungrateful, I think.” - -“Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle has any -claim to her _gratitude_; his wife certainly had; and it is the warmth -of her respect for her aunt’s memory which misleads her here. She is -awkwardly circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively spirits it -must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, -without throwing a shade on the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which -was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral’s present -conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural -and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely. I do -not censure her _opinions_; but there certainly _is_ impropriety in -making them public.” - -“Do not you think,” said Fanny, after a little consideration, “that -this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, as her -niece has been entirely brought up by her? She cannot have given her -right notions of what was due to the Admiral.” - -“That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faults of the niece to -have been those of the aunt; and it makes one more sensible of the -disadvantages she has been under. But I think her present home must do -her good. Mrs. Grant’s manners are just what they ought to be. She -speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection.” - -“Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She made me -almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love or good-nature -of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writing anything -worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated. I am sure -William would never have used _me_ so, under any circumstances. And -what right had she to suppose that _you_ would not write long letters -when you were absent?” - -“The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may contribute to -its own amusement or that of others; perfectly allowable, when -untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of -either in the countenance or manner of Miss Crawford: nothing sharp, or -loud, or coarse. She is perfectly feminine, except in the instances we -have been speaking of. There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw -it all as I did.” - -Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a good chance -of her thinking like him; though at this period, and on this subject, -there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a -line of admiration of Miss Crawford, which might lead him where Fanny -could not follow. Miss Crawford’s attractions did not lessen. The harp -arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she -played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste -which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be -said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage every day, -to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured an -invitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have a -listener, and every thing was soon in a fair train. - -A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, and -both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, and opening on a -little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was -enough to catch any man’s heart. The season, the scene, the air, were -all favourable to tenderness and sentiment. Mrs. Grant and her tambour -frame were not without their use: it was all in harmony; and as -everything will turn to account when love is once set going, even the -sandwich tray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth -looking at. Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he -was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of such -intercourse, to be a good deal in love; and to the credit of the lady -it may be added that, without his being a man of the world or an elder -brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties of small -talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, though she -had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not -pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no -compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and -simple. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, -his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not -equal to discuss with herself. She did not think very much about it, -however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him near -her; it was enough. - -Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning; -she would gladly have been there too, might she have gone in uninvited -and unnoticed, to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that, when -the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted again, he -should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their -home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she -thought it a very bad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the -wine and water for her, would rather go without it than not. She was a -little surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, -and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed, -and of which _she_ was almost always reminded by a something of the -same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. Edmund was -fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it -enough that the Admiral had since been spared; and she scrupled to -point out her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like -ill-nature. The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her -was the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the -former caught, soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the -example of the young ladies at the Park, and which, when Edmund’s -acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging the wish, and -the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts, -as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable could furnish. No -pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to his cousin in this -offer: _she_ was not to lose a day’s exercise by it. The mare was only -to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to -begin; and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling -slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be -asking her leave for it. - -Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to herself, and no -inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down the mare and -presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, before -either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when -she rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward. The second -day’s trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford’s enjoyment of riding -was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless, -and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a -horsewoman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something -was probably added in Edmund’s attendance and instructions, and -something more in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in -general by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny -was ready and waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for -not being gone, and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. -To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out. - -The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of -each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could -look down the park, and command a view of the Parsonage and all its -demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr. Grant’s -meadow she immediately saw the group—Edmund and Miss Crawford both on -horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, -with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party -it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond a -doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her. It was a sound -which did not make _her_ cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should -forget her, and felt a pang. She could not turn her eyes from the -meadow; she could not help watching all that passed. At first Miss -Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field, which was not -small, at a foot’s pace; then, at _her_ apparent suggestion, they rose -into a canter; and to Fanny’s timid nature it was most astonishing to -see how well she sat. After a few minutes they stopped entirely. Edmund -was close to her; he was speaking to her; he was evidently directing -her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or -the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach. She must not -wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should -be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? She -could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved -him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper and -becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with -all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew -nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of -Edmund. She began to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such -double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered. - -Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquillised by -seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss Crawford still on -horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, pass through a gate into the -lane, and so into the park, and make towards the spot where she stood. -She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked -to meet them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion. - -“My dear Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, as soon as she was at all -within hearing, “I am come to make my own apologies for keeping you -waiting; but I have nothing in the world to say for myself—I knew it -was very late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; and therefore, if -you please, you must forgive me. Selfishness must always be forgiven, -you know, because there is no hope of a cure.” - -Fanny’s answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction -that she could be in no hurry. “For there is more than time enough for -my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes,” said he, “and you -have been promoting her comfort by preventing her from setting off half -an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from -the heat as she would have done then. I wish _you_ may not be fatigued -by so much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.” - -“No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure you,” -said she, as she sprang down with his help; “I am very strong. Nothing -ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like. Miss Price, I give way -to you with a very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will have a -pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing but good to hear of this -dear, delightful, beautiful animal.” - -The old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own horse, now -joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set off across another -part of the park; her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing, -as she looked back, that the others were walking down the hill together -to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments -on Miss Crawford’s great cleverness as a horse-woman, which he had been -watching with an interest almost equal to her own. - -“It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for riding!” -said he. “I never see one sit a horse better. She did not seem to have -a thought of fear. Very different from you, miss, when you first began, -six years ago come next Easter. Lord bless you! how you did tremble -when Sir Thomas first had you put on!” - -In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated. Her merit in -being gifted by Nature with strength and courage was fully appreciated -by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding was like their own; her -early excellence in it was like their own, and they had great pleasure -in praising it. - -“I was sure she would ride well,” said Julia; “she has the make for it. -Her figure is as neat as her brother’s.” - -“Yes,” added Maria, “and her spirits are as good, and she has the same -energy of character. I cannot but think that good horsemanship has a -great deal to do with the mind.” - -When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride -the next day. - -“No, I do not know—not if you want the mare,” was her answer. - -“I do not want her at all for myself,” said he; “but whenever you are -next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to -have her a longer time—for a whole morning, in short. She has a great -desire to get as far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling -her of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal -to it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely sorry -to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. _She_ rides -only for pleasure; _you_ for health.” - -“I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,” said Fanny; “I have been out -very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong -enough now to walk very well.” - -Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny’s comfort, and the ride to -Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all -the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed at the time, and -doubly enjoyed again in the evening discussion. A successful scheme of -this sort generally brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield -Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There -were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot, -there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. A young party is -always provided with a shady lane. Four fine mornings successively were -spent in this manner, in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing -the honours of its finest spots. Everything answered; it was all gaiety -and good-humour, the heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be -talked of with pleasure—till the fourth day, when the happiness of one -of the party was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one. Edmund -and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and _she_ was -excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect -good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth’s account, who was partly expected at the -Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good -manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she -reached home. As Mr. Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was -increased, and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over -him; she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and -throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert. - -Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, -fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of -what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would -scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was -half-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece’s -ill-humour, and having asked one or two questions about the dinner, -which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost determined to say -no more. For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in -their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think -beyond themselves; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking -around, said, “But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?” - -“No, not that I know of,” replied Mrs. Norris; “she was here a moment -ago.” - -Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room, which was -a very long one, told them that she was on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began -scolding. - -“That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening -upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as -_we_ do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the -poor basket. There is all the new calico, that was bought last week, -not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out. -You should learn to think of other people; and, take my word for it, it -is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a -sofa.” - -Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to her seat at the table, -and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who was in high -good-humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the justice of -exclaiming, “I must say, ma’am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa -as anybody in the house.” - -“Fanny,” said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, “I am sure you -have the headache.” - -She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad. - -“I can hardly believe you,” he replied; “I know your looks too well. -How long have you had it?” - -“Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat.” - -“Did you go out in the heat?” - -“Go out! to be sure she did,” said Mrs. Norris: “would you have her -stay within such a fine day as this? Were not we _all_ out? Even your -mother was out to-day for above an hour.” - -“Yes, indeed, Edmund,” added her ladyship, who had been thoroughly -awakened by Mrs. Norris’s sharp reprimand to Fanny; “I was out above an -hour. I sat three-quarters of an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny -cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot. It -was shady enough in the alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the -coming home again.” - -“Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?” - -“Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor thing! -_She_ found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could -not wait.” - -“There was no help for it, certainly,” rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a -rather softened voice; “but I question whether her headache might not -be caught _then_, sister. There is nothing so likely to give it as -standing and stooping in a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well -to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I always -forget to have mine filled.” - -“She has got it,” said Lady Bertram; “she has had it ever since she -came back from your house the second time.” - -“What!” cried Edmund; “has she been walking as well as cutting roses; -walking across the hot park to your house, and doing it twice, ma’am? -No wonder her head aches.” - -Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear. - -“I was afraid it would be too much for her,” said Lady Bertram; “but -when the roses were gathered, your aunt wished to have them, and then -you know they must be taken home.” - -“But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?” - -“No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; and, -unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room and bring away the -key, so she was obliged to go again.” - -Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, “And could nobody be -employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon my word, ma’am, it has been -a very ill-managed business.” - -“I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done better,” cried -Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; “unless I had gone myself, -indeed; but I cannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. -Green at that very time about your mother’s dairymaid, by _her_ desire, -and had promised John Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, -and the poor fellow was waiting for me half an hour. I think nobody can -justly accuse me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really I -cannot do everything at once. And as for Fanny’s just stepping down to -my house for me—it is not much above a quarter of a mile—I cannot think -I was unreasonable to ask it. How often do I pace it three times a day, -early and late, ay, and in all weathers too, and say nothing about it?” - -“I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma’am.” - -“If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be -knocked up so soon. She has not been out on horseback now this long -while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride, she ought to -walk. If she had been riding before, I should not have asked it of her. -But I thought it would rather do her good after being stooping among -the roses; for there is nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue -of that kind; and though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. -Between ourselves, Edmund,” nodding significantly at his mother, “it -was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden, that -did the mischief.” - -“I am afraid it was, indeed,” said the more candid Lady Bertram, who -had overheard her; “I am very much afraid she caught the headache -there, for the heat was enough to kill anybody. It was as much as I -could bear myself. Sitting and calling to Pug, and trying to keep him -from the flower-beds, was almost too much for me.” - -Edmund said no more to either lady; but going quietly to another table, -on which the supper-tray yet remained, brought a glass of Madeira to -Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater part. She wished to be able -to decline it; but the tears, which a variety of feelings created, made -it easier to swallow than to speak. - -Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was still more angry -with himself. His own forgetfulness of her was worse than anything -which they had done. Nothing of this would have happened had she been -properly considered; but she had been left four days together without -any choice of companions or exercise, and without any excuse for -avoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed -to think that for four days together she had not had the power of -riding, and very seriously resolved, however unwilling he must be to -check a pleasure of Miss Crawford’s, that it should never happen again. - -Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the first evening of her -arrival at the Park. The state of her spirits had probably had its -share in her indisposition; for she had been feeling neglected, and -been struggling against discontent and envy for some days past. As she -leant on the sofa, to which she had retreated that she might not be -seen, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and -the sudden change which Edmund’s kindness had then occasioned, made her -hardly know how to support herself. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Fanny’s rides recommenced the very next day; and as it was a pleasant -fresh-feeling morning, less hot than the weather had lately been, -Edmund trusted that her losses, both of health and pleasure, would be -soon made good. While she was gone Mr. Rushworth arrived, escorting his -mother, who came to be civil and to shew her civility especially, in -urging the execution of the plan for visiting Sotherton, which had been -started a fortnight before, and which, in consequence of her subsequent -absence from home, had since lain dormant. Mrs. Norris and her nieces -were all well pleased with its revival, and an early day was named and -agreed to, provided Mr. Crawford should be disengaged: the young ladies -did not forget that stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris would willingly -have answered for his being so, they would neither authorise the -liberty nor run the risk; and at last, on a hint from Miss Bertram, Mr. -Rushworth discovered that the properest thing to be done was for him to -walk down to the Parsonage directly, and call on Mr. Crawford, and -inquire whether Wednesday would suit him or not. - -Before his return Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford came in. Having been out -some time, and taken a different route to the house, they had not met -him. Comfortable hopes, however, were given that he would find Mr. -Crawford at home. The Sotherton scheme was mentioned of course. It was -hardly possible, indeed, that anything else should be talked of, for -Mrs. Norris was in high spirits about it; and Mrs. Rushworth, a -well-meaning, civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought nothing of -consequence, but as it related to her own and her son’s concerns, had -not yet given over pressing Lady Bertram to be of the party. Lady -Bertram constantly declined it; but her placid manner of refusal made -Mrs. Rushworth still think she wished to come, till Mrs. Norris’s more -numerous words and louder tone convinced her of the truth. - -“The fatigue would be too much for my sister, a great deal too much, I -assure you, my dear Mrs. Rushworth. Ten miles there, and ten back, you -know. You must excuse my sister on this occasion, and accept of our two -dear girls and myself without her. Sotherton is the only place that -could give her a _wish_ to go so far, but it cannot be, indeed. She -will have a companion in Fanny Price, you know, so it will all do very -well; and as for Edmund, as he is not here to speak for himself, I will -answer for his being most happy to join the party. He can go on -horseback, you know.” - -Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to yield to Lady Bertram’s staying at -home, could only be sorry. “The loss of her ladyship’s company would be -a great drawback, and she should have been extremely happy to have seen -the young lady too, Miss Price, who had never been at Sotherton yet, -and it was a pity she should not see the place.” - -“You are very kind, you are all kindness, my dear madam,” cried Mrs. -Norris; “but as to Fanny, she will have opportunities in plenty of -seeing Sotherton. She has time enough before her; and her going now is -quite out of the question. Lady Bertram could not possibly spare her.” - -“Oh no! I cannot do without Fanny.” - -Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, under the conviction that everybody must -be wanting to see Sotherton, to include Miss Crawford in the -invitation; and though Mrs. Grant, who had not been at the trouble of -visiting Mrs. Rushworth, on her coming into the neighbourhood, civilly -declined it on her own account, she was glad to secure any pleasure for -her sister; and Mary, properly pressed and persuaded, was not long in -accepting her share of the civility. Mr. Rushworth came back from the -Parsonage successful; and Edmund made his appearance just in time to -learn what had been settled for Wednesday, to attend Mrs. Rushworth to -her carriage, and walk half-way down the park with the two other -ladies. - -On his return to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs. Norris trying to -make up her mind as to whether Miss Crawford’s being of the party were -desirable or not, or whether her brother’s barouche would not be full -without her. The Miss Bertrams laughed at the idea, assuring her that -the barouche would hold four perfectly well, independent of the box, on -which _one_ might go with him. - -“But why is it necessary,” said Edmund, “that Crawford’s carriage, or -his _only_, should be employed? Why is no use to be made of my mother’s -chaise? I could not, when the scheme was first mentioned the other day, -understand why a visit from the family were not to be made in the -carriage of the family.” - -“What!” cried Julia: “go boxed up three in a postchaise in this -weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No, my dear Edmund, that -will not quite do.” - -“Besides,” said Maria, “I know that Mr. Crawford depends upon taking -us. After what passed at first, he would claim it as a promise.” - -“And, my dear Edmund,” added Mrs. Norris, “taking out _two_ carriages -when _one_ will do, would be trouble for nothing; and, between -ourselves, coachman is not very fond of the roads between this and -Sotherton: he always complains bitterly of the narrow lanes scratching -his carriage, and you know one should not like to have dear Sir Thomas, -when he comes home, find all the varnish scratched off.” - -“That would not be a very handsome reason for using Mr. Crawford’s,” -said Maria; “but the truth is, that Wilcox is a stupid old fellow, and -does not know how to drive. I will answer for it that we shall find no -inconvenience from narrow roads on Wednesday.” - -“There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant,” said Edmund, “in -going on the barouche box.” - -“Unpleasant!” cried Maria: “oh dear! I believe it would be generally -thought the favourite seat. There can be no comparison as to one’s view -of the country. Probably Miss Crawford will choose the barouche-box -herself.” - -“There can be no objection, then, to Fanny’s going with you; there can -be no doubt of your having room for her.” - -“Fanny!” repeated Mrs. Norris; “my dear Edmund, there is no idea of her -going with us. She stays with her aunt. I told Mrs. Rushworth so. She -is not expected.” - -“You can have no reason, I imagine, madam,” said he, addressing his -mother, “for wishing Fanny _not_ to be of the party, but as it relates -to yourself, to your own comfort. If you could do without her, you -would not wish to keep her at home?” - -“To be sure not, but I _cannot_ do without her.” - -“You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do.” - -There was a general cry out at this. “Yes,” he continued, “there is no -necessity for my going, and I mean to stay at home. Fanny has a great -desire to see Sotherton. I know she wishes it very much. She has not -often a gratification of the kind, and I am sure, ma’am, you would be -glad to give her the pleasure now?” - -“Oh yes! very glad, if your aunt sees no objection.” - -Mrs. Norris was very ready with the only objection which could -remain—their having positively assured Mrs. Rushworth that Fanny could -not go, and the very strange appearance there would consequently be in -taking her, which seemed to her a difficulty quite impossible to be got -over. It must have the strangest appearance! It would be something so -very unceremonious, so bordering on disrespect for Mrs. Rushworth, -whose own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding and attention, -that she really did not feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no affection -for Fanny, and no wish of procuring her pleasure at any time; but her -opposition to Edmund _now_, arose more from partiality for her own -scheme, because it _was_ her own, than from anything else. She felt -that she had arranged everything extremely well, and that any -alteration must be for the worse. When Edmund, therefore, told her in -reply, as he did when she would give him the hearing, that she need not -distress herself on Mrs. Rushworth’s account, because he had taken the -opportunity, as he walked with her through the hall, of mentioning Miss -Price as one who would probably be of the party, and had directly -received a very sufficient invitation for his cousin, Mrs. Norris was -too much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and would only say, -“Very well, very well, just as you chuse, settle it your own way, I am -sure I do not care about it.” - -“It seems very odd,” said Maria, “that you should be staying at home -instead of Fanny.” - -“I am sure she ought to be very much obliged to you,” added Julia, -hastily leaving the room as she spoke, from a consciousness that she -ought to offer to stay at home herself. - -“Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion requires,” was -Edmund’s only reply, and the subject dropt. - -Fanny’s gratitude, when she heard the plan, was, in fact, much greater -than her pleasure. She felt Edmund’s kindness with all, and more than -all, the sensibility which he, unsuspicious of her fond attachment, -could be aware of; but that he should forego any enjoyment on her -account gave her pain, and her own satisfaction in seeing Sotherton -would be nothing without him. - -The next meeting of the two Mansfield families produced another -alteration in the plan, and one that was admitted with general -approbation. Mrs. Grant offered herself as companion for the day to -Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and Dr. Grant was to join them at -dinner. Lady Bertram was very well pleased to have it so, and the young -ladies were in spirits again. Even Edmund was very thankful for an -arrangement which restored him to his share of the party; and Mrs. -Norris thought it an excellent plan, and had it at her tongue’s end, -and was on the point of proposing it, when Mrs. Grant spoke. - -Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfast the barouche arrived, Mr. -Crawford driving his sisters; and as everybody was ready, there was -nothing to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight and the others to take -their places. The place of all places, the envied seat, the post of -honour, was unappropriated. To whose happy lot was it to fall? While -each of the Miss Bertrams were meditating how best, and with the most -appearance of obliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled -by Mrs. Grant’s saying, as she stepped from the carriage, “As there are -five of you, it will be better that one should sit with Henry; and as -you were saying lately that you wished you could drive, Julia, I think -this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson.” - -Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on the barouche-box in a -moment, the latter took her seat within, in gloom and mortification; -and the carriage drove off amid the good wishes of the two remaining -ladies, and the barking of Pug in his mistress’s arms. - -Their road was through a pleasant country; and Fanny, whose rides had -never been extensive, was soon beyond her knowledge, and was very happy -in observing all that was new, and admiring all that was pretty. She -was not often invited to join in the conversation of the others, nor -did she desire it. Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her -best companions; and, in observing the appearance of the country, the -bearings of the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the -harvest, the cottages, the cattle, the children, she found -entertainment that could only have been heightened by having Edmund to -speak to of what she felt. That was the only point of resemblance -between her and the lady who sat by her: in everything but a value for -Edmund, Miss Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of Fanny’s -delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw Nature, inanimate -Nature, with little observation; her attention was all for men and -women, her talents for the light and lively. In looking back after -Edmund, however, when there was any stretch of road behind them, or -when he gained on them in ascending a considerable hill, they were -united, and a “there he is” broke at the same moment from them both, -more than once. - -For the first seven miles Miss Bertram had very little real comfort: -her prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford and her sister sitting side -by side, full of conversation and merriment; and to see only his -expressive profile as he turned with a smile to Julia, or to catch the -laugh of the other, was a perpetual source of irritation, which her own -sense of propriety could but just smooth over. When Julia looked back, -it was with a countenance of delight, and whenever she spoke to them, -it was in the highest spirits: “her view of the country was charming, -she wished they could all see it,” etc.; but her only offer of exchange -was addressed to Miss Crawford, as they gained the summit of a long -hill, and was not more inviting than this: “Here is a fine burst of -country. I wish you had my seat, but I dare say you will not take it, -let me press you ever so much;” and Miss Crawford could hardly answer -before they were moving again at a good pace. - -When they came within the influence of Sotherton associations, it was -better for Miss Bertram, who might be said to have two strings to her -bow. She had Rushworth feelings, and Crawford feelings, and in the -vicinity of Sotherton the former had considerable effect. Mr. -Rushworth’s consequence was hers. She could not tell Miss Crawford that -“those woods belonged to Sotherton,” she could not carelessly observe -that “she believed that it was now all Mr. Rushworth’s property on each -side of the road,” without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to -increase with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, and -ancient manorial residence of the family, with all its rights of -court-leet and court-baron. - -“Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss Crawford; our difficulties -are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought to be. Mr. Rushworth -has made it since he succeeded to the estate. Here begins the village. -Those cottages are really a disgrace. The church spire is reckoned -remarkably handsome. I am glad the church is not so close to the great -house as often happens in old places. The annoyance of the bells must -be terrible. There is the parsonage: a tidy-looking house, and I -understand the clergyman and his wife are very decent people. Those are -almshouses, built by some of the family. To the right is the steward’s -house; he is a very respectable man. Now we are coming to the -lodge-gates; but we have nearly a mile through the park still. It is -not ugly, you see, at this end; there is some fine timber, but the -situation of the house is dreadful. We go down hill to it for half a -mile, and it is a pity, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it -had a better approach.” - -Miss Crawford was not slow to admire; she pretty well guessed Miss -Bertram’s feelings, and made it a point of honour to promote her -enjoyment to the utmost. Mrs. Norris was all delight and volubility; -and even Fanny had something to say in admiration, and might be heard -with complacency. Her eye was eagerly taking in everything within her -reach; and after being at some pains to get a view of the house, and -observing that “it was a sort of building which she could not look at -but with respect,” she added, “Now, where is the avenue? The house -fronts the east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, must be at the back -of it. Mr. Rushworth talked of the west front.” - -“Yes, it is exactly behind the house; begins at a little distance, and -ascends for half a mile to the extremity of the grounds. You may see -something of it here—something of the more distant trees. It is oak -entirely.” - -Miss Bertram could now speak with decided information of what she had -known nothing about when Mr. Rushworth had asked her opinion; and her -spirits were in as happy a flutter as vanity and pride could furnish, -when they drove up to the spacious stone steps before the principal -entrance. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Mr. Rushworth was at the door to receive his fair lady; and the whole -party were welcomed by him with due attention. In the drawing-room they -were met with equal cordiality by the mother, and Miss Bertram had all -the distinction with each that she could wish. After the business of -arriving was over, it was first necessary to eat, and the doors were -thrown open to admit them through one or two intermediate rooms into -the appointed dining-parlour, where a collation was prepared with -abundance and elegance. Much was said, and much was ate, and all went -well. The particular object of the day was then considered. How would -Mr. Crawford like, in what manner would he chuse, to take a survey of -the grounds? Mr. Rushworth mentioned his curricle. Mr. Crawford -suggested the greater desirableness of some carriage which might convey -more than two. “To be depriving themselves of the advantage of other -eyes and other judgments, might be an evil even beyond the loss of -present pleasure.” - -Mrs. Rushworth proposed that the chaise should be taken also; but this -was scarcely received as an amendment: the young ladies neither smiled -nor spoke. Her next proposition, of shewing the house to such of them -as had not been there before, was more acceptable, for Miss Bertram was -pleased to have its size displayed, and all were glad to be doing -something. - -The whole party rose accordingly, and under Mrs. Rushworth’s guidance -were shewn through a number of rooms, all lofty, and many large, and -amply furnished in the taste of fifty years back, with shining floors, -solid mahogany, rich damask, marble, gilding, and carving, each -handsome in its way. Of pictures there were abundance, and some few -good, but the larger part were family portraits, no longer anything to -anybody but Mrs. Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn all -that the housekeeper could teach, and was now almost equally well -qualified to shew the house. On the present occasion she addressed -herself chiefly to Miss Crawford and Fanny, but there was no comparison -in the willingness of their attention; for Miss Crawford, who had seen -scores of great houses, and cared for none of them, had only the -appearance of civilly listening, while Fanny, to whom everything was -almost as interesting as it was new, attended with unaffected -earnestness to all that Mrs. Rushworth could relate of the family in -former times, its rise and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, -delighted to connect anything with history already known, or warm her -imagination with scenes of the past. - -The situation of the house excluded the possibility of much prospect -from any of the rooms; and while Fanny and some of the others were -attending Mrs. Rushworth, Henry Crawford was looking grave and shaking -his head at the windows. Every room on the west front looked across a -lawn to the beginning of the avenue immediately beyond tall iron -palisades and gates. - -Having visited many more rooms than could be supposed to be of any -other use than to contribute to the window-tax, and find employment for -housemaids, “Now,” said Mrs. Rushworth, “we are coming to the chapel, -which properly we ought to enter from above, and look down upon; but as -we are quite among friends, I will take you in this way, if you will -excuse me.” - -They entered. Fanny’s imagination had prepared her for something -grander than a mere spacious, oblong room, fitted up for the purpose of -devotion: with nothing more striking or more solemn than the profusion -of mahogany, and the crimson velvet cushions appearing over the ledge -of the family gallery above. “I am disappointed,” said she, in a low -voice, to Edmund. “This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing -awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no -arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be ‘blown -by the night wind of heaven.’ No signs that a ‘Scottish monarch sleeps -below.’” - -“You forget, Fanny, how lately all this has been built, and for how -confined a purpose, compared with the old chapels of castles and -monasteries. It was only for the private use of the family. They have -been buried, I suppose, in the parish church. _There_ you must look for -the banners and the achievements.” - -“It was foolish of me not to think of all that; but I am disappointed.” - -Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. “This chapel was fitted up as you -see it, in James the Second’s time. Before that period, as I -understand, the pews were only wainscot; and there is some reason to -think that the linings and cushions of the pulpit and family seat were -only purple cloth; but this is not quite certain. It is a handsome -chapel, and was formerly in constant use both morning and evening. -Prayers were always read in it by the domestic chaplain, within the -memory of many; but the late Mr. Rushworth left it off.” - -“Every generation has its improvements,” said Miss Crawford, with a -smile, to Edmund. - -Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr. Crawford; and -Edmund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford remained in a cluster together. - -“It is a pity,” cried Fanny, “that the custom should have been -discontinued. It was a valuable part of former times. There is -something in a chapel and chaplain so much in character with a great -house, with one’s ideas of what such a household should be! A whole -family assembling regularly for the purpose of prayer is fine!” - -“Very fine indeed,” said Miss Crawford, laughing. “It must do the heads -of the family a great deal of good to force all the poor housemaids and -footmen to leave business and pleasure, and say their prayers here -twice a day, while they are inventing excuses themselves for staying -away.” - -“_That_ is hardly Fanny’s idea of a family assembling,” said Edmund. -“If the master and mistress do _not_ attend themselves, there must be -more harm than good in the custom.” - -“At any rate, it is safer to leave people to their own devices on such -subjects. Everybody likes to go their own way—to chuse their own time -and manner of devotion. The obligation of attendance, the formality, -the restraint, the length of time—altogether it is a formidable thing, -and what nobody likes; and if the good people who used to kneel and -gape in that gallery could have foreseen that the time would ever come -when men and women might lie another ten minutes in bed, when they woke -with a headache, without danger of reprobation, because chapel was -missed, they would have jumped with joy and envy. Cannot you imagine -with what unwilling feelings the former belles of the house of -Rushworth did many a time repair to this chapel? The young Mrs. -Eleanors and Mrs. Bridgets—starched up into seeming piety, but with -heads full of something very different—especially if the poor chaplain -were not worth looking at—and, in those days, I fancy parsons were very -inferior even to what they are now.” - -For a few moments she was unanswered. Fanny coloured and looked at -Edmund, but felt too angry for speech; and he needed a little -recollection before he could say, “Your lively mind can hardly be -serious even on serious subjects. You have given us an amusing sketch, -and human nature cannot say it was not so. We must all feel _at_ -_times_ the difficulty of fixing our thoughts as we could wish; but if -you are supposing it a frequent thing, that is to say, a weakness grown -into a habit from neglect, what could be expected from the _private_ -devotions of such persons? Do you think the minds which are suffered, -which are indulged in wanderings in a chapel, would be more collected -in a closet?” - -“Yes, very likely. They would have two chances at least in their -favour. There would be less to distract the attention from without, and -it would not be tried so long.” - -“The mind which does not struggle against itself under _one_ -circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the _other_, I -believe; and the influence of the place and of example may often rouse -better feelings than are begun with. The greater length of the service, -however, I admit to be sometimes too hard a stretch upon the mind. One -wishes it were not so; but I have not yet left Oxford long enough to -forget what chapel prayers are.” - -While this was passing, the rest of the party being scattered about the -chapel, Julia called Mr. Crawford’s attention to her sister, by saying, -“Do look at Mr. Rushworth and Maria, standing side by side, exactly as -if the ceremony were going to be performed. Have not they completely -the air of it?” - -Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, and stepping forward to Maria, -said, in a voice which she only could hear, “I do not like to see Miss -Bertram so near the altar.” - -Starting, the lady instinctively moved a step or two, but recovering -herself in a moment, affected to laugh, and asked him, in a tone not -much louder, “If he would give her away?” - -“I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly,” was his reply, with a look -of meaning. - -Julia, joining them at the moment, carried on the joke. - -“Upon my word, it is really a pity that it should not take place -directly, if we had but a proper licence, for here we are altogether, -and nothing in the world could be more snug and pleasant.” And she -talked and laughed about it with so little caution as to catch the -comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sister to -the whispered gallantries of her lover, while Mrs. Rushworth spoke with -proper smiles and dignity of its being a most happy event to her -whenever it took place. - -“If Edmund were but in orders!” cried Julia, and running to where he -stood with Miss Crawford and Fanny: “My dear Edmund, if you were but in -orders now, you might perform the ceremony directly. How unlucky that -you are not ordained; Mr. Rushworth and Maria are quite ready.” - -Miss Crawford’s countenance, as Julia spoke, might have amused a -disinterested observer. She looked almost aghast under the new idea she -was receiving. Fanny pitied her. “How distressed she will be at what -she said just now,” passed across her mind. - -“Ordained!” said Miss Crawford; “what, are you to be a clergyman?” - -“Yes; I shall take orders soon after my father’s return—probably at -Christmas.” - -Miss Crawford, rallying her spirits, and recovering her complexion, -replied only, “If I had known this before, I would have spoken of the -cloth with more respect,” and turned the subject. - -The chapel was soon afterwards left to the silence and stillness which -reigned in it, with few interruptions, throughout the year. Miss -Bertram, displeased with her sister, led the way, and all seemed to -feel that they had been there long enough. - -The lower part of the house had been now entirely shewn, and Mrs. -Rushworth, never weary in the cause, would have proceeded towards the -principal staircase, and taken them through all the rooms above, if her -son had not interposed with a doubt of there being time enough. “For -if,” said he, with the sort of self-evident proposition which many a -clearer head does not always avoid, “we are _too_ long going over the -house, we shall not have time for what is to be done out of doors. It -is past two, and we are to dine at five.” - -Mrs. Rushworth submitted; and the question of surveying the grounds, -with the who and the how, was likely to be more fully agitated, and -Mrs. Norris was beginning to arrange by what junction of carriages and -horses most could be done, when the young people, meeting with an -outward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which led -immediately to turf and shrubs, and all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, -as by one impulse, one wish for air and liberty, all walked out. - -“Suppose we turn down here for the present,” said Mrs. Rushworth, -civilly taking the hint and following them. “Here are the greatest -number of our plants, and here are the curious pheasants.” - -“Query,” said Mr. Crawford, looking round him, “whether we may not find -something to employ us here before we go farther? I see walls of great -promise. Mr. Rushworth, shall we summon a council on this lawn?” - -“James,” said Mrs. Rushworth to her son, “I believe the wilderness will -be new to all the party. The Miss Bertrams have never seen the -wilderness yet.” - -No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no inclination to -move in any plan, or to any distance. All were attracted at first by -the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed about in happy -independence. Mr. Crawford was the first to move forward to examine the -capabilities of that end of the house. The lawn, bounded on each side -by a high wall, contained beyond the first planted area a -bowling-green, and beyond the bowling-green a long terrace walk, backed -by iron palisades, and commanding a view over them into the tops of the -trees of the wilderness immediately adjoining. It was a good spot for -fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followed by Miss Bertram and Mr. -Rushworth; and when, after a little time, the others began to form into -parties, these three were found in busy consultation on the terrace by -Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny, who seemed as naturally to unite, and -who, after a short participation of their regrets and difficulties, -left them and walked on. The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. -Norris, and Julia, were still far behind; for Julia, whose happy star -no longer prevailed, was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, -and restrain her impatient feet to that lady’s slow pace, while her -aunt, having fallen in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed -the pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip with her. Poor Julia, the -only one out of the nine not tolerably satisfied with their lot, was -now in a state of complete penance, and as different from the Julia of -the barouche-box as could well be imagined. The politeness which she -had been brought up to practise as a duty made it impossible for her to -escape; while the want of that higher species of self-command, that -just consideration of others, that knowledge of her own heart, that -principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of her -education, made her miserable under it. - -“This is insufferably hot,” said Miss Crawford, when they had taken one -turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to the door in the -middle which opened to the wilderness. “Shall any of us object to being -comfortable? Here is a nice little wood, if one can but get into it. -What happiness if the door should not be locked! but of course it is; -for in these great places the gardeners are the only people who can go -where they like.” - -The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they were all agreed in -turning joyfully through it, and leaving the unmitigated glare of day -behind. A considerable flight of steps landed them in the wilderness, -which was a planted wood of about two acres, and though chiefly of -larch and laurel, and beech cut down, and though laid out with too much -regularity, was darkness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with -the bowling-green and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, -and for some time could only walk and admire. At length, after a short -pause, Miss Crawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. -Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.” - -“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some -profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a -soldier, nor a sailor.” - -“Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know -there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the -second son.” - -“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite universal. -I am one of the exceptions, and _being_ one, must do something for -myself.” - -“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought _that_ was always the lot -of the youngest, where there were many to chuse before him.” - -“Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?” - -“_Never_ is a black word. But yes, in the _never_ of conversation, -which means _not_ _very_ _often_, I do think it. For what is to be done -in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the -other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A -clergyman is nothing.” - -“The _nothing_ of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as -the _never_. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must -not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that -situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first -importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, -temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and -morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their -influence. No one here can call the _office_ nothing. If the man who -holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just -importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not -to appear.” - -“_You_ assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been -used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see -much of this influence and importance in society, and how can it be -acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons -a week, even supposing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to -have the sense to prefer Blair’s to his own, do all that you speak of? -govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregation for -the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.” - -“_You_ are speaking of London, _I_ am speaking of the nation at large.” - -“The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the rest.” - -“Not, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice throughout the -kingdom. We do not look in great cities for our best morality. It is -not there that respectable people of any denomination can do most good; -and it certainly is not there that the influence of the clergy can be -most felt. A fine preacher is followed and admired; but it is not in -fine preaching only that a good clergyman will be useful in his parish -and his neighbourhood, where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size -capable of knowing his private character, and observing his general -conduct, which in London can rarely be the case. The clergy are lost -there in the crowds of their parishioners. They are known to the -largest part only as preachers. And with regard to their influencing -public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand me, or suppose I -mean to call them the arbiters of good-breeding, the regulators of -refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies of life. The -_manners_ I speak of might rather be called _conduct_, perhaps, the -result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines -which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, -be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought -to be, so are the rest of the nation.” - -“Certainly,” said Fanny, with gentle earnestness. - -“There,” cried Miss Crawford, “you have quite convinced Miss Price -already.” - -“I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too.” - -“I do not think you ever will,” said she, with an arch smile; “I am -just as much surprised now as I was at first that you should intend to -take orders. You really are fit for something better. Come, do change -your mind. It is not too late. Go into the law.” - -“Go into the law! With as much ease as I was told to go into this -wilderness.” - -“Now you are going to say something about law being the worst -wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; remember, I have -forestalled you.” - -“You need not hurry when the object is only to prevent my saying a -_bon_ _mot_, for there is not the least wit in my nature. I am a very -matter-of-fact, plain-spoken being, and may blunder on the borders of a -repartee for half an hour together without striking it out.” - -A general silence succeeded. Each was thoughtful. Fanny made the first -interruption by saying, “I wonder that I should be tired with only -walking in this sweet wood; but the next time we come to a seat, if it -is not disagreeable to you, I should be glad to sit down for a little -while.” - -“My dear Fanny,” cried Edmund, immediately drawing her arm within his, -“how thoughtless I have been! I hope you are not very tired. Perhaps,” -turning to Miss Crawford, “my other companion may do me the honour of -taking an arm.” - -“Thank you, but I am not at all tired.” She took it, however, as she -spoke, and the gratification of having her do so, of feeling such a -connexion for the first time, made him a little forgetful of Fanny. -“You scarcely touch me,” said he. “You do not make me of any use. What -a difference in the weight of a woman’s arm from that of a man! At -Oxford I have been a good deal used to have a man lean on me for the -length of a street, and you are only a fly in the comparison.” - -“I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; for we must have -walked at least a mile in this wood. Do not you think we have?” - -“Not half a mile,” was his sturdy answer; for he was not yet so much in -love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with feminine lawlessness. - -“Oh! you do not consider how much we have wound about. We have taken -such a very serpentine course, and the wood itself must be half a mile -long in a straight line, for we have never seen the end of it yet since -we left the first great path.” - -“But if you remember, before we left that first great path, we saw -directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista, and saw it -closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more than a furlong in -length.” - -“Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure it is a very long -wood, and that we have been winding in and out ever since we came into -it; and therefore, when I say that we have walked a mile in it, I must -speak within compass.” - -“We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here,” said Edmund, taking -out his watch. “Do you think we are walking four miles an hour?” - -“Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or -too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.” - -A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the very walk -they had been talking of; and standing back, well shaded and sheltered, -and looking over a ha-ha into the park, was a comfortable-sized bench, -on which they all sat down. - -“I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny,” said Edmund, observing her; -“why would not you speak sooner? This will be a bad day’s amusement for -you if you are to be knocked up. Every sort of exercise fatigues her so -soon, Miss Crawford, except riding.” - -“How abominable in you, then, to let me engross her horse as I did all -last week! I am ashamed of you and of myself, but it shall never happen -again.” - -“_Your_ attentiveness and consideration makes me more sensible of my -own neglect. Fanny’s interest seems in safer hands with you than with -me.” - -“That she should be tired now, however, gives me no surprise; for there -is nothing in the course of one’s duties so fatiguing as what we have -been doing this morning: seeing a great house, dawdling from one room -to another, straining one’s eyes and one’s attention, hearing what one -does not understand, admiring what one does not care for. It is -generally allowed to be the greatest bore in the world, and Miss Price -has found it so, though she did not know it.” - -“I shall soon be rested,” said Fanny; “to sit in the shade on a fine -day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.” - -After sitting a little while Miss Crawford was up again. “I must move,” -said she; “resting fatigues me. I have looked across the ha-ha till I -am weary. I must go and look through that iron gate at the same view, -without being able to see it so well.” - -Edmund left the seat likewise. “Now, Miss Crawford, if you will look up -the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot be half a mile -long, or half half a mile.” - -“It is an immense distance,” said she; “I see _that_ with a glance.” - -He still reasoned with her, but in vain. She would not calculate, she -would not compare. She would only smile and assert. The greatest degree -of rational consistency could not have been more engaging, and they -talked with mutual satisfaction. At last it was agreed that they should -endeavour to determine the dimensions of the wood by walking a little -more about it. They would go to one end of it, in the line they were -then in—for there was a straight green walk along the bottom by the -side of the ha-ha—and perhaps turn a little way in some other -direction, if it seemed likely to assist them, and be back in a few -minutes. Fanny said she was rested, and would have moved too, but this -was not suffered. Edmund urged her remaining where she was with an -earnestness which she could not resist, and she was left on the bench -to think with pleasure of her cousin’s care, but with great regret that -she was not stronger. She watched them till they had turned the corner, -and listened till all sound of them had ceased. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, passed away, and Fanny was still -thinking of Edmund, Miss Crawford, and herself, without interruption -from any one. She began to be surprised at being left so long, and to -listen with an anxious desire of hearing their steps and their voices -again. She listened, and at length she heard; she heard voices and feet -approaching; but she had just satisfied herself that it was not those -she wanted, when Miss Bertram, Mr. Rushworth, and Mr. Crawford issued -from the same path which she had trod herself, and were before her. - -“Miss Price all alone” and “My dear Fanny, how comes this?” were the -first salutations. She told her story. “Poor dear Fanny,” cried her -cousin, “how ill you have been used by them! You had better have staid -with us.” - -Then seating herself with a gentleman on each side, she resumed the -conversation which had engaged them before, and discussed the -possibility of improvements with much animation. Nothing was fixed on; -but Henry Crawford was full of ideas and projects, and, generally -speaking, whatever he proposed was immediately approved, first by her, -and then by Mr. Rushworth, whose principal business seemed to be to -hear the others, and who scarcely risked an original thought of his own -beyond a wish that they had seen his friend Smith’s place. - -After some minutes spent in this way, Miss Bertram, observing the iron -gate, expressed a wish of passing through it into the park, that their -views and their plans might be more comprehensive. It was the very -thing of all others to be wished, it was the best, it was the only way -of proceeding with any advantage, in Henry Crawford’s opinion; and he -directly saw a knoll not half a mile off, which would give them exactly -the requisite command of the house. Go therefore they must to that -knoll, and through that gate; but the gate was locked. Mr. Rushworth -wished he had brought the key; he had been very near thinking whether -he should not bring the key; he was determined he would never come -without the key again; but still this did not remove the present evil. -They could not get through; and as Miss Bertram’s inclination for so -doing did by no means lessen, it ended in Mr. Rushworth’s declaring -outright that he would go and fetch the key. He set off accordingly. - -“It is undoubtedly the best thing we can do now, as we are so far from -the house already,” said Mr. Crawford, when he was gone. - -“Yes, there is nothing else to be done. But now, sincerely, do not you -find the place altogether worse than you expected?” - -“No, indeed, far otherwise. I find it better, grander, more complete in -its style, though that style may not be the best. And to tell you the -truth,” speaking rather lower, “I do not think that _I_ shall ever see -Sotherton again with so much pleasure as I do now. Another summer will -hardly improve it to me.” - -After a moment’s embarrassment the lady replied, “You are too much a -man of the world not to see with the eyes of the world. If other people -think Sotherton improved, I have no doubt that you will.” - -“I am afraid I am not quite so much the man of the world as might be -good for me in some points. My feelings are not quite so evanescent, -nor my memory of the past under such easy dominion as one finds to be -the case with men of the world.” - -This was followed by a short silence. Miss Bertram began again. “You -seemed to enjoy your drive here very much this morning. I was glad to -see you so well entertained. You and Julia were laughing the whole -way.” - -“Were we? Yes, I believe we were; but I have not the least recollection -at what. Oh! I believe I was relating to her some ridiculous stories of -an old Irish groom of my uncle’s. Your sister loves to laugh.” - -“You think her more light-hearted than I am?” - -“More easily amused,” he replied; “consequently, you know,” smiling, -“better company. I could not have hoped to entertain you with Irish -anecdotes during a ten miles’ drive.” - -“Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as Julia, but I have more to -think of now.” - -“You have, undoubtedly; and there are situations in which very high -spirits would denote insensibility. Your prospects, however, are too -fair to justify want of spirits. You have a very smiling scene before -you.” - -“Do you mean literally or figuratively? Literally, I conclude. Yes, -certainly, the sun shines, and the park looks very cheerful. But -unluckily that iron gate, that ha-ha, give me a feeling of restraint -and hardship. ‘I cannot get out,’ as the starling said.” As she spoke, -and it was with expression, she walked to the gate: he followed her. -“Mr. Rushworth is so long fetching this key!” - -“And for the world you would not get out without the key and without -Mr. Rushworth’s authority and protection, or I think you might with -little difficulty pass round the edge of the gate, here, with my -assistance; I think it might be done, if you really wished to be more -at large, and could allow yourself to think it not prohibited.” - -“Prohibited! nonsense! I certainly can get out that way, and I will. -Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment, you know; we shall not be out -of sight.” - -“Or if we are, Miss Price will be so good as to tell him that he will -find us near that knoll: the grove of oak on the knoll.” - -Fanny, feeling all this to be wrong, could not help making an effort to -prevent it. “You will hurt yourself, Miss Bertram,” she cried; “you -will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes; you will tear your -gown; you will be in danger of slipping into the ha-ha. You had better -not go.” - -Her cousin was safe on the other side while these words were spoken, -and, smiling with all the good-humour of success, she said, “Thank you, -my dear Fanny, but I and my gown are alive and well, and so good-bye.” - -Fanny was again left to her solitude, and with no increase of pleasant -feelings, for she was sorry for almost all that she had seen and heard, -astonished at Miss Bertram, and angry with Mr. Crawford. By taking a -circuitous, and, as it appeared to her, very unreasonable direction to -the knoll, they were soon beyond her eye; and for some minutes longer -she remained without sight or sound of any companion. She seemed to -have the little wood all to herself. She could almost have thought that -Edmund and Miss Crawford had left it, but that it was impossible for -Edmund to forget her so entirely. - -She was again roused from disagreeable musings by sudden footsteps: -somebody was coming at a quick pace down the principal walk. She -expected Mr. Rushworth, but it was Julia, who, hot and out of breath, -and with a look of disappointment, cried out on seeing her, “Heyday! -Where are the others? I thought Maria and Mr. Crawford were with you.” - -Fanny explained. - -“A pretty trick, upon my word! I cannot see them anywhere,” looking -eagerly into the park. “But they cannot be very far off, and I think I -am equal to as much as Maria, even without help.” - -“But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment with the key. Do -wait for Mr. Rushworth.” - -“Not I, indeed. I have had enough of the family for one morning. Why, -child, I have but this moment escaped from his horrible mother. Such a -penance as I have been enduring, while you were sitting here so -composed and so happy! It might have been as well, perhaps, if you had -been in my place, but you always contrive to keep out of these -scrapes.” - -This was a most unjust reflection, but Fanny could allow for it, and -let it pass: Julia was vexed, and her temper was hasty; but she felt -that it would not last, and therefore, taking no notice, only asked her -if she had not seen Mr. Rushworth. - -“Yes, yes, we saw him. He was posting away as if upon life and death, -and could but just spare time to tell us his errand, and where you all -were.” - -“It is a pity he should have so much trouble for nothing.” - -“_That_ is Miss Maria’s concern. I am not obliged to punish myself for -_her_ sins. The mother I could not avoid, as long as my tiresome aunt -was dancing about with the housekeeper, but the son I _can_ get away -from.” - -And she immediately scrambled across the fence, and walked away, not -attending to Fanny’s last question of whether she had seen anything of -Miss Crawford and Edmund. The sort of dread in which Fanny now sat of -seeing Mr. Rushworth prevented her thinking so much of their continued -absence, however, as she might have done. She felt that he had been -very ill-used, and was quite unhappy in having to communicate what had -passed. He joined her within five minutes after Julia’s exit; and -though she made the best of the story, he was evidently mortified and -displeased in no common degree. At first he scarcely said anything; his -looks only expressed his extreme surprise and vexation, and he walked -to the gate and stood there, without seeming to know what to do. - -“They desired me to stay—my cousin Maria charged me to say that you -would find them at that knoll, or thereabouts.” - -“I do not believe I shall go any farther,” said he sullenly; “I see -nothing of them. By the time I get to the knoll they may be gone -somewhere else. I have had walking enough.” - -And he sat down with a most gloomy countenance by Fanny. - -“I am very sorry,” said she; “it is very unlucky.” And she longed to be -able to say something more to the purpose. - -After an interval of silence, “I think they might as well have staid -for me,” said he. - -“Miss Bertram thought you would follow her.” - -“I should not have had to follow her if she had staid.” - -This could not be denied, and Fanny was silenced. After another pause, -he went on—“Pray, Miss Price, are you such a great admirer of this Mr. -Crawford as some people are? For my part, I can see nothing in him.” - -“I do not think him at all handsome.” - -“Handsome! Nobody can call such an undersized man handsome. He is not -five foot nine. I should not wonder if he is not more than five foot -eight. I think he is an ill-looking fellow. In my opinion, these -Crawfords are no addition at all. We did very well without them.” - -A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and she did not know how to contradict -him. - -“If I had made any difficulty about fetching the key, there might have -been some excuse, but I went the very moment she said she wanted it.” - -“Nothing could be more obliging than your manner, I am sure, and I dare -say you walked as fast as you could; but still it is some distance, you -know, from this spot to the house, quite into the house; and when -people are waiting, they are bad judges of time, and every half minute -seems like five.” - -He got up and walked to the gate again, and “wished he had had the key -about him at the time.” Fanny thought she discerned in his standing -there an indication of relenting, which encouraged her to another -attempt, and she said, therefore, “It is a pity you should not join -them. They expected to have a better view of the house from that part -of the park, and will be thinking how it may be improved; and nothing -of that sort, you know, can be settled without you.” - -She found herself more successful in sending away than in retaining a -companion. Mr. Rushworth was worked on. “Well,” said he, “if you really -think I had better go: it would be foolish to bring the key for -nothing.” And letting himself out, he walked off without farther -ceremony. - -Fanny’s thoughts were now all engrossed by the two who had left her so -long ago, and getting quite impatient, she resolved to go in search of -them. She followed their steps along the bottom walk, and had just -turned up into another, when the voice and the laugh of Miss Crawford -once more caught her ear; the sound approached, and a few more windings -brought them before her. They were just returned into the wilderness -from the park, to which a sidegate, not fastened, had tempted them very -soon after their leaving her, and they had been across a portion of the -park into the very avenue which Fanny had been hoping the whole morning -to reach at last, and had been sitting down under one of the trees. -This was their history. It was evident that they had been spending -their time pleasantly, and were not aware of the length of their -absence. Fanny’s best consolation was in being assured that Edmund had -wished for her very much, and that he should certainly have come back -for her, had she not been tired already; but this was not quite -sufficient to do away with the pain of having been left a whole hour, -when he had talked of only a few minutes, nor to banish the sort of -curiosity she felt to know what they had been conversing about all that -time; and the result of the whole was to her disappointment and -depression, as they prepared by general agreement to return to the -house. - -On reaching the bottom of the steps to the terrace, Mrs. Rushworth and -Mrs. Norris presented themselves at the top, just ready for the -wilderness, at the end of an hour and a half from their leaving the -house. Mrs. Norris had been too well employed to move faster. Whatever -cross-accidents had occurred to intercept the pleasures of her nieces, -she had found a morning of complete enjoyment; for the housekeeper, -after a great many courtesies on the subject of pheasants, had taken -her to the dairy, told her all about their cows, and given her the -receipt for a famous cream cheese; and since Julia’s leaving them they -had been met by the gardener, with whom she had made a most -satisfactory acquaintance, for she had set him right as to his -grandson’s illness, convinced him that it was an ague, and promised him -a charm for it; and he, in return, had shewn her all his choicest -nursery of plants, and actually presented her with a very curious -specimen of heath. - -On this _rencontre_ they all returned to the house together, there to -lounge away the time as they could with sofas, and chit-chat, and -Quarterly Reviews, till the return of the others, and the arrival of -dinner. It was late before the Miss Bertrams and the two gentlemen came -in, and their ramble did not appear to have been more than partially -agreeable, or at all productive of anything useful with regard to the -object of the day. By their own accounts they had been all walking -after each other, and the junction which had taken place at last -seemed, to Fanny’s observation, to have been as much too late for -re-establishing harmony, as it confessedly had been for determining on -any alteration. She felt, as she looked at Julia and Mr. Rushworth, -that hers was not the only dissatisfied bosom amongst them: there was -gloom on the face of each. Mr. Crawford and Miss Bertram were much more -gay, and she thought that he was taking particular pains, during -dinner, to do away any little resentment of the other two, and restore -general good-humour. - -Dinner was soon followed by tea and coffee, a ten miles’ drive home -allowed no waste of hours; and from the time of their sitting down to -table, it was a quick succession of busy nothings till the carriage -came to the door, and Mrs. Norris, having fidgeted about, and obtained -a few pheasants’ eggs and a cream cheese from the housekeeper, and made -abundance of civil speeches to Mrs. Rushworth, was ready to lead the -way. At the same moment Mr. Crawford, approaching Julia, said, “I hope -I am not to lose my companion, unless she is afraid of the evening air -in so exposed a seat.” The request had not been foreseen, but was very -graciously received, and Julia’s day was likely to end almost as well -as it began. Miss Bertram had made up her mind to something different, -and was a little disappointed; but her conviction of being really the -one preferred comforted her under it, and enabled her to receive Mr. -Rushworth’s parting attentions as she ought. He was certainly better -pleased to hand her into the barouche than to assist her in ascending -the box, and his complacency seemed confirmed by the arrangement. - -“Well, Fanny, this has been a fine day for you, upon my word,” said -Mrs. Norris, as they drove through the park. “Nothing but pleasure from -beginning to end! I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to your -aunt Bertram and me for contriving to let you go. A pretty good day’s -amusement you have had!” - -Maria was just discontented enough to say directly, “I think _you_ have -done pretty well yourself, ma’am. Your lap seems full of good things, -and here is a basket of something between us which has been knocking my -elbow unmercifully.” - -“My dear, it is only a beautiful little heath, which that nice old -gardener would make me take; but if it is in your way, I will have it -in my lap directly. There, Fanny, you shall carry that parcel for me; -take great care of it: do not let it fall; it is a cream cheese, just -like the excellent one we had at dinner. Nothing would satisfy that -good old Mrs. Whitaker, but my taking one of the cheeses. I stood out -as long as I could, till the tears almost came into her eyes, and I -knew it was just the sort that my sister would be delighted with. That -Mrs. Whitaker is a treasure! She was quite shocked when I asked her -whether wine was allowed at the second table, and she has turned away -two housemaids for wearing white gowns. Take care of the cheese, Fanny. -Now I can manage the other parcel and the basket very well.” - -“What else have you been spunging?” said Maria, half-pleased that -Sotherton should be so complimented. - -“Spunging, my dear! It is nothing but four of those beautiful -pheasants’ eggs, which Mrs. Whitaker would quite force upon me: she -would not take a denial. She said it must be such an amusement to me, -as she understood I lived quite alone, to have a few living creatures -of that sort; and so to be sure it will. I shall get the dairymaid to -set them under the first spare hen, and if they come to good I can have -them moved to my own house and borrow a coop; and it will be a great -delight to me in my lonely hours to attend to them. And if I have good -luck, your mother shall have some.” - -It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and the drive was as -pleasant as the serenity of Nature could make it; but when Mrs. Norris -ceased speaking, it was altogether a silent drive to those within. -Their spirits were in general exhausted; and to determine whether the -day had afforded most pleasure or pain, might occupy the meditations of -almost all. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The day at Sotherton, with all its imperfections, afforded the Miss -Bertrams much more agreeable feelings than were derived from the -letters from Antigua, which soon afterwards reached Mansfield. It was -much pleasanter to think of Henry Crawford than of their father; and to -think of their father in England again within a certain period, which -these letters obliged them to do, was a most unwelcome exercise. - -November was the black month fixed for his return. Sir Thomas wrote of -it with as much decision as experience and anxiety could authorise. His -business was so nearly concluded as to justify him in proposing to take -his passage in the September packet, and he consequently looked forward -with the hope of being with his beloved family again early in November. - -Maria was more to be pitied than Julia; for to her the father brought a -husband, and the return of the friend most solicitous for her happiness -would unite her to the lover, on whom she had chosen that happiness -should depend. It was a gloomy prospect, and all she could do was to -throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist cleared away she should -see something else. It would hardly be _early_ in November, there were -generally delays, a bad passage or _something_; that favouring -_something_ which everybody who shuts their eyes while they look, or -their understandings while they reason, feels the comfort of. It would -probably be the middle of November at least; the middle of November was -three months off. Three months comprised thirteen weeks. Much might -happen in thirteen weeks. - -Sir Thomas would have been deeply mortified by a suspicion of half that -his daughters felt on the subject of his return, and would hardly have -found consolation in a knowledge of the interest it excited in the -breast of another young lady. Miss Crawford, on walking up with her -brother to spend the evening at Mansfield Park, heard the good news; -and though seeming to have no concern in the affair beyond politeness, -and to have vented all her feelings in a quiet congratulation, heard it -with an attention not so easily satisfied. Mrs. Norris gave the -particulars of the letters, and the subject was dropt; but after tea, -as Miss Crawford was standing at an open window with Edmund and Fanny -looking out on a twilight scene, while the Miss Bertrams, Mr. -Rushworth, and Henry Crawford were all busy with candles at the -pianoforte, she suddenly revived it by turning round towards the group, -and saying, “How happy Mr. Rushworth looks! He is thinking of -November.” - -Edmund looked round at Mr. Rushworth too, but had nothing to say. - -“Your father’s return will be a very interesting event.” - -“It will, indeed, after such an absence; an absence not only long, but -including so many dangers.” - -“It will be the forerunner also of other interesting events: your -sister’s marriage, and your taking orders.” - -“Yes.” - -“Don’t be affronted,” said she, laughing, “but it does put me in mind -of some of the old heathen heroes, who, after performing great exploits -in a foreign land, offered sacrifices to the gods on their safe -return.” - -“There is no sacrifice in the case,” replied Edmund, with a serious -smile, and glancing at the pianoforte again; “it is entirely her own -doing.” - -“Oh yes I know it is. I was merely joking. She has done no more than -what every young woman would do; and I have no doubt of her being -extremely happy. My other sacrifice, of course, you do not understand.” - -“My taking orders, I assure you, is quite as voluntary as Maria’s -marrying.” - -“It is fortunate that your inclination and your father’s convenience -should accord so well. There is a very good living kept for you, I -understand, hereabouts.” - -“Which you suppose has biassed me?” - -“But _that_ I am sure it has not,” cried Fanny. - -“Thank you for your good word, Fanny, but it is more than I would -affirm myself. On the contrary, the knowing that there was such a -provision for me probably did bias me. Nor can I think it wrong that it -should. There was no natural disinclination to be overcome, and I see -no reason why a man should make a worse clergyman for knowing that he -will have a competence early in life. I was in safe hands. I hope I -should not have been influenced myself in a wrong way, and I am sure my -father was too conscientious to have allowed it. I have no doubt that I -was biased, but I think it was blamelessly.” - -“It is the same sort of thing,” said Fanny, after a short pause, “as -for the son of an admiral to go into the navy, or the son of a general -to be in the army, and nobody sees anything wrong in that. Nobody -wonders that they should prefer the line where their friends can serve -them best, or suspects them to be less in earnest in it than they -appear.” - -“No, my dear Miss Price, and for reasons good. The profession, either -navy or army, is its own justification. It has everything in its -favour: heroism, danger, bustle, fashion. Soldiers and sailors are -always acceptable in society. Nobody can wonder that men are soldiers -and sailors.” - -“But the motives of a man who takes orders with the certainty of -preferment may be fairly suspected, you think?” said Edmund. “To be -justified in your eyes, he must do it in the most complete uncertainty -of any provision.” - -“What! take orders without a living! No; that is madness indeed; -absolute madness.” - -“Shall I ask you how the church is to be filled, if a man is neither to -take orders with a living nor without? No; for you certainly would not -know what to say. But I must beg some advantage to the clergyman from -your own argument. As he cannot be influenced by those feelings which -you rank highly as temptation and reward to the soldier and sailor in -their choice of a profession, as heroism, and noise, and fashion, are -all against him, he ought to be less liable to the suspicion of wanting -sincerity or good intentions in the choice of his.” - -“Oh! no doubt he is very sincere in preferring an income ready made, to -the trouble of working for one; and has the best intentions of doing -nothing all the rest of his days but eat, drink, and grow fat. It is -indolence, Mr. Bertram, indeed. Indolence and love of ease; a want of -all laudable ambition, of taste for good company, or of inclination to -take the trouble of being agreeable, which make men clergymen. A -clergyman has nothing to do but be slovenly and selfish—read the -newspaper, watch the weather, and quarrel with his wife. His curate -does all the work, and the business of his own life is to dine.” - -“There are such clergymen, no doubt, but I think they are not so common -as to justify Miss Crawford in esteeming it their general character. I -suspect that in this comprehensive and (may I say) commonplace censure, -you are not judging from yourself, but from prejudiced persons, whose -opinions you have been in the habit of hearing. It is impossible that -your own observation can have given you much knowledge of the clergy. -You can have been personally acquainted with very few of a set of men -you condemn so conclusively. You are speaking what you have been told -at your uncle’s table.” - -“I speak what appears to me the general opinion; and where an opinion -is general, it is usually correct. Though _I_ have not seen much of the -domestic lives of clergymen, it is seen by too many to leave any -deficiency of information.” - -“Where any one body of educated men, of whatever denomination, are -condemned indiscriminately, there must be a deficiency of information, -or (smiling) of something else. Your uncle, and his brother admirals, -perhaps knew little of clergymen beyond the chaplains whom, good or -bad, they were always wishing away.” - -“Poor William! He has met with great kindness from the chaplain of the -Antwerp,” was a tender apostrophe of Fanny’s, very much to the purpose -of her own feelings if not of the conversation. - -“I have been so little addicted to take my opinions from my uncle,” -said Miss Crawford, “that I can hardly suppose—and since you push me so -hard, I must observe, that I am not entirely without the means of -seeing what clergymen are, being at this present time the guest of my -own brother, Dr. Grant. And though Dr. Grant is most kind and obliging -to me, and though he is really a gentleman, and, I dare say, a good -scholar and clever, and often preaches good sermons, and is very -respectable, _I_ see him to be an indolent, selfish _bon_ _vivant_, who -must have his palate consulted in everything; who will not stir a -finger for the convenience of any one; and who, moreover, if the cook -makes a blunder, is out of humour with his excellent wife. To own the -truth, Henry and I were partly driven out this very evening by a -disappointment about a green goose, which he could not get the better -of. My poor sister was forced to stay and bear it.” - -“I do not wonder at your disapprobation, upon my word. It is a great -defect of temper, made worse by a very faulty habit of self-indulgence; -and to see your sister suffering from it must be exceedingly painful to -such feelings as yours. Fanny, it goes against us. We cannot attempt to -defend Dr. Grant.” - -“No,” replied Fanny, “but we need not give up his profession for all -that; because, whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen, he would have -taken a—not a good temper into it; and as he must, either in the navy -or army, have had a great many more people under his command than he -has now, I think more would have been made unhappy by him as a sailor -or soldier than as a clergyman. Besides, I cannot but suppose that -whatever there may be to wish otherwise in Dr. Grant would have been in -a greater danger of becoming worse in a more active and worldly -profession, where he would have had less time and obligation—where he -might have escaped that knowledge of himself, the _frequency_, at -least, of that knowledge which it is impossible he should escape as he -is now. A man—a sensible man like Dr. Grant, cannot be in the habit of -teaching others their duty every week, cannot go to church twice every -Sunday, and preach such very good sermons in so good a manner as he -does, without being the better for it himself. It must make him think; -and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavours to restrain himself than -he would if he had been anything but a clergyman.” - -“We cannot prove to the contrary, to be sure; but I wish you a better -fate, Miss Price, than to be the wife of a man whose amiableness -depends upon his own sermons; for though he may preach himself into a -good-humour every Sunday, it will be bad enough to have him quarrelling -about green geese from Monday morning till Saturday night.” - -“I think the man who could often quarrel with Fanny,” said Edmund -affectionately, “must be beyond the reach of any sermons.” - -Fanny turned farther into the window; and Miss Crawford had only time -to say, in a pleasant manner, “I fancy Miss Price has been more used to -deserve praise than to hear it”; when, being earnestly invited by the -Miss Bertrams to join in a glee, she tripped off to the instrument, -leaving Edmund looking after her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her -many virtues, from her obliging manners down to her light and graceful -tread. - -“There goes good-humour, I am sure,” said he presently. “There goes a -temper which would never give pain! How well she walks! and how readily -she falls in with the inclination of others! joining them the moment -she is asked. What a pity,” he added, after an instant’s reflection, -“that she should have been in such hands!” - -Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure of seeing him continue at the -window with her, in spite of the expected glee; and of having his eyes -soon turned, like hers, towards the scene without, where all that was -solemn, and soothing, and lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an -unclouded night, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny -spoke her feelings. “Here’s harmony!” said she; “here’s repose! Here’s -what may leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only -can attempt to describe! Here’s what may tranquillise every care, and -lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I -feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; -and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature -were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves -by contemplating such a scene.” - -“I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely night, and they -are much to be pitied who have not been taught to feel, in some degree, -as you do; who have not, at least, been given a taste for Nature in -early life. They lose a great deal.” - -“_You_ taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin.” - -“I had a very apt scholar. There’s Arcturus looking very bright.” - -“Yes, and the Bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia.” - -“We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be afraid?” - -“Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any -star-gazing.” - -“Yes; I do not know how it has happened.” The glee began. “We will stay -till this is finished, Fanny,” said he, turning his back on the window; -and as it advanced, she had the mortification of seeing him advance -too, moving forward by gentle degrees towards the instrument, and when -it ceased, he was close by the singers, among the most urgent in -requesting to hear the glee again. - -Fanny sighed alone at the window till scolded away by Mrs. Norris’s -threats of catching cold. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Sir Thomas was to return in November, and his eldest son had duties to -call him earlier home. The approach of September brought tidings of Mr. -Bertram, first in a letter to the gamekeeper and then in a letter to -Edmund; and by the end of August he arrived himself, to be gay, -agreeable, and gallant again as occasion served, or Miss Crawford -demanded; to tell of races and Weymouth, and parties and friends, to -which she might have listened six weeks before with some interest, and -altogether to give her the fullest conviction, by the power of actual -comparison, of her preferring his younger brother. - -It was very vexatious, and she was heartily sorry for it; but so it -was; and so far from now meaning to marry the elder, she did not even -want to attract him beyond what the simplest claims of conscious beauty -required: his lengthened absence from Mansfield, without anything but -pleasure in view, and his own will to consult, made it perfectly clear -that he did not care about her; and his indifference was so much more -than equalled by her own, that were he now to step forth the owner of -Mansfield Park, the Sir Thomas complete, which he was to be in time, -she did not believe she could accept him. - -The season and duties which brought Mr. Bertram back to Mansfield took -Mr. Crawford into Norfolk. Everingham could not do without him in the -beginning of September. He went for a fortnight—a fortnight of such -dullness to the Miss Bertrams as ought to have put them both on their -guard, and made even Julia admit, in her jealousy of her sister, the -absolute necessity of distrusting his attentions, and wishing him not -to return; and a fortnight of sufficient leisure, in the intervals of -shooting and sleeping, to have convinced the gentleman that he ought to -keep longer away, had he been more in the habit of examining his own -motives, and of reflecting to what the indulgence of his idle vanity -was tending; but, thoughtless and selfish from prosperity and bad -example, he would not look beyond the present moment. The sisters, -handsome, clever, and encouraging, were an amusement to his sated mind; -and finding nothing in Norfolk to equal the social pleasures of -Mansfield, he gladly returned to it at the time appointed, and was -welcomed thither quite as gladly by those whom he came to trifle with -further. - -Maria, with only Mr. Rushworth to attend to her, and doomed to the -repeated details of his day’s sport, good or bad, his boast of his -dogs, his jealousy of his neighbours, his doubts of their -qualifications, and his zeal after poachers, subjects which will not -find their way to female feelings without some talent on one side or -some attachment on the other, had missed Mr. Crawford grievously; and -Julia, unengaged and unemployed, felt all the right of missing him much -more. Each sister believed herself the favourite. Julia might be -justified in so doing by the hints of Mrs. Grant, inclined to credit -what she wished, and Maria by the hints of Mr. Crawford himself. -Everything returned into the same channel as before his absence; his -manners being to each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground -with either, and just stopping short of the consistence, the -steadiness, the solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general -notice. - -Fanny was the only one of the party who found anything to dislike; but -since the day at Sotherton, she could never see Mr. Crawford with -either sister without observation, and seldom without wonder or -censure; and had her confidence in her own judgment been equal to her -exercise of it in every other respect, had she been sure that she was -seeing clearly, and judging candidly, she would probably have made some -important communications to her usual confidant. As it was, however, -she only hazarded a hint, and the hint was lost. “I am rather -surprised,” said she, “that Mr. Crawford should come back again so -soon, after being here so long before, full seven weeks; for I had -understood he was so very fond of change and moving about, that I -thought something would certainly occur, when he was once gone, to take -him elsewhere. He is used to much gayer places than Mansfield.” - -“It is to his credit,” was Edmund’s answer; “and I dare say it gives -his sister pleasure. She does not like his unsettled habits.” - -“What a favourite he is with my cousins!” - -“Yes, his manners to women are such as must please. Mrs. Grant, I -believe, suspects him of a preference for Julia; I have never seen much -symptom of it, but I wish it may be so. He has no faults but what a -serious attachment would remove.” - -“If Miss Bertram were not engaged,” said Fanny cautiously, “I could -sometimes almost think that he admired her more than Julia.” - -“Which is, perhaps, more in favour of his liking Julia best, than you, -Fanny, may be aware; for I believe it often happens that a man, before -he has quite made up his own mind, will distinguish the sister or -intimate friend of the woman he is really thinking of more than the -woman herself. Crawford has too much sense to stay here if he found -himself in any danger from Maria; and I am not at all afraid for her, -after such a proof as she has given that her feelings are not strong.” - -Fanny supposed she must have been mistaken, and meant to think -differently in future; but with all that submission to Edmund could do, -and all the help of the coinciding looks and hints which she -occasionally noticed in some of the others, and which seemed to say -that Julia was Mr. Crawford’s choice, she knew not always what to -think. She was privy, one evening, to the hopes of her aunt Norris on -the subject, as well as to her feelings, and the feelings of Mrs. -Rushworth, on a point of some similarity, and could not help wondering -as she listened; and glad would she have been not to be obliged to -listen, for it was while all the other young people were dancing, and -she sitting, most unwillingly, among the chaperons at the fire, longing -for the re-entrance of her elder cousin, on whom all her own hopes of a -partner then depended. It was Fanny’s first ball, though without the -preparation or splendour of many a young lady’s first ball, being the -thought only of the afternoon, built on the late acquisition of a -violin player in the servants’ hall, and the possibility of raising -five couple with the help of Mrs. Grant and a new intimate friend of -Mr. Bertram’s just arrived on a visit. It had, however, been a very -happy one to Fanny through four dances, and she was quite grieved to be -losing even a quarter of an hour. While waiting and wishing, looking -now at the dancers and now at the door, this dialogue between the two -above-mentioned ladies was forced on her— - -“I think, ma’am,” said Mrs. Norris, her eyes directed towards Mr. -Rushworth and Maria, who were partners for the second time, “we shall -see some happy faces again now.” - -“Yes, ma’am, indeed,” replied the other, with a stately simper, “there -will be some satisfaction in looking on _now_, and I think it was -rather a pity they should have been obliged to part. Young folks in -their situation should be excused complying with the common forms. I -wonder my son did not propose it.” - -“I dare say he did, ma’am. Mr. Rushworth is never remiss. But dear -Maria has such a strict sense of propriety, so much of that true -delicacy which one seldom meets with nowadays, Mrs. Rushworth—that wish -of avoiding particularity! Dear ma’am, only look at her face at this -moment; how different from what it was the two last dances!” - -Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were sparkling with -pleasure, and she was speaking with great animation, for Julia and her -partner, Mr. Crawford, were close to her; they were all in a cluster -together. How she had looked before, Fanny could not recollect, for she -had been dancing with Edmund herself, and had not thought about her. - -Mrs. Norris continued, “It is quite delightful, ma’am, to see young -people so properly happy, so well suited, and so much the thing! I -cannot but think of dear Sir Thomas’s delight. And what do you say, -ma’am, to the chance of another match? Mr. Rushworth has set a good -example, and such things are very catching.” - -Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at a loss. - -“The couple above, ma’am. Do you see no symptoms there?” - -“Oh dear! Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty -match. What is his property?” - -“Four thousand a year.” - -“Very well. Those who have not more must be satisfied with what they -have. Four thousand a year is a pretty estate, and he seems a very -genteel, steady young man, so I hope Miss Julia will be very happy.” - -“It is not a settled thing, ma’am, yet. We only speak of it among -friends. But I have very little doubt it _will_ be. He is growing -extremely particular in his attentions.” - -Fanny could listen no farther. Listening and wondering were all -suspended for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in the room again; and though -feeling it would be a great honour to be asked by him, she thought it -must happen. He came towards their little circle; but instead of asking -her to dance, drew a chair near her, and gave her an account of the -present state of a sick horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom -he had just parted. Fanny found that it was not to be, and in the -modesty of her nature immediately felt that she had been unreasonable -in expecting it. When he had told of his horse, he took a newspaper -from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you -want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal -civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad -of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the -newspaper again, “for I am tired to death. I only wonder how the good -people can keep it up so long. They had need be _all_ in love, to find -any amusement in such folly; and so they are, I fancy. If you look at -them you may see they are so many couple of lovers—all but Yates and -Mrs. Grant—and, between ourselves, she, poor woman, must want a lover -as much as any one of them. A desperate dull life hers must be with the -doctor,” making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair of the latter, -who proving, however, to be close at his elbow, made so instantaneous a -change of expression and subject necessary, as Fanny, in spite of -everything, could hardly help laughing at. “A strange business this in -America, Dr. Grant! What is your opinion? I always come to you to know -what I am to think of public matters.” - -“My dear Tom,” cried his aunt soon afterwards, “as you are not dancing, -I dare say you will have no objection to join us in a rubber; shall -you?” Then leaving her seat, and coming to him to enforce the proposal, -added in a whisper, “We want to make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you -know. Your mother is quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare -time to sit down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you and I and Dr. -Grant will just do; and though _we_ play but half-crowns, you know, you -may bet half-guineas with _him_.” - -“I should be most happy,” replied he aloud, and jumping up with -alacrity, “it would give me the greatest pleasure; but that I am this -moment going to dance. Come, Fanny,” taking her hand, “do not be -dawdling any longer, or the dance will be over.” - -Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible for her to -feel much gratitude towards her cousin, or distinguish, as he certainly -did, between the selfishness of another person and his own. - -“A pretty modest request upon my word,” he indignantly exclaimed as -they walked away. “To want to nail me to a card-table for the next two -hours with herself and Dr. Grant, who are always quarrelling, and that -poking old woman, who knows no more of whist than of algebra. I wish my -good aunt would be a little less busy! And to ask me in such a way too! -without ceremony, before them all, so as to leave me no possibility of -refusing. _That_ is what I dislike most particularly. It raises my -spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of -being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as -to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be! If I had not -luckily thought of standing up with you I could not have got out of it. -It is a great deal too bad. But when my aunt has got a fancy in her -head, nothing can stop her.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -The Honourable John Yates, this new friend, had not much to recommend -him beyond habits of fashion and expense, and being the younger son of -a lord with a tolerable independence; and Sir Thomas would probably -have thought his introduction at Mansfield by no means desirable. Mr. -Bertram’s acquaintance with him had begun at Weymouth, where they had -spent ten days together in the same society, and the friendship, if -friendship it might be called, had been proved and perfected by Mr. -Yates’s being invited to take Mansfield in his way, whenever he could, -and by his promising to come; and he did come rather earlier than had -been expected, in consequence of the sudden breaking-up of a large -party assembled for gaiety at the house of another friend, which he had -left Weymouth to join. He came on the wings of disappointment, and with -his head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party; and the -play in which he had borne a part was within two days of -representation, when the sudden death of one of the nearest connexions -of the family had destroyed the scheme and dispersed the performers. To -be so near happiness, so near fame, so near the long paragraph in -praise of the private theatricals at Ecclesford, the seat of the Right -Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, which would of course have -immortalised the whole party for at least a twelvemonth! and being so -near, to lose it all, was an injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates -could talk of nothing else. Ecclesford and its theatre, with its -arrangements and dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never-failing -subject, and to boast of the past his only consolation. - -Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an itch for -acting so strong among young people, that he could hardly out-talk the -interest of his hearers. From the first casting of the parts to the -epilogue it was all bewitching, and there were few who did not wish to -have been a party concerned, or would have hesitated to try their -skill. The play had been Lovers’ Vows, and Mr. Yates was to have been -Count Cassel. “A trifling part,” said he, “and not at all to my taste, -and such a one as I certainly would not accept again; but I was -determined to make no difficulties. Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had -appropriated the only two characters worth playing before I reached -Ecclesford; and though Lord Ravenshaw offered to resign his to me, it -was impossible to take it, you know. I was sorry for _him_ that he -should have so mistaken his powers, for he was no more equal to the -Baron—a little man with a weak voice, always hoarse after the first ten -minutes. It must have injured the piece materially; but _I_ was -resolved to make no difficulties. Sir Henry thought the duke not equal -to Frederick, but that was because Sir Henry wanted the part himself; -whereas it was certainly in the best hands of the two. I was surprised -to see Sir Henry such a stick. Luckily the strength of the piece did -not depend upon him. Our Agatha was inimitable, and the duke was -thought very great by many. And upon the whole, it would certainly have -gone off wonderfully.” - -“It was a hard case, upon my word”; and, “I do think you were very much -to be pitied,” were the kind responses of listening sympathy. - -“It is not worth complaining about; but to be sure the poor old dowager -could not have died at a worse time; and it is impossible to help -wishing that the news could have been suppressed for just the three -days we wanted. It was but three days; and being only a grandmother, -and all happening two hundred miles off, I think there would have been -no great harm, and it was suggested, I know; but Lord Ravenshaw, who I -suppose is one of the most correct men in England, would not hear of -it.” - -“An afterpiece instead of a comedy,” said Mr. Bertram. “Lovers’ Vows -were at an end, and Lord and Lady Ravenshaw left to act My Grandmother -by themselves. Well, the jointure may comfort _him_; and perhaps, -between friends, he began to tremble for his credit and his lungs in -the Baron, and was not sorry to withdraw; and to make _you_ amends, -Yates, I think we must raise a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you -to be our manager.” - -This, though the thought of the moment, did not end with the moment; -for the inclination to act was awakened, and in no one more strongly -than in him who was now master of the house; and who, having so much -leisure as to make almost any novelty a certain good, had likewise such -a degree of lively talents and comic taste, as were exactly adapted to -the novelty of acting. The thought returned again and again. “Oh for -the Ecclesford theatre and scenery to try something with.” Each sister -could echo the wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of -his gratifications it was yet an untasted pleasure, was quite alive at -the idea. “I really believe,” said he, “I could be fool enough at this -moment to undertake any character that ever was written, from Shylock -or Richard III down to the singing hero of a farce in his scarlet coat -and cocked hat. I feel as if I could be anything or everything; as if I -could rant and storm, or sigh or cut capers, in any tragedy or comedy -in the English language. Let us be doing something. Be it only half a -play, an act, a scene; what should prevent us? Not these countenances, -I am sure,” looking towards the Miss Bertrams; “and for a theatre, what -signifies a theatre? We shall be only amusing ourselves. Any room in -this house might suffice.” - -“We must have a curtain,” said Tom Bertram; “a few yards of green baize -for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough.” - -“Oh, quite enough,” cried Mr. Yates, “with only just a side wing or two -run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be let down; nothing -more would be necessary on such a plan as this. For mere amusement -among ourselves we should want nothing more.” - -“I believe we must be satisfied with _less_,” said Maria. “There would -not be time, and other difficulties would arise. We must rather adopt -Mr. Crawford’s views, and make the _performance_, not the _theatre_, -our object. Many parts of our best plays are independent of scenery.” - -“Nay,” said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm. “Let us do nothing -by halves. If we are to act, let it be in a theatre completely fitted -up with pit, boxes, and gallery, and let us have a play entire from -beginning to end; so as it be a German play, no matter what, with a -good tricking, shifting afterpiece, and a figure-dance, and a hornpipe, -and a song between the acts. If we do not outdo Ecclesford, we do -nothing.” - -“Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable,” said Julia. “Nobody loves a play -better than you do, or can have gone much farther to see one.” - -“True, to see real acting, good hardened real acting; but I would -hardly walk from this room to the next to look at the raw efforts of -those who have not been bred to the trade: a set of gentlemen and -ladies, who have all the disadvantages of education and decorum to -struggle through.” - -After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, and was -discussed with unabated eagerness, every one’s inclination increasing -by the discussion, and a knowledge of the inclination of the rest; and -though nothing was settled but that Tom Bertram would prefer a comedy, -and his sisters and Henry Crawford a tragedy, and that nothing in the -world could be easier than to find a piece which would please them all, -the resolution to act something or other seemed so decided as to make -Edmund quite uncomfortable. He was determined to prevent it, if -possible, though his mother, who equally heard the conversation which -passed at table, did not evince the least disapprobation. - -The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying his strength. -Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates were in the billiard-room. -Tom, returning from them into the drawing-room, where Edmund was -standing thoughtfully by the fire, while Lady Bertram was on the sofa -at a little distance, and Fanny close beside her arranging her work, -thus began as he entered—“Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours -is not to be met with, I believe, above ground. I can stand it no -longer, and I think, I may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it -again; but one good thing I have just ascertained: it is the very room -for a theatre, precisely the shape and length for it; and the doors at -the farther end, communicating with each other, as they may be made to -do in five minutes, by merely moving the bookcase in my father’s room, -is the very thing we could have desired, if we had sat down to wish for -it; and my father’s room will be an excellent greenroom. It seems to -join the billiard-room on purpose.” - -“You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?” said Edmund, in a low -voice, as his brother approached the fire. - -“Not serious! never more so, I assure you. What is there to surprise -you in it?” - -“I think it would be very wrong. In a _general_ light, private -theatricals are open to some objections, but as _we_ are circumstanced, -I must think it would be highly injudicious, and more than injudicious -to attempt anything of the kind. It would shew great want of feeling on -my father’s account, absent as he is, and in some degree of constant -danger; and it would be imprudent, I think, with regard to Maria, whose -situation is a very delicate one, considering everything, extremely -delicate.” - -“You take up a thing so seriously! as if we were going to act three -times a week till my father’s return, and invite all the country. But -it is not to be a display of that sort. We mean nothing but a little -amusement among ourselves, just to vary the scene, and exercise our -powers in something new. We want no audience, no publicity. We may be -trusted, I think, in chusing some play most perfectly unexceptionable; -and I can conceive no greater harm or danger to any of us in conversing -in the elegant written language of some respectable author than in -chattering in words of our own. I have no fears and no scruples. And as -to my father’s being absent, it is so far from an objection, that I -consider it rather as a motive; for the expectation of his return must -be a very anxious period to my mother; and if we can be the means of -amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits for the next few -weeks, I shall think our time very well spent, and so, I am sure, will -he. It is a _very_ anxious period for her.” - -As he said this, each looked towards their mother. Lady Bertram, sunk -back in one corner of the sofa, the picture of health, wealth, ease, -and tranquillity, was just falling into a gentle doze, while Fanny was -getting through the few difficulties of her work for her. - -Edmund smiled and shook his head. - -“By Jove! this won’t do,” cried Tom, throwing himself into a chair with -a hearty laugh. “To be sure, my dear mother, your anxiety—I was unlucky -there.” - -“What is the matter?” asked her ladyship, in the heavy tone of one -half-roused; “I was not asleep.” - -“Oh dear, no, ma’am, nobody suspected you! Well, Edmund,” he continued, -returning to the former subject, posture, and voice, as soon as Lady -Bertram began to nod again, “but _this_ I _will_ maintain, that we -shall be doing no harm.” - -“I cannot agree with you; I am convinced that my father would totally -disapprove it.” - -“And I am convinced to the contrary. Nobody is fonder of the exercise -of talent in young people, or promotes it more, than my father, and for -anything of the acting, spouting, reciting kind, I think he has always -a decided taste. I am sure he encouraged it in us as boys. How many a -time have we mourned over the dead body of Julius Caesar, and to _be’d_ -and not _to_ _be’d_, in this very room, for his amusement? And I am -sure, _my_ _name_ _was_ _Norval_, every evening of my life through one -Christmas holidays.” - -“It was a very different thing. You must see the difference yourself. -My father wished us, as schoolboys, to speak well, but he would never -wish his grown-up daughters to be acting plays. His sense of decorum is -strict.” - -“I know all that,” said Tom, displeased. “I know my father as well as -you do; and I’ll take care that his daughters do nothing to distress -him. Manage your own concerns, Edmund, and I’ll take care of the rest -of the family.” - -“If you are resolved on acting,” replied the persevering Edmund, “I -must hope it will be in a very small and quiet way; and I think a -theatre ought not to be attempted. It would be taking liberties with my -father’s house in his absence which could not be justified.” - -“For everything of that nature I will be answerable,” said Tom, in a -decided tone. “His house shall not be hurt. I have quite as great an -interest in being careful of his house as you can have; and as to such -alterations as I was suggesting just now, such as moving a bookcase, or -unlocking a door, or even as using the billiard-room for the space of a -week without playing at billiards in it, you might just as well suppose -he would object to our sitting more in this room, and less in the -breakfast-room, than we did before he went away, or to my sister’s -pianoforte being moved from one side of the room to the other. Absolute -nonsense!” - -“The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will be wrong as an -expense.” - -“Yes, the expense of such an undertaking would be prodigious! Perhaps -it might cost a whole twenty pounds. Something of a theatre we must -have undoubtedly, but it will be on the simplest plan: a green curtain -and a little carpenter’s work, and that’s all; and as the carpenter’s -work may be all done at home by Christopher Jackson himself, it will be -too absurd to talk of expense; and as long as Jackson is employed, -everything will be right with Sir Thomas. Don’t imagine that nobody in -this house can see or judge but yourself. Don’t act yourself, if you do -not like it, but don’t expect to govern everybody else.” - -“No, as to acting myself,” said Edmund, “_that_ I absolutely protest -against.” - -Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund was left to sit -down and stir the fire in thoughtful vexation. - -Fanny, who had heard it all, and borne Edmund company in every feeling -throughout the whole, now ventured to say, in her anxiety to suggest -some comfort, “Perhaps they may not be able to find any play to suit -them. Your brother’s taste and your sisters’ seem very different.” - -“I have no hope there, Fanny. If they persist in the scheme, they will -find something. I shall speak to my sisters and try to dissuade _them_, -and that is all I can do.” - -“I should think my aunt Norris would be on your side.” - -“I dare say she would, but she has no influence with either Tom or my -sisters that could be of any use; and if I cannot convince them myself, -I shall let things take their course, without attempting it through -her. Family squabbling is the greatest evil of all, and we had better -do anything than be altogether by the ears.” - -His sisters, to whom he had an opportunity of speaking the next -morning, were quite as impatient of his advice, quite as unyielding to -his representation, quite as determined in the cause of pleasure, as -Tom. Their mother had no objection to the plan, and they were not in -the least afraid of their father’s disapprobation. There could be no -harm in what had been done in so many respectable families, and by so -many women of the first consideration; and it must be scrupulousness -run mad that could see anything to censure in a plan like theirs, -comprehending only brothers and sisters and intimate friends, and which -would never be heard of beyond themselves. Julia _did_ seem inclined to -admit that Maria’s situation might require particular caution and -delicacy—but that could not extend to _her_—she was at liberty; and -Maria evidently considered her engagement as only raising her so much -more above restraint, and leaving her less occasion than Julia to -consult either father or mother. Edmund had little to hope, but he was -still urging the subject when Henry Crawford entered the room, fresh -from the Parsonage, calling out, “No want of hands in our theatre, Miss -Bertram. No want of understrappers: my sister desires her love, and -hopes to be admitted into the company, and will be happy to take the -part of any old duenna or tame confidante, that you may not like to do -yourselves.” - -Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, “What say you now? Can we be -wrong if Mary Crawford feels the same?” And Edmund, silenced, was -obliged to acknowledge that the charm of acting might well carry -fascination to the mind of genius; and with the ingenuity of love, to -dwell more on the obliging, accommodating purport of the message than -on anything else. - -The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain; and as to Mrs. Norris, he was -mistaken in supposing she would wish to make any. She started no -difficulties that were not talked down in five minutes by her eldest -nephew and niece, who were all-powerful with her; and as the whole -arrangement was to bring very little expense to anybody, and none at -all to herself, as she foresaw in it all the comforts of hurry, bustle, -and importance, and derived the immediate advantage of fancying herself -obliged to leave her own house, where she had been living a month at -her own cost, and take up her abode in theirs, that every hour might be -spent in their service, she was, in fact, exceedingly delighted with -the project. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Fanny seemed nearer being right than Edmund had supposed. The business -of finding a play that would suit everybody proved to be no trifle; and -the carpenter had received his orders and taken his measurements, had -suggested and removed at least two sets of difficulties, and having -made the necessity of an enlargement of plan and expense fully evident, -was already at work, while a play was still to seek. Other preparations -were also in hand. An enormous roll of green baize had arrived from -Northampton, and been cut out by Mrs. Norris (with a saving by her good -management of full three-quarters of a yard), and was actually forming -into a curtain by the housemaids, and still the play was wanting; and -as two or three days passed away in this manner, Edmund began almost to -hope that none might ever be found. - -There were, in fact, so many things to be attended to, so many people -to be pleased, so many best characters required, and, above all, such a -need that the play should be at once both tragedy and comedy, that -there did seem as little chance of a decision as anything pursued by -youth and zeal could hold out. - -On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. -Yates; on the comic, Tom Bertram, not _quite_ alone, because it was -evident that Mary Crawford’s wishes, though politely kept back, -inclined the same way: but his determinateness and his power seemed to -make allies unnecessary; and, independent of this great irreconcilable -difference, they wanted a piece containing very few characters in the -whole, but every character first-rate, and three principal women. All -the best plays were run over in vain. Neither Hamlet, nor Macbeth, nor -Othello, nor Douglas, nor The Gamester, presented anything that could -satisfy even the tragedians; and The Rivals, The School for Scandal, -Wheel of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a long et cetera, were successively -dismissed with yet warmer objections. No piece could be proposed that -did not supply somebody with a difficulty, and on one side or the other -it was a continual repetition of, “Oh no, _that_ will never do! Let us -have no ranting tragedies. Too many characters. Not a tolerable woman’s -part in the play. Anything but _that_, my dear Tom. It would be -impossible to fill it up. One could not expect anybody to take such a -part. Nothing but buffoonery from beginning to end. _That_ might do, -perhaps, but for the low parts. If I _must_ give my opinion, I have -always thought it the most insipid play in the English language. _I_ do -not wish to make objections; I shall be happy to be of any use, but I -think we could not chuse worse.” - -Fanny looked on and listened, not unamused to observe the selfishness -which, more or less disguised, seemed to govern them all, and wondering -how it would end. For her own gratification she could have wished that -something might be acted, for she had never seen even half a play, but -everything of higher consequence was against it. - -“This will never do,” said Tom Bertram at last. “We are wasting time -most abominably. Something must be fixed on. No matter what, so that -something is chosen. We must not be so nice. A few characters too many -must not frighten us. We must _double_ them. We must descend a little. -If a part is insignificant, the greater our credit in making anything -of it. From this moment I make no difficulties. I take any part you -chuse to give me, so as it be comic. Let it but be comic, I condition -for nothing more.” - -For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir at Law, doubting -only whether to prefer Lord Duberley or Dr. Pangloss for himself; and -very earnestly, but very unsuccessfully, trying to persuade the others -that there were some fine tragic parts in the rest of the Dramatis -Personæ. - -The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended by the same -speaker, who, taking up one of the many volumes of plays that lay on -the table, and turning it over, suddenly exclaimed—“Lovers’ Vows! And -why should not Lovers’ Vows do for _us_ as well as for the Ravenshaws? -How came it never to be thought of before? It strikes me as if it would -do exactly. What say you all? Here are two capital tragic parts for -Yates and Crawford, and here is the rhyming Butler for me, if nobody -else wants it; a trifling part, but the sort of thing I should not -dislike, and, as I said before, I am determined to take anything and do -my best. And as for the rest, they may be filled up by anybody. It is -only Count Cassel and Anhalt.” - -The suggestion was generally welcome. Everybody was growing weary of -indecision, and the first idea with everybody was, that nothing had -been proposed before so likely to suit them all. Mr. Yates was -particularly pleased: he had been sighing and longing to do the Baron -at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant of Lord Ravenshaw’s, and been -forced to re-rant it all in his own room. The storm through Baron -Wildenheim was the height of his theatrical ambition; and with the -advantage of knowing half the scenes by heart already, he did now, with -the greatest alacrity, offer his services for the part. To do him -justice, however, he did not resolve to appropriate it; for remembering -that there was some very good ranting-ground in Frederick, he professed -an equal willingness for that. Henry Crawford was ready to take either. -Whichever Mr. Yates did not chuse would perfectly satisfy him, and a -short parley of compliment ensued. Miss Bertram, feeling all the -interest of an Agatha in the question, took on her to decide it, by -observing to Mr. Yates that this was a point in which height and figure -ought to be considered, and that _his_ being the tallest, seemed to fit -him peculiarly for the Baron. She was acknowledged to be quite right, -and the two parts being accepted accordingly, she was certain of the -proper Frederick. Three of the characters were now cast, besides Mr. -Rushworth, who was always answered for by Maria as willing to do -anything; when Julia, meaning, like her sister, to be Agatha, began to -be scrupulous on Miss Crawford’s account. - -“This is not behaving well by the absent,” said she. “Here are not -women enough. Amelia and Agatha may do for Maria and me, but here is -nothing for your sister, Mr. Crawford.” - -Mr. Crawford desired _that_ might not be thought of: he was very sure -his sister had no wish of acting but as she might be useful, and that -she would not allow herself to be considered in the present case. But -this was immediately opposed by Tom Bertram, who asserted the part of -Amelia to be in every respect the property of Miss Crawford, if she -would accept it. “It falls as naturally, as necessarily to her,” said -he, “as Agatha does to one or other of my sisters. It can be no -sacrifice on their side, for it is highly comic.” - -A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; for each felt the -best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it pressed on her by the -rest. Henry Crawford, who meanwhile had taken up the play, and with -seeming carelessness was turning over the first act, soon settled the -business. - -“I must entreat Miss _Julia_ Bertram,” said he, “not to engage in the -part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity. You must -not, indeed you must not” (turning to her). “I could not stand your -countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The many laughs we have had -together would infallibly come across me, and Frederick and his -knapsack would be obliged to run away.” - -Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken; but the manner was lost in the -matter to Julia’s feelings. She saw a glance at Maria which confirmed -the injury to herself: it was a scheme, a trick; she was slighted, -Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph which Maria was trying to -suppress shewed how well it was understood; and before Julia could -command herself enough to speak, her brother gave his weight against -her too, by saying, “Oh yes! Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the -best Agatha. Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not -trust her in it. There is nothing of tragedy about her. She has not the -look of it. Her features are not tragic features, and she walks too -quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep her countenance. She -had better do the old countrywoman: the Cottager’s wife; you had, -indeed, Julia. Cottager’s wife is a very pretty part, I assure you. The -old lady relieves the high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good -deal of spirit. You shall be Cottager’s wife.” - -“Cottager’s wife!” cried Mr. Yates. “What are you talking of? The most -trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the merest commonplace; not a -tolerable speech in the whole. Your sister do that! It is an insult to -propose it. At Ecclesford the governess was to have done it. We all -agreed that it could not be offered to anybody else. A little more -justice, Mr. Manager, if you please. You do not deserve the office, if -you cannot appreciate the talents of your company a little better.” - -“Why, as to _that_, my good friend, till I and my company have really -acted there must be some guesswork; but I mean no disparagement to -Julia. We cannot have two Agathas, and we must have one Cottager’s -wife; and I am sure I set her the example of moderation myself in being -satisfied with the old Butler. If the part is trifling she will have -more credit in making something of it; and if she is so desperately -bent against everything humorous, let her take Cottager’s speeches -instead of Cottager’s wife’s, and so change the parts all through; _he_ -is solemn and pathetic enough, I am sure. It could make no difference -in the play, and as for Cottager himself, when he has got his wife’s -speeches, _I_ would undertake him with all my heart.” - -“With all your partiality for Cottager’s wife,” said Henry Crawford, -“it will be impossible to make anything of it fit for your sister, and -we must not suffer her good-nature to be imposed on. We must not -_allow_ her to accept the part. She must not be left to her own -complaisance. Her talents will be wanted in Amelia. Amelia is a -character more difficult to be well represented than even Agatha. I -consider Amelia is the most difficult character in the whole piece. It -requires great powers, great nicety, to give her playfulness and -simplicity without extravagance. I have seen good actresses fail in the -part. Simplicity, indeed, is beyond the reach of almost every actress -by profession. It requires a delicacy of feeling which they have not. -It requires a gentlewoman—a Julia Bertram. You _will_ undertake it, I -hope?” turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which softened -her a little; but while she hesitated what to say, her brother again -interposed with Miss Crawford’s better claim. - -“No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. It is not at all the part for her. -She would not like it. She would not do well. She is too tall and -robust. Amelia should be a small, light, girlish, skipping figure. It -is fit for Miss Crawford, and Miss Crawford only. She looks the part, -and I am persuaded will do it admirably.” - -Without attending to this, Henry Crawford continued his supplication. -“You must oblige us,” said he, “indeed you must. When you have studied -the character, I am sure you will feel it suit you. Tragedy may be your -choice, but it will certainly appear that comedy chuses _you_. You will -be to visit me in prison with a basket of provisions; you will not -refuse to visit me in prison? I think I see you coming in with your -basket.” - -The influence of his voice was felt. Julia wavered; but was he only -trying to soothe and pacify her, and make her overlook the previous -affront? She distrusted him. The slight had been most determined. He -was, perhaps, but at treacherous play with her. She looked suspiciously -at her sister; Maria’s countenance was to decide it: if she were vexed -and alarmed—but Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia -well knew that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her -expense. With hasty indignation, therefore, and a tremulous voice, she -said to him, “You do not seem afraid of not keeping your countenance -when I come in with a basket of provisions—though one might have -supposed—but it is only as Agatha that I was to be so overpowering!” -She stopped—Henry Crawford looked rather foolish, and as if he did not -know what to say. Tom Bertram began again— - -“Miss Crawford must be Amelia. She will be an excellent Amelia.” - -“Do not be afraid of _my_ wanting the character,” cried Julia, with -angry quickness: “I am _not_ to be Agatha, and I am sure I will do -nothing else; and as to Amelia, it is of all parts in the world the -most disgusting to me. I quite detest her. An odious, little, pert, -unnatural, impudent girl. I have always protested against comedy, and -this is comedy in its worst form.” And so saying, she walked hastily -out of the room, leaving awkward feelings to more than one, but -exciting small compassion in any except Fanny, who had been a quiet -auditor of the whole, and who could not think of her as under the -agitations of _jealousy_ without great pity. - -A short silence succeeded her leaving them; but her brother soon -returned to business and Lovers’ Vows, and was eagerly looking over the -play, with Mr. Yates’s help, to ascertain what scenery would be -necessary—while Maria and Henry Crawford conversed together in an -under-voice, and the declaration with which she began of, “I am sure I -would give up the part to Julia most willingly, but that though I shall -probably do it very ill, I feel persuaded _she_ would do it worse,” was -doubtless receiving all the compliments it called for. - -When this had lasted some time, the division of the party was completed -by Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates walking off together to consult farther in -the room now beginning to be called _the_ _Theatre_, and Miss Bertram’s -resolving to go down to the Parsonage herself with the offer of Amelia -to Miss Crawford; and Fanny remained alone. - -The first use she made of her solitude was to take up the volume which -had been left on the table, and begin to acquaint herself with the play -of which she had heard so much. Her curiosity was all awake, and she -ran through it with an eagerness which was suspended only by intervals -of astonishment, that it could be chosen in the present instance, that -it could be proposed and accepted in a private theatre! Agatha and -Amelia appeared to her in their different ways so totally improper for -home representation—the situation of one, and the language of the -other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty, that she could -hardly suppose her cousins could be aware of what they were engaging -in; and longed to have them roused as soon as possible by the -remonstrance which Edmund would certainly make. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Miss Crawford accepted the part very readily; and soon after Miss -Bertram’s return from the Parsonage, Mr. Rushworth arrived, and another -character was consequently cast. He had the offer of Count Cassel and -Anhalt, and at first did not know which to chuse, and wanted Miss -Bertram to direct him; but upon being made to understand the different -style of the characters, and which was which, and recollecting that he -had once seen the play in London, and had thought Anhalt a very stupid -fellow, he soon decided for the Count. Miss Bertram approved the -decision, for the less he had to learn the better; and though she could -not sympathise in his wish that the Count and Agatha might be to act -together, nor wait very patiently while he was slowly turning over the -leaves with the hope of still discovering such a scene, she very kindly -took his part in hand, and curtailed every speech that admitted being -shortened; besides pointing out the necessity of his being very much -dressed, and chusing his colours. Mr. Rushworth liked the idea of his -finery very well, though affecting to despise it; and was too much -engaged with what his own appearance would be to think of the others, -or draw any of those conclusions, or feel any of that displeasure which -Maria had been half prepared for. - -Thus much was settled before Edmund, who had been out all the morning, -knew anything of the matter; but when he entered the drawing-room -before dinner, the buzz of discussion was high between Tom, Maria, and -Mr. Yates; and Mr. Rushworth stepped forward with great alacrity to -tell him the agreeable news. - -“We have got a play,” said he. “It is to be Lovers’ Vows; and I am to -be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a blue dress and a pink -satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another fine fancy suit, by way -of a shooting-dress. I do not know how I shall like it.” - -Fanny’s eyes followed Edmund, and her heart beat for him as she heard -this speech, and saw his look, and felt what his sensations must be. - -“Lovers’ Vows!” in a tone of the greatest amazement, was his only reply -to Mr. Rushworth, and he turned towards his brother and sisters as if -hardly doubting a contradiction. - -“Yes,” cried Mr. Yates. “After all our debatings and difficulties, we -find there is nothing that will suit us altogether so well, nothing so -unexceptionable, as Lovers’ Vows. The wonder is that it should not have -been thought of before. My stupidity was abominable, for here we have -all the advantage of what I saw at Ecclesford; and it is so useful to -have anything of a model! We have cast almost every part.” - -“But what do you do for women?” said Edmund gravely, and looking at -Maria. - -Maria blushed in spite of herself as she answered, “I take the part -which Lady Ravenshaw was to have done, and” (with a bolder eye) “Miss -Crawford is to be Amelia.” - -“I should not have thought it the sort of play to be so easily filled -up, with _us_,” replied Edmund, turning away to the fire, where sat his -mother, aunt, and Fanny, and seating himself with a look of great -vexation. - -Mr. Rushworth followed him to say, “I come in three times, and have -two-and-forty speeches. That’s something, is not it? But I do not much -like the idea of being so fine. I shall hardly know myself in a blue -dress and a pink satin cloak.” - -Edmund could not answer him. In a few minutes Mr. Bertram was called -out of the room to satisfy some doubts of the carpenter; and being -accompanied by Mr. Yates, and followed soon afterwards by Mr. -Rushworth, Edmund almost immediately took the opportunity of saying, “I -cannot, before Mr. Yates, speak what I feel as to this play, without -reflecting on his friends at Ecclesford; but I must now, my dear Maria, -tell _you_, that I think it exceedingly unfit for private -representation, and that I hope you will give it up. I cannot but -suppose you _will_ when you have read it carefully over. Read only the -first act aloud to either your mother or aunt, and see how you can -approve it. It will not be necessary to send you to your _father’s_ -judgment, I am convinced.” - -“We see things very differently,” cried Maria. “I am perfectly -acquainted with the play, I assure you; and with a very few omissions, -and so forth, which will be made, of course, I can see nothing -objectionable in it; and _I_ am not the _only_ young woman you find who -thinks it very fit for private representation.” - -“I am sorry for it,” was his answer; “but in this matter it is _you_ -who are to lead. _You_ must set the example. If others have blundered, -it is your place to put them right, and shew them what true delicacy -is. In all points of decorum _your_ conduct must be law to the rest of -the party.” - -This picture of her consequence had some effect, for no one loved -better to lead than Maria; and with far more good-humour she answered, -“I am much obliged to you, Edmund; you mean very well, I am sure: but I -still think you see things too strongly; and I really cannot undertake -to harangue all the rest upon a subject of this kind. _There_ would be -the greatest indecorum, I think.” - -“Do you imagine that I could have such an idea in my head? No; let your -conduct be the only harangue. Say that, on examining the part, you feel -yourself unequal to it; that you find it requiring more exertion and -confidence than you can be supposed to have. Say this with firmness, -and it will be quite enough. All who can distinguish will understand -your motive. The play will be given up, and your delicacy honoured as -it ought.” - -“Do not act anything improper, my dear,” said Lady Bertram. “Sir Thomas -would not like it.—Fanny, ring the bell; I must have my dinner.—To be -sure, Julia is dressed by this time.” - -“I am convinced, madam,” said Edmund, preventing Fanny, “that Sir -Thomas would not like it.” - -“There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?” - -“If I were to decline the part,” said Maria, with renewed zeal, “Julia -would certainly take it.” - -“What!” cried Edmund, “if she knew your reasons!” - -“Oh! she might think the difference between us—the difference in our -situations—that _she_ need not be so scrupulous as _I_ might feel -necessary. I am sure she would argue so. No; you must excuse me; I -cannot retract my consent; it is too far settled, everybody would be so -disappointed, Tom would be quite angry; and if we are so very nice, we -shall never act anything.” - -“I was just going to say the very same thing,” said Mrs. Norris. “If -every play is to be objected to, you will act nothing, and the -preparations will be all so much money thrown away, and I am sure -_that_ would be a discredit to us all. I do not know the play; but, as -Maria says, if there is anything a little too warm (and it is so with -most of them) it can be easily left out. We must not be over-precise, -Edmund. As Mr. Rushworth is to act too, there can be no harm. I only -wish Tom had known his own mind when the carpenters began, for there -was the loss of half a day’s work about those side-doors. The curtain -will be a good job, however. The maids do their work very well, and I -think we shall be able to send back some dozens of the rings. There is -no occasion to put them so very close together. I _am_ of some use, I -hope, in preventing waste and making the most of things. There should -always be one steady head to superintend so many young ones. I forgot -to tell Tom of something that happened to me this very day. I had been -looking about me in the poultry-yard, and was just coming out, when who -should I see but Dick Jackson making up to the servants’ hall-door with -two bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them to father, you may be -sure; mother had chanced to send him of a message to father, and then -father had bid him bring up them two bits of board, for he could not no -how do without them. I knew what all this meant, for the servants’ -dinner-bell was ringing at the very moment over our heads; and as I -hate such encroaching people (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have -always said so: just the sort of people to get all they can), I said to -the boy directly (a great lubberly fellow of ten years old, you know, -who ought to be ashamed of himself), ‘_I’ll_ take the boards to your -father, Dick, so get you home again as fast as you can.’ The boy looked -very silly, and turned away without offering a word, for I believe I -might speak pretty sharp; and I dare say it will cure him of coming -marauding about the house for one while. I hate such greediness—so good -as your father is to the family, employing the man all the year round!” - -Nobody was at the trouble of an answer; the others soon returned; and -Edmund found that to have endeavoured to set them right must be his -only satisfaction. - -Dinner passed heavily. Mrs. Norris related again her triumph over Dick -Jackson, but neither play nor preparation were otherwise much talked -of, for Edmund’s disapprobation was felt even by his brother, though he -would not have owned it. Maria, wanting Henry Crawford’s animating -support, thought the subject better avoided. Mr. Yates, who was trying -to make himself agreeable to Julia, found her gloom less impenetrable -on any topic than that of his regret at her secession from their -company; and Mr. Rushworth, having only his own part and his own dress -in his head, had soon talked away all that could be said of either. - -But the concerns of the theatre were suspended only for an hour or two: -there was still a great deal to be settled; and the spirits of evening -giving fresh courage, Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates, soon after their being -reassembled in the drawing-room, seated themselves in committee at a -separate table, with the play open before them, and were just getting -deep in the subject when a most welcome interruption was given by the -entrance of Mr. and Miss Crawford, who, late and dark and dirty as it -was, could not help coming, and were received with the most grateful -joy. - -“Well, how do you go on?” and “What have you settled?” and “Oh! we can -do nothing without you,” followed the first salutations; and Henry -Crawford was soon seated with the other three at the table, while his -sister made her way to Lady Bertram, and with pleasant attention was -complimenting _her_. “I must really congratulate your ladyship,” said -she, “on the play being chosen; for though you have borne it with -exemplary patience, I am sure you must be sick of all our noise and -difficulties. The actors may be glad, but the bystanders must be -infinitely more thankful for a decision; and I do sincerely give you -joy, madam, as well as Mrs. Norris, and everybody else who is in the -same predicament,” glancing half fearfully, half slyly, beyond Fanny to -Edmund. - -She was very civilly answered by Lady Bertram, but Edmund said nothing. -His being only a bystander was not disclaimed. After continuing in chat -with the party round the fire a few minutes, Miss Crawford returned to -the party round the table; and standing by them, seemed to interest -herself in their arrangements till, as if struck by a sudden -recollection, she exclaimed, “My good friends, you are most composedly -at work upon these cottages and alehouses, inside and out; but pray let -me know my fate in the meanwhile. Who is to be Anhalt? What gentleman -among you am I to have the pleasure of making love to?” - -For a moment no one spoke; and then many spoke together to tell the -same melancholy truth, that they had not yet got any Anhalt. “Mr. -Rushworth was to be Count Cassel, but no one had yet undertaken -Anhalt.” - -“I had my choice of the parts,” said Mr. Rushworth; “but I thought I -should like the Count best, though I do not much relish the finery I am -to have.” - -“You chose very wisely, I am sure,” replied Miss Crawford, with a -brightened look; “Anhalt is a heavy part.” - -“_The_ _Count_ has two-and-forty speeches,” returned Mr. Rushworth, -“which is no trifle.” - -“I am not at all surprised,” said Miss Crawford, after a short pause, -“at this want of an Anhalt. Amelia deserves no better. Such a forward -young lady may well frighten the men.” - -“I should be but too happy in taking the part, if it were possible,” -cried Tom; “but, unluckily, the Butler and Anhalt are in together. I -will not entirely give it up, however; I will try what can be done—I -will look it over again.” - -“Your _brother_ should take the part,” said Mr. Yates, in a low voice. -“Do not you think he would?” - -“_I_ shall not ask him,” replied Tom, in a cold, determined manner. - -Miss Crawford talked of something else, and soon afterwards rejoined -the party at the fire. - -“They do not want me at all,” said she, seating herself. “I only puzzle -them, and oblige them to make civil speeches. Mr. Edmund Bertram, as -you do not act yourself, you will be a disinterested adviser; and, -therefore, I apply to _you_. What shall we do for an Anhalt? Is it -practicable for any of the others to double it? What is your advice?” - -“My advice,” said he calmly, “is that you change the play.” - -“_I_ should have no objection,” she replied; “for though I should not -particularly dislike the part of Amelia if well supported, that is, if -everything went well, I shall be sorry to be an inconvenience; but as -they do not chuse to hear your advice at _that_ _table_” (looking -round), “it certainly will not be taken.” - -Edmund said no more. - -“If _any_ part could tempt _you_ to act, I suppose it would be Anhalt,” -observed the lady archly, after a short pause; “for he is a clergyman, -you know.” - -“_That_ circumstance would by no means tempt me,” he replied, “for I -should be sorry to make the character ridiculous by bad acting. It must -be very difficult to keep Anhalt from appearing a formal, solemn -lecturer; and the man who chuses the profession itself is, perhaps, one -of the last who would wish to represent it on the stage.” - -Miss Crawford was silenced, and with some feelings of resentment and -mortification, moved her chair considerably nearer the tea-table, and -gave all her attention to Mrs. Norris, who was presiding there. - -“Fanny,” cried Tom Bertram, from the other table, where the conference -was eagerly carrying on, and the conversation incessant, “we want your -services.” - -Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand; for the habit of -employing her in that way was not yet overcome, in spite of all that -Edmund could do. - -“Oh! we do not want to disturb you from your seat. We do not want your -_present_ services. We shall only want you in our play. You must be -Cottager’s wife.” - -“Me!” cried Fanny, sitting down again with a most frightened look. -“Indeed you must excuse me. I could not act anything if you were to -give me the world. No, indeed, I cannot act.” - -“Indeed, but you must, for we cannot excuse you. It need not frighten -you: it is a nothing of a part, a mere nothing, not above half a dozen -speeches altogether, and it will not much signify if nobody hears a -word you say; so you may be as creep-mouse as you like, but we must -have you to look at.” - -“If you are afraid of half a dozen speeches,” cried Mr. Rushworth, -“what would you do with such a part as mine? I have forty-two to -learn.” - -“It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart,” said Fanny, shocked -to find herself at that moment the only speaker in the room, and to -feel that almost every eye was upon her; “but I really cannot act.” - -“Yes, yes, you can act well enough for _us_. Learn your part, and we -will teach you all the rest. You have only two scenes, and as I shall -be Cottager, I’ll put you in and push you about, and you will do it -very well, I’ll answer for it.” - -“No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me. You cannot have an idea. -It would be absolutely impossible for me. If I were to undertake it, I -should only disappoint you.” - -“Phoo! Phoo! Do not be so shamefaced. You’ll do it very well. Every -allowance will be made for you. We do not expect perfection. You must -get a brown gown, and a white apron, and a mob cap, and we must make -you a few wrinkles, and a little of the crowsfoot at the corner of your -eyes, and you will be a very proper, little old woman.” - -“You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me,” cried Fanny, growing -more and more red from excessive agitation, and looking distressfully -at Edmund, who was kindly observing her; but unwilling to exasperate -his brother by interference, gave her only an encouraging smile. Her -entreaty had no effect on Tom: he only said again what he had said -before; and it was not merely Tom, for the requisition was now backed -by Maria, and Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates, with an urgency which -differed from his but in being more gentle or more ceremonious, and -which altogether was quite overpowering to Fanny; and before she could -breathe after it, Mrs. Norris completed the whole by thus addressing -her in a whisper at once angry and audible—“What a piece of work here -is about nothing: I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a -difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort—so kind as -they are to you! Take the part with a good grace, and let us hear no -more of the matter, I entreat.” - -“Do not urge her, madam,” said Edmund. “It is not fair to urge her in -this manner. You see she does not like to act. Let her chuse for -herself, as well as the rest of us. Her judgment may be quite as safely -trusted. Do not urge her any more.” - -“I am not going to urge her,” replied Mrs. Norris sharply; “but I shall -think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what -her aunt and cousins wish her—very ungrateful, indeed, considering who -and what she is.” - -Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss Crawford, looking for a moment -with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at Fanny, whose tears -were beginning to shew themselves, immediately said, with some -keenness, “I do not like my situation: this _place_ is too hot for me,” -and moved away her chair to the opposite side of the table, close to -Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, as she placed herself, -“Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: everybody is -cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them”; and with pointed -attention continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, -in spite of being out of spirits herself. By a look at her brother she -prevented any farther entreaty from the theatrical board, and the -really good feelings by which she was almost purely governed were -rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost in Edmund’s -favour. - -Fanny did not love Miss Crawford; but she felt very much obliged to her -for her present kindness; and when, from taking notice of her work, and -wishing _she_ could work as well, and begging for the pattern, and -supposing Fanny was now preparing for her _appearance_, as of course -she would come out when her cousin was married, Miss Crawford proceeded -to inquire if she had heard lately from her brother at sea, and said -that she had quite a curiosity to see him, and imagined him a very fine -young man, and advised Fanny to get his picture drawn before he went to -sea again—she could not help admitting it to be very agreeable -flattery, or help listening, and answering with more animation than she -had intended. - -The consultation upon the play still went on, and Miss Crawford’s -attention was first called from Fanny by Tom Bertram’s telling her, -with infinite regret, that he found it absolutely impossible for him to -undertake the part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler: he had been -most anxiously trying to make it out to be feasible, but it would not -do; he must give it up. “But there will not be the smallest difficulty -in filling it,” he added. “We have but to speak the word; we may pick -and chuse. I could name, at this moment, at least six young men within -six miles of us, who are wild to be admitted into our company, and -there are one or two that would not disgrace us: I should not be afraid -to trust either of the Olivers or Charles Maddox. Tom Oliver is a very -clever fellow, and Charles Maddox is as gentlemanlike a man as you will -see anywhere, so I will take my horse early to-morrow morning and ride -over to Stoke, and settle with one of them.” - -While he spoke, Maria was looking apprehensively round at Edmund in -full expectation that he must oppose such an enlargement of the plan as -this: so contrary to all their first protestations; but Edmund said -nothing. After a moment’s thought, Miss Crawford calmly replied, “As -far as I am concerned, I can have no objection to anything that you all -think eligible. Have I ever seen either of the gentlemen? Yes, Mr. -Charles Maddox dined at my sister’s one day, did not he, Henry? A -quiet-looking young man. I remember him. Let _him_ be applied to, if -you please, for it will be less unpleasant to me than to have a perfect -stranger.” - -Charles Maddox was to be the man. Tom repeated his resolution of going -to him early on the morrow; and though Julia, who had scarcely opened -her lips before, observed, in a sarcastic manner, and with a glance -first at Maria and then at Edmund, that “the Mansfield theatricals -would enliven the whole neighbourhood exceedingly,” Edmund still held -his peace, and shewed his feelings only by a determined gravity. - -“I am not very sanguine as to our play,” said Miss Crawford, in an -undervoice to Fanny, after some consideration; “and I can tell Mr. -Maddox that I shall shorten some of _his_ speeches, and a great many of -_my_ _own_, before we rehearse together. It will be very disagreeable, -and by no means what I expected.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -It was not in Miss Crawford’s power to talk Fanny into any real -forgetfulness of what had passed. When the evening was over, she went -to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated by the shock of such an -attack from her cousin Tom, so public and so persevered in, and her -spirits sinking under her aunt’s unkind reflection and reproach. To be -called into notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the -prelude to something so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do -what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge of -obstinacy and ingratitude follow it, enforced with such a hint at the -dependence of her situation, had been too distressing at the time to -make the remembrance when she was alone much less so, especially with -the superadded dread of what the morrow might produce in continuation -of the subject. Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and -if she were applied to again among themselves with all the -authoritative urgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund -perhaps away, what should she do? She fell asleep before she could -answer the question, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the -next morning. The little white attic, which had continued her -sleeping-room ever since her first entering the family, proving -incompetent to suggest any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she was -dressed, to another apartment more spacious and more meet for walking -about in and thinking, and of which she had now for some time been -almost equally mistress. It had been their school-room; so called till -the Miss Bertrams would not allow it to be called so any longer, and -inhabited as such to a later period. There Miss Lee had lived, and -there they had read and written, and talked and laughed, till within -the last three years, when she had quitted them. The room had then -become useless, and for some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, -when she visited her plants, or wanted one of the books, which she was -still glad to keep there, from the deficiency of space and -accommodation in her little chamber above: but gradually, as her value -for the comforts of it increased, she had added to her possessions, and -spent more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose her, had so -naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it, that it was now -generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it had been called -ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now considered Fanny’s, -almost as decidedly as the white attic: the smallness of the one making -the use of the other so evidently reasonable that the Miss Bertrams, -with every superiority in their own apartments which their own sense of -superiority could demand, were entirely approving it; and Mrs. Norris, -having stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny’s -account, was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody -else wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the -indulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the house. - -The aspect was so favourable that even without a fire it was habitable -in many an early spring and late autumn morning to such a willing mind -as Fanny’s; and while there was a gleam of sunshine she hoped not to be -driven from it entirely, even when winter came. The comfort of it in -her hours of leisure was extreme. She could go there after anything -unpleasant below, and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or -some train of thought at hand. Her plants, her books—of which she had -been a collector from the first hour of her commanding a shilling—her -writing-desk, and her works of charity and ingenuity, were all within -her reach; or if indisposed for employment, if nothing but musing would -do, she could scarcely see an object in that room which had not an -interesting remembrance connected with it. Everything was a friend, or -bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much -of suffering to her; though her motives had often been misunderstood, -her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she -had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost -every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory: her aunt -Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what -was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and -her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had -told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which -made her tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, -so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm. -The room was most dear to her, and she would not have changed its -furniture for the handsomest in the house, though what had been -originally plain had suffered all the ill-usage of children; and its -greatest elegancies and ornaments were a faded footstool of Julia’s -work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three transparencies, made in -a rage for transparencies, for the three lower panes of one window, -where Tintern Abbey held its station between a cave in Italy and a -moonlight lake in Cumberland, a collection of family profiles, thought -unworthy of being anywhere else, over the mantelpiece, and by their -side, and pinned against the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four -years ago from the Mediterranean by William, with H.M.S. Antwerp at the -bottom, in letters as tall as the mainmast. - -To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its influence on -an agitated, doubting spirit, to see if by looking at Edmund’s profile -she could catch any of his counsel, or by giving air to her geraniums -she might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. But she had more -than fears of her own perseverance to remove: she had begun to feel -undecided as to what she _ought_ _to_ _do_; and as she walked round the -room her doubts were increasing. Was she _right_ in refusing what was -so warmly asked, so strongly wished for—what might be so essential to a -scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest -complaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature, selfishness, -and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund’s judgment, would his -persuasion of Sir Thomas’s disapprobation of the whole, be enough to -justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest? It would -be so horrible to her to act that she was inclined to suspect the truth -and purity of her own scruples; and as she looked around her, the -claims of her cousins to being obliged were strengthened by the sight -of present upon present that she had received from them. The table -between the windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes which -had been given her at different times, principally by Tom; and she grew -bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these kind -remembrances produced. A tap at the door roused her in the midst of -this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her gentle “Come in” was -answered by the appearance of one, before whom all her doubts were wont -to be laid. Her eyes brightened at the sight of Edmund. - -“Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?” said he. - -“Yes, certainly.” - -“I want to consult. I want your opinion.” - -“My opinion!” she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, highly as it -gratified her. - -“Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what to do. This acting -scheme gets worse and worse, you see. They have chosen almost as bad a -play as they could, and now, to complete the business, are going to ask -the help of a young man very slightly known to any of us. This is the -end of all the privacy and propriety which was talked about at first. I -know no harm of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must -spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is highly -objectionable, the _more_ than intimacy—the familiarity. I cannot think -of it with any patience; and it does appear to me an evil of such -magnitude as must, _if_ _possible_, be prevented. Do not you see it in -the same light?” - -“Yes; but what can be done? Your brother is so determined.” - -“There is but _one_ thing to be done, Fanny. I must take Anhalt myself. -I am well aware that nothing else will quiet Tom.” - -Fanny could not answer him. - -“It is not at all what I like,” he continued. “No man can like being -driven into the _appearance_ of such inconsistency. After being known -to oppose the scheme from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face -of my joining them _now_, when they are exceeding their first plan in -every respect; but I can think of no other alternative. Can you, -Fanny?” - -“No,” said Fanny slowly, “not immediately, but—” - -“But what? I see your judgment is not with me. Think it a little over. -Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of the mischief that _may_, -of the unpleasantness that _must_ arise from a young man’s being -received in this manner: domesticated among us; authorised to come at -all hours, and placed suddenly on a footing which must do away all -restraints. To think only of the licence which every rehearsal must -tend to create. It is all very bad! Put yourself in Miss Crawford’s -place, Fanny. Consider what it would be to act Amelia with a stranger. -She has a right to be felt for, because she evidently feels for -herself. I heard enough of what she said to you last night to -understand her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger; and as she -probably engaged in the part with different expectations—perhaps -without considering the subject enough to know what was likely to be—it -would be ungenerous, it would be really wrong to expose her to it. Her -feelings ought to be respected. Does it not strike you so, Fanny? You -hesitate.” - -“I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in -to do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think -will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the -others!” - -“They will not have much cause of triumph when they see how infamously -I act. But, however, triumph there certainly will be, and I must brave -it. But if I can be the means of restraining the publicity of the -business, of limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I -shall be well repaid. As I am now, I have no influence, I can do -nothing: I have offended them, and they will not hear me; but when I -have put them in good-humour by this concession, I am not without hopes -of persuading them to confine the representation within a much smaller -circle than they are now in the high road for. This will be a material -gain. My object is to confine it to Mrs. Rushworth and the Grants. Will -not this be worth gaining?” - -“Yes, it will be a great point.” - -“But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any other -measure by which I have a chance of doing equal good?” - -“No, I cannot think of anything else.” - -“Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfortable without -it.” - -“Oh, cousin!” - -“If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself, and yet—But it is -absolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this way, riding about the -country in quest of anybody who can be persuaded to act—no matter whom: -the look of a gentleman is to be enough. I thought _you_ would have -entered more into Miss Crawford’s feelings.” - -“No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief to her,” -said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner. - -“She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour to you last -night. It gave her a very strong claim on my goodwill.” - -“She _was_ very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared”... - -She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience stopt her in -the middle, but Edmund was satisfied. - -“I shall walk down immediately after breakfast,” said he, “and am sure -of giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you -any longer. You want to be reading. But I could not be easy till I had -spoken to you, and come to a decision. Sleeping or waking, my head has -been full of this matter all night. It is an evil, but I am certainly -making it less than it might be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him -directly and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all -in high good-humour at the prospect of acting the fool together with -such unanimity. _You_, in the meanwhile, will be taking a trip into -China, I suppose. How does Lord Macartney go on?”—opening a volume on -the table and then taking up some others. “And here are Crabbe’s Tales, -and the Idler, at hand to relieve you, if you tire of your great book. -I admire your little establishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am -gone, you will empty your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit -comfortably down to your table. But do not stay here to be cold.” - -He went; but there was no reading, no China, no composure for Fanny. He -had told her the most extraordinary, the most inconceivable, the most -unwelcome news; and she could think of nothing else. To be acting! -After all his objections—objections so just and so public! After all -that she had heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be -feeling. Could it be possible? Edmund so inconsistent! Was he not -deceiving himself? Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss Crawford’s -doing. She had seen her influence in every speech, and was miserable. -The doubts and alarms as to her own conduct, which had previously -distressed her, and which had all slept while she listened to him, were -become of little consequence now. This deeper anxiety swallowed them -up. Things should take their course; she cared not how it ended. Her -cousins might attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their -reach; and if at last obliged to yield—no matter—it was all misery now. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -It was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a -victory over Edmund’s discretion had been beyond their hopes, and was -most delightful. There was no longer anything to disturb them in their -darling project, and they congratulated each other in private on the -jealous weakness to which they attributed the change, with all the glee -of feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still look grave, and -say he did not like the scheme in general, and must disapprove the play -in particular; their point was gained: he was to act, and he was driven -to it by the force of selfish inclinations only. Edmund had descended -from that moral elevation which he had maintained before, and they were -both as much the better as the happier for the descent. - -They behaved very well, however, to _him_ on the occasion, betraying no -exultation beyond the lines about the corners of the mouth, and seemed -to think it as great an escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles -Maddox, as if they had been forced into admitting him against their -inclination. “To have it quite in their own family circle was what they -had particularly wished. A stranger among them would have been the -destruction of all their comfort”; and when Edmund, pursuing that idea, -gave a hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were -ready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything. It was -all good-humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered to contrive his -dress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt’s last scene with the Baron -admitted a good deal of action and emphasis, and Mr. Rushworth -undertook to count his speeches. - -“Perhaps,” said Tom, “Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now. -Perhaps you may persuade _her_.” - -“No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.” - -“Oh! very well.” And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself -again in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to -fail her already. - -There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this -change in Edmund; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in hers, and entered -with such an instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole -affair as could have but one effect on him. “He was certainly right in -respecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it.” And the -morning wore away in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One -advantage resulted from it to Fanny: at the earnest request of Miss -Crawford, Mrs. Grant had, with her usual good-humour, agreed to -undertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted; and this was all -that occurred to gladden _her_ heart during the day; and even this, -when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was Miss -Crawford to whom she was obliged—it was Miss Crawford whose kind -exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them -was spoken of with a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and -safety were unconnected here. Her mind had been never farther from -peace. She could not feel that she had done wrong herself, but she was -disquieted in every other way. Her heart and her judgment were equally -against Edmund’s decision: she could not acquit his unsteadiness, and -his happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy and -agitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which seemed an -insult, with friendly expressions towards herself which she could -hardly answer calmly. Everybody around her was gay and busy, prosperous -and important; each had their object of interest, their part, their -dress, their favourite scene, their friends and confederates: all were -finding employment in consultations and comparisons, or diversion in -the playful conceits they suggested. She alone was sad and -insignificant: she had no share in anything; she might go or stay; she -might be in the midst of their noise, or retreat from it to the -solitude of the East room, without being seen or missed. She could -almost think anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant -was of consequence: _her_ good-nature had honourable mention; her taste -and her time were considered; her presence was wanted; she was sought -for, and attended, and praised; and Fanny was at first in some danger -of envying her the character she had accepted. But reflection brought -better feelings, and shewed her that Mrs. Grant was entitled to -respect, which could never have belonged to _her_; and that, had she -received even the greatest, she could never have been easy in joining a -scheme which, considering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether. - -Fanny’s heart was not absolutely the only saddened one amongst them, as -she soon began to acknowledge to herself. Julia was a sufferer too, -though not quite so blamelessly. - -Henry Crawford had trifled with her feelings; but she had very long -allowed and even sought his attentions, with a jealousy of her sister -so reasonable as ought to have been their cure; and now that the -conviction of his preference for Maria had been forced on her, she -submitted to it without any alarm for Maria’s situation, or any -endeavour at rational tranquillity for herself. She either sat in -gloomy silence, wrapt in such gravity as nothing could subdue, no -curiosity touch, no wit amuse; or allowing the attentions of Mr. Yates, -was talking with forced gaiety to him alone, and ridiculing the acting -of the others. - -For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry Crawford had -endeavoured to do it away by the usual attack of gallantry and -compliment, but he had not cared enough about it to persevere against a -few repulses; and becoming soon too busy with his play to have time for -more than one flirtation, he grew indifferent to the quarrel, or rather -thought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly putting an end to what might -ere long have raised expectations in more than Mrs. Grant. She was not -pleased to see Julia excluded from the play, and sitting by -disregarded; but as it was not a matter which really involved her -happiness, as Henry must be the best judge of his own, and as he did -assure her, with a most persuasive smile, that neither he nor Julia had -ever had a serious thought of each other, she could only renew her -former caution as to the elder sister, entreat him not to risk his -tranquillity by too much admiration there, and then gladly take her -share in anything that brought cheerfulness to the young people in -general, and that did so particularly promote the pleasure of the two -so dear to her. - -“I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry,” was her observation -to Mary. - -“I dare say she is,” replied Mary coldly. “I imagine both sisters are.” - -“Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of it. Think of -Mr. Rushworth!” - -“You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may do -_her_ some good. I often think of Mr. Rushworth’s property and -independence, and wish them in other hands; but I never think of him. A -man might represent the county with such an estate; a man might escape -a profession and represent the county.” - -“I dare say he _will_ be in parliament soon. When Sir Thomas comes, I -dare say he will be in for some borough, but there has been nobody to -put him in the way of doing anything yet.” - -“Sir Thomas is to achieve many mighty things when he comes home,” said -Mary, after a pause. “Do you remember Hawkins Browne’s ‘Address to -Tobacco,’ in imitation of Pope?— - -Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense -To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense. - - -I will parody them— - -Blest Knight! whose dictatorial looks dispense -To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense. - - -Will not that do, Mrs. Grant? Everything seems to depend upon Sir -Thomas’s return.” - -“You will find his consequence very just and reasonable when you see -him in his family, I assure you. I do not think we do so well without -him. He has a fine dignified manner, which suits the head of such a -house, and keeps everybody in their place. Lady Bertram seems more of a -cipher now than when he is at home; and nobody else can keep Mrs. -Norris in order. But, Mary, do not fancy that Maria Bertram cares for -Henry. I am sure _Julia_ does not, or she would not have flirted as she -did last night with Mr. Yates; and though he and Maria are very good -friends, I think she likes Sotherton too well to be inconstant.” - -“I would not give much for Mr. Rushworth’s chance if Henry stept in -before the articles were signed.” - -“If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and as soon as -the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously and make him know -his own mind; and if he means nothing, we will send him off, though he -is Henry, for a time.” - -Julia _did_ suffer, however, though Mrs. Grant discerned it not, and -though it escaped the notice of many of her own family likewise. She -had loved, she did love still, and she had all the suffering which a -warm temper and a high spirit were likely to endure under the -disappointment of a dear, though irrational hope, with a strong sense -of ill-usage. Her heart was sore and angry, and she was capable only of -angry consolations. The sister with whom she was used to be on easy -terms was now become her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each -other; and Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end -to the attentions which were still carrying on there, some punishment -to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr. -Rushworth. With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion, -to prevent their being very good friends while their interests were the -same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or -principle enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour or -compassion. Maria felt her triumph, and pursued her purpose, careless -of Julia; and Julia could never see Maria distinguished by Henry -Crawford without trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a -public disturbance at last. - -Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there was no outward -fellowship between them. Julia made no communication, and Fanny took no -liberties. They were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by -Fanny’s consciousness. - -The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia’s -discomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be imputed to -the fullness of their own minds. They were totally preoccupied. Tom was -engrossed by the concerns of his theatre, and saw nothing that did not -immediately relate to it. Edmund, between his theatrical and his real -part, between Miss Crawford’s claims and his own conduct, between love -and consistency, was equally unobservant; and Mrs. Norris was too busy -in contriving and directing the general little matters of the company, -superintending their various dresses with economical expedient, for -which nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integrity, half a -crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure for -watching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness of his daughters. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Everything was now in a regular train: theatre, actors, actresses, and -dresses, were all getting forward; but though no other great -impediments arose, Fanny found, before many days were past, that it was -not all uninterrupted enjoyment to the party themselves, and that she -had not to witness the continuance of such unanimity and delight as had -been almost too much for her at first. Everybody began to have their -vexation. Edmund had many. Entirely against _his_ judgment, a -scene-painter arrived from town, and was at work, much to the increase -of the expenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat of their -proceedings; and his brother, instead of being really guided by him as -to the privacy of the representation, was giving an invitation to every -family who came in his way. Tom himself began to fret over the -scene-painter’s slow progress, and to feel the miseries of waiting. He -had learned his part—all his parts, for he took every trifling one that -could be united with the Butler, and began to be impatient to be -acting; and every day thus unemployed was tending to increase his sense -of the insignificance of all his parts together, and make him more -ready to regret that some other play had not been chosen. - -Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the only -listener at hand, came in for the complaints and the distresses of most -of them. _She_ knew that Mr. Yates was in general thought to rant -dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that Tom -Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant -spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his -part, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, -who was wanting a prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that -poor Mr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him: _his_ -complaint came before her as well as the rest; and so decided to her -eye was her cousin Maria’s avoidance of him, and so needlessly often -the rehearsal of the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford, that she -had soon all the terror of other complaints from _him_. So far from -being all satisfied and all enjoying, she found everybody requiring -something they had not, and giving occasion of discontent to the -others. Everybody had a part either too long or too short; nobody would -attend as they ought; nobody would remember on which side they were to -come in; nobody but the complainer would observe any directions. - -Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoyment from the -play as any of them; Henry Crawford acted well, and it was a pleasure -to _her_ to creep into the theatre, and attend the rehearsal of the -first act, in spite of the feelings it excited in some speeches for -Maria. Maria, she also thought, acted well, too well; and after the -first rehearsal or two, Fanny began to be their only audience; and -sometimes as prompter, sometimes as spectator, was often very useful. -As far as she could judge, Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor -of all: he had more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, -more talent and taste than Mr. Yates. She did not like him as a man, -but she must admit him to be the best actor, and on this point there -were not many who differed from her. Mr. Yates, indeed, exclaimed -against his tameness and insipidity; and the day came at last, when Mr. -Rushworth turned to her with a black look, and said, “Do you think -there is anything so very fine in all this? For the life and soul of -me, I cannot admire him; and, between ourselves, to see such an -undersized, little, mean-looking man, set up for a fine actor, is very -ridiculous in my opinion.” - -From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy, which -Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little pains to -remove; and the chances of Mr. Rushworth’s ever attaining to the -knowledge of his two-and-forty speeches became much less. As to his -ever making anything _tolerable_ of them, nobody had the smallest idea -of that except his mother; _she_, indeed, regretted that his part was -not more considerable, and deferred coming over to Mansfield till they -were forward enough in their rehearsal to comprehend all his scenes; -but the others aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, -and the first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter -through the rest. Fanny, in her pity and kindheartedness, was at great -pains to teach him how to learn, giving him all the helps and -directions in her power, trying to make an artificial memory for him, -and learning every word of his part herself, but without his being much -the forwarder. - -Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she certainly had; -but with all these, and other claims on her time and attention, she was -as far from finding herself without employment or utility amongst them, -as without a companion in uneasiness; quite as far from having no -demand on her leisure as on her compassion. The gloom of her first -anticipations was proved to have been unfounded. She was occasionally -useful to all; she was perhaps as much at peace as any. - -There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover, in which her -help was wanted; and that Mrs. Norris thought her quite as well off as -the rest, was evident by the manner in which she claimed it—“Come, -Fanny,” she cried, “these are fine times for you, but you must not be -always walking from one room to the other, and doing the lookings-on at -your ease, in this way; I want you here. I have been slaving myself -till I can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth’s cloak without -sending for any more satin; and now I think you may give me your help -in putting it together. There are but three seams; you may do them in a -trice. It would be lucky for me if I had nothing but the executive part -to do. _You_ are best off, I can tell you: but if nobody did more than -_you_, we should not get on very fast.” - -Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any defence; but -her kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf— - -“One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny _should_ be delighted: it is all -new to her, you know; you and I used to be very fond of a play -ourselves, and so am I still; and as soon as I am a little more at -leisure, _I_ mean to look in at their rehearsals too. What is the play -about, Fanny? you have never told me.” - -“Oh! sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not one of those who -can talk and work at the same time. It is about Lovers’ Vows.” - -“I believe,” said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, “there will be three acts -rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give you an opportunity of -seeing all the actors at once.” - -“You had better stay till the curtain is hung,” interposed Mrs. Norris; -“the curtain will be hung in a day or two—there is very little sense in -a play without a curtain—and I am much mistaken if you do not find it -draw up into very handsome festoons.” - -Lady Bertram seemed quite resigned to waiting. Fanny did not share her -aunt’s composure: she thought of the morrow a great deal, for if the -three acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss Crawford would then be -acting together for the first time; the third act would bring a scene -between them which interested her most particularly, and which she was -longing and dreading to see how they would perform. The whole subject -of it was love—a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, -and very little short of a declaration of love be made by the lady. - -She had read and read the scene again with many painful, many wondering -emotions, and looked forward to their representation of it as a -circumstance almost too interesting. She did not _believe_ they had yet -rehearsed it, even in private. - -The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and Fanny’s -consideration of it did not become less agitated. She worked very -diligently under her aunt’s directions, but her diligence and her -silence concealed a very absent, anxious mind; and about noon she made -her escape with her work to the East room, that she might have no -concern in another, and, as she deemed it, most unnecessary rehearsal -of the first act, which Henry Crawford was just proposing, desirous at -once of having her time to herself, and of avoiding the sight of Mr. -Rushworth. A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies -walking up from the Parsonage made no change in her wish of retreat, -and she worked and meditated in the East room, undisturbed, for a -quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the -entrance of Miss Crawford. - -“Am I right? Yes; this is the East room. My dear Miss Price, I beg your -pardon, but I have made my way to you on purpose to entreat your help.” - -Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to shew herself mistress of the -room by her civilities, and looked at the bright bars of her empty -grate with concern. - -“Thank you; I am quite warm, very warm. Allow me to stay here a little -while, and do have the goodness to hear me my third act. I have brought -my book, and if you would but rehearse it with me, I should be _so_ -obliged! I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund—by -ourselves—against the evening, but he is not in the way; and if he -_were_, I do not think I could go through it with _him_, till I have -hardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two. You will -be so good, won’t you?” - -Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could not give them -in a very steady voice. - -“Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?” continued Miss -Crawford, opening her book. “Here it is. I did not think much of it at -first—but, upon my word. There, look at _that_ speech, and _that_, and -_that_. How am I ever to look him in the face and say such things? -Could you do it? But then he is your cousin, which makes all the -difference. You must rehearse it with me, that I may fancy _you_ him, -and get on by degrees. You _have_ a look of _his_ sometimes.” - -“Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness; but I must -_read_ the part, for I can say very little of it.” - -“_None_ of it, I suppose. You are to have the book, of course. Now for -it. We must have two chairs at hand for you to bring forward to the -front of the stage. There—very good school-room chairs, not made for a -theatre, I dare say; much more fitted for little girls to sit and kick -their feet against when they are learning a lesson. What would your -governess and your uncle say to see them used for such a purpose? Could -Sir Thomas look in upon us just now, he would bless himself, for we are -rehearsing all over the house. Yates is storming away in the -dining-room. I heard him as I came upstairs, and the theatre is engaged -of course by those indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and Frederick. If -_they_ are not perfect, I _shall_ be surprised. By the bye, I looked in -upon them five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at one of the -times when they were trying _not_ to embrace, and Mr. Rushworth was -with me. I thought he began to look a little queer, so I turned it off -as well as I could, by whispering to him, ‘We shall have an excellent -Agatha; there is something so _maternal_ in her manner, so completely -_maternal_ in her voice and countenance.’ Was not that well done of me? -He brightened up directly. Now for my soliloquy.” - -She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest feeling which the -idea of representing Edmund was so strongly calculated to inspire; but -with looks and voice so truly feminine as to be no very good picture of -a man. With such an Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had courage enough; -and they had got through half the scene, when a tap at the door brought -a pause, and the entrance of Edmund, the next moment, suspended it all. - -Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure appeared in each of the three on -this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund was come on the very same -business that had brought Miss Crawford, consciousness and pleasure -were likely to be more than momentary in _them_. He too had his book, -and was seeking Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with him, and help him to -prepare for the evening, without knowing Miss Crawford to be in the -house; and great was the joy and animation of being thus thrown -together, of comparing schemes, and sympathising in praise of Fanny’s -kind offices. - -_She_ could not equal them in their warmth. _Her_ spirits sank under -the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly nothing to -both to have any comfort in having been sought by either. They must now -rehearse together. Edmund proposed, urged, entreated it, till the lady, -not very unwilling at first, could refuse no longer, and Fanny was -wanted only to prompt and observe them. She was invested, indeed, with -the office of judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it -and tell them all their faults; but from doing so every feeling within -her shrank—she could not, would not, dared not attempt it: had she been -otherwise qualified for criticism, her conscience must have restrained -her from venturing at disapprobation. She believed herself to feel too -much of it in the aggregate for honesty or safety in particulars. To -prompt them must be enough for her; and it was sometimes _more_ than -enough; for she could not always pay attention to the book. In watching -them she forgot herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of -Edmund’s manner, had once closed the page and turned away exactly as he -wanted help. It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and she was -thanked and pitied; but she deserved their pity more than she hoped -they would ever surmise. At last the scene was over, and Fanny forced -herself to add her praise to the compliments each was giving the other; -and when again alone and able to recall the whole, she was inclined to -believe their performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling -in it as must ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering -exhibition to herself. Whatever might be its effect, however, she must -stand the brunt of it again that very day. - -The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was certainly to -take place in the evening: Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords were engaged to -return for that purpose as soon as they could after dinner; and every -one concerned was looking forward with eagerness. There seemed a -general diffusion of cheerfulness on the occasion. Tom was enjoying -such an advance towards the end; Edmund was in spirits from the -morning’s rehearsal, and little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed -away. All were alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon, the -gentlemen soon followed them, and with the exception of Lady Bertram, -Mrs. Norris, and Julia, everybody was in the theatre at an early hour; -and having lighted it up as well as its unfinished state admitted, were -waiting only the arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords to begin. - -They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was no Mrs. Grant. -She could not come. Dr. Grant, professing an indisposition, for which -he had little credit with his fair sister-in-law, could not spare his -wife. - -“Dr. Grant is ill,” said she, with mock solemnity. “He has been ill -ever since he did not eat any of the pheasant today. He fancied it -tough, sent away his plate, and has been suffering ever since”. - -Here was disappointment! Mrs. Grant’s non-attendance was sad indeed. -Her pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made her always valuable -amongst them; but _now_ she was absolutely necessary. They could not -act, they could not rehearse with any satisfaction without her. The -comfort of the whole evening was destroyed. What was to be done? Tom, -as Cottager, was in despair. After a pause of perplexity, some eyes -began to be turned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say, “If Miss -Price would be so good as to _read_ the part.” She was immediately -surrounded by supplications; everybody asked it; even Edmund said, “Do, -Fanny, if it is not _very_ disagreeable to you.” - -But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the idea of it. Why was -not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well? Or why had not she rather -gone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of -attending the rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritate and -distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly -punished. - -“You have only to _read_ the part,” said Henry Crawford, with renewed -entreaty. - -“And I do believe she can say every word of it,” added Maria, “for she -could put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty places. Fanny, I am -sure you know the part.” - -Fanny could not say she did _not_; and as they all persevered, as -Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look of even fond dependence on -her good-nature, she must yield. She would do her best. Everybody was -satisfied; and she was left to the tremors of a most palpitating heart, -while the others prepared to begin. - -They _did_ begin; and being too much engaged in their own noise to be -struck by an unusual noise in the other part of the house, had -proceeded some way when the door of the room was thrown open, and -Julia, appearing at it, with a face all aghast, exclaimed, “My father -is come! He is in the hall at this moment.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -How is the consternation of the party to be described? To the greater -number it was a moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in the house! All -felt the instantaneous conviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake -was harboured anywhere. Julia’s looks were an evidence of the fact that -made it indisputable; and after the first starts and exclamations, not -a word was spoken for half a minute: each with an altered countenance -was looking at some other, and almost each was feeling it a stroke the -most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most appalling! Mr. Yates might -consider it only as a vexatious interruption for the evening, and Mr. -Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but every other heart was -sinking under some degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, -every other heart was suggesting, “What will become of us? what is to -be done now?” It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were -the corroborating sounds of opening doors and passing footsteps. - -Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy and bitterness -had been suspended: selfishness was lost in the common cause; but at -the moment of her appearance, Frederick was listening with looks of -devotion to Agatha’s narrative, and pressing her hand to his heart; and -as soon as she could notice this, and see that, in spite of the shock -of her words, he still kept his station and retained her sister’s hand, -her wounded heart swelled again with injury, and looking as red as she -had been white before, she turned out of the room, saying, “_I_ need -not be afraid of appearing before him.” - -Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment the two brothers -stepped forward, feeling the necessity of doing something. A very few -words between them were sufficient. The case admitted no difference of -opinion: they must go to the drawing-room directly. Maria joined them -with the same intent, just then the stoutest of the three; for the very -circumstance which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest -support. Henry Crawford’s retaining her hand at such a moment, a moment -of such peculiar proof and importance, was worth ages of doubt and -anxiety. She hailed it as an earnest of the most serious determination, -and was equal even to encounter her father. They walked off, utterly -heedless of Mr. Rushworth’s repeated question of, “Shall I go too? Had -not I better go too? Will not it be right for me to go too?” but they -were no sooner through the door than Henry Crawford undertook to answer -the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him by all means to pay his -respects to Sir Thomas without delay, sent him after the others with -delighted haste. - -Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She had been -quite overlooked by her cousins; and as her own opinion of her claims -on Sir Thomas’s affection was much too humble to give her any idea of -classing herself with his children, she was glad to remain behind and -gain a little breathing-time. Her agitation and alarm exceeded all that -was endured by the rest, by the right of a disposition which not even -innocence could keep from suffering. She was nearly fainting: all her -former habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it -compassion for him and for almost every one of the party on the -development before him, with solicitude on Edmund’s account -indescribable. She had found a seat, where in excessive trembling she -was enduring all these fearful thoughts, while the other three, no -longer under any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings of -vexation, lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature arrival as a -most untoward event, and without mercy wishing poor Sir Thomas had been -twice as long on his passage, or were still in Antigua. - -The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, from better -understanding the family, and judging more clearly of the mischief that -must ensue. The ruin of the play was to them a certainty: they felt the -total destruction of the scheme to be inevitably at hand; while Mr. -Yates considered it only as a temporary interruption, a disaster for -the evening, and could even suggest the possibility of the rehearsal -being renewed after tea, when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas were -over, and he might be at leisure to be amused by it. The Crawfords -laughed at the idea; and having soon agreed on the propriety of their -walking quietly home and leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr. -Yates’s accompanying them and spending the evening at the Parsonage. -But Mr. Yates, having never been with those who thought much of -parental claims, or family confidence, could not perceive that anything -of the kind was necessary; and therefore, thanking them, said, “he -preferred remaining where he was, that he might pay his respects to the -old gentleman handsomely since he _was_ come; and besides, he did not -think it would be fair by the others to have everybody run away.” - -Fanny was just beginning to collect herself, and to feel that if she -staid longer behind it might seem disrespectful, when this point was -settled, and being commissioned with the brother and sister’s apology, -saw them preparing to go as she quitted the room herself to perform the -dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle. - -Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door; and after -pausing a moment for what she knew would not come, for a courage which -the outside of no door had ever supplied to her, she turned the lock in -desperation, and the lights of the drawing-room, and all the collected -family, were before her. As she entered, her own name caught her ear. -Sir Thomas was at that moment looking round him, and saying, “But where -is Fanny? Why do not I see my little Fanny?”—and on perceiving her, -came forward with a kindness which astonished and penetrated her, -calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and observing -with decided pleasure how much she was grown! Fanny knew not how to -feel, nor where to look. She was quite oppressed. He had never been so -kind, so _very_ kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his -voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful -in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light -and looked at her again—inquired particularly after her health, and -then, correcting himself, observed that he need not inquire, for her -appearance spoke sufficiently on that point. A fine blush having -succeeded the previous paleness of her face, he was justified in his -belief of her equal improvement in health and beauty. He inquired next -after her family, especially William: and his kindness altogether was -such as made her reproach herself for loving him so little, and -thinking his return a misfortune; and when, on having courage to lift -her eyes to his face, she saw that he was grown thinner, and had the -burnt, fagged, worn look of fatigue and a hot climate, every tender -feeling was increased, and she was miserable in considering how much -unsuspected vexation was probably ready to burst on him. - -Sir Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who at his suggestion now -seated themselves round the fire. He had the best right to be the -talker; and the delight of his sensations in being again in his own -house, in the centre of his family, after such a separation, made him -communicative and chatty in a very unusual degree; and he was ready to -give every information as to his voyage, and answer every question of -his two sons almost before it was put. His business in Antigua had -latterly been prosperously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool, -having had an opportunity of making his passage thither in a private -vessel, instead of waiting for the packet; and all the little -particulars of his proceedings and events, his arrivals and departures, -were most promptly delivered, as he sat by Lady Bertram and looked with -heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him—interrupting himself -more than once, however, to remark on his good fortune in finding them -all at home—coming unexpectedly as he did—all collected together -exactly as he could have wished, but dared not depend on. Mr. Rushworth -was not forgotten: a most friendly reception and warmth of hand-shaking -had already met him, and with pointed attention he was now included in -the objects most intimately connected with Mansfield. There was nothing -disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth’s appearance, and Sir Thomas was liking -him already. - -By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unbroken, -unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely happy to -see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his sudden arrival as to -place her nearer agitation than she had been for the last twenty years. -She had been _almost_ fluttered for a few minutes, and still remained -so sensibly animated as to put away her work, move Pug from her side, -and give all her attention and all the rest of her sofa to her husband. -She had no anxieties for anybody to cloud _her_ pleasure: her own time -had been irreproachably spent during his absence: she had done a great -deal of carpet-work, and made many yards of fringe; and she would have -answered as freely for the good conduct and useful pursuits of all the -young people as for her own. It was so agreeable to her to see him -again, and hear him talk, to have her ear amused and her whole -comprehension filled by his narratives, that she began particularly to -feel how dreadfully she must have missed him, and how impossible it -would have been for her to bear a lengthened absence. - -Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness to her sister. -Not that _she_ was incommoded by many fears of Sir Thomas’s -disapprobation when the present state of his house should be known, for -her judgment had been so blinded that, except by the instinctive -caution with which she had whisked away Mr. Rushworth’s pink satin -cloak as her brother-in-law entered, she could hardly be said to shew -any sign of alarm; but she was vexed by the _manner_ of his return. It -had left her nothing to do. Instead of being sent for out of the room, -and seeing him first, and having to spread the happy news through the -house, Sir Thomas, with a very reasonable dependence, perhaps, on the -nerves of his wife and children, had sought no confidant but the -butler, and had been following him almost instantaneously into the -drawing-room. Mrs. Norris felt herself defrauded of an office on which -she had always depended, whether his arrival or his death were to be -the thing unfolded; and was now trying to be in a bustle without having -anything to bustle about, and labouring to be important where nothing -was wanted but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have -consented to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with -troublesome directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions of -despatch; but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would take -nothing, nothing till tea came—he would rather wait for tea. Still Mrs. -Norris was at intervals urging something different; and in the most -interesting moment of his passage to England, when the alarm of a -French privateer was at the height, she burst through his recital with -the proposal of soup. “Sure, my dear Sir Thomas, a basin of soup would -be a much better thing for you than tea. Do have a basin of soup.” - -Sir Thomas could not be provoked. “Still the same anxiety for -everybody’s comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris,” was his answer. “But indeed -I would rather have nothing but tea.” - -“Well, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you speak for tea directly; suppose -you hurry Baddeley a little; he seems behindhand to-night.” She carried -this point, and Sir Thomas’s narrative proceeded. - -At length there was a pause. His immediate communications were -exhausted, and it seemed enough to be looking joyfully around him, now -at one, now at another of the beloved circle; but the pause was not -long: in the elation of her spirits Lady Bertram became talkative, and -what were the sensations of her children upon hearing her say, “How do -you think the young people have been amusing themselves lately, Sir -Thomas? They have been acting. We have been all alive with acting.” - -“Indeed! and what have you been acting?” - -“Oh! they’ll tell you all about it.” - -“The _all_ will soon be told,” cried Tom hastily, and with affected -unconcern; “but it is not worth while to bore my father with it now. -You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying, by -way of doing something, and amusing my mother, just within the last -week, to get up a few scenes, a mere trifle. We have had such incessant -rains almost since October began, that we have been nearly confined to -the house for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the -3rd. Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no -attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield Wood, -and Edmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we brought home six brace -between us, and might each have killed six times as many, but we -respect your pheasants, sir, I assure you, as much as you could desire. -I do not think you will find your woods by any means worse stocked than -they were. _I_ never saw Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants in my life -as this year. I hope you will take a day’s sport there yourself, sir, -soon.” - -For the present the danger was over, and Fanny’s sick feelings -subsided; but when tea was soon afterwards brought in, and Sir Thomas, -getting up, said that he found that he could not be any longer in the -house without just looking into his own dear room, every agitation was -returning. He was gone before anything had been said to prepare him for -the change he must find there; and a pause of alarm followed his -disappearance. Edmund was the first to speak— - -“Something must be done,” said he. - -“It is time to think of our visitors,” said Maria, still feeling her -hand pressed to Henry Crawford’s heart, and caring little for anything -else. “Where did you leave Miss Crawford, Fanny?” - -Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message. - -“Then poor Yates is all alone,” cried Tom. “I will go and fetch him. He -will be no bad assistant when it all comes out.” - -To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness the -first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had been a good -deal surprised to find candles burning in his room; and on casting his -eye round it, to see other symptoms of recent habitation and a general -air of confusion in the furniture. The removal of the bookcase from -before the billiard-room door struck him especially, but he had -scarcely more than time to feel astonished at all this, before there -were sounds from the billiard-room to astonish him still farther. Some -one was talking there in a very loud accent; he did not know the -voice—more than talking—almost hallooing. He stepped to the door, -rejoicing at that moment in having the means of immediate -communication, and, opening it, found himself on the stage of a -theatre, and opposed to a ranting young man, who appeared likely to -knock him down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir -Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the -whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered at the other end of -the room; and never had he found greater difficulty in keeping his -countenance. His father’s looks of solemnity and amazement on this his -first appearance on any stage, and the gradual metamorphosis of the -impassioned Baron Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, -making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such an -exhibition, such a piece of true acting, as he would not have lost upon -any account. It would be the last—in all probability—the last scene on -that stage; but he was sure there could not be a finer. The house would -close with the greatest eclat. - -There was little time, however, for the indulgence of any images of -merriment. It was necessary for him to step forward, too, and assist -the introduction, and with many awkward sensations he did his best. Sir -Thomas received Mr. Yates with all the appearance of cordiality which -was due to his own character, but was really as far from pleased with -the necessity of the acquaintance as with the manner of its -commencement. Mr. Yates’s family and connexions were sufficiently known -to him to render his introduction as the “particular friend,” another -of the hundred particular friends of his son, exceedingly unwelcome; -and it needed all the felicity of being again at home, and all the -forbearance it could supply, to save Sir Thomas from anger on finding -himself thus bewildered in his own house, making part of a ridiculous -exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, and forced in so -untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance of a young man whom he felt -sure of disapproving, and whose easy indifference and volubility in the -course of the first five minutes seemed to mark him the most at home of -the two. - -Tom understood his father’s thoughts, and heartily wishing he might be -always as well disposed to give them but partial expression, began to -see, more clearly than he had ever done before, that there might be -some ground of offence, that there might be some reason for the glance -his father gave towards the ceiling and stucco of the room; and that -when he inquired with mild gravity after the fate of the -billiard-table, he was not proceeding beyond a very allowable -curiosity. A few minutes were enough for such unsatisfactory sensations -on each side; and Sir Thomas having exerted himself so far as to speak -a few words of calm approbation in reply to an eager appeal of Mr. -Yates, as to the happiness of the arrangement, the three gentlemen -returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an increase of -gravity which was not lost on all. - -“I come from your theatre,” said he composedly, as he sat down; “I -found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity to my own room—but -in every respect, indeed, it took me by surprise, as I had not the -smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a -character. It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judge by -candlelight, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit.” And then -he would have changed the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace over -domestic matters of a calmer hue; but Mr. Yates, without discernment to -catch Sir Thomas’s meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion -enough to allow him to lead the discourse while he mingled among the -others with the least obtrusiveness himself, would keep him on the -topic of the theatre, would torment him with questions and remarks -relative to it, and finally would make him hear the whole history of -his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, -but found much to offend his ideas of decorum, and confirm his -ill-opinion of Mr. Yates’s habits of thinking, from the beginning to -the end of the story; and when it was over, could give him no other -assurance of sympathy than what a slight bow conveyed. - -“This was, in fact, the origin of _our_ acting,” said Tom, after a -moment’s thought. “My friend Yates brought the infection from -Ecclesford, and it spread—as those things always spread, you know, -sir—the faster, probably, from _your_ having so often encouraged the -sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground again.” - -Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible, and -immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they had done and were -doing: told him of the gradual increase of their views, the happy -conclusion of their first difficulties, and present promising state of -affairs; relating everything with so blind an interest as made him not -only totally unconscious of the uneasy movements of many of his friends -as they sat, the change of countenance, the fidget, the hem! of -unquietness, but prevented him even from seeing the expression of the -face on which his own eyes were fixed—from seeing Sir Thomas’s dark -brow contract as he looked with inquiring earnestness at his daughters -and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter, and speaking a -language, a remonstrance, a reproof, which _he_ felt at his heart. Not -less acutely was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind -her aunt’s end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself, saw all -that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his -father she could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it -was in any degree deserved was an aggravation indeed. Sir Thomas’s look -implied, “On your judgment, Edmund, I depended; what have you been -about?” She knelt in spirit to her uncle, and her bosom swelled to -utter, “Oh, not to _him_! Look so to all the others, but not to _him_!” - -Mr. Yates was still talking. “To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we were in -the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived this evening. We were going -through the three first acts, and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. -Our company is now so dispersed, from the Crawfords being gone home, -that nothing more can be done to-night; but if you will give us the -honour of your company to-morrow evening, I should not be afraid of the -result. We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young -performers; we bespeak your indulgence.” - -“My indulgence shall be given, sir,” replied Sir Thomas gravely, “but -without any other rehearsal.” And with a relenting smile, he added, “I -come home to be happy and indulgent.” Then turning away towards any or -all of the rest, he tranquilly said, “Mr. and Miss Crawford were -mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable -acquaintance?” - -Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but he being entirely -without particular regard for either, without jealousy either in love -or acting, could speak very handsomely of both. “Mr. Crawford was a -most pleasant, gentleman-like man; his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, -lively girl.” - -Mr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. “I do not say he is not -gentleman-like, considering; but you should tell your father he is not -above five feet eight, or he will be expecting a well-looking man.” - -Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise -at the speaker. - -“If I must say what I think,” continued Mr. Rushworth, “in my opinion -it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing. It is having too much -of a good thing. I am not so fond of acting as I was at first. I think -we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably here among -ourselves, and doing nothing.” - -Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approving smile, “I -am happy to find our sentiments on this subject so much the same. It -gives me sincere satisfaction. That I should be cautious and -quick-sighted, and feel many scruples which my children do _not_ feel, -is perfectly natural; and equally so that my value for domestic -tranquillity, for a home which shuts out noisy pleasures, should much -exceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this, is a most -favourable circumstance for yourself, and for everybody connected with -you; and I am sensible of the importance of having an ally of such -weight.” - -Sir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth’s opinion in better words -than he could find himself. He was aware that he must not expect a -genius in Mr. Rushworth; but as a well-judging, steady young man, with -better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he intended to -value him very highly. It was impossible for many of the others not to -smile. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but -by looking, as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with Sir -Thomas’s good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did his best -towards preserving that good opinion a little longer. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Edmund’s first object the next morning was to see his father alone, and -give him a fair statement of the whole acting scheme, defending his own -share in it as far only as he could then, in a soberer moment, feel his -motives to deserve, and acknowledging, with perfect ingenuousness, that -his concession had been attended with such partial good as to make his -judgment in it very doubtful. He was anxious, while vindicating -himself, to say nothing unkind of the others: but there was only one -amongst them whose conduct he could mention without some necessity of -defence or palliation. “We have all been more or less to blame,” said -he, “every one of us, excepting Fanny. Fanny is the only one who has -judged rightly throughout; who has been consistent. _Her_ feelings have -been steadily against it from first to last. She never ceased to think -of what was due to you. You will find Fanny everything you could wish.” - -Sir Thomas saw all the impropriety of such a scheme among such a party, -and at such a time, as strongly as his son had ever supposed he must; -he felt it too much, indeed, for many words; and having shaken hands -with Edmund, meant to try to lose the disagreeable impression, and -forget how much he had been forgotten himself as soon as he could, -after the house had been cleared of every object enforcing the -remembrance, and restored to its proper state. He did not enter into -any remonstrance with his other children: he was more willing to -believe they felt their error than to run the risk of investigation. -The reproof of an immediate conclusion of everything, the sweep of -every preparation, would be sufficient. - -There was one person, however, in the house, whom he could not leave to -learn his sentiments merely through his conduct. He could not help -giving Mrs. Norris a hint of his having hoped that her advice might -have been interposed to prevent what her judgment must certainly have -disapproved. The young people had been very inconsiderate in forming -the plan; they ought to have been capable of a better decision -themselves; but they were young; and, excepting Edmund, he believed, of -unsteady characters; and with greater surprise, therefore, he must -regard her acquiescence in their wrong measures, her countenance of -their unsafe amusements, than that such measures and such amusements -should have been suggested. Mrs. Norris was a little confounded and as -nearly being silenced as ever she had been in her life; for she was -ashamed to confess having never seen any of the impropriety which was -so glaring to Sir Thomas, and would not have admitted that her -influence was insufficient—that she might have talked in vain. Her only -resource was to get out of the subject as fast as possible, and turn -the current of Sir Thomas’s ideas into a happier channel. She had a -great deal to insinuate in her own praise as to _general_ attention to -the interest and comfort of his family, much exertion and many -sacrifices to glance at in the form of hurried walks and sudden -removals from her own fireside, and many excellent hints of distrust -and economy to Lady Bertram and Edmund to detail, whereby a most -considerable saving had always arisen, and more than one bad servant -been detected. But her chief strength lay in Sotherton. Her greatest -support and glory was in having formed the connexion with the -Rushworths. _There_ she was impregnable. She took to herself all the -credit of bringing Mr. Rushworth’s admiration of Maria to any effect. -“If I had not been active,” said she, “and made a point of being -introduced to his mother, and then prevailed on my sister to pay the -first visit, I am as certain as I sit here that nothing would have come -of it; for Mr. Rushworth is the sort of amiable modest young man who -wants a great deal of encouragement, and there were girls enough on the -catch for him if we had been idle. But I left no stone unturned. I was -ready to move heaven and earth to persuade my sister, and at last I did -persuade her. You know the distance to Sotherton; it was in the middle -of winter, and the roads almost impassable, but I did persuade her.” - -“I know how great, how justly great, your influence is with Lady -Bertram and her children, and am the more concerned that it should not -have been—” - -“My dear Sir Thomas, if you had seen the state of the roads _that_ day! -I thought we should never have got through them, though we had the four -horses of course; and poor old coachman would attend us, out of his -great love and kindness, though he was hardly able to sit the box on -account of the rheumatism which I had been doctoring him for ever since -Michaelmas. I cured him at last; but he was very bad all the winter—and -this was such a day, I could not help going to him up in his room -before we set off to advise him not to venture: he was putting on his -wig; so I said, ‘Coachman, you had much better not go; your Lady and I -shall be very safe; you know how steady Stephen is, and Charles has -been upon the leaders so often now, that I am sure there is no fear.’ -But, however, I soon found it would not do; he was bent upon going, and -as I hate to be worrying and officious, I said no more; but my heart -quite ached for him at every jolt, and when we got into the rough lanes -about Stoke, where, what with frost and snow upon beds of stones, it -was worse than anything you can imagine, I was quite in an agony about -him. And then the poor horses too! To see them straining away! You know -how I always feel for the horses. And when we got to the bottom of -Sandcroft Hill, what do you think I did? You will laugh at me; but I -got out and walked up. I did indeed. It might not be saving them much, -but it was something, and I could not bear to sit at my ease and be -dragged up at the expense of those noble animals. I caught a dreadful -cold, but _that_ I did not regard. My object was accomplished in the -visit.” - -“I hope we shall always think the acquaintance worth any trouble that -might be taken to establish it. There is nothing very striking in Mr. -Rushworth’s manners, but I was pleased last night with what appeared to -be his opinion on one subject: his decided preference of a quiet family -party to the bustle and confusion of acting. He seemed to feel exactly -as one could wish.” - -“Yes, indeed, and the more you know of him the better you will like -him. He is not a shining character, but he has a thousand good -qualities; and is so disposed to look up to you, that I am quite -laughed at about it, for everybody considers it as my doing. ‘Upon my -word, Mrs. Norris,’ said Mrs. Grant the other day, ‘if Mr. Rushworth -were a son of your own, he could not hold Sir Thomas in greater -respect.’” - -Sir Thomas gave up the point, foiled by her evasions, disarmed by her -flattery; and was obliged to rest satisfied with the conviction that -where the present pleasure of those she loved was at stake, her -kindness did sometimes overpower her judgment. - -It was a busy morning with him. Conversation with any of them occupied -but a small part of it. He had to reinstate himself in all the wonted -concerns of his Mansfield life: to see his steward and his bailiff; to -examine and compute, and, in the intervals of business, to walk into -his stables and his gardens, and nearest plantations; but active and -methodical, he had not only done all this before he resumed his seat as -master of the house at dinner, he had also set the carpenter to work in -pulling down what had been so lately put up in the billiard-room, and -given the scene-painter his dismissal long enough to justify the -pleasing belief of his being then at least as far off as Northampton. -The scene-painter was gone, having spoilt only the floor of one room, -ruined all the coachman’s sponges, and made five of the under-servants -idle and dissatisfied; and Sir Thomas was in hopes that another day or -two would suffice to wipe away every outward memento of what had been, -even to the destruction of every unbound copy of Lovers’ Vows in the -house, for he was burning all that met his eye. - -Mr. Yates was beginning now to understand Sir Thomas’s intentions, -though as far as ever from understanding their source. He and his -friend had been out with their guns the chief of the morning, and Tom -had taken the opportunity of explaining, with proper apologies for his -father’s particularity, what was to be expected. Mr. Yates felt it as -acutely as might be supposed. To be a second time disappointed in the -same way was an instance of very severe ill-luck; and his indignation -was such, that had it not been for delicacy towards his friend, and his -friend’s youngest sister, he believed he should certainly attack the -baronet on the absurdity of his proceedings, and argue him into a -little more rationality. He believed this very stoutly while he was in -Mansfield Wood, and all the way home; but there was a something in Sir -Thomas, when they sat round the same table, which made Mr. Yates think -it wiser to let him pursue his own way, and feel the folly of it -without opposition. He had known many disagreeable fathers before, and -often been struck with the inconveniences they occasioned, but never, -in the whole course of his life, had he seen one of that class so -unintelligibly moral, so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas. He was -not a man to be endured but for his children’s sake, and he might be -thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yates did yet mean to stay -a few days longer under his roof. - -The evening passed with external smoothness, though almost every mind -was ruffled; and the music which Sir Thomas called for from his -daughters helped to conceal the want of real harmony. Maria was in a -good deal of agitation. It was of the utmost consequence to her that -Crawford should now lose no time in declaring himself, and she was -disturbed that even a day should be gone by without seeming to advance -that point. She had been expecting to see him the whole morning, and -all the evening, too, was still expecting him. Mr. Rushworth had set -off early with the great news for Sotherton; and she had fondly hoped -for such an immediate _eclaircissement_ as might save him the trouble -of ever coming back again. But they had seen no one from the Parsonage, -not a creature, and had heard no tidings beyond a friendly note of -congratulation and inquiry from Mrs. Grant to Lady Bertram. It was the -first day for many, many weeks, in which the families had been wholly -divided. Four-and-twenty hours had never passed before, since August -began, without bringing them together in some way or other. It was a -sad, anxious day; and the morrow, though differing in the sort of evil, -did by no means bring less. A few moments of feverish enjoyment were -followed by hours of acute suffering. Henry Crawford was again in the -house: he walked up with Dr. Grant, who was anxious to pay his respects -to Sir Thomas, and at rather an early hour they were ushered into the -breakfast-room, where were most of the family. Sir Thomas soon -appeared, and Maria saw with delight and agitation the introduction of -the man she loved to her father. Her sensations were indefinable, and -so were they a few minutes afterwards upon hearing Henry Crawford, who -had a chair between herself and Tom, ask the latter in an undervoice -whether there were any plans for resuming the play after the present -happy interruption (with a courteous glance at Sir Thomas), because, in -that case, he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at any time -required by the party: he was going away immediately, being to meet his -uncle at Bath without delay; but if there were any prospect of a -renewal of Lovers’ Vows, he should hold himself positively engaged, he -should break through every other claim, he should absolutely condition -with his uncle for attending them whenever he might be wanted. The play -should not be lost by _his_ absence. - -“From Bath, Norfolk, London, York, wherever I may be,” said he; “I will -attend you from any place in England, at an hour’s notice.” - -It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak, and not his sister. -He could immediately say with easy fluency, “I am sorry you are going; -but as to our play, _that_ is all over—entirely at an end” (looking -significantly at his father). “The painter was sent off yesterday, and -very little will remain of the theatre to-morrow. I knew how _that_ -would be from the first. It is early for Bath. You will find nobody -there.” - -“It is about my uncle’s usual time.” - -“When do you think of going?” - -“I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day.” - -“Whose stables do you use at Bath?” was the next question; and while -this branch of the subject was under discussion, Maria, who wanted -neither pride nor resolution, was preparing to encounter her share of -it with tolerable calmness. - -To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he had already said, with -only a softened air and stronger expressions of regret. But what -availed his expressions or his air? He was going, and, if not -voluntarily going, voluntarily intending to stay away; for, excepting -what might be due to his uncle, his engagements were all self-imposed. -He might talk of necessity, but she knew his independence. The hand -which had so pressed hers to his heart! the hand and the heart were -alike motionless and passive now! Her spirit supported her, but the -agony of her mind was severe. She had not long to endure what arose -from listening to language which his actions contradicted, or to bury -the tumult of her feelings under the restraint of society; for general -civilities soon called his notice from her, and the farewell visit, as -it then became openly acknowledged, was a very short one. He was -gone—he had touched her hand for the last time, he had made his parting -bow, and she might seek directly all that solitude could do for her. -Henry Crawford was gone, gone from the house, and within two hours -afterwards from the parish; and so ended all the hopes his selfish -vanity had raised in Maria and Julia Bertram. - -Julia could rejoice that he was gone. His presence was beginning to be -odious to her; and if Maria gained him not, she was now cool enough to -dispense with any other revenge. She did not want exposure to be added -to desertion. Henry Crawford gone, she could even pity her sister. - -With a purer spirit did Fanny rejoice in the intelligence. She heard it -at dinner, and felt it a blessing. By all the others it was mentioned -with regret; and his merits honoured with due gradation of feeling—from -the sincerity of Edmund’s too partial regard, to the unconcern of his -mother speaking entirely by rote. Mrs. Norris began to look about her, -and wonder that his falling in love with Julia had come to nothing; and -could almost fear that she had been remiss herself in forwarding it; -but with so many to care for, how was it possible for even _her_ -activity to keep pace with her wishes? - -Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise. In _his_ departure -Sir Thomas felt the chief interest: wanting to be alone with his -family, the presence of a stranger superior to Mr. Yates must have been -irksome; but of him, trifling and confident, idle and expensive, it was -every way vexatious. In himself he was wearisome, but as the friend of -Tom and the admirer of Julia he became offensive. Sir Thomas had been -quite indifferent to Mr. Crawford’s going or staying: but his good -wishes for Mr. Yates’s having a pleasant journey, as he walked with him -to the hall-door, were given with genuine satisfaction. Mr. Yates had -staid to see the destruction of every theatrical preparation at -Mansfield, the removal of everything appertaining to the play: he left -the house in all the soberness of its general character; and Sir Thomas -hoped, in seeing him out of it, to be rid of the worst object connected -with the scheme, and the last that must be inevitably reminding him of -its existence. - -Mrs. Norris contrived to remove one article from his sight that might -have distressed him. The curtain, over which she had presided with such -talent and such success, went off with her to her cottage, where she -happened to be particularly in want of green baize. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Sir Thomas’s return made a striking change in the ways of the family, -independent of Lovers’ Vows. Under his government, Mansfield was an -altered place. Some members of their society sent away, and the spirits -of many others saddened—it was all sameness and gloom compared with the -past—a sombre family party rarely enlivened. There was little -intercourse with the Parsonage. Sir Thomas, drawing back from -intimacies in general, was particularly disinclined, at this time, for -any engagements but in one quarter. The Rushworths were the only -addition to his own domestic circle which he could solicit. - -Edmund did not wonder that such should be his father’s feelings, nor -could he regret anything but the exclusion of the Grants. “But they,” -he observed to Fanny, “have a claim. They seem to belong to us; they -seem to be part of ourselves. I could wish my father were more sensible -of their very great attention to my mother and sisters while he was -away. I am afraid they may feel themselves neglected. But the truth is, -that my father hardly knows them. They had not been here a twelvemonth -when he left England. If he knew them better, he would value their -society as it deserves; for they are in fact exactly the sort of people -he would like. We are sometimes a little in want of animation among -ourselves: my sisters seem out of spirits, and Tom is certainly not at -his ease. Dr. and Mrs. Grant would enliven us, and make our evenings -pass away with more enjoyment even to my father.” - -“Do you think so?” said Fanny: “in my opinion, my uncle would not like -_any_ addition. I think he values the very quietness you speak of, and -that the repose of his own family circle is all he wants. And it does -not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be—I mean -before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can recollect, it was always -much the same. There was never much laughing in his presence; or, if -there is any difference, it is not more, I think, than such an absence -has a tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of shyness; -but I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry, -except when my uncle was in town. No young people’s are, I suppose, -when those they look up to are at home”. - -“I believe you are right, Fanny,” was his reply, after a short -consideration. “I believe our evenings are rather returned to what they -were, than assuming a new character. The novelty was in their being -lively. Yet, how strong the impression that only a few weeks will give! -I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before.” - -“I suppose I am graver than other people,” said Fanny. “The evenings do -not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. -I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains _me_ more -than many other things have done; but then I am unlike other people, I -dare say.” - -“Why should you dare say _that_?” (smiling). “Do you want to be told -that you are only unlike other people in being more wise and discreet? -But when did you, or anybody, ever get a compliment from me, Fanny? Go -to my father if you want to be complimented. He will satisfy you. Ask -your uncle what he thinks, and you will hear compliments enough: and -though they may be chiefly on your person, you must put up with it, and -trust to his seeing as much beauty of mind in time.” - -Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite embarrassed her. - -“Your uncle thinks you very pretty, dear Fanny—and that is the long and -the short of the matter. Anybody but myself would have made something -more of it, and anybody but you would resent that you had not been -thought very pretty before; but the truth is, that your uncle never did -admire you till now—and now he does. Your complexion is so -improved!—and you have gained so much countenance!—and your figure—nay, -Fanny, do not turn away about it—it is but an uncle. If you cannot bear -an uncle’s admiration, what is to become of you? You must really begin -to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking at. You must try -not to mind growing up into a pretty woman.” - -“Oh! don’t talk so, don’t talk so,” cried Fanny, distressed by more -feelings than he was aware of; but seeing that she was distressed, he -had done with the subject, and only added more seriously— - -“Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every respect; and I -only wish you would talk to him more. You are one of those who are too -silent in the evening circle.” - -“But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you -hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?” - -“I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It -would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of farther.” - -“And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my -cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all -interested in the subject, I did not like—I thought it would appear as -if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity -and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to -feel.” - -“Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the other day: -that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women -were of neglect. We were talking of you at the Parsonage, and those -were her words. She has great discernment. I know nobody who -distinguishes characters better. For so young a woman it is remarkable! -She certainly understands _you_ better than you are understood by the -greater part of those who have known you so long; and with regard to -some others, I can perceive, from occasional lively hints, the -unguarded expressions of the moment, that she could define _many_ as -accurately, did not delicacy forbid it. I wonder what she thinks of my -father! She must admire him as a fine-looking man, with most -gentlemanlike, dignified, consistent manners; but perhaps, having seen -him so seldom, his reserve may be a little repulsive. Could they be -much together, I feel sure of their liking each other. He would enjoy -her liveliness and she has talents to value his powers. I wish they met -more frequently! I hope she does not suppose there is any dislike on -his side.” - -“She must know herself too secure of the regard of all the rest of -you,” said Fanny, with half a sigh, “to have any such apprehension. And -Sir Thomas’s wishing just at first to be only with his family, is so -very natural, that she can argue nothing from that. After a little -while, I dare say, we shall be meeting again in the same sort of way, -allowing for the difference of the time of year.” - -“This is the first October that she has passed in the country since her -infancy. I do not call Tunbridge or Cheltenham the country; and -November is a still more serious month, and I can see that Mrs. Grant -is very anxious for her not finding Mansfield dull as winter comes on.” - -Fanny could have said a great deal, but it was safer to say nothing, -and leave untouched all Miss Crawford’s resources—her accomplishments, -her spirits, her importance, her friends, lest it should betray her -into any observations seemingly unhandsome. Miss Crawford’s kind -opinion of herself deserved at least a grateful forbearance, and she -began to talk of something else. - -“To-morrow, I think, my uncle dines at Sotherton, and you and Mr. -Bertram too. We shall be quite a small party at home. I hope my uncle -may continue to like Mr. Rushworth.” - -“That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him less after to-morrow’s -visit, for we shall be five hours in his company. I should dread the -stupidity of the day, if there were not a much greater evil to -follow—the impression it must leave on Sir Thomas. He cannot much -longer deceive himself. I am sorry for them all, and would give -something that Rushworth and Maria had never met.” - -In this quarter, indeed, disappointment was impending over Sir Thomas. -Not all his good-will for Mr. Rushworth, not all Mr. Rushworth’s -deference for him, could prevent him from soon discerning some part of -the truth—that Mr. Rushworth was an inferior young man, as ignorant in -business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed, and without -seeming much aware of it himself. - -He had expected a very different son-in-law; and beginning to feel -grave on Maria’s account, tried to understand _her_ feelings. Little -observation there was necessary to tell him that indifference was the -most favourable state they could be in. Her behaviour to Mr. Rushworth -was careless and cold. She could not, did not like him. Sir Thomas -resolved to speak seriously to her. Advantageous as would be the -alliance, and long standing and public as was the engagement, her -happiness must not be sacrificed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, -been accepted on too short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better, -she was repenting. - -With solemn kindness Sir Thomas addressed her: told her his fears, -inquired into her wishes, entreated her to be open and sincere, and -assured her that every inconvenience should be braved, and the -connexion entirely given up, if she felt herself unhappy in the -prospect of it. He would act for her and release her. Maria had a -moment’s struggle as she listened, and only a moment’s: when her father -ceased, she was able to give her answer immediately, decidedly, and -with no apparent agitation. She thanked him for his great attention, -his paternal kindness, but he was quite mistaken in supposing she had -the smallest desire of breaking through her engagement, or was sensible -of any change of opinion or inclination since her forming it. She had -the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth’s character and disposition, and -could not have a doubt of her happiness with him. - -Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to urge -the matter quite so far as his judgment might have dictated to others. -It was an alliance which he could not have relinquished without pain; -and thus he reasoned. Mr. Rushworth was young enough to improve. Mr. -Rushworth must and would improve in good society; and if Maria could -now speak so securely of her happiness with him, speaking certainly -without the prejudice, the blindness of love, she ought to be believed. -Her feelings, probably, were not acute; he had never supposed them to -be so; but her comforts might not be less on that account; and if she -could dispense with seeing her husband a leading, shining character, -there would certainly be everything else in her favour. A well-disposed -young woman, who did not marry for love, was in general but the more -attached to her own family; and the nearness of Sotherton to Mansfield -must naturally hold out the greatest temptation, and would, in all -probability, be a continual supply of the most amiable and innocent -enjoyments. Such and such-like were the reasonings of Sir Thomas, happy -to escape the embarrassing evils of a rupture, the wonder, the -reflections, the reproach that must attend it; happy to secure a -marriage which would bring him such an addition of respectability and -influence, and very happy to think anything of his daughter’s -disposition that was most favourable for the purpose. - -To her the conference closed as satisfactorily as to him. She was in a -state of mind to be glad that she had secured her fate beyond recall: -that she had pledged herself anew to Sotherton; that she was safe from -the possibility of giving Crawford the triumph of governing her -actions, and destroying her prospects; and retired in proud resolve, -determined only to behave more cautiously to Mr. Rushworth in future, -that her father might not be again suspecting her. - -Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within the first three or four -days after Henry Crawford’s leaving Mansfield, before her feelings were -at all tranquillised, before she had given up every hope of him, or -absolutely resolved on enduring his rival, her answer might have been -different; but after another three or four days, when there was no -return, no letter, no message, no symptom of a softened heart, no hope -of advantage from separation, her mind became cool enough to seek all -the comfort that pride and self revenge could give. - -Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should not know that -he had done it; he should not destroy her credit, her appearance, her -prosperity, too. He should not have to think of her as pining in the -retirement of Mansfield for _him_, rejecting Sotherton and London, -independence and splendour, for _his_ sake. Independence was more -needful than ever; the want of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She -was less and less able to endure the restraint which her father -imposed. The liberty which his absence had given was now become -absolutely necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as -possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle and -the world, for a wounded spirit. Her mind was quite determined, and -varied not. - -To such feelings delay, even the delay of much preparation, would have -been an evil, and Mr. Rushworth could hardly be more impatient for the -marriage than herself. In all the important preparations of the mind -she was complete: being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, -restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed affection, -and contempt of the man she was to marry. The rest might wait. The -preparations of new carriages and furniture might wait for London and -spring, when her own taste could have fairer play. - -The principals being all agreed in this respect, it soon appeared that -a very few weeks would be sufficient for such arrangements as must -precede the wedding. - -Mrs. Rushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way for the -fortunate young woman whom her dear son had selected; and very early in -November removed herself, her maid, her footman, and her chariot, with -true dowager propriety, to Bath, there to parade over the wonders of -Sotherton in her evening parties; enjoying them as thoroughly, perhaps, -in the animation of a card-table, as she had ever done on the spot; and -before the middle of the same month the ceremony had taken place which -gave Sotherton another mistress. - -It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly dressed; the two -bridesmaids were duly inferior; her father gave her away; her mother -stood with salts in her hand, expecting to be agitated; her aunt tried -to cry; and the service was impressively read by Dr. Grant. Nothing -could be objected to when it came under the discussion of the -neighbourhood, except that the carriage which conveyed the bride and -bridegroom and Julia from the church-door to Sotherton was the same -chaise which Mr. Rushworth had used for a twelvemonth before. In -everything else the etiquette of the day might stand the strictest -investigation. - -It was done, and they were gone. Sir Thomas felt as an anxious father -must feel, and was indeed experiencing much of the agitation which his -wife had been apprehensive of for herself, but had fortunately escaped. -Mrs. Norris, most happy to assist in the duties of the day, by spending -it at the Park to support her sister’s spirits, and drinking the health -of Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth in a supernumerary glass or two, was all -joyous delight; for she had made the match; she had done everything; -and no one would have supposed, from her confident triumph, that she -had ever heard of conjugal infelicity in her life, or could have the -smallest insight into the disposition of the niece who had been brought -up under her eye. - -The plan of the young couple was to proceed, after a few days, to -Brighton, and take a house there for some weeks. Every public place was -new to Maria, and Brighton is almost as gay in winter as in summer. -When the novelty of amusement there was over, it would be time for the -wider range of London. - -Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalry between the -sisters had ceased, they had been gradually recovering much of their -former good understanding; and were at least sufficiently friends to -make each of them exceedingly glad to be with the other at such a time. -Some other companion than Mr. Rushworth was of the first consequence to -his lady; and Julia was quite as eager for novelty and pleasure as -Maria, though she might not have struggled through so much to obtain -them, and could better bear a subordinate situation. - -Their departure made another material change at Mansfield, a chasm -which required some time to fill up. The family circle became greatly -contracted; and though the Miss Bertrams had latterly added little to -its gaiety, they could not but be missed. Even their mother missed -them; and how much more their tenderhearted cousin, who wandered about -the house, and thought of them, and felt for them, with a degree of -affectionate regret which they had never done much to deserve! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Fanny’s consequence increased on the departure of her cousins. -Becoming, as she then did, the only young woman in the drawing-room, -the only occupier of that interesting division of a family in which she -had hitherto held so humble a third, it was impossible for her not to -be more looked at, more thought of and attended to, than she had ever -been before; and “Where is Fanny?” became no uncommon question, even -without her being wanted for any one’s convenience. - -Not only at home did her value increase, but at the Parsonage too. In -that house, which she had hardly entered twice a year since Mr. -Norris’s death, she became a welcome, an invited guest, and in the -gloom and dirt of a November day, most acceptable to Mary Crawford. Her -visits there, beginning by chance, were continued by solicitation. Mrs. -Grant, really eager to get any change for her sister, could, by the -easiest self-deceit, persuade herself that she was doing the kindest -thing by Fanny, and giving her the most important opportunities of -improvement in pressing her frequent calls. - -Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand by her aunt -Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close to the Parsonage; and -being descried from one of the windows endeavouring to find shelter -under the branches and lingering leaves of an oak just beyond their -premises, was forced, though not without some modest reluctance on her -part, to come in. A civil servant she had withstood; but when Dr. Grant -himself went out with an umbrella, there was nothing to be done but to -be very much ashamed, and to get into the house as fast as possible; -and to poor Miss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the dismal -rain in a very desponding state of mind, sighing over the ruin of all -her plan of exercise for that morning, and of every chance of seeing a -single creature beyond themselves for the next twenty-four hours, the -sound of a little bustle at the front door, and the sight of Miss Price -dripping with wet in the vestibule, was delightful. The value of an -event on a wet day in the country was most forcibly brought before her. -She was all alive again directly, and among the most active in being -useful to Fanny, in detecting her to be wetter than she would at first -allow, and providing her with dry clothes; and Fanny, after being -obliged to submit to all this attention, and to being assisted and -waited on by mistresses and maids, being also obliged, on returning -downstairs, to be fixed in their drawing-room for an hour while the -rain continued, the blessing of something fresh to see and think of was -thus extended to Miss Crawford, and might carry on her spirits to the -period of dressing and dinner. - -The two sisters were so kind to her, and so pleasant, that Fanny might -have enjoyed her visit could she have believed herself not in the way, -and could she have foreseen that the weather would certainly clear at -the end of the hour, and save her from the shame of having Dr. Grant’s -carriage and horses out to take her home, with which she was -threatened. As to anxiety for any alarm that her absence in such -weather might occasion at home, she had nothing to suffer on that -score; for as her being out was known only to her two aunts, she was -perfectly aware that none would be felt, and that in whatever cottage -aunt Norris might chuse to establish her during the rain, her being in -such cottage would be indubitable to aunt Bertram. - -It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing a harp in the -room, asked some questions about it, which soon led to an -acknowledgment of her wishing very much to hear it, and a confession, -which could hardly be believed, of her having never yet heard it since -its being in Mansfield. To Fanny herself it appeared a very simple and -natural circumstance. She had scarcely ever been at the Parsonage since -the instrument’s arrival, there had been no reason that she should; but -Miss Crawford, calling to mind an early expressed wish on the subject, -was concerned at her own neglect; and “Shall I play to you now?” and -“What will you have?” were questions immediately following with the -readiest good-humour. - -She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener, and a listener -who seemed so much obliged, so full of wonder at the performance, and -who shewed herself not wanting in taste. She played till Fanny’s eyes, -straying to the window on the weather’s being evidently fair, spoke -what she felt must be done. - -“Another quarter of an hour,” said Miss Crawford, “and we shall see how -it will be. Do not run away the first moment of its holding up. Those -clouds look alarming.” - -“But they are passed over,” said Fanny. “I have been watching them. -This weather is all from the south.” - -“South or north, I know a black cloud when I see it; and you must not -set forward while it is so threatening. And besides, I want to play -something more to you—a very pretty piece—and your cousin Edmund’s -prime favourite. You must stay and hear your cousin’s favourite.” - -Fanny felt that she must; and though she had not waited for that -sentence to be thinking of Edmund, such a memento made her particularly -awake to his idea, and she fancied him sitting in that room again and -again, perhaps in the very spot where she sat now, listening with -constant delight to the favourite air, played, as it appeared to her, -with superior tone and expression; and though pleased with it herself, -and glad to like whatever was liked by him, she was more sincerely -impatient to go away at the conclusion of it than she had been before; -and on this being evident, she was so kindly asked to call again, to -take them in her walk whenever she could, to come and hear more of the -harp, that she felt it necessary to be done, if no objection arose at -home. - -Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which took place between -them within the first fortnight after the Miss Bertrams’ going away—an -intimacy resulting principally from Miss Crawford’s desire of something -new, and which had little reality in Fanny’s feelings. Fanny went to -her every two or three days: it seemed a kind of fascination: she could -not be easy without going, and yet it was without loving her, without -ever thinking like her, without any sense of obligation for being -sought after now when nobody else was to be had; and deriving no higher -pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and _that_ -often at the expense of her judgment, when it was raised by pleasantry -on people or subjects which she wished to be respected. She went, -however, and they sauntered about together many an half-hour in Mrs. -Grant’s shrubbery, the weather being unusually mild for the time of -year, and venturing sometimes even to sit down on one of the benches -now comparatively unsheltered, remaining there perhaps till, in the -midst of some tender ejaculation of Fanny’s on the sweets of so -protracted an autumn, they were forced, by the sudden swell of a cold -gust shaking down the last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up and -walk for warmth. - -“This is pretty, very pretty,” said Fanny, looking around her as they -were thus sitting together one day; “every time I come into this -shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty. Three years ago, -this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the -field, never thought of as anything, or capable of becoming anything; -and now it is converted into a walk, and it would be difficult to say -whether most valuable as a convenience or an ornament; and perhaps, in -another three years, we may be forgetting—almost forgetting what it was -before. How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and -the changes of the human mind!” And following the latter train of -thought, she soon afterwards added: “If any one faculty of our nature -may be called _more_ wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. -There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, -the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our -intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so -obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so -tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; -but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly -past finding out.” - -Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say; and -Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what she thought -must interest. - -“It may seem impertinent in _me_ to praise, but I must admire the taste -Mrs. Grant has shewn in all this. There is such a quiet simplicity in -the plan of the walk! Not too much attempted!” - -“Yes,” replied Miss Crawford carelessly, “it does very well for a place -of this sort. One does not think of extent _here_; and between -ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined a country -parson ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the kind.” - -“I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive!” said Fanny, in reply. “My -uncle’s gardener always says the soil here is better than his own, and -so it appears from the growth of the laurels and evergreens in general. -The evergreen! How beautiful, how welcome, how wonderful the evergreen! -When one thinks of it, how astonishing a variety of nature! In some -countries we know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that -does not make it less amazing that the same soil and the same sun -should nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their -existence. You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors, -especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt to get into -this sort of wondering strain. One cannot fix one’s eyes on the -commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling -fancy.” - -“To say the truth,” replied Miss Crawford, “I am something like the -famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV.; and may declare that I see no -wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it. If anybody had -told me a year ago that this place would be my home, that I should be -spending month after month here, as I have done, I certainly should not -have believed them. I have now been here nearly five months; and, -moreover, the quietest five months I ever passed.” - -“_Too_ quiet for you, I believe.” - -“I should have thought so _theoretically_ myself, but,” and her eyes -brightened as she spoke, “take it all and all, I never spent so happy a -summer. But then,” with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice, “there -is no saying what it may lead to.” - -Fanny’s heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal to surmising or -soliciting anything more. Miss Crawford, however, with renewed -animation, soon went on— - -“I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country residence -than I had ever expected to be. I can even suppose it pleasant to spend -_half_ the year in the country, under certain circumstances, very -pleasant. An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family -connexions; continual engagements among them; commanding the first -society in the neighbourhood; looked up to, perhaps, as leading it even -more than those of larger fortune, and turning from the cheerful round -of such amusements to nothing worse than a _tête-à-tête_ with the -person one feels most agreeable in the world. There is nothing -frightful in such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need not envy -the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as _that_.” - -“Envy Mrs. Rushworth!” was all that Fanny attempted to say. “Come, -come, it would be very un-handsome in us to be severe on Mrs. -Rushworth, for I look forward to our owing her a great many gay, -brilliant, happy hours. I expect we shall be all very much at Sotherton -another year. Such a match as Miss Bertram has made is a public -blessing; for the first pleasures of Mr. Rushworth’s wife must be to -fill her house, and give the best balls in the country.” - -Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thoughtfulness, till -suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she exclaimed, “Ah! -here he is.” It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who then -appeared walking towards them with Mrs. Grant. “My sister and Mr. -Bertram. I am so glad your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr. -Bertram again. There is something in the sound of Mr. _Edmund_ Bertram -so formal, so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it.” - -“How differently we feel!” cried Fanny. “To me, the sound of _Mr._ -Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so entirely without warmth or -character! It just stands for a gentleman, and that’s all. But there is -nobleness in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown; of -kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of -chivalry and warm affections.” - -“I grant you the name is good in itself, and _Lord_ Edmund or _Sir_ -Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it under the chill, the -annihilation of a Mr., and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. John or Mr. -Thomas. Well, shall we join and disappoint them of half their lecture -upon sitting down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before -they can begin?” - -Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was the first time of his -seeing them together since the beginning of that better acquaintance -which he had been hearing of with great satisfaction. A friendship -between two so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished: -and to the credit of the lover’s understanding, be it stated, that he -did not by any means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater -gainer by such a friendship. - -“Well,” said Miss Crawford, “and do you not scold us for our -imprudence? What do you think we have been sitting down for but to be -talked to about it, and entreated and supplicated never to do so -again?” - -“Perhaps I might have scolded,” said Edmund, “if either of you had been -sitting down alone; but while you do wrong together, I can overlook a -great deal.” - -“They cannot have been sitting long,” cried Mrs. Grant, “for when I -went up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase window, and then -they were walking.” - -“And really,” added Edmund, “the day is so mild, that your sitting down -for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent. Our weather must not -always be judged by the calendar. We may sometimes take greater -liberties in November than in May.” - -“Upon my word,” cried Miss Crawford, “you are two of the most -disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with! There is no -giving you a moment’s uneasiness. You do not know how much we have been -suffering, nor what chills we have felt! But I have long thought Mr. -Bertram one of the worst subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvre -against common sense, that a woman could be plagued with. I had very -little hope of _him_ from the first; but you, Mrs. Grant, my sister, my -own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little.” - -“Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have not the smallest -chance of moving me. I have my alarms, but they are quite in a -different quarter; and if I could have altered the weather, you would -have had a good sharp east wind blowing on you the whole time—for here -are some of my plants which Robert _will_ leave out because the nights -are so mild, and I know the end of it will be, that we shall have a -sudden change of weather, a hard frost setting in all at once, taking -everybody (at least Robert) by surprise, and I shall lose every one; -and what is worse, cook has just been telling me that the turkey, which -I particularly wished not to be dressed till Sunday, because I know how -much more Dr. Grant would enjoy it on Sunday after the fatigues of the -day, will not keep beyond to-morrow. These are something like -grievances, and make me think the weather most unseasonably close.” - -“The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!” said Miss Crawford -archly. “Commend me to the nurseryman and the poulterer.” - -“My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deanery of Westminster or St. -Paul’s, and I should be as glad of your nurseryman and poulterer as you -could be. But we have no such people in Mansfield. What would you have -me do?” - -“Oh! you can do nothing but what you do already: be plagued very often, -and never lose your temper.” - -“Thank you; but there is no escaping these little vexations, Mary, live -where we may; and when you are settled in town and I come to see you, I -dare say I shall find you with yours, in spite of the nurseryman and -the poulterer, perhaps on their very account. Their remoteness and -unpunctuality, or their exorbitant charges and frauds, will be drawing -forth bitter lamentations.” - -“I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anything of the sort. A -large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. It -certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part of it.” - -“You intend to be very rich?” said Edmund, with a look which, to -Fanny’s eye, had a great deal of serious meaning. - -“To be sure. Do not you? Do not we all?” - -“I cannot intend anything which it must be so completely beyond my -power to command. Miss Crawford may chuse her degree of wealth. She has -only to fix on her number of thousands a year, and there can be no -doubt of their coming. My intentions are only not to be poor.” - -“By moderation and economy, and bringing down your wants to your -income, and all that. I understand you—and a very proper plan it is for -a person at your time of life, with such limited means and indifferent -connexions. What can _you_ want but a decent maintenance? You have not -much time before you; and your relations are in no situation to do -anything for you, or to mortify you by the contrast of their own wealth -and consequence. Be honest and poor, by all means—but I shall not envy -you; I do not much think I shall even respect you. I have a much -greater respect for those that are honest and rich.” - -“Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is precisely what I -have no manner of concern with. I do not mean to be poor. Poverty is -exactly what I have determined against. Honesty, in the something -between, in the middle state of worldly circumstances, is all that I am -anxious for your not looking down on.” - -“But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher. I must look -down upon anything contented with obscurity when it might rise to -distinction.” - -“But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least rise to any -distinction?” - -This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned an “Oh!” -of some length from the fair lady before she could add, “You ought to -be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army ten years ago.” - -“_That_ is not much to the purpose now; and as to my being in -parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial assembly -for the representation of younger sons who have little to live on. No, -Miss Crawford,” he added, in a more serious tone, “there _are_ -distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought myself without -any chance—absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining—but -they are of a different character.” - -A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemed a consciousness of -manner on Miss Crawford’s side as she made some laughing answer, was -sorrowfull food for Fanny’s observation; and finding herself quite -unable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whose side she was now -following the others, she had nearly resolved on going home -immediately, and only waited for courage to say so, when the sound of -the great clock at Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that -she had really been much longer absent than usual, and brought the -previous self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or not just -then, and how, to a very speedy issue. With undoubting decision she -directly began her adieus; and Edmund began at the same time to -recollect that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had -walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back. - -Fanny’s hurry increased; and without in the least expecting Edmund’s -attendance, she would have hastened away alone; but the general pace -was quickened, and they all accompanied her into the house, through -which it was necessary to pass. Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as -they stopt to speak to him she found, from Edmund’s manner, that he -_did_ mean to go with her. He too was taking leave. She could not but -be thankful. In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant -to eat his mutton with him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for -an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, with sudden -recollection, turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company -too. This was so new an attention, so perfectly new a circumstance in -the events of Fanny’s life, that she was all surprise and -embarrassment; and while stammering out her great obligation, and her -“but she did not suppose it would be in her power,” was looking at -Edmund for his opinion and help. But Edmund, delighted with her having -such an happiness offered, and ascertaining with half a look, and half -a sentence, that she had no objection but on her aunt’s account, could -not imagine that his mother would make any difficulty of sparing her, -and therefore gave his decided open advice that the invitation should -be accepted; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his -encouragement, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was soon -settled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. Grant might -expect her. - -“And you know what your dinner will be,” said Mrs. Grant, smiling—“the -turkey, and I assure you a very fine one; for, my dear,” turning to her -husband, “cook insists upon the turkey’s being dressed to-morrow.” - -“Very well, very well,” cried Dr. Grant, “all the better; I am glad to -hear you have anything so good in the house. But Miss Price and Mr. -Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take their chance. We none of us want -to hear the bill of fare. A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is -all we have in view. A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or -whatever you and your cook chuse to give us.” - -The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the immediate -discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with the warmest -satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy -which he saw with so much pleasure established, it was a silent walk; -for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for -any other. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -“But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?” said Lady Bertram. “How came she -to think of asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you know, in this -sort of way. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. -Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?” - -“If you put such a question to her,” cried Edmund, preventing his -cousin’s speaking, “Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my -dear mother, she would like to go; and I can see no reason why she -should not.” - -“I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her? She never -did before. She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never -asked Fanny.” - -“If you cannot do without me, ma’am—” said Fanny, in a self-denying -tone. - -“But my mother will have my father with her all the evening.” - -“To be sure, so I shall.” - -“Suppose you take my father’s opinion, ma’am.” - -“That’s well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as -soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her.” - -“As you please, ma’am, on that head; but I meant my father’s opinion as -to the _propriety_ of the invitation’s being accepted or not; and I -think he will consider it a right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by -Fanny, that being the _first_ invitation it should be accepted.” - -“I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised -that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all.” - -There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any -purpose, till Sir Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it -did, her own evening’s comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in -Lady Bertram’s mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in -for a minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, she -called him back again, when he had almost closed the door, with “Sir -Thomas, stop a moment—I have something to say to you.” - -Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her -voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her -story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear -herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her -nerves could bear. She was anxious, she knew—more anxious perhaps than -she ought to be—for what was it after all whether she went or staid? -but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and -with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at -last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly -submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. It -began, on Lady Bertram’s part, with—“I have something to tell you that -will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner.” - -“Well,” said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise. - -“Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?” - -“She will be late,” said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; “but what is -your difficulty?” - -Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks in his -mother’s story. He told the whole; and she had only to add, “So -strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her.” - -“But is it not very natural,” observed Edmund, “that Mrs. Grant should -wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?” - -“Nothing can be more natural,” said Sir Thomas, after a short -deliberation; “nor, were there no sister in the case, could anything, -in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant’s shewing civility to Miss -Price, to Lady Bertram’s niece, could never want explanation. The only -surprise I can feel is, that this should be the _first_ time of its -being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only a conditional -answer. She appears to feel as she ought. But as I conclude that she -must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see -no reason why she should be denied the indulgence.” - -“But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?” - -“Indeed I think you may.” - -“She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.” - -“Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, -and I shall certainly be at home.” - -“Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund.” - -The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way -to his own. - -“Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the smallest -hesitation on your uncle’s side. He had but one opinion. You are to -go.” - -“Thank you, I am _so_ glad,” was Fanny’s instinctive reply; though when -she had turned from him and shut the door, she could not help feeling, -“And yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of seeing or -hearing something there to pain me?” - -In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as such an -engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in -hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined -out before; and though now going only half a mile, and only to three -people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of -preparation were enjoyments in themselves. She had neither sympathy nor -assistance from those who ought to have entered into her feelings and -directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to -anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence -of an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill -humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece’s pleasure, both -present and future, as much as possible. - -“Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with such attention -and indulgence! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for -thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to -look upon it as something extraordinary; for I hope you are aware that -there is no real occasion for your going into company in this sort of -way, or ever dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon -ever being repeated. Nor must you be fancying that the invitation is -meant as any particular compliment to _you_; the compliment is intended -to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to -_us_ to take a little notice of you, or else it would never have come -into her head, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia -had been at home, you would not have been asked at all.” - -Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant’s part of -the favour, that Fanny, who found herself expected to speak, could only -say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, -and that she was endeavouring to put her aunt’s evening work in such a -state as to prevent her being missed. - -“Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you -would not be allowed to go. _I_ shall be here, so you may be quite easy -about your aunt. And I hope you will have a very _agreeable_ day, and -find it all mighty _delightful_. But I must observe that five is the -very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I -cannot but be surprised that such an _elegant_ lady as Mrs. Grant -should not contrive better! And round their enormous great wide table, -too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been -contented to take my dining-table when I came away, as anybody in their -senses would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his -own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here, how -infinitely better it would have been! and how much more he would have -been respected! for people are never respected when they step out of -their proper sphere. Remember that, Fanny. Five—only five to be sitting -round that table. However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I -dare say.” - -Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again. - -“The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and -trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give -_you_ a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of -us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself -forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your -cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. _That_ will never -do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and -last; and though Miss Crawford is in a manner at home at the Parsonage, -you are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at night, -you are to stay just as long as Edmund chuses. Leave him to settle -_that_.” - -“Yes, ma’am, I should not think of anything else.” - -“And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never -saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life, you must manage -as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for -you. I certainly do not go home to-night, and, therefore, the carriage -will not be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to what -may happen, and take your things accordingly.” - -Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to -comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas soon -afterwards, just opening the door, said, “Fanny, at what time would you -have the carriage come round?” she felt a degree of astonishment which -made it impossible for her to speak. - -“My dear Sir Thomas!” cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, “Fanny can -walk.” - -“Walk!” repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity, -and coming farther into the room. “My niece walk to a dinner engagement -at this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?” - -“Yes, sir,” was Fanny’s humble answer, given with the feelings almost -of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and not bearing to remain with her -in what might seem a state of triumph, she followed her uncle out of -the room, having staid behind him only long enough to hear these words -spoken in angry agitation— - -“Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; true, it is -upon Edmund’s account. I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night.” - -But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the carriage was for -herself, and herself alone: and her uncle’s consideration of her, -coming immediately after such representations from her aunt, cost her -some tears of gratitude when she was alone. - -The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute brought down the -gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most scrupulous fear of being -late, been many minutes seated in the drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them -off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits required. - -“Now I must look at you, Fanny,” said Edmund, with the kind smile of an -affectionate brother, “and tell you how I like you; and as well as I -can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got -on?” - -“The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on my cousin’s -marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought I ought to wear it -as soon as I could, and that I might not have such another opportunity -all the winter. I hope you do not think me too fine.” - -“A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. No, I see no -finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly proper. Your gown seems -very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown -something the same?” - -In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard and -coach-house. - -“Heyday!” said Edmund, “here’s company, here’s a carriage! who have -they got to meet us?” And letting down the side-glass to distinguish, -“’Tis Crawford’s, Crawford’s barouche, I protest! There are his own two -men pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here, of course. This -is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him.” - -There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say how very -differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe -her was a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed -the very awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room. - -In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was, having been just long -enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the smiles and pleased looks -of the three others standing round him, shewed how welcome was his -sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath. A -very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the -exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to _her_ there -might be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the -party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered to -sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this herself; for -though she must submit, as her own propriety of mind directed, in spite -of her aunt Norris’s opinion, to being the principal lady in company, -and to all the little distinctions consequent thereon, she found, while -they were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing, in -which she was not required to take any part—there was so much to be -said between the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two -young men about hunting, so much of politics between Mr. Crawford and -Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together between Mr. Crawford and -Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to -listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day. She could not -compliment the newly arrived gentleman, however, with any appearance of -interest, in a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending -for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by -Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in possession of -his mind, and which he seemed to want to be encouraged even by her to -resolve on. Her opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of -the open weather, but her answers were as short and indifferent as -civility allowed. She could not wish him to stay, and would much rather -not have him speak to her. - -Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on -seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected _his_ spirits. -Here he was again on the same ground where all had passed before, and -apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, -as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them -spoken of by him only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled -in the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of -business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, and -Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began talking of them with -more particularity to his other sister. With a significant smile, which -made Fanny quite hate him, he said, “So! Rushworth and his fair bride -are at Brighton, I understand; happy man!” - -“Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they -not? And Julia is with them.” - -“And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.” - -“Mr. Yates! Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he -figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I -think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with -Mr. Yates.” - -“Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!” continued Crawford. -“Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I see him now—his toil and -his despair. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever -want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her”; adding, with a -momentary seriousness, “She is too good for him—much too good.” And -then changing his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing -Fanny, he said, “You were Mr. Rushworth’s best friend. Your kindness -and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience in -trying to make it possible for him to learn his part—in trying to give -him a brain which nature had denied—to mix up an understanding for him -out of the superfluity of your own! _He_ might not have sense enough -himself to estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it had -honour from all the rest of the party.” - -Fanny coloured, and said nothing. - -“It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!” he exclaimed, breaking forth -again, after a few minutes’ musing. “I shall always look back on our -theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such -an animation, such a spirit diffused. Everybody felt it. We were all -alive. There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour -of the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some -little anxiety to be got over. I never was happier.” - -With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, “Never -happier!—never happier than when doing what you must know was not -justifiable!—never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and -unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind!” - -“We were unlucky, Miss Price,” he continued, in a lower tone, to avoid -the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not at all aware of her -feelings, “we certainly were very unlucky. Another week, only one other -week, would have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal -of events—if Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just -for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been a -difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any -tremendous weather—but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I -think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week’s calm -in the Atlantic at that season.” - -He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, -said, with a firmer tone than usual, “As far as _I_ am concerned, sir, -I would not have delayed his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it -all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had -gone quite far enough.” - -She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life before, and -never so angrily to any one; and when her speech was over, she trembled -and blushed at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few -moments’ silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, -and as if the candid result of conviction, “I believe you are right. It -was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy.” And then -turning the conversation, he would have engaged her on some other -subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not -advance in any. - -Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now -observed, “Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to -discuss.” - -“The most interesting in the world,” replied her brother—“how to make -money; how to turn a good income into a better. Dr. Grant is giving -Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon. I -find he takes orders in a few weeks. They were at it in the -dining-parlour. I am glad to hear Bertram will be so well off. He will -have a very pretty income to make ducks and drakes with, and earned -without much trouble. I apprehend he will not have less than seven -hundred a year. Seven hundred a year is a fine thing for a younger -brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all -for his _menus_ _plaisirs_; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I -suppose, will be the sum total of sacrifice.” - -His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, “Nothing amuses -me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance -of those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look -rather blank, Henry, if your _menus_ _plaisirs_ were to be limited to -seven hundred a year.” - -“Perhaps I might; but all _that_ you know is entirely comparative. -Birthright and habit must settle the business. Bertram is certainly -well off for a cadet of even a baronet’s family. By the time he is four -or five and twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do -for it.” - -Miss Crawford _could_ have said that there would be a something to do -and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she -checked herself and let it pass; and tried to look calm and unconcerned -when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards joined them. - -“Bertram,” said Henry Crawford, “I shall make a point of coming to -Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I shall come on purpose -to encourage a young beginner. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not -you join me in encouraging your cousin? Will not you engage to attend -with your eyes steadily fixed on him the whole time—as I shall do—not -to lose a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence -preeminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a -pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, you know, that -Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you.” - -“I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can,” said Edmund; -“for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and I should be more -sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man.” - -“Will he not feel this?” thought Fanny. “No, he can feel nothing as he -ought.” - -The party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting each -other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed -after tea—formed really for the amusement of Dr. Grant, by his -attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed so—and Miss Crawford -took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen; and her -tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when -Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question or observation, -which she could not avoid answering. Miss Crawford was too much vexed -by what had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With that -she soothed herself and amused her friend. - -The assurance of Edmund’s being so soon to take orders, coming upon her -like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a -distance, was felt with resentment and mortification. She was very -angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She _had_ begun to -think of him; she felt that she had, with great regard, with almost -decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool -feelings. It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true -attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she -would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. -She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond -immediate amusement. If _he_ could so command his affections, _hers_ -should do her no harm. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -Henry Crawford had quite made up his mind by the next morning to give -another fortnight to Mansfield, and having sent for his hunters, and -written a few lines of explanation to the Admiral, he looked round at -his sister as he sealed and threw the letter from him, and seeing the -coast clear of the rest of the family, said, with a smile, “And how do -you think I mean to amuse myself, Mary, on the days that I do not hunt? -I am grown too old to go out more than three times a week; but I have a -plan for the intermediate days, and what do you think it is?” - -“To walk and ride with me, to be sure.” - -“Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but _that_ would be -exercise only to my body, and I must take care of my mind. Besides, -_that_ would be all recreation and indulgence, without the wholesome -alloy of labour, and I do not like to eat the bread of idleness. No, my -plan is to make Fanny Price in love with me.” - -“Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be satisfied with her two -cousins.” - -“But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price, without making a small -hole in Fanny Price’s heart. You do not seem properly aware of her -claims to notice. When we talked of her last night, you none of you -seemed sensible of the wonderful improvement that has taken place in -her looks within the last six weeks. You see her every day, and -therefore do not notice it; but I assure you she is quite a different -creature from what she was in the autumn. She was then merely a quiet, -modest, not plain-looking girl, but she is now absolutely pretty. I -used to think she had neither complexion nor countenance; but in that -soft skin of hers, so frequently tinged with a blush as it was -yesterday, there is decided beauty; and from what I observed of her -eyes and mouth, I do not despair of their being capable of expression -enough when she has anything to express. And then, her air, her manner, -her _tout_ _ensemble_, is so indescribably improved! She must be grown -two inches, at least, since October.” - -“Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall women to compare -her with, and because she has got a new gown, and you never saw her so -well dressed before. She is just what she was in October, believe me. -The truth is, that she was the only girl in company for you to notice, -and you must have a somebody. I have always thought her pretty—not -strikingly pretty—but ‘pretty enough,’ as people say; a sort of beauty -that grows on one. Her eyes should be darker, but she has a sweet -smile; but as for this wonderful degree of improvement, I am sure it -may all be resolved into a better style of dress, and your having -nobody else to look at; and therefore, if you do set about a flirtation -with her, you never will persuade me that it is in compliment to her -beauty, or that it proceeds from anything but your own idleness and -folly.” - -Her brother gave only a smile to this accusation, and soon afterwards -said, “I do not quite know what to make of Miss Fanny. I do not -understand her. I could not tell what she would be at yesterday. What -is her character? Is she solemn? Is she queer? Is she prudish? Why did -she draw back and look so grave at me? I could hardly get her to speak. -I never was so long in company with a girl in my life, trying to -entertain her, and succeed so ill! Never met with a girl who looked so -grave on me! I must try to get the better of this. Her looks say, ‘I -will not like you, I am determined not to like you’; and I say she -shall.” - -“Foolish fellow! And so this is her attraction after all! This it is, -her not caring about you, which gives her such a soft skin, and makes -her so much taller, and produces all these charms and graces! I do -desire that you will not be making her really unhappy; a _little_ love, -perhaps, may animate and do her good, but I will not have you plunge -her deep, for she is as good a little creature as ever lived, and has a -great deal of feeling.” - -“It can be but for a fortnight,” said Henry; “and if a fortnight can -kill her, she must have a constitution which nothing could save. No, I -will not do her any harm, dear little soul! I only want her to look -kindly on me, to give me smiles as well as blushes, to keep a chair for -me by herself wherever we are, and be all animation when I take it and -talk to her; to think as I think, be interested in all my possessions -and pleasures, try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when I go -away that she shall be never happy again. I want nothing more.” - -“Moderation itself!” said Mary. “I can have no scruples now. Well, you -will have opportunities enough of endeavouring to recommend yourself, -for we are a great deal together.” - -And without attempting any farther remonstrance, she left Fanny to her -fate, a fate which, had not Fanny’s heart been guarded in a way -unsuspected by Miss Crawford, might have been a little harder than she -deserved; for although there doubtless are such unconquerable young -ladies of eighteen (or one should not read about them) as are never to -be persuaded into love against their judgment by all that talent, -manner, attention, and flattery can do, I have no inclination to -believe Fanny one of them, or to think that with so much tenderness of -disposition, and so much taste as belonged to her, she could have -escaped heart-whole from the courtship (though the courtship only of a -fortnight) of such a man as Crawford, in spite of there being some -previous ill opinion of him to be overcome, had not her affection been -engaged elsewhere. With all the security which love of another and -disesteem of him could give to the peace of mind he was attacking, his -continued attentions—continued, but not obtrusive, and adapting -themselves more and more to the gentleness and delicacy of her -character—obliged her very soon to dislike him less than formerly. She -had by no means forgotten the past, and she thought as ill of him as -ever; but she felt his powers: he was entertaining; and his manners -were so improved, so polite, so seriously and blamelessly polite, that -it was impossible not to be civil to him in return. - -A very few days were enough to effect this; and at the end of those few -days, circumstances arose which had a tendency rather to forward his -views of pleasing her, inasmuch as they gave her a degree of happiness -which must dispose her to be pleased with everybody. William, her -brother, the so long absent and dearly loved brother, was in England -again. She had a letter from him herself, a few hurried happy lines, -written as the ship came up Channel, and sent into Portsmouth with the -first boat that left the Antwerp at anchor in Spithead; and when -Crawford walked up with the newspaper in his hand, which he had hoped -would bring the first tidings, he found her trembling with joy over -this letter, and listening with a glowing, grateful countenance to the -kind invitation which her uncle was most collectedly dictating in -reply. - -It was but the day before that Crawford had made himself thoroughly -master of the subject, or had in fact become at all aware of her having -such a brother, or his being in such a ship, but the interest then -excited had been very properly lively, determining him on his return to -town to apply for information as to the probable period of the -Antwerp’s return from the Mediterranean, etc.; and the good luck which -attended his early examination of ship news the next morning seemed the -reward of his ingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing her, -as well as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral, in having for many -years taken in the paper esteemed to have the earliest naval -intelligence. He proved, however, to be too late. All those fine first -feelings, of which he had hoped to be the exciter, were already given. -But his intention, the kindness of his intention, was thankfully -acknowledged: quite thankfully and warmly, for she was elevated beyond -the common timidity of her mind by the flow of her love for William. - -This dear William would soon be amongst them. There could be no doubt -of his obtaining leave of absence immediately, for he was still only a -midshipman; and as his parents, from living on the spot, must already -have seen him, and be seeing him perhaps daily, his direct holidays -might with justice be instantly given to the sister, who had been his -best correspondent through a period of seven years, and the uncle who -had done most for his support and advancement; and accordingly the -reply to her reply, fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as -soon as possible; and scarcely ten days had passed since Fanny had been -in the agitation of her first dinner-visit, when she found herself in -an agitation of a higher nature, watching in the hall, in the lobby, on -the stairs, for the first sound of the carriage which was to bring her -a brother. - -It came happily while she was thus waiting; and there being neither -ceremony nor fearfulness to delay the moment of meeting, she was with -him as he entered the house, and the first minutes of exquisite feeling -had no interruption and no witnesses, unless the servants chiefly -intent upon opening the proper doors could be called such. This was -exactly what Sir Thomas and Edmund had been separately conniving at, as -each proved to the other by the sympathetic alacrity with which they -both advised Mrs. Norris’s continuing where she was, instead of rushing -out into the hall as soon as the noises of the arrival reached them. - -William and Fanny soon shewed themselves; and Sir Thomas had the -pleasure of receiving, in his protégé, certainly a very different -person from the one he had equipped seven years ago, but a young man of -an open, pleasant countenance, and frank, unstudied, but feeling and -respectful manners, and such as confirmed him his friend. - -It was long before Fanny could recover from the agitating happiness of -such an hour as was formed by the last thirty minutes of expectation, -and the first of fruition; it was some time even before her happiness -could be said to make her happy, before the disappointment inseparable -from the alteration of person had vanished, and she could see in him -the same William as before, and talk to him, as her heart had been -yearning to do through many a past year. That time, however, did -gradually come, forwarded by an affection on his side as warm as her -own, and much less encumbered by refinement or self-distrust. She was -the first object of his love, but it was a love which his stronger -spirits, and bolder temper, made it as natural for him to express as to -feel. On the morrow they were walking about together with true -enjoyment, and every succeeding morrow renewed a _tête-à-tête_ which -Sir Thomas could not but observe with complacency, even before Edmund -had pointed it out to him. - -Excepting the moments of peculiar delight, which any marked or -unlooked-for instance of Edmund’s consideration of her in the last few -months had excited, Fanny had never known so much felicity in her life, -as in this unchecked, equal, fearless intercourse with the brother and -friend who was opening all his heart to her, telling her all his hopes -and fears, plans, and solicitudes respecting that long thought of, -dearly earned, and justly valued blessing of promotion; who could give -her direct and minute information of the father and mother, brothers -and sisters, of whom she very seldom heard; who was interested in all -the comforts and all the little hardships of her home at Mansfield; -ready to think of every member of that home as she directed, or -differing only by a less scrupulous opinion, and more noisy abuse of -their aunt Norris, and with whom (perhaps the dearest indulgence of the -whole) all the evil and good of their earliest years could be gone over -again, and every former united pain and pleasure retraced with the -fondest recollection. An advantage this, a strengthener of love, in -which even the conjugal tie is beneath the fraternal. Children of the -same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and -habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no -subsequent connexions can supply; and it must be by a long and -unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connexion can -justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever -entirely outlived. Too often, alas! it is so. Fraternal love, sometimes -almost everything, is at others worse than nothing. But with William -and Fanny Price it was still a sentiment in all its prime and -freshness, wounded by no opposition of interest, cooled by no separate -attachment, and feeling the influence of time and absence only in its -increase. - -An affection so amiable was advancing each in the opinion of all who -had hearts to value anything good. Henry Crawford was as much struck -with it as any. He honoured the warm-hearted, blunt fondness of the -young sailor, which led him to say, with his hands stretched towards -Fanny’s head, “Do you know, I begin to like that queer fashion already, -though when I first heard of such things being done in England, I could -not believe it; and when Mrs. Brown, and the other women at the -Commissioner’s at Gibraltar, appeared in the same trim, I thought they -were mad; but Fanny can reconcile me to anything”; and saw, with lively -admiration, the glow of Fanny’s cheek, the brightness of her eye, the -deep interest, the absorbed attention, while her brother was describing -any of the imminent hazards, or terrific scenes, which such a period at -sea must supply. - -It was a picture which Henry Crawford had moral taste enough to value. -Fanny’s attractions increased—increased twofold; for the sensibility -which beautified her complexion and illumined her countenance was an -attraction in itself. He was no longer in doubt of the capabilities of -her heart. She had feeling, genuine feeling. It would be something to -be loved by such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her young -unsophisticated mind! She interested him more than he had foreseen. A -fortnight was not enough. His stay became indefinite. - -William was often called on by his uncle to be the talker. His recitals -were amusing in themselves to Sir Thomas, but the chief object in -seeking them was to understand the reciter, to know the young man by -his histories; and he listened to his clear, simple, spirited details -with full satisfaction, seeing in them the proof of good principles, -professional knowledge, energy, courage, and cheerfulness, everything -that could deserve or promise well. Young as he was, William had -already seen a great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean; in the -West Indies; in the Mediterranean again; had been often taken on shore -by the favour of his captain, and in the course of seven years had -known every variety of danger which sea and war together could offer. -With such means in his power he had a right to be listened to; and -though Mrs. Norris could fidget about the room, and disturb everybody -in quest of two needlefuls of thread or a second-hand shirt button, in -the midst of her nephew’s account of a shipwreck or an engagement, -everybody else was attentive; and even Lady Bertram could not hear of -such horrors unmoved, or without sometimes lifting her eyes from her -work to say, “Dear me! how disagreeable! I wonder anybody can ever go -to sea.” - -To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been -at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, -his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before -he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such -proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of -endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful -contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing -himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much -self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was! - -The wish was rather eager than lasting. He was roused from the reverie -of retrospection and regret produced by it, by some inquiry from Edmund -as to his plans for the next day’s hunting; and he found it was as well -to be a man of fortune at once with horses and grooms at his command. -In one respect it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a -kindness where he wished to oblige. With spirits, courage, and -curiosity up to anything, William expressed an inclination to hunt; and -Crawford could mount him without the slightest inconvenience to -himself, and with only some scruples to obviate in Sir Thomas, who knew -better than his nephew the value of such a loan, and some alarms to -reason away in Fanny. She feared for William; by no means convinced by -all that he could relate of his own horsemanship in various countries, -of the scrambling parties in which he had been engaged, the rough -horses and mules he had ridden, or his many narrow escapes from -dreadful falls, that he was at all equal to the management of a -high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase; nor till he returned safe and -well, without accident or discredit, could she be reconciled to the -risk, or feel any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford for lending the -horse which he had fully intended it should produce. When it was -proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could allow it to be -a kindness, and even reward the owner with a smile when the animal was -one minute tendered to his use again; and the next, with the greatest -cordiality, and in a manner not to be resisted, made over to his use -entirely so long as he remained in Northamptonshire. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The intercourse of the two families was at this period more nearly -restored to what it had been in the autumn, than any member of the old -intimacy had thought ever likely to be again. The return of Henry -Crawford, and the arrival of William Price, had much to do with it, but -much was still owing to Sir Thomas’s more than toleration of the -neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. His mind, now disengaged from -the cares which had pressed on him at first, was at leisure to find the -Grants and their young inmates really worth visiting; and though -infinitely above scheming or contriving for any the most advantageous -matrimonial establishment that could be among the apparent -possibilities of any one most dear to him, and disdaining even as a -littleness the being quick-sighted on such points, he could not avoid -perceiving, in a grand and careless way, that Mr. Crawford was somewhat -distinguishing his niece—nor perhaps refrain (though unconsciously) -from giving a more willing assent to invitations on that account. - -His readiness, however, in agreeing to dine at the Parsonage, when the -general invitation was at last hazarded, after many debates and many -doubts as to whether it were worth while, “because Sir Thomas seemed so -ill inclined, and Lady Bertram was so indolent!” proceeded from -good-breeding and goodwill alone, and had nothing to do with Mr. -Crawford, but as being one in an agreeable group: for it was in the -course of that very visit that he first began to think that any one in -the habit of such idle observations _would_ _have_ _thought_ that Mr. -Crawford was the admirer of Fanny Price. - -The meeting was generally felt to be a pleasant one, being composed in -a good proportion of those who would talk and those who would listen; -and the dinner itself was elegant and plentiful, according to the usual -style of the Grants, and too much according to the usual habits of all -to raise any emotion except in Mrs. Norris, who could never behold -either the wide table or the number of dishes on it with patience, and -who did always contrive to experience some evil from the passing of the -servants behind her chair, and to bring away some fresh conviction of -its being impossible among so many dishes but that some must be cold. - -In the evening it was found, according to the predetermination of Mrs. -Grant and her sister, that after making up the whist-table there would -remain sufficient for a round game, and everybody being as perfectly -complying and without a choice as on such occasions they always are, -speculation was decided on almost as soon as whist; and Lady Bertram -soon found herself in the critical situation of being applied to for -her own choice between the games, and being required either to draw a -card for whist or not. She hesitated. Luckily Sir Thomas was at hand. - -“What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation; which will amuse -me most?” - -Sir Thomas, after a moment’s thought, recommended speculation. He was a -whist player himself, and perhaps might feel that it would not much -amuse him to have her for a partner. - -“Very well,” was her ladyship’s contented answer; “then speculation, if -you please, Mrs. Grant. I know nothing about it, but Fanny must teach -me.” - -Here Fanny interposed, however, with anxious protestations of her own -equal ignorance; she had never played the game nor seen it played in -her life; and Lady Bertram felt a moment’s indecision again; but upon -everybody’s assuring her that nothing could be so easy, that it was the -easiest game on the cards, and Henry Crawford’s stepping forward with a -most earnest request to be allowed to sit between her ladyship and Miss -Price, and teach them both, it was so settled; and Sir Thomas, Mrs. -Norris, and Dr. and Mrs. Grant being seated at the table of prime -intellectual state and dignity, the remaining six, under Miss -Crawford’s direction, were arranged round the other. It was a fine -arrangement for Henry Crawford, who was close to Fanny, and with his -hands full of business, having two persons’ cards to manage as well as -his own; for though it was impossible for Fanny not to feel herself -mistress of the rules of the game in three minutes, he had yet to -inspirit her play, sharpen her avarice, and harden her heart, which, -especially in any competition with William, was a work of some -difficulty; and as for Lady Bertram, he must continue in charge of all -her fame and fortune through the whole evening; and if quick enough to -keep her from looking at her cards when the deal began, must direct her -in whatever was to be done with them to the end of it. - -He was in high spirits, doing everything with happy ease, and -preeminent in all the lively turns, quick resources, and playful -impudence that could do honour to the game; and the round table was -altogether a very comfortable contrast to the steady sobriety and -orderly silence of the other. - -Twice had Sir Thomas inquired into the enjoyment and success of his -lady, but in vain; no pause was long enough for the time his measured -manner needed; and very little of her state could be known till Mrs. -Grant was able, at the end of the first rubber, to go to her and pay -her compliments. - -“I hope your ladyship is pleased with the game.” - -“Oh dear, yes! very entertaining indeed. A very odd game. I do not know -what it is all about. I am never to see my cards; and Mr. Crawford does -all the rest.” - -“Bertram,” said Crawford, some time afterwards, taking the opportunity -of a little languor in the game, “I have never told you what happened -to me yesterday in my ride home.” They had been hunting together, and -were in the midst of a good run, and at some distance from Mansfield, -when his horse being found to have flung a shoe, Henry Crawford had -been obliged to give up, and make the best of his way back. “I told you -I lost my way after passing that old farmhouse with the yew-trees, -because I can never bear to ask; but I have not told you that, with my -usual luck—for I never do wrong without gaining by it—I found myself in -due time in the very place which I had a curiosity to see. I was -suddenly, upon turning the corner of a steepish downy field, in the -midst of a retired little village between gently rising hills; a small -stream before me to be forded, a church standing on a sort of knoll to -my right—which church was strikingly large and handsome for the place, -and not a gentleman or half a gentleman’s house to be seen excepting -one—to be presumed the Parsonage—within a stone’s throw of the said -knoll and church. I found myself, in short, in Thornton Lacey.” - -“It sounds like it,” said Edmund; “but which way did you turn after -passing Sewell’s farm?” - -“I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions; though were I to -answer all that you could put in the course of an hour, you would never -be able to prove that it was _not_ Thornton Lacey—for such it certainly -was.” - -“You inquired, then?” - -“No, I never inquire. But I _told_ a man mending a hedge that it was -Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it.” - -“You have a good memory. I had forgotten having ever told you half so -much of the place.” - -Thornton Lacey was the name of his impending living, as Miss Crawford -well knew; and her interest in a negotiation for William Price’s knave -increased. - -“Well,” continued Edmund, “and how did you like what you saw?” - -“Very much indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will be work for five -summers at least before the place is liveable.” - -“No, no, not so bad as that. The farmyard must be moved, I grant you; -but I am not aware of anything else. The house is by no means bad, and -when the yard is removed, there may be a very tolerable approach to -it.” - -“The farmyard must be cleared away entirely, and planted up to shut out -the blacksmith’s shop. The house must be turned to front the east -instead of the north—the entrance and principal rooms, I mean, must be -on that side, where the view is really very pretty; I am sure it may be -done. And _there_ must be your approach, through what is at present the -garden. You must make a new garden at what is now the back of the -house; which will be giving it the best aspect in the world, sloping to -the south-east. The ground seems precisely formed for it. I rode fifty -yards up the lane, between the church and the house, in order to look -about me; and saw how it might all be. Nothing can be easier. The -meadows beyond what _will_ _be_ the garden, as well as what now _is_, -sweeping round from the lane I stood in to the north-east, that is, to -the principal road through the village, must be all laid together, of -course; very pretty meadows they are, finely sprinkled with timber. -They belong to the living, I suppose; if not, you must purchase them. -Then the stream—something must be done with the stream; but I could not -quite determine what. I had two or three ideas.” - -“And I have two or three ideas also,” said Edmund, “and one of them is, -that very little of your plan for Thornton Lacey will ever be put in -practice. I must be satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty. I -think the house and premises may be made comfortable, and given the air -of a gentleman’s residence, without any very heavy expense, and that -must suffice me; and, I hope, may suffice all who care about me.” - -Miss Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of a certain tone of -voice, and a certain half-look attending the last expression of his -hope, made a hasty finish of her dealings with William Price; and -securing his knave at an exorbitant rate, exclaimed, “There, I will -stake my last like a woman of spirit. No cold prudence for me. I am not -born to sit still and do nothing. If I lose the game, it shall not be -from not striving for it.” - -The game was hers, and only did not pay her for what she had given to -secure it. Another deal proceeded, and Crawford began again about -Thornton Lacey. - -“My plan may not be the best possible: I had not many minutes to form -it in; but you must do a good deal. The place deserves it, and you will -find yourself not satisfied with much less than it is capable of. -(Excuse me, your ladyship must not see your cards. There, let them lie -just before you.) The place deserves it, Bertram. You talk of giving it -the air of a gentleman’s residence. _That_ will be done by the removal -of the farmyard; for, independent of that terrible nuisance, I never -saw a house of the kind which had in itself so much the air of a -gentleman’s residence, so much the look of a something above a mere -parsonage-house—above the expenditure of a few hundreds a year. It is -not a scrambling collection of low single rooms, with as many roofs as -windows; it is not cramped into the vulgar compactness of a square -farmhouse: it is a solid, roomy, mansion-like looking house, such as -one might suppose a respectable old country family had lived in from -generation to generation, through two centuries at least, and were now -spending from two to three thousand a year in.” Miss Crawford listened, -and Edmund agreed to this. “The air of a gentleman’s residence, -therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it is -capable of much more. (Let me see, Mary; Lady Bertram bids a dozen for -that queen; no, no, a dozen is more than it is worth. Lady Bertram does -not bid a dozen. She will have nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) By -some such improvements as I have suggested (I do not really require you -to proceed upon my plan, though, by the bye, I doubt anybody’s striking -out a better) you may give it a higher character. You may raise it into -a _place_. From being the mere gentleman’s residence, it becomes, by -judicious improvement, the residence of a man of education, taste, -modern manners, good connexions. All this may be stamped on it; and -that house receive such an air as to make its owner be set down as the -great landholder of the parish by every creature travelling the road; -especially as there is no real squire’s house to dispute the point—a -circumstance, between ourselves, to enhance the value of such a -situation in point of privilege and independence beyond all -calculation. _You_ think with me, I hope” (turning with a softened -voice to Fanny). “Have you ever seen the place?” - -Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interest in the -subject by an eager attention to her brother, who was driving as hard a -bargain, and imposing on her as much as he could; but Crawford pursued -with “No, no, you must not part with the queen. You have bought her too -dearly, and your brother does not offer half her value. No, no, sir, -hands off, hands off. Your sister does not part with the queen. She is -quite determined. The game will be yours,” turning to her again; “it -will certainly be yours.” - -“And Fanny had much rather it were William’s,” said Edmund, smiling at -her. “Poor Fanny! not allowed to cheat herself as she wishes!” - -“Mr. Bertram,” said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards, “you know -Henry to be such a capital improver, that you cannot possibly engage in -anything of the sort at Thornton Lacey without accepting his help. Only -think how useful he was at Sotherton! Only think what grand things were -produced there by our all going with him one hot day in August to drive -about the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There we went, and -there we came home again; and what was done there is not to be told!” - -Fanny’s eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment with an expression -more than grave—even reproachful; but on catching his, were instantly -withdrawn. With something of consciousness he shook his head at his -sister, and laughingly replied, “I cannot say there was much done at -Sotherton; but it was a hot day, and we were all walking after each -other, and bewildered.” As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he -added, in a low voice, directed solely at Fanny, “I should be sorry to -have my powers of _planning_ judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see -things very differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then.” - -Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and being just then in the -happy leisure which followed securing the odd trick by Sir Thomas’s -capital play and her own against Dr. and Mrs. Grant’s great hands, she -called out, in high good-humour, “Sotherton! Yes, that is a place, -indeed, and we had a charming day there. William, you are quite out of -luck; but the next time you come, I hope dear Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth -will be at home, and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly -received by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their -relations, and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are at -Brighton now, you know; in one of the best houses there, as Mr. -Rushworth’s fine fortune gives them a right to be. I do not exactly -know the distance, but when you get back to Portsmouth, if it is not -very far off, you ought to go over and pay your respects to them; and I -could send a little parcel by you that I want to get conveyed to your -cousins.” - -“I should be very happy, aunt; but Brighton is almost by Beachey Head; -and if I could get so far, I could not expect to be welcome in such a -smart place as that—poor scrubby midshipman as I am.” - -Mrs. Norris was beginning an eager assurance of the affability he might -depend on, when she was stopped by Sir Thomas’s saying with authority, -“I do not advise your going to Brighton, William, as I trust you may -soon have more convenient opportunities of meeting; but my daughters -would be happy to see their cousins anywhere; and you will find Mr. -Rushworth most sincerely disposed to regard all the connexions of our -family as his own.” - -“I would rather find him private secretary to the First Lord than -anything else,” was William’s only answer, in an undervoice, not meant -to reach far, and the subject dropped. - -As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Crawford’s -behaviour; but when the whist-table broke up at the end of the second -rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to dispute over their -last play, he became a looker-on at the other, he found his niece the -object of attentions, or rather of professions, of a somewhat pointed -character. - -Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme about Thornton -Lacey; and not being able to catch Edmund’s ear, was detailing it to -his fair neighbour with a look of considerable earnestness. His scheme -was to rent the house himself the following winter, that he might have -a home of his own in that neighbourhood; and it was not merely for the -use of it in the hunting-season (as he was then telling her), though -_that_ consideration had certainly some weight, feeling as he did that, -in spite of all Dr. Grant’s very great kindness, it was impossible for -him and his horses to be accommodated where they now were without -material inconvenience; but his attachment to that neighbourhood did -not depend upon one amusement or one season of the year: he had set his -heart upon having a something there that he could come to at any time, -a little homestall at his command, where all the holidays of his year -might be spent, and he might find himself continuing, improving, and -_perfecting_ that friendship and intimacy with the Mansfield Park -family which was increasing in value to him every day. Sir Thomas heard -and was not offended. There was no want of respect in the young man’s -address; and Fanny’s reception of it was so proper and modest, so calm -and uninviting, that he had nothing to censure in her. She said little, -assented only here and there, and betrayed no inclination either of -appropriating any part of the compliment to herself, or of -strengthening his views in favour of Northamptonshire. Finding by whom -he was observed, Henry Crawford addressed himself on the same subject -to Sir Thomas, in a more everyday tone, but still with feeling. - -“I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have, perhaps, heard -me telling Miss Price. May I hope for your acquiescence, and for your -not influencing your son against such a tenant?” - -Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, “It is the only way, sir, in -which I could _not_ wish you established as a permanent neighbour; but -I hope, and believe, that Edmund will occupy his own house at Thornton -Lacey. Edmund, am I saying too much?” - -Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on; but, on -understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer. - -“Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But, Crawford, though -I refuse you as a tenant, come to me as a friend. Consider the house as -half your own every winter, and we will add to the stables on your own -improved plan, and with all the improvements of your improved plan that -may occur to you this spring.” - -“We shall be the losers,” continued Sir Thomas. “His going, though only -eight miles, will be an unwelcome contraction of our family circle; but -I should have been deeply mortified if any son of mine could reconcile -himself to doing less. It is perfectly natural that you should not have -thought much on the subject, Mr. Crawford. But a parish has wants and -claims which can be known only by a clergyman constantly resident, and -which no proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same extent. Edmund -might, in the common phrase, do the duty of Thornton, that is, he might -read prayers and preach, without giving up Mansfield Park: he might -ride over every Sunday, to a house nominally inhabited, and go through -divine service; he might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every -seventh day, for three or four hours, if that would content him. But it -will not. He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a weekly -sermon can convey; and that if he does not live among his parishioners, -and prove himself, by constant attention, their well-wisher and friend, -he does very little either for their good or his own.” - -Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence. - -“I repeat again,” added Sir Thomas, “that Thornton Lacey is the only -house in the neighbourhood in which I should _not_ be happy to wait on -Mr. Crawford as occupier.” - -Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks. - -“Sir Thomas,” said Edmund, “undoubtedly understands the duty of a -parish priest. We must hope his son may prove that _he_ knows it too.” - -Whatever effect Sir Thomas’s little harangue might really produce on -Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations in two of the others, -two of his most attentive listeners—Miss Crawford and Fanny. One of -whom, having never before understood that Thornton was so soon and so -completely to be his home, was pondering with downcast eyes on what it -would be _not_ to see Edmund every day; and the other, startled from -the agreeable fancies she had been previously indulging on the strength -of her brother’s description, no longer able, in the picture she had -been forming of a future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink the -clergyman, and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised, and -occasional residence of a man of independent fortune, was considering -Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer of all this, and -suffering the more from that involuntary forbearance which his -character and manner commanded, and from not daring to relieve herself -by a single attempt at throwing ridicule on his cause. - -All the agreeable of _her_ speculation was over for that hour. It was -time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed; and she was glad to -find it necessary to come to a conclusion, and be able to refresh her -spirits by a change of place and neighbour. - -The chief of the party were now collected irregularly round the fire, -and waiting the final break-up. William and Fanny were the most -detached. They remained together at the otherwise deserted card-table, -talking very comfortably, and not thinking of the rest, till some of -the rest began to think of them. Henry Crawford’s chair was the first -to be given a direction towards them, and he sat silently observing -them for a few minutes; himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir -Thomas, who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant. - -“This is the assembly night,” said William. “If I were at Portsmouth I -should be at it, perhaps.” - -“But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?” - -“No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of Portsmouth and of -dancing too, when I cannot have you. And I do not know that there would -be any good in going to the assembly, for I might not get a partner. -The Portsmouth girls turn up their noses at anybody who has not a -commission. One might as well be nothing as a midshipman. One _is_ -nothing, indeed. You remember the Gregorys; they are grown up amazing -fine girls, but they will hardly speak to _me_, because Lucy is courted -by a lieutenant.” - -“Oh! shame, shame! But never mind it, William” (her own cheeks in a -glow of indignation as she spoke). “It is not worth minding. It is no -reflection on _you_; it is no more than what the greatest admirals have -all experienced, more or less, in their time. You must think of that, -you must try to make up your mind to it as one of the hardships which -fall to every sailor’s share, like bad weather and hard living, only -with this advantage, that there will be an end to it, that there will -come a time when you will have nothing of that sort to endure. When you -are a lieutenant! only think, William, when you are a lieutenant, how -little you will care for any nonsense of this kind.” - -“I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny. Everybody gets -made but me.” - -“Oh! my dear William, do not talk so; do not be so desponding. My uncle -says nothing, but I am sure he will do everything in his power to get -you made. He knows, as well as you do, of what consequence it is.” - -She was checked by the sight of her uncle much nearer to them than she -had any suspicion of, and each found it necessary to talk of something -else. - -“Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?” - -“Yes, very; only I am soon tired.” - -“I should like to go to a ball with you and see you dance. Have you -never any balls at Northampton? I should like to see you dance, and I’d -dance with you if you _would_, for nobody would know who I was here, -and I should like to be your partner once more. We used to jump about -together many a time, did not we? when the hand-organ was in the -street? I am a pretty good dancer in my way, but I dare say you are a -better.” And turning to his uncle, who was now close to them, “Is not -Fanny a very good dancer, sir?” - -Fanny, in dismay at such an unprecedented question, did not know which -way to look, or how to be prepared for the answer. Some very grave -reproof, or at least the coldest expression of indifference, must be -coming to distress her brother, and sink her to the ground. But, on the -contrary, it was no worse than, “I am sorry to say that I am unable to -answer your question. I have never seen Fanny dance since she was a -little girl; but I trust we shall both think she acquits herself like a -gentlewoman when we do see her, which, perhaps, we may have an -opportunity of doing ere long.” - -“I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance, Mr. Price,” said -Henry Crawford, leaning forward, “and will engage to answer every -inquiry which you can make on the subject, to your entire satisfaction. -But I believe” (seeing Fanny looked distressed) “it must be at some -other time. There is _one_ person in company who does not like to have -Miss Price spoken of.” - -True enough, he had once seen Fanny dance; and it was equally true that -he would now have answered for her gliding about with quiet, light -elegance, and in admirable time; but, in fact, he could not for the -life of him recall what her dancing had been, and rather took it for -granted that she had been present than remembered anything about her. - -He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing; and Sir Thomas, by -no means displeased, prolonged the conversation on dancing in general, -and was so well engaged in describing the balls of Antigua, and -listening to what his nephew could relate of the different modes of -dancing which had fallen within his observation, that he had not heard -his carriage announced, and was first called to the knowledge of it by -the bustle of Mrs. Norris. - -“Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? We are going. Do not you see -your aunt is going? Quick, quick! I cannot bear to keep good old Wilcox -waiting. You should always remember the coachman and horses. My dear -Sir Thomas, we have settled it that the carriage should come back for -you, and Edmund and William.” - -Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrangement, -previously communicated to his wife and sister; but _that_ seemed -forgotten by Mrs. Norris, who must fancy that she settled it all -herself. - -Fanny’s last feeling in the visit was disappointment: for the shawl -which Edmund was quietly taking from the servant to bring and put round -her shoulders was seized by Mr. Crawford’s quicker hand, and she was -obliged to be indebted to his more prominent attention. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -William’s desire of seeing Fanny dance made more than a momentary -impression on his uncle. The hope of an opportunity, which Sir Thomas -had then given, was not given to be thought of no more. He remained -steadily inclined to gratify so amiable a feeling; to gratify anybody -else who might wish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure to the -young people in general; and having thought the matter over, and taken -his resolution in quiet independence, the result of it appeared the -next morning at breakfast, when, after recalling and commending what -his nephew had said, he added, “I do not like, William, that you should -leave Northamptonshire without this indulgence. It would give me -pleasure to see you both dance. You spoke of the balls at Northampton. -Your cousins have occasionally attended them; but they would not -altogether suit us now. The fatigue would be too much for your aunt. I -believe we must not think of a Northampton ball. A dance at home would -be more eligible; and if—” - -“Ah, my dear Sir Thomas!” interrupted Mrs. Norris, “I knew what was -coming. I knew what you were going to say. If dear Julia were at home, -or dearest Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton, to afford a reason, an occasion -for such a thing, you would be tempted to give the young people a dance -at Mansfield. I know you would. If _they_ were at home to grace the -ball, a ball you would have this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, -William, thank your uncle!” - -“My daughters,” replied Sir Thomas, gravely interposing, “have their -pleasures at Brighton, and I hope are very happy; but the dance which I -think of giving at Mansfield will be for their cousins. Could we be all -assembled, our satisfaction would undoubtedly be more complete, but the -absence of some is not to debar the others of amusement.” - -Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. She saw decision in his looks, -and her surprise and vexation required some minutes’ silence to be -settled into composure. A ball at such a time! His daughters absent and -herself not consulted! There was comfort, however, soon at hand. _She_ -must be the doer of everything: Lady Bertram would of course be spared -all thought and exertion, and it would all fall upon _her_. She should -have to do the honours of the evening; and this reflection quickly -restored so much of her good-humour as enabled her to join in with the -others, before their happiness and thanks were all expressed. - -Edmund, William, and Fanny did, in their different ways, look and speak -as much grateful pleasure in the promised ball as Sir Thomas could -desire. Edmund’s feelings were for the other two. His father had never -conferred a favour or shewn a kindness more to his satisfaction. - -Lady Bertram was perfectly quiescent and contented, and had no -objections to make. Sir Thomas engaged for its giving her very little -trouble; and she assured him “that she was not at all afraid of the -trouble; indeed, she could not imagine there would be any.” - -Mrs. Norris was ready with her suggestions as to the rooms he would -think fittest to be used, but found it all prearranged; and when she -would have conjectured and hinted about the day, it appeared that the -day was settled too. Sir Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping a -very complete outline of the business; and as soon as she would listen -quietly, could read his list of the families to be invited, from whom -he calculated, with all necessary allowance for the shortness of the -notice, to collect young people enough to form twelve or fourteen -couple: and could detail the considerations which had induced him to -fix on the 22nd as the most eligible day. William was required to be at -Portsmouth on the 24th; the 22nd would therefore be the last day of his -visit; but where the days were so few it would be unwise to fix on any -earlier. Mrs. Norris was obliged to be satisfied with thinking just the -same, and with having been on the point of proposing the 22nd herself, -as by far the best day for the purpose. - -The ball was now a settled thing, and before the evening a proclaimed -thing to all whom it concerned. Invitations were sent with despatch, -and many a young lady went to bed that night with her head full of -happy cares as well as Fanny. To her the cares were sometimes almost -beyond the happiness; for young and inexperienced, with small means of -choice and no confidence in her own taste, the “how she should be -dressed” was a point of painful solicitude; and the almost solitary -ornament in her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William had -brought her from Sicily, was the greatest distress of all, for she had -nothing but a bit of ribbon to fasten it to; and though she had worn it -in that manner once, would it be allowable at such a time in the midst -of all the rich ornaments which she supposed all the other young ladies -would appear in? And yet not to wear it! William had wanted to buy her -a gold chain too, but the purchase had been beyond his means, and -therefore not to wear the cross might be mortifying him. These were -anxious considerations; enough to sober her spirits even under the -prospect of a ball given principally for her gratification. - -The preparations meanwhile went on, and Lady Bertram continued to sit -on her sofa without any inconvenience from them. She had some extra -visits from the housekeeper, and her maid was rather hurried in making -up a new dress for her: Sir Thomas gave orders, and Mrs. Norris ran -about; but all this gave _her_ no trouble, and as she had foreseen, -“there was, in fact, no trouble in the business.” - -Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares: his mind being -deeply occupied in the consideration of two important events now at -hand, which were to fix his fate in life—ordination and -matrimony—events of such a serious character as to make the ball, which -would be very quickly followed by one of them, appear of less moment in -his eyes than in those of any other person in the house. On the 23rd he -was going to a friend near Peterborough, in the same situation as -himself, and they were to receive ordination in the course of the -Christmas week. Half his destiny would then be determined, but the -other half might not be so very smoothly wooed. His duties would be -established, but the wife who was to share, and animate, and reward -those duties, might yet be unattainable. He knew his own mind, but he -was not always perfectly assured of knowing Miss Crawford’s. There were -points on which they did not quite agree; there were moments in which -she did not seem propitious; and though trusting altogether to her -affection, so far as to be resolved—almost resolved—on bringing it to a -decision within a very short time, as soon as the variety of business -before him were arranged, and he knew what he had to offer her, he had -many anxious feelings, many doubting hours as to the result. His -conviction of her regard for him was sometimes very strong; he could -look back on a long course of encouragement, and she was as perfect in -disinterested attachment as in everything else. But at other times -doubt and alarm intermingled with his hopes; and when he thought of her -acknowledged disinclination for privacy and retirement, her decided -preference of a London life, what could he expect but a determined -rejection? unless it were an acceptance even more to be deprecated, -demanding such sacrifices of situation and employment on his side as -conscience must forbid. - -The issue of all depended on one question. Did she love him well enough -to forego what had used to be essential points? Did she love him well -enough to make them no longer essential? And this question, which he -was continually repeating to himself, though oftenest answered with a -“Yes,” had sometimes its “No.” - -Miss Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on this circumstance the -“no” and the “yes” had been very recently in alternation. He had seen -her eyes sparkle as she spoke of the dear friend’s letter, which -claimed a long visit from her in London, and of the kindness of Henry, -in engaging to remain where he was till January, that he might convey -her thither; he had heard her speak of the pleasure of such a journey -with an animation which had “no” in every tone. But this had occurred -on the first day of its being settled, within the first hour of the -burst of such enjoyment, when nothing but the friends she was to visit -was before her. He had since heard her express herself differently, -with other feelings, more chequered feelings: he had heard her tell -Mrs. Grant that she should leave her with regret; that she began to -believe neither the friends nor the pleasures she was going to were -worth those she left behind; and that though she felt she must go, and -knew she should enjoy herself when once away, she was already looking -forward to being at Mansfield again. Was there not a “yes” in all this? - -With such matters to ponder over, and arrange, and re-arrange, Edmund -could not, on his own account, think very much of the evening which the -rest of the family were looking forward to with a more equal degree of -strong interest. Independent of his two cousins’ enjoyment in it, the -evening was to him of no higher value than any other appointed meeting -of the two families might be. In every meeting there was a hope of -receiving farther confirmation of Miss Crawford’s attachment; but the -whirl of a ballroom, perhaps, was not particularly favourable to the -excitement or expression of serious feelings. To engage her early for -the two first dances was all the command of individual happiness which -he felt in his power, and the only preparation for the ball which he -could enter into, in spite of all that was passing around him on the -subject, from morning till night. - -Thursday was the day of the ball; and on Wednesday morning Fanny, still -unable to satisfy herself as to what she ought to wear, determined to -seek the counsel of the more enlightened, and apply to Mrs. Grant and -her sister, whose acknowledged taste would certainly bear her -blameless; and as Edmund and William were gone to Northampton, and she -had reason to think Mr. Crawford likewise out, she walked down to the -Parsonage without much fear of wanting an opportunity for private -discussion; and the privacy of such a discussion was a most important -part of it to Fanny, being more than half-ashamed of her own -solicitude. - -She met Miss Crawford within a few yards of the Parsonage, just setting -out to call on her, and as it seemed to her that her friend, though -obliged to insist on turning back, was unwilling to lose her walk, she -explained her business at once, and observed, that if she would be so -kind as to give her opinion, it might be all talked over as well -without doors as within. Miss Crawford appeared gratified by the -application, and after a moment’s thought, urged Fanny’s returning with -her in a much more cordial manner than before, and proposed their going -up into her room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without -disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were together in the drawing-room. -It was just the plan to suit Fanny; and with a great deal of gratitude -on her side for such ready and kind attention, they proceeded indoors, -and upstairs, and were soon deep in the interesting subject. Miss -Crawford, pleased with the appeal, gave her all her best judgment and -taste, made everything easy by her suggestions, and tried to make -everything agreeable by her encouragement. The dress being settled in -all its grander parts—“But what shall you have by way of necklace?” -said Miss Crawford. “Shall not you wear your brother’s cross?” And as -she spoke she was undoing a small parcel, which Fanny had observed in -her hand when they met. Fanny acknowledged her wishes and doubts on -this point: she did not know how either to wear the cross, or to -refrain from wearing it. She was answered by having a small trinket-box -placed before her, and being requested to chuse from among several gold -chains and necklaces. Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawford -was provided, and such the object of her intended visit: and in the -kindest manner she now urged Fanny’s taking one for the cross and to -keep for her sake, saying everything she could think of to obviate the -scruples which were making Fanny start back at first with a look of -horror at the proposal. - -“You see what a collection I have,” said she; “more by half than I ever -use or think of. I do not offer them as new. I offer nothing but an old -necklace. You must forgive the liberty, and oblige me.” - -Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift was too valuable. -But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case with so much -affectionate earnestness through all the heads of William and the -cross, and the ball, and herself, as to be finally successful. Fanny -found herself obliged to yield, that she might not be accused of pride -or indifference, or some other littleness; and having with modest -reluctance given her consent, proceeded to make the selection. She -looked and looked, longing to know which might be least valuable; and -was determined in her choice at last, by fancying there was one -necklace more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest. It was -of gold, prettily worked; and though Fanny would have preferred a -longer and a plainer chain as more adapted for her purpose, she hoped, -in fixing on this, to be chusing what Miss Crawford least wished to -keep. Miss Crawford smiled her perfect approbation; and hastened to -complete the gift by putting the necklace round her, and making her see -how well it looked. Fanny had not a word to say against its -becomingness, and, excepting what remained of her scruples, was -exceedingly pleased with an acquisition so very apropos. She would -rather, perhaps, have been obliged to some other person. But this was -an unworthy feeling. Miss Crawford had anticipated her wants with a -kindness which proved her a real friend. “When I wear this necklace I -shall always think of you,” said she, “and feel how very kind you -were.” - -“You must think of somebody else too, when you wear that necklace,” -replied Miss Crawford. “You must think of Henry, for it was his choice -in the first place. He gave it to me, and with the necklace I make over -to you all the duty of remembering the original giver. It is to be a -family remembrancer. The sister is not to be in your mind without -bringing the brother too.” - -Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would have returned the -present instantly. To take what had been the gift of another person, of -a brother too, impossible! it must not be! and with an eagerness and -embarrassment quite diverting to her companion, she laid down the -necklace again on its cotton, and seemed resolved either to take -another or none at all. Miss Crawford thought she had never seen a -prettier consciousness. “My dear child,” said she, laughing, “what are -you afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as mine, and -fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are you imagining he would be -too much flattered by seeing round your lovely throat an ornament which -his money purchased three years ago, before he knew there was such a -throat in the world? or perhaps”—looking archly—“you suspect a -confederacy between us, and that what I am now doing is with his -knowledge and at his desire?” - -With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a thought. - -“Well, then,” replied Miss Crawford more seriously, but without at all -believing her, “to convince me that you suspect no trick, and are as -unsuspicious of compliment as I have always found you, take the -necklace and say no more about it. Its being a gift of my brother’s -need not make the smallest difference in your accepting it, as I assure -you it makes none in my willingness to part with it. He is always -giving me something or other. I have such innumerable presents from him -that it is quite impossible for me to value or for him to remember -half. And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it six -times: it is very pretty, but I never think of it; and though you would -be most heartily welcome to any other in my trinket-box, you have -happened to fix on the very one which, if I have a choice, I would -rather part with and see in your possession than any other. Say no more -against it, I entreat you. Such a trifle is not worth half so many -words.” - -Fanny dared not make any farther opposition; and with renewed but less -happy thanks accepted the necklace again, for there was an expression -in Miss Crawford’s eyes which she could not be satisfied with. - -It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford’s change of -manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried to please her: he was -gallant, he was attentive, he was something like what he had been to -her cousins: he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity -as he had cheated them; and whether he might not have some concern in -this necklace—she could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss -Crawford, complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a -friend. - -Reflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possession of what she -had so much wished for did not bring much satisfaction, she now walked -home again, with a change rather than a diminution of cares since her -treading that path before. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -On reaching home Fanny went immediately upstairs to deposit this -unexpected acquisition, this doubtful good of a necklace, in some -favourite box in the East room, which held all her smaller treasures; -but on opening the door, what was her surprise to find her cousin -Edmund there writing at the table! Such a sight having never occurred -before, was almost as wonderful as it was welcome. - -“Fanny,” said he directly, leaving his seat and his pen, and meeting -her with something in his hand, “I beg your pardon for being here. I -came to look for you, and after waiting a little while in hope of your -coming in, was making use of your inkstand to explain my errand. You -will find the beginning of a note to yourself; but I can now speak my -business, which is merely to beg your acceptance of this little -trifle—a chain for William’s cross. You ought to have had it a week -ago, but there has been a delay from my brother’s not being in town by -several days so soon as I expected; and I have only just now received -it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain itself, Fanny. I -endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your taste; but, at any rate, -I know you will be kind to my intentions, and consider it, as it really -is, a token of the love of one of your oldest friends.” - -And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, overpowered by a -thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could attempt to speak; but -quickened by one sovereign wish, she then called out, “Oh! cousin, stop -a moment, pray stop!” - -He turned back. - -“I cannot attempt to thank you,” she continued, in a very agitated -manner; “thanks are out of the question. I feel much more than I can -possibly express. Your goodness in thinking of me in such a way is -beyond—” - -“If that is all you have to say, Fanny” smiling and turning away again. - -“No, no, it is not. I want to consult you.” - -Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel he had just put into -her hand, and seeing before her, in all the niceness of jewellers’ -packing, a plain gold chain, perfectly simple and neat, she could not -help bursting forth again, “Oh, this is beautiful indeed! This is the -very thing, precisely what I wished for! This is the only ornament I -have ever had a desire to possess. It will exactly suit my cross. They -must and shall be worn together. It comes, too, in such an acceptable -moment. Oh, cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is.” - -“My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too much. I am most -happy that you like the chain, and that it should be here in time for -to-morrow; but your thanks are far beyond the occasion. Believe me, I -have no pleasure in the world superior to that of contributing to -yours. No, I can safely say, I have no pleasure so complete, so -unalloyed. It is without a drawback.” - -Upon such expressions of affection Fanny could have lived an hour -without saying another word; but Edmund, after waiting a moment, -obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, -“But what is it that you want to consult me about?” - -It was about the necklace, which she was now most earnestly longing to -return, and hoped to obtain his approbation of her doing. She gave the -history of her recent visit, and now her raptures might well be over; -for Edmund was so struck with the circumstance, so delighted with what -Miss Crawford had done, so gratified by such a coincidence of conduct -between them, that Fanny could not but admit the superior power of one -pleasure over his own mind, though it might have its drawback. It was -some time before she could get his attention to her plan, or any answer -to her demand of his opinion: he was in a reverie of fond reflection, -uttering only now and then a few half-sentences of praise; but when he -did awake and understand, he was very decided in opposing what she -wished. - -“Return the necklace! No, my dear Fanny, upon no account. It would be -mortifying her severely. There can hardly be a more unpleasant -sensation than the having anything returned on our hands which we have -given with a reasonable hope of its contributing to the comfort of a -friend. Why should she lose a pleasure which she has shewn herself so -deserving of?” - -“If it had been given to me in the first instance,” said Fanny, “I -should not have thought of returning it; but being her brother’s -present, is not it fair to suppose that she would rather not part with -it, when it is not wanted?” - -“She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable, at least: and its -having been originally her brother’s gift makes no difference; for as -she was not prevented from offering, nor you from taking it on that -account, it ought not to prevent you from keeping it. No doubt it is -handsomer than mine, and fitter for a ballroom.” - -“No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its way, and, for my -purpose, not half so fit. The chain will agree with William’s cross -beyond all comparison better than the necklace.” - -“For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it _be_ a sacrifice; I am -sure you will, upon consideration, make that sacrifice rather than give -pain to one who has been so studious of your comfort. Miss Crawford’s -attentions to you have been—not more than you were justly entitled to—I -am the last person to think that _could_ _be_, but they have been -invariable; and to be returning them with what must have something the -_air_ of ingratitude, though I know it could never have the _meaning_, -is not in your nature, I am sure. Wear the necklace, as you are engaged -to do, to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was not ordered with -any reference to the ball, be kept for commoner occasions. This is my -advice. I would not have the shadow of a coolness between the two whose -intimacy I have been observing with the greatest pleasure, and in whose -characters there is so much general resemblance in true generosity and -natural delicacy as to make the few slight differences, resulting -principally from situation, no reasonable hindrance to a perfect -friendship. I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise,” he -repeated, his voice sinking a little, “between the two dearest objects -I have on earth.” - -He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny remained to tranquillise herself as -she could. She was one of his two dearest—that must support her. But -the other: the first! She had never heard him speak so openly before, -and though it told her no more than what she had long perceived, it was -a stab, for it told of his own convictions and views. They were -decided. He would marry Miss Crawford. It was a stab, in spite of every -long-standing expectation; and she was obliged to repeat again and -again, that she was one of his two dearest, before the words gave her -any sensation. Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve him, it would -be—oh, how different would it be—how far more tolerable! But he was -deceived in her: he gave her merits which she had not; her faults were -what they had ever been, but he saw them no longer. Till she had shed -many tears over this deception, Fanny could not subdue her agitation; -and the dejection which followed could only be relieved by the -influence of fervent prayers for his happiness. - -It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to overcome -all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness, in her -affection for Edmund. To call or to fancy it a loss, a disappointment, -would be a presumption for which she had not words strong enough to -satisfy her own humility. To think of him as Miss Crawford might be -justified in thinking, would in her be insanity. To her he could be -nothing under any circumstances; nothing dearer than a friend. Why did -such an idea occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden? -It ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. She -would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of judging of -Miss Crawford’s character, and the privilege of true solicitude for him -by a sound intellect and an honest heart. - -She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined to do her -duty; but having also many of the feelings of youth and nature, let her -not be much wondered at, if, after making all these good resolutions on -the side of self-government, she seized the scrap of paper on which -Edmund had begun writing to her, as a treasure beyond all her hopes, -and reading with the tenderest emotion these words, “My very dear -Fanny, you must do me the favour to accept” locked it up with the -chain, as the dearest part of the gift. It was the only thing -approaching to a letter which she had ever received from him; she might -never receive another; it was impossible that she ever should receive -another so perfectly gratifying in the occasion and the style. Two -lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most -distinguished author—never more completely blessed the researches of -the fondest biographer. The enthusiasm of a woman’s love is even beyond -the biographer’s. To her, the handwriting itself, independent of -anything it may convey, is a blessedness. Never were such characters -cut by any other human being as Edmund’s commonest handwriting gave! -This specimen, written in haste as it was, had not a fault; and there -was a felicity in the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement -of “My very dear Fanny,” which she could have looked at for ever. - -Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by this happy -mixture of reason and weakness, she was able in due time to go down and -resume her usual employments near her aunt Bertram, and pay her the -usual observances without any apparent want of spirits. - -Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came; and opened with more -kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, unmanageable days often -volunteer, for soon after breakfast a very friendly note was brought -from Mr. Crawford to William, stating that as he found himself obliged -to go to London on the morrow for a few days, he could not help trying -to procure a companion; and therefore hoped that if William could make -up his mind to leave Mansfield half a day earlier than had been -proposed, he would accept a place in his carriage. Mr. Crawford meant -to be in town by his uncle’s accustomary late dinner-hour, and William -was invited to dine with him at the Admiral’s. The proposal was a very -pleasant one to William himself, who enjoyed the idea of travelling -post with four horses, and such a good-humoured, agreeable friend; and, -in likening it to going up with despatches, was saying at once -everything in favour of its happiness and dignity which his imagination -could suggest; and Fanny, from a different motive, was exceedingly -pleased; for the original plan was that William should go up by the -mail from Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed -him an hour’s rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth coach; and -though this offer of Mr. Crawford’s would rob her of many hours of his -company, she was too happy in having William spared from the fatigue of -such a journey, to think of anything else. Sir Thomas approved of it -for another reason. His nephew’s introduction to Admiral Crawford might -be of service. The Admiral, he believed, had interest. Upon the whole, -it was a very joyous note. Fanny’s spirits lived on it half the -morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its writer being -himself to go away. - -As for the ball, so near at hand, she had too many agitations and fears -to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, -or must have been supposed to have by the many young ladies looking -forward to the same event in situations more at ease, but under -circumstances of less novelty, less interest, less peculiar -gratification, than would be attributed to her. Miss Price, known only -by name to half the people invited, was now to make her first -appearance, and must be regarded as the queen of the evening. Who could -be happier than Miss Price? But Miss Price had not been brought up to -the trade of _coming_ _out_; and had she known in what light this ball -was, in general, considered respecting her, it would very much have -lessened her comfort by increasing the fears she already had of doing -wrong and being looked at. To dance without much observation or any -extraordinary fatigue, to have strength and partners for about half the -evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. -Crawford, to see William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from -her aunt Norris, was the height of her ambition, and seemed to -comprehend her greatest possibility of happiness. As these were the -best of her hopes, they could not always prevail; and in the course of -a long morning, spent principally with her two aunts, she was often -under the influence of much less sanguine views. William, determined to -make this last day a day of thorough enjoyment, was out snipe-shooting; -Edmund, she had too much reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage; and -left alone to bear the worrying of Mrs. Norris, who was cross because -the housekeeper would have her own way with the supper, and whom _she_ -could not avoid though the housekeeper might, Fanny was worn down at -last to think everything an evil belonging to the ball, and when sent -off with a parting worry to dress, moved as languidly towards her own -room, and felt as incapable of happiness as if she had been allowed no -share in it. - -As she walked slowly upstairs she thought of yesterday; it had been -about the same hour that she had returned from the Parsonage, and found -Edmund in the East room. “Suppose I were to find him there again -to-day!” said she to herself, in a fond indulgence of fancy. - -“Fanny,” said a voice at that moment near her. Starting and looking up, -she saw, across the lobby she had just reached, Edmund himself, -standing at the head of a different staircase. He came towards her. -“You look tired and fagged, Fanny. You have been walking too far.” - -“No, I have not been out at all.” - -“Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse. You had -better have gone out.” - -Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make no answer; and -though he looked at her with his usual kindness, she believed he had -soon ceased to think of her countenance. He did not appear in spirits: -something unconnected with her was probably amiss. They proceeded -upstairs together, their rooms being on the same floor above. - -“I come from Dr. Grant’s,” said Edmund presently. “You may guess my -errand there, Fanny.” And he looked so conscious, that Fanny could -think but of one errand, which turned her too sick for speech. “I -wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances,” was the -explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life again, enabling -her, as she found she was expected to speak, to utter something like an -inquiry as to the result. - -“Yes,” he answered, “she is engaged to me; but” (with a smile that did -not sit easy) “she says it is to be the last time that she ever will -dance with me. She is not serious. I think, I hope, I am sure she is -not serious; but I would rather not hear it. She never has danced with -a clergyman, she says, and she never _will_. For my own sake, I could -wish there had been no ball just at—I mean not this very week, this -very day; to-morrow I leave home.” - -Fanny struggled for speech, and said, “I am very sorry that anything -has occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day of pleasure. My -uncle meant it so.” - -“Oh yes, yes! and it will be a day of pleasure. It will all end right. -I am only vexed for a moment. In fact, it is not that I consider the -ball as ill-timed; what does it signify? But, Fanny,” stopping her, by -taking her hand, and speaking low and seriously, “you know what all -this means. You see how it is; and could tell me, perhaps better than I -could tell you, how and why I am vexed. Let me talk to you a little. -You are a kind, kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this -morning, and cannot get the better of it. I know her disposition to be -as sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former -companions makes her seem—gives to her conversation, to her professed -opinions, sometimes a tinge of wrong. She does not _think_ evil, but -she speaks it, speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be -playfulness, it grieves me to the soul.” - -“The effect of education,” said Fanny gently. - -Edmund could not but agree to it. “Yes, that uncle and aunt! They have -injured the finest mind; for sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it does -appear more than manner: it appears as if the mind itself was tainted.” - -Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, and therefore, -after a moment’s consideration, said, “If you only want me as a -listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can; but I am not qualified -for an adviser. Do not ask advice of _me_. I am not competent.” - -“You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an office, but you need -not be afraid. It is a subject on which I should never ask advice; it -is the sort of subject on which it had better never be asked; and few, -I imagine, do ask it, but when they want to be influenced against their -conscience. I only want to talk to you.” - -“One thing more. Excuse the liberty; but take care _how_ you talk to -me. Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter you may be sorry for. -The time may come—” - -The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke. - -“Dearest Fanny!” cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his lips with -almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Crawford’s, “you are all -considerate thought! But it is unnecessary here. The time will never -come. No such time as you allude to will ever come. I begin to think it -most improbable: the chances grow less and less; and even if it should, -there will be nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need -be afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples; and if -they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise her -character the more by the recollection of the faults she once had. You -are the only being upon earth to whom I should say what I have said; -but you have always known my opinion of her; you can bear me witness, -Fanny, that I have never been blinded. How many a time have we talked -over her little errors! You need not fear me; I have almost given up -every serious idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed, if, -whatever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy without -the sincerest gratitude.” - -He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen. He had said -enough to give Fanny some happier feelings than she had lately known, -and with a brighter look, she answered, “Yes, cousin, I am convinced -that _you_ would be incapable of anything else, though perhaps some -might not. I cannot be afraid of hearing anything you wish to say. Do -not check yourself. Tell me whatever you like.” - -They were now on the second floor, and the appearance of a housemaid -prevented any farther conversation. For Fanny’s present comfort it was -concluded, perhaps, at the happiest moment: had he been able to talk -another five minutes, there is no saying that he might not have talked -away all Miss Crawford’s faults and his own despondence. But as it was, -they parted with looks on his side of grateful affection, and with some -very precious sensations on hers. She had felt nothing like it for -hours. Since the first joy from Mr. Crawford’s note to William had worn -away, she had been in a state absolutely the reverse; there had been no -comfort around, no hope within her. Now everything was smiling. -William’s good fortune returned again upon her mind, and seemed of -greater value than at first. The ball, too—such an evening of pleasure -before her! It was now a real animation; and she began to dress for it -with much of the happy flutter which belongs to a ball. All went well: -she did not dislike her own looks; and when she came to the necklaces -again, her good fortune seemed complete, for upon trial the one given -her by Miss Crawford would by no means go through the ring of the -cross. She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear it; but it was too -large for the purpose. His, therefore, must be worn; and having, with -delightful feelings, joined the chain and the cross—those memorials of -the two most beloved of her heart, those dearest tokens so formed for -each other by everything real and imaginary—and put them round her -neck, and seen and felt how full of William and Edmund they were, she -was able, without an effort, to resolve on wearing Miss Crawford’s -necklace too. She acknowledged it to be right. Miss Crawford had a -claim; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere with the -stronger claims, the truer kindness of another, she could do her -justice even with pleasure to herself. The necklace really looked very -well; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably satisfied with -herself and all about her. - -Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion with an unusual -degree of wakefulness. It had really occurred to her, unprompted, that -Fanny, preparing for a ball, might be glad of better help than the -upper housemaid’s, and when dressed herself, she actually sent her own -maid to assist her; too late, of course, to be of any use. Mrs. Chapman -had just reached the attic floor, when Miss Price came out of her room -completely dressed, and only civilities were necessary; but Fanny felt -her aunt’s attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs. Chapman -could do themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -Her uncle and both her aunts were in the drawing-room when Fanny went -down. To the former she was an interesting object, and he saw with -pleasure the general elegance of her appearance, and her being in -remarkably good looks. The neatness and propriety of her dress was all -that he would allow himself to commend in her presence, but upon her -leaving the room again soon afterwards, he spoke of her beauty with -very decided praise. - -“Yes,” said Lady Bertram, “she looks very well. I sent Chapman to her.” - -“Look well! Oh, yes!” cried Mrs. Norris, “she has good reason to look -well with all her advantages: brought up in this family as she has -been, with all the benefit of her cousins’ manners before her. Only -think, my dear Sir Thomas, what extraordinary advantages you and I have -been the means of giving her. The very gown you have been taking notice -of is your own generous present to her when dear Mrs. Rushworth -married. What would she have been if we had not taken her by the hand?” - -Sir Thomas said no more; but when they sat down to table the eyes of -the two young men assured him that the subject might be gently touched -again, when the ladies withdrew, with more success. Fanny saw that she -was approved; and the consciousness of looking well made her look still -better. From a variety of causes she was happy, and she was soon made -still happier; for in following her aunts out of the room, Edmund, who -was holding open the door, said, as she passed him, “You must dance -with me, Fanny; you must keep two dances for me; any two that you like, -except the first.” She had nothing more to wish for. She had hardly -ever been in a state so nearly approaching high spirits in her life. -Her cousins’ former gaiety on the day of a ball was no longer -surprising to her; she felt it to be indeed very charming, and was -actually practising her steps about the drawing-room as long as she -could be safe from the notice of her aunt Norris, who was entirely -taken up at first in fresh arranging and injuring the noble fire which -the butler had prepared. - -Half an hour followed that would have been at least languid under any -other circumstances, but Fanny’s happiness still prevailed. It was but -to think of her conversation with Edmund, and what was the restlessness -of Mrs. Norris? What were the yawns of Lady Bertram? - -The gentlemen joined them; and soon after began the sweet expectation -of a carriage, when a general spirit of ease and enjoyment seemed -diffused, and they all stood about and talked and laughed, and every -moment had its pleasure and its hope. Fanny felt that there must be a -struggle in Edmund’s cheerfulness, but it was delightful to see the -effort so successfully made. - -When the carriages were really heard, when the guests began really to -assemble, her own gaiety of heart was much subdued: the sight of so -many strangers threw her back into herself; and besides the gravity and -formality of the first great circle, which the manners of neither Sir -Thomas nor Lady Bertram were of a kind to do away, she found herself -occasionally called on to endure something worse. She was introduced -here and there by her uncle, and forced to be spoken to, and to -curtsey, and speak again. This was a hard duty, and she was never -summoned to it without looking at William, as he walked about at his -ease in the background of the scene, and longing to be with him. - -The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a favourable epoch. The -stiffness of the meeting soon gave way before their popular manners and -more diffused intimacies: little groups were formed, and everybody grew -comfortable. Fanny felt the advantage; and, drawing back from the toils -of civility, would have been again most happy, could she have kept her -eyes from wandering between Edmund and Mary Crawford. _She_ looked all -loveliness—and what might not be the end of it? Her own musings were -brought to an end on perceiving Mr. Crawford before her, and her -thoughts were put into another channel by his engaging her almost -instantly for the first two dances. Her happiness on this occasion was -very much _à la mortal_, finely chequered. To be secure of a partner at -first was a most essential good—for the moment of beginning was now -growing seriously near; and she so little understood her own claims as -to think that if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have been the -last to be sought after, and should have received a partner only -through a series of inquiry, and bustle, and interference, which would -have been terrible; but at the same time there was a pointedness in his -manner of asking her which she did not like, and she saw his eye -glancing for a moment at her necklace, with a smile—she thought there -was a smile—which made her blush and feel wretched. And though there -was no second glance to disturb her, though his object seemed then to -be only quietly agreeable, she could not get the better of her -embarrassment, heightened as it was by the idea of his perceiving it, -and had no composure till he turned away to some one else. Then she -could gradually rise up to the genuine satisfaction of having a -partner, a voluntary partner, secured against the dancing began. - -When the company were moving into the ballroom, she found herself for -the first time near Miss Crawford, whose eyes and smiles were -immediately and more unequivocally directed as her brother’s had been, -and who was beginning to speak on the subject, when Fanny, anxious to -get the story over, hastened to give the explanation of the second -necklace: the real chain. Miss Crawford listened; and all her intended -compliments and insinuations to Fanny were forgotten: she felt only one -thing; and her eyes, bright as they had been before, shewing they could -yet be brighter, she exclaimed with eager pleasure, “Did he? Did -Edmund? That was like himself. No other man would have thought of it. I -honour him beyond expression.” And she looked around as if longing to -tell him so. He was not near, he was attending a party of ladies out of -the room; and Mrs. Grant coming up to the two girls, and taking an arm -of each, they followed with the rest. - -Fanny’s heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking long even of -Miss Crawford’s feelings. They were in the ballroom, the violins were -playing, and her mind was in a flutter that forbade its fixing on -anything serious. She must watch the general arrangements, and see how -everything was done. - -In a few minutes Sir Thomas came to her, and asked if she were engaged; -and the “Yes, sir; to Mr. Crawford,” was exactly what he had intended -to hear. Mr. Crawford was not far off; Sir Thomas brought him to her, -saying something which discovered to Fanny, that _she_ was to lead the -way and open the ball; an idea that had never occurred to her before. -Whenever she had thought of the minutiae of the evening, it had been as -a matter of course that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford; and the -impression was so strong, that though _her_ _uncle_ spoke the contrary, -she could not help an exclamation of surprise, a hint of her unfitness, -an entreaty even to be excused. To be urging her opinion against Sir -Thomas’s was a proof of the extremity of the case; but such was her -horror at the first suggestion, that she could actually look him in the -face and say that she hoped it might be settled otherwise; in vain, -however: Sir Thomas smiled, tried to encourage her, and then looked too -serious, and said too decidedly, “It must be so, my dear,” for her to -hazard another word; and she found herself the next moment conducted by -Mr. Crawford to the top of the room, and standing there to be joined by -the rest of the dancers, couple after couple, as they were formed. - -She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many elegant young -women! The distinction was too great. It was treating her like her -cousins! And her thoughts flew to those absent cousins with most -unfeigned and truly tender regret, that they were not at home to take -their own place in the room, and have their share of a pleasure which -would have been so very delightful to them. So often as she had heard -them wish for a ball at home as the greatest of all felicities! And to -have them away when it was given—and for _her_ to be opening the -ball—and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped they would not envy her that -distinction _now_; but when she looked back to the state of things in -the autumn, to what they had all been to each other when once dancing -in that house before, the present arrangement was almost more than she -could understand herself. - -The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to Fanny, for the -first dance at least: her partner was in excellent spirits, and tried -to impart them to her; but she was a great deal too much frightened to -have any enjoyment till she could suppose herself no longer looked at. -Young, pretty, and gentle, however, she had no awkwardnesses that were -not as good as graces, and there were few persons present that were not -disposed to praise her. She was attractive, she was modest, she was Sir -Thomas’s niece, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr. Crawford. It -was enough to give her general favour. Sir Thomas himself was watching -her progress down the dance with much complacency; he was proud of his -niece; and without attributing all her personal beauty, as Mrs. Norris -seemed to do, to her transplantation to Mansfield, he was pleased with -himself for having supplied everything else: education and manners she -owed to him. - -Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas’s thoughts as he stood, and -having, in spite of all his wrongs towards her, a general prevailing -desire of recommending herself to him, took an opportunity of stepping -aside to say something agreeable of Fanny. Her praise was warm, and he -received it as she could wish, joining in it as far as discretion, and -politeness, and slowness of speech would allow, and certainly appearing -to greater advantage on the subject than his lady did soon afterwards, -when Mary, perceiving her on a sofa very near, turned round before she -began to dance, to compliment her on Miss Price’s looks. - -“Yes, she does look very well,” was Lady Bertram’s placid reply. -“Chapman helped her to dress. I sent Chapman to her.” Not but that she -was really pleased to have Fanny admired; but she was so much more -struck with her own kindness in sending Chapman to her, that she could -not get it out of her head. - -Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of gratifying _her_ by -commendation of Fanny; to her, it was as the occasion offered—“Ah! -ma’am, how much we want dear Mrs. Rushworth and Julia to-night!” and -Mrs. Norris paid her with as many smiles and courteous words as she had -time for, amid so much occupation as she found for herself in making up -card-tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas, and trying to move all the -chaperons to a better part of the room. - -Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in her intentions to -please. She meant to be giving her little heart a happy flutter, and -filling her with sensations of delightful self-consequence; and, -misinterpreting Fanny’s blushes, still thought she must be doing so -when she went to her after the two first dances, and said, with a -significant look, “Perhaps _you_ can tell me why my brother goes to -town to-morrow? He says he has business there, but will not tell me -what. The first time he ever denied me his confidence! But this is what -we all come to. All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must apply -to you for information. Pray, what is Henry going for?” - -Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrassment allowed. - -“Well, then,” replied Miss Crawford, laughing, “I must suppose it to be -purely for the pleasure of conveying your brother, and of talking of -you by the way.” - -Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discontent; while Miss -Crawford wondered she did not smile, and thought her over-anxious, or -thought her odd, or thought her anything rather than insensible of -pleasure in Henry’s attentions. Fanny had a good deal of enjoyment in -the course of the evening; but Henry’s attentions had very little to do -with it. She would much rather _not_ have been asked by him again so -very soon, and she wished she had not been obliged to suspect that his -previous inquiries of Mrs. Norris, about the supper hour, were all for -the sake of securing her at that part of the evening. But it was not to -be avoided: he made her feel that she was the object of all; though she -could not say that it was unpleasantly done, that there was indelicacy -or ostentation in his manner; and sometimes, when he talked of William, -he was really not unagreeable, and shewed even a warmth of heart which -did him credit. But still his attentions made no part of her -satisfaction. She was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw how -perfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five minutes that she could -walk about with him and hear his account of his partners; she was happy -in knowing herself admired; and she was happy in having the two dances -with Edmund still to look forward to, during the greatest part of the -evening, her hand being so eagerly sought after that her indefinite -engagement with _him_ was in continual perspective. She was happy even -when they did take place; but not from any flow of spirits on his side, -or any such expressions of tender gallantry as had blessed the morning. -His mind was fagged, and her happiness sprung from being the friend -with whom it could find repose. “I am worn out with civility,” said he. -“I have been talking incessantly all night, and with nothing to say. -But with _you_, Fanny, there may be peace. You will not want to be -talked to. Let us have the luxury of silence.” Fanny would hardly even -speak her agreement. A weariness, arising probably, in great measure, -from the same feelings which he had acknowledged in the morning, was -peculiarly to be respected, and they went down their two dances -together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any looker-on -that Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for his younger son. - -The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss Crawford had been -in gay spirits when they first danced together, but it was not her -gaiety that could do him good: it rather sank than raised his comfort; -and afterwards, for he found himself still impelled to seek her again, -she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking of the -profession to which he was now on the point of belonging. They had -talked, and they had been silent; he had reasoned, she had ridiculed; -and they had parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny, not able to -refrain entirely from observing them, had seen enough to be tolerably -satisfied. It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund was suffering. Yet -some happiness must and would arise from the very conviction that he -did suffer. - -When her two dances with him were over, her inclination and strength -for more were pretty well at an end; and Sir Thomas, having seen her -walk rather than dance down the shortening set, breathless, and with -her hand at her side, gave his orders for her sitting down entirely. -From that time Mr. Crawford sat down likewise. - -“Poor Fanny!” cried William, coming for a moment to visit her, and -working away his partner’s fan as if for life, “how soon she is knocked -up! Why, the sport is but just begun. I hope we shall keep it up these -two hours. How can you be tired so soon?” - -“So soon! my good friend,” said Sir Thomas, producing his watch with -all necessary caution; “it is three o’clock, and your sister is not -used to these sort of hours.” - -“Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I go. Sleep -as long as you can, and never mind me.” - -“Oh! William.” - -“What! Did she think of being up before you set off?” - -“Oh! yes, sir,” cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her seat to be nearer -her uncle; “I must get up and breakfast with him. It will be the last -time, you know; the last morning.” - -“You had better not. He is to have breakfasted and be gone by half-past -nine. Mr. Crawford, I think you call for him at half-past nine?” - -Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears in her eyes for -denial; and it ended in a gracious “Well, well!” which was permission. - -“Yes, half-past nine,” said Crawford to William as the latter was -leaving them, “and I shall be punctual, for there will be no kind -sister to get up for _me_.” And in a lower tone to Fanny, “I shall have -only a desolate house to hurry from. Your brother will find my ideas of -time and his own very different to-morrow.” - -After a short consideration, Sir Thomas asked Crawford to join the -early breakfast party in that house instead of eating alone: he should -himself be of it; and the readiness with which his invitation was -accepted convinced him that the suspicions whence, he must confess to -himself, this very ball had in great measure sprung, were well founded. -Mr. Crawford was in love with Fanny. He had a pleasing anticipation of -what would be. His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had -just done. She had hoped to have William all to herself the last -morning. It would have been an unspeakable indulgence. But though her -wishes were overthrown, there was no spirit of murmuring within her. On -the contrary, she was so totally unused to have her pleasure consulted, -or to have anything take place at all in the way she could desire, that -she was more disposed to wonder and rejoice in having carried her point -so far, than to repine at the counteraction which followed. - -Shortly afterward, Sir Thomas was again interfering a little with her -inclination, by advising her to go immediately to bed. “Advise” was his -word, but it was the advice of absolute power, and she had only to -rise, and, with Mr. Crawford’s very cordial adieus, pass quietly away; -stopping at the entrance-door, like the Lady of Branxholm Hall, “one -moment and no more,” to view the happy scene, and take a last look at -the five or six determined couple who were still hard at work; and -then, creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the -ceaseless country-dance, feverish with hopes and fears, soup and negus, -sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in spite -of everything, that a ball was indeed delightful. - -In thus sending her away, Sir Thomas perhaps might not be thinking -merely of her health. It might occur to him that Mr. Crawford had been -sitting by her long enough, or he might mean to recommend her as a wife -by shewing her persuadableness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -The ball was over, and the breakfast was soon over too; the last kiss -was given, and William was gone. Mr. Crawford had, as he foretold, been -very punctual, and short and pleasant had been the meal. - -After seeing William to the last moment, Fanny walked back to the -breakfast-room with a very saddened heart to grieve over the melancholy -change; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in peace, -conceiving, perhaps, that the deserted chair of each young man might -exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remaining cold pork bones -and mustard in William’s plate might but divide her feelings with the -broken egg-shells in Mr. Crawford’s. She sat and cried _con_ _amore_ as -her uncle intended, but it was _con_ _amore_ fraternal and no other. -William was gone, and she now felt as if she had wasted half his visit -in idle cares and selfish solicitudes unconnected with him. - -Fanny’s disposition was such that she could never even think of her -aunt Norris in the meagreness and cheerlessness of her own small house, -without reproaching herself for some little want of attention to her -when they had been last together; much less could her feelings acquit -her of having done and said and thought everything by William that was -due to him for a whole fortnight. - -It was a heavy, melancholy day. Soon after the second breakfast, Edmund -bade them good-bye for a week, and mounted his horse for Peterborough, -and then all were gone. Nothing remained of last night but -remembrances, which she had nobody to share in. She talked to her aunt -Bertram—she must talk to somebody of the ball; but her aunt had seen so -little of what had passed, and had so little curiosity, that it was -heavy work. Lady Bertram was not certain of anybody’s dress or -anybody’s place at supper but her own. “She could not recollect what it -was that she had heard about one of the Miss Maddoxes, or what it was -that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny: she was not sure whether -Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford or of William when he -said he was the finest young man in the room—somebody had whispered -something to her; she had forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be.” -And these were her longest speeches and clearest communications: the -rest was only a languid “Yes, yes; very well; did you? did he? I did -not see _that_; I should not know one from the other.” This was very -bad. It was only better than Mrs. Norris’s sharp answers would have -been; but she being gone home with all the supernumerary jellies to -nurse a sick maid, there was peace and good-humour in their little -party, though it could not boast much beside. - -The evening was heavy like the day. “I cannot think what is the matter -with me,” said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things were removed. “I feel -quite stupid. It must be sitting up so late last night. Fanny, you must -do something to keep me awake. I cannot work. Fetch the cards; I feel -so very stupid.” - -The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with her aunt till -bedtime; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself, no sounds were heard -in the room for the next two hours beyond the reckonings of the -game—“And _that_ makes thirty-one; four in hand and eight in crib. You -are to deal, ma’am; shall I deal for you?” Fanny thought and thought -again of the difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, -and all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and smiles, -bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing-room, and out -of the drawing-room, and everywhere. Now it was languor, and all but -solitude. - -A good night’s rest improved her spirits. She could think of William -the next day more cheerfully; and as the morning afforded her an -opportunity of talking over Thursday night with Mrs. Grant and Miss -Crawford, in a very handsome style, with all the heightenings of -imagination, and all the laughs of playfulness which are so essential -to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards bring her mind -without much effort into its everyday state, and easily conform to the -tranquillity of the present quiet week. - -They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a -whole day together, and _he_ was gone on whom the comfort and -cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal chiefly depended. -But this must be learned to be endured. He would soon be always gone; -and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her -uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, and even answer them, -without such wretched feelings as she had formerly known. - -“We miss our two young men,” was Sir Thomas’s observation on both the -first and second day, as they formed their very reduced circle after -dinner; and in consideration of Fanny’s swimming eyes, nothing more was -said on the first day than to drink their good health; but on the -second it led to something farther. William was kindly commended and -his promotion hoped for. “And there is no reason to suppose,” added Sir -Thomas, “but that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent. As to -Edmund, we must learn to do without him. This will be the last winter -of his belonging to us, as he has done.” - -“Yes,” said Lady Bertram, “but I wish he was not going away. They are -all going away, I think. I wish they would stay at home.” - -This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just applied for -permission to go to town with Maria; and as Sir Thomas thought it best -for each daughter that the permission should be granted, Lady Bertram, -though in her own good-nature she would not have prevented it, was -lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia’s return, which -would otherwise have taken place about this time. A great deal of good -sense followed on Sir Thomas’s side, tending to reconcile his wife to -the arrangement. Everything that a considerate parent _ought_ to feel -was advanced for her use; and everything that an affectionate mother -_must_ feel in promoting her children’s enjoyment was attributed to her -nature. Lady Bertram agreed to it all with a calm “Yes”; and at the end -of a quarter of an hour’s silent consideration spontaneously observed, -“Sir Thomas, I have been thinking—and I am very glad we took Fanny as -we did, for now the others are away we feel the good of it.” - -Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by adding, “Very true. -We shew Fanny what a good girl we think her by praising her to her -face, she is now a very valuable companion. If we have been kind to -_her_, she is now quite as necessary to _us_.” - -“Yes,” said Lady Bertram presently; “and it is a comfort to think that -we shall always have _her_.” - -Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and then gravely -replied, “She will never leave us, I hope, till invited to some other -home that may reasonably promise her greater happiness than she knows -here.” - -“And _that_ is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas. Who should invite -her? Maria might be very glad to see her at Sotherton now and then, but -she would not think of asking her to live there; and I am sure she is -better off here; and besides, I cannot do without her.” - -The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great house in -Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage. To the young -lady, at least, in each family, it brought very different feelings. -What was tranquillity and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation -to Mary. Something arose from difference of disposition and habit: one -so easily satisfied, the other so unused to endure; but still more -might be imputed to difference of circumstances. In some points of -interest they were exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny’s mind, -Edmund’s absence was really, in its cause and its tendency, a relief. -To Mary it was every way painful. She felt the want of his society -every day, almost every hour, and was too much in want of it to derive -anything but irritation from considering the object for which he went. -He could not have devised anything more likely to raise his consequence -than this week’s absence, occurring as it did at the very time of her -brother’s going away, of William Price’s going too, and completing the -sort of general break-up of a party which had been so animated. She -felt it keenly. They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors -by a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope -for. Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions, and -acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry that they -had hardly parted friends at the ball), she could not help thinking of -him continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, and -longing again for the almost daily meetings they lately had. His -absence was unnecessarily long. He should not have planned such an -absence—he should not have left home for a week, when her own departure -from Mansfield was so near. Then she began to blame herself. She wished -she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She was afraid -she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions in speaking of -the clergy, and that should not have been. It was ill-bred; it was -wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her heart. - -Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad, but she had -still more to feel when Friday came round again and brought no Edmund; -when Saturday came and still no Edmund; and when, through the slight -communication with the other family which Sunday produced, she learned -that he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised -to remain some days longer with his friend. - -If she had felt impatience and regret before—if she had been sorry for -what she said, and feared its too strong effect on him—she now felt and -feared it all tenfold more. She had, moreover, to contend with one -disagreeable emotion entirely new to her—jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen -had sisters; he might find them attractive. But, at any rate, his -staying away at a time when, according to all preceding plans, she was -to remove to London, meant something that she could not bear. Had Henry -returned, as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, she -should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became absolutely necessary -for her to get to Fanny and try to learn something more. She could not -live any longer in such solitary wretchedness; and she made her way to -the Park, through difficulties of walking which she had deemed -unconquerable a week before, for the chance of hearing a little in -addition, for the sake of at least hearing his name. - -The first half-hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram were together, -and unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope for nothing. But at -last Lady Bertram left the room, and then almost immediately Miss -Crawford thus began, with a voice as well regulated as she could—“And -how do _you_ like your cousin Edmund’s staying away so long? Being the -only young person at home, I consider _you_ as the greatest sufferer. -You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you?” - -“I do not know,” said Fanny hesitatingly. “Yes; I had not particularly -expected it.” - -“Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is the general -way all young men do.” - -“He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before.” - -“He finds the house more agreeable _now_. He is a very—a very pleasing -young man himself, and I cannot help being rather concerned at not -seeing him again before I go to London, as will now undoubtedly be the -case. I am looking for Henry every day, and as soon as he comes there -will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield. I should like to have seen -him once more, I confess. But you must give my compliments to him. Yes; -I think it must be compliments. Is not there a something wanted, Miss -Price, in our language—a something between compliments and—and love—to -suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together? So many -months’ acquaintance! But compliments may be sufficient here. Was his -letter a long one? Does he give you much account of what he is doing? -Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?” - -“I only heard a part of the letter; it was to my uncle; but I believe -it was very short; indeed I am sure it was but a few lines. All that I -heard was that his friend had pressed him to stay longer, and that he -had agreed to do so. A _few_ days longer, or _some_ days longer; I am -not quite sure which.” - -“Oh! if he wrote to his father; but I thought it might have been to -Lady Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his father, no wonder he was -concise. Who could write chat to Sir Thomas? If he had written to you, -there would have been more particulars. You would have heard of balls -and parties. He would have sent you a description of everything and -everybody. How many Miss Owens are there?” - -“Three grown up.” - -“Are they musical?” - -“I do not at all know. I never heard.” - -“That is the first question, you know,” said Miss Crawford, trying to -appear gay and unconcerned, “which every woman who plays herself is -sure to ask about another. But it is very foolish to ask questions -about any young ladies—about any three sisters just grown up; for one -knows, without being told, exactly what they are: all very accomplished -and pleasing, and one very pretty. There is a beauty in every family; -it is a regular thing. Two play on the pianoforte, and one on the harp; -and all sing, or would sing if they were taught, or sing all the better -for not being taught; or something like it.” - -“I know nothing of the Miss Owens,” said Fanny calmly. - -“You know nothing and you care less, as people say. Never did tone -express indifference plainer. Indeed, how can one care for those one -has never seen? Well, when your cousin comes back, he will find -Mansfield very quiet; all the noisy ones gone, your brother and mine -and myself. I do not like the idea of leaving Mrs. Grant now the time -draws near. She does not like my going.” - -Fanny felt obliged to speak. “You cannot doubt your being missed by -many,” said she. “You will be very much missed.” - -Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or see more, -and then laughingly said, “Oh yes! missed as every noisy evil is missed -when it is taken away; that is, there is a great difference felt. But I -am not fishing; don’t compliment me. If I _am_ missed, it will appear. -I may be discovered by those who want to see me. I shall not be in any -doubtful, or distant, or unapproachable region.” - -Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Crawford was -disappointed; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant assurance of her -power from one who she thought must know, and her spirits were clouded -again. - -“The Miss Owens,” said she, soon afterwards; “suppose you were to have -one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacey; how should you like -it? Stranger things have happened. I dare say they are trying for it. -And they are quite in the right, for it would be a very pretty -establishment for them. I do not at all wonder or blame them. It is -everybody’s duty to do as well for themselves as they can. Sir Thomas -Bertram’s son is somebody; and now he is in their own line. Their -father is a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are -all clergymen together. He is their lawful property; he fairly belongs -to them. You don’t speak, Fanny; Miss Price, you don’t speak. But -honestly now, do not you rather expect it than otherwise?” - -“No,” said Fanny stoutly, “I do not expect it at all.” - -“Not at all!” cried Miss Crawford with alacrity. “I wonder at that. But -I dare say you know exactly—I always imagine you are—perhaps you do not -think him likely to marry at all—or not at present.” - -“No, I do not,” said Fanny softly, hoping she did not err either in the -belief or the acknowledgment of it. - -Her companion looked at her keenly; and gathering greater spirit from -the blush soon produced from such a look, only said, “He is best off as -he is,” and turned the subject. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Miss Crawford’s uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and -she walked home again in spirits which might have defied almost another -week of the same small party in the same bad weather, had they been put -to the proof; but as that very evening brought her brother down from -London again in quite, or more than quite, his usual cheerfulness, she -had nothing farther to try her own. His still refusing to tell her what -he had gone for was but the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might -have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke—suspected only of -concealing something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself. And the -next day _did_ bring a surprise to her. Henry had said he should just -go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes, but -he was gone above an hour; and when his sister, who had been waiting -for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at last most -impatiently in the sweep, and cried out, “My dear Henry, where can you -have been all this time?” he had only to say that he had been sitting -with Lady Bertram and Fanny. - -“Sitting with them an hour and a half!” exclaimed Mary. - -But this was only the beginning of her surprise. - -“Yes, Mary,” said he, drawing her arm within his, and walking along the -sweep as if not knowing where he was: “I could not get away sooner; -Fanny looked so lovely! I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is -entirely made up. Will it astonish you? No: you must be aware that I am -quite determined to marry Fanny Price.” - -The surprise was now complete; for, in spite of whatever his -consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such views -had never entered his sister’s imagination; and she looked so truly the -astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat what he had said, -and more fully and more solemnly. The conviction of his determination -once admitted, it was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure with the -surprise. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connexion with -the Bertram family, and to be not displeased with her brother’s -marrying a little beneath him. - -“Yes, Mary,” was Henry’s concluding assurance. “I am fairly caught. You -know with what idle designs I began; but this is the end of them. I -have, I flatter myself, made no inconsiderable progress in her -affections; but my own are entirely fixed.” - -“Lucky, lucky girl!” cried Mary, as soon as she could speak; “what a -match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my _first_ feeling; but -my _second_, which you shall have as sincerely, is, that I approve your -choice from my soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish -and desire it. You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude and -devotion. Exactly what you deserve. What an amazing match for her! Mrs. -Norris often talks of her luck; what will she say now? The delight of -all the family, indeed! And she has some _true_ friends in it! How -_they_ will rejoice! But tell me all about it! Talk to me for ever. -When did you begin to think seriously about her?” - -Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a question, though -nothing could be more agreeable than to have it asked. “How the -pleasing plague had stolen on him” he could not say; and before he had -expressed the same sentiment with a little variation of words three -times over, his sister eagerly interrupted him with, “Ah, my dear -Henry, and this is what took you to London! This was your business! You -chose to consult the Admiral before you made up your mind.” - -But this he stoutly denied. He knew his uncle too well to consult him -on any matrimonial scheme. The Admiral hated marriage, and thought it -never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune. - -“When Fanny is known to him,” continued Henry, “he will doat on her. -She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as -the Admiral, for she is exactly such a woman as he thinks does not -exist in the world. She is the very impossibility he would describe, if -indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody his own ideas. -But till it is absolutely settled—settled beyond all interference, he -shall know nothing of the matter. No, Mary, you are quite mistaken. You -have not discovered my business yet.” - -“Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must relate, and am -in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price! wonderful, quite wonderful! That -Mansfield should have done so much for—that _you_ should have found -your fate in Mansfield! But you are quite right; you could not have -chosen better. There is not a better girl in the world, and you do not -want for fortune; and as to her connexions, they are more than good. -The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this country. -She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be enough for the world. -But go on, go on. Tell me more. What are your plans? Does she know her -own happiness?” - -“No.” - -“What are you waiting for?” - -“For—for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is not like her -cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain.” - -“Oh no! you cannot. Were you even less pleasing—supposing her not to -love you already (of which, however, I can have little doubt)—you would -be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure -her all your own immediately. From my soul I do not think she would -marry you _without_ love; that is, if there is a girl in the world -capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but -ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse.” - -As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy to tell -as she could be to listen; and a conversation followed almost as deeply -interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to -relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny’s charms. -Fanny’s beauty of face and figure, Fanny’s graces of manner and -goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme. The gentleness, modesty, -and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on; that -sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman’s worth in the -judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can -never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to depend on and -to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, -excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually -exercised her patience and forbearance? Her affections were evidently -strong. To see her with her brother! What could more delightfully prove -that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness? What could be -more encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her -understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear; and her -manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind. Nor was -this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of -good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to -serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he -talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such -a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might -warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, -he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well -principled and religious. - -“I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her,” said he; “and _that_ -is what I want.” - -Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of -Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in her prospects. - -“The more I think of it,” she cried, “the more am I convinced that you -are doing quite right; and though I should never have selected Fanny -Price as the girl most likely to attach you, I am now persuaded she is -the very one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her peace -turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both find your good in it.” - -“It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature; but I did not know -her then; and she shall have no reason to lament the hour that first -put it into my head. I will make her very happy, Mary; happier than she -has ever yet been herself, or ever seen anybody else. I will not take -her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in -this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge. I shall let a seven years’ -lease of Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word. I -could name three people now, who would give me my own terms and thank -me.” - -“Ha!” cried Mary; “settle in Northamptonshire! That is pleasant! Then -we shall be all together.” - -When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid; -but there was no need of confusion; for her brother saw her only as the -supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and replied but to invite her -in the kindest manner to his own house, and to claim the best right in -her. - -“You must give us more than half your time,” said he. “I cannot admit -Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself, for we shall -both have a right in you. Fanny will be so truly your sister!” - -Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances; but she was -now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister -many months longer. - -“You will divide your year between London and Northamptonshire?” - -“Yes.” - -“That’s right; and in London, of course, a house of your own: no longer -with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting -away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion of -his, before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned -to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life! _You_ -are not sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you; -but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of you. To -have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or deed, look or gesture, -would have broken my heart.” - -“Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The Admiral has his -faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to -me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You -must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one -another.” - -Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could not be two -persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant: -time would discover it to him; but she could not help _this_ reflection -on the Admiral. “Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I -could suppose the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason which -my poor ill-used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would prevent the -marriage, if possible; but I know you: I know that a wife you _loved_ -would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, -she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a -gentleman.” - -The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny -Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the -groundwork of his eloquent answer. - -“Had you seen her this morning, Mary,” he continued, “attending with -such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt’s -stupidity, working with her, and for her, her colour beautifully -heightened as she leant over the work, then returning to her seat to -finish a note which she was previously engaged in writing for that -stupid woman’s service, and all this with such unpretending gentleness, -so much as if it were a matter of course that she was not to have a -moment at her own command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, -and one little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and -then shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at -intervals to _me_, or listening, and as if she liked to listen, to what -I said. Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied the -possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing.” - -“My dearest Henry,” cried Mary, stopping short, and smiling in his -face, “how glad I am to see you so much in love! It quite delights me. -But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say?” - -“I care neither what they say nor what they feel. They will now see -what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can attach a man of -sense. I wish the discovery may do them any good. And they will now see -their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be -heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness. They -will be angry,” he added, after a moment’s silence, and in a cooler -tone; “Mrs. Rushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to -her; that is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments’ ill -flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; for I am not such a -coxcomb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women’s, -though _I_ was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will feel a -difference indeed: a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour of -every being who approaches her; and it will be the completion of my -happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that I am the person to -give the consequence so justly her due. Now she is dependent, helpless, -friendless, neglected, forgotten.” - -“Nay, Henry, not by all; not forgotten by all; not friendless or -forgotten. Her cousin Edmund never forgets her.” - -“Edmund! True, I believe he is, generally speaking, kind to her, and so -is Sir Thomas in his way; but it is the way of a rich, superior, -long-worded, arbitrary uncle. What can Sir Thomas and Edmund together -do, what _do_ they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity -in the world, to what I _shall_ do?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -Henry Crawford was at Mansfield Park again the next morning, and at an -earlier hour than common visiting warrants. The two ladies were -together in the breakfast-room, and, fortunately for him, Lady Bertram -was on the very point of quitting it as he entered. She was almost at -the door, and not chusing by any means to take so much trouble in vain, -she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentence about -being waited for, and a “Let Sir Thomas know” to the servant. - -Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and without -losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some -letters, said, with a most animated look, “I must acknowledge myself -infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an opportunity of -seeing you alone: I have been wishing it more than you can have any -idea. Knowing as I do what your feelings as a sister are, I could -hardly have borne that any one in the house should share with you in -the first knowledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother -is a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you -on your brother’s promotion. Here are the letters which announce it, -this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, like to see them.” - -Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To see the -expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, the progress of -her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough. She -took the letters as he gave them. The first was from the Admiral to -inform his nephew, in a few words, of his having succeeded in the -object he had undertaken, the promotion of young Price, and enclosing -two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom -the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend -to himself, by which it appeared that his lordship had the very great -happiness of attending to the recommendation of Sir Charles; that Sir -Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving his -regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the circumstance of Mr. William -Price’s commission as Second Lieutenant of H.M. Sloop Thrush being made -out was spreading general joy through a wide circle of great people. - -While her hand was trembling under these letters, her eye running from -one to the other, and her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus -continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the -event— - -“I will not talk of my own happiness,” said he, “great as it is, for I -think only of yours. Compared with you, who has a right to be happy? I -have almost grudged myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to -have known before all the world. I have not lost a moment, however. The -post was late this morning, but there has not been since a moment’s -delay. How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the subject, -I will not attempt to describe; how severely mortified, how cruelly -disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in London! I was -kept there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to -me than such an object would have detained me half the time from -Mansfield. But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all the -warmth I could desire, and exerted himself immediately, there were -difficulties from the absence of one friend, and the engagements of -another, which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and -knowing in what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday, -trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be followed by -such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the -world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, after seeing your -brother. He was delighted with him. I would not allow myself yesterday -to say how delighted, or to repeat half that the Admiral said in his -praise. I deferred it all till his praise should be proved the praise -of a friend, as this day _does_ prove it. _Now_ I may say that even I -could not require William Price to excite a greater interest, or be -followed by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most -voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they had passed -together.” - -“Has this been all _your_ doing, then?” cried Fanny. “Good heaven! how -very, very kind! Have you really—was it by _your_ desire? I beg your -pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral Crawford apply? How was it? I -am stupefied.” - -Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an -earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done. His -last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that -of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the -Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. -This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature: he -had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the -issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but -this had been his business; and he spoke with such a glow of what his -solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding -in the _deepest_ _interest_, in _twofold_ _motives_, in _views_ _and_ -_wishes_ _more_ _than_ _could_ _be_ _told_, that Fanny could not have -remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her -heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she could -listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying -only when he paused, “How kind! how very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are -infinitely obliged to you! Dearest, dearest William!” She jumped up and -moved in haste towards the door, crying out, “I will go to my uncle. My -uncle ought to know it as soon as possible.” But this could not be -suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. -He was after her immediately. “She must not go, she must allow him five -minutes longer,” and he took her hand and led her back to her seat, and -was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected -for what she was detained. When she did understand it, however, and -found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which -his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for -William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled -attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments -unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling -and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour; she could not -but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in -such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and -entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not -allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt, because he had -been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part -could make a trifle to her. While her heart was still bounding with joy -and gratitude on William’s behalf, she could not be severely resentful -of anything that injured only herself; and after having twice drawn -back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she -got up, and said only, with much agitation, “Don’t, Mr. Crawford, pray -don’t! I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is very -unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it.” But he was still -talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and, -finally, in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, -offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was -so; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased; and -though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly -stand. He pressed for an answer. - -“No, no, no!” she cried, hiding her face. “This is all nonsense. Do not -distress me. I can hear no more of this. Your kindness to William makes -me more obliged to you than words can express; but I do not want, I -cannot bear, I must not listen to such—No, no, don’t think of me. But -you are _not_ thinking of me. I know it is all nothing.” - -She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard -speaking to a servant in his way towards the room they were in. It was -no time for farther assurances or entreaty, though to part with her at -a moment when her modesty alone seemed, to his sanguine and preassured -mind, to stand in the way of the happiness he sought, was a cruel -necessity. She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle -was approaching, and was walking up and down the East room in the -utmost confusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas’s politeness or -apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joyful -intelligence which his visitor came to communicate. - -She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, -miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It was all beyond -belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such were his habits -that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously -made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted—she knew -not what to say, how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have -him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and -offers, if they meant but to trifle? - -But William was a lieutenant. _That_ was a fact beyond a doubt, and -without an alloy. She would think of it for ever and forget all the -rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must -have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully -she could esteem him for his friendship to William! - -She would not stir farther from the East room than the head of the -great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford’s -having left the house; but when convinced of his being gone, she was -eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have all the happiness of -his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit of his information or -his conjectures as to what would now be William’s destination. Sir -Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and very kind and -communicative; and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William -as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she -found, towards the close, that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and -dine there that very day. This was a most unwelcome hearing, for though -he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite -distressing to her to see him again so soon. - -She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner hour -approached, to feel and appear as usual; but it was quite impossible -for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when their visitor -entered the room. She could not have supposed it in the power of any -concurrence of circumstances to give her so many painful sensations on -the first day of hearing of William’s promotion. - -Mr. Crawford was not only in the room—he was soon close to her. He had -a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not look at him, but -there was no consciousness of past folly in his voice. She opened her -note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy, as she read -it, to feel that the fidgetings of her aunt Norris, who was also to -dine there, screened her a little from view. - -“MY DEAR FANNY,—for so I may now always call you, to the infinite -relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at _Miss_ _Price_ for at -least the last six weeks—I cannot let my brother go without sending you -a few lines of general congratulation, and giving my most joyful -consent and approval. Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear; there can -be no difficulties worth naming. I chuse to suppose that the assurance -of my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your -sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier -than he goes. - - -Yours affectionately, -M. C.” - - -These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though she read in -too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss -Crawford’s meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on -her brother’s attachment, and even to _appear_ to believe it serious. -She did not know what to do, or what to think. There was wretchedness -in the idea of its being serious; there was perplexity and agitation -every way. She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and -he spoke to her much too often; and she was afraid there was a -something in his voice and manner in addressing her very different from -what they were when he talked to the others. Her comfort in that day’s -dinner was quite destroyed: she could hardly eat anything; and when Sir -Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy had taken away her appetite, -she was ready to sink with shame, from the dread of Mr. Crawford’s -interpretation; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her -eyes to the right hand, where he sat, she felt that _his_ were -immediately directed towards her. - -She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join even when William -was the subject, for his commission came all from the right hand too, -and there was pain in the connexion. - -She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began to be in -despair of ever getting away; but at last they were in the -drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would, while her aunts -finished the subject of William’s appointment in their own style. - -Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it would be to Sir -Thomas as with any part of it. “_Now_ William would be able to keep -himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle, for it was -unknown how much he had cost his uncle; and, indeed, it would make some -difference in _her_ presents too. She was very glad that she had given -William what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in -her power, without material inconvenience, just at that time to give -him something rather considerable; that is, for _her_, with _her_ -limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to fit up his -cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he would have many -things to buy, though to be sure his father and mother would be able to -put him in the way of getting everything very cheap; but she was very -glad she had contributed her mite towards it.” - -“I am glad you gave him something considerable,” said Lady Bertram, -with most unsuspicious calmness, “for _I_ gave him only £10.” - -“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. “Upon my word, he must have -gone off with his pockets well lined, and at no expense for his journey -to London either!” - -“Sir Thomas told me £10 would be enough.” - -Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, -began to take the matter in another point. - -“It is amazing,” said she, “how much young people cost their friends, -what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world! They -little think how much it comes to, or what their parents, or their -uncles and aunts, pay for them in the course of the year. Now, here are -my sister Price’s children; take them all together, I dare say nobody -would believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say -nothing of what _I_ do for them.” - -“Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they cannot help it; -and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, -William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies; and I -shall give him a commission for anything else that is worth having. I -wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I -will have two shawls, Fanny.” - -Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was very -earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. -There was everything in the world _against_ their being serious but his -words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against -it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. -How could _she_ have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen -so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, -infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious -impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought -so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was -everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? -And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her -high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of -a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in -either. Fanny was ashamed of her own doubts. Everything might be -possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it -toward her. She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas -and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining the -conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room; for -once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not know how to -class among the common meaning; in any other man, at least, she would -have said that it meant something very earnest, very pointed. But she -still tried to believe it no more than what he might often have -expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women. - -She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest. She -fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever -Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris, and -she carefully refused him every opportunity. - -At last—it seemed an at last to Fanny’s nervousness, though not -remarkably late—he began to talk of going away; but the comfort of the -sound was impaired by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, -“Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She will be -disappointed if she receives nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it -be only a line.” - -“Oh yes! certainly,” cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of -embarrassment and of wanting to get away—“I will write directly.” - -She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of -writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what -in the world to say. She had read Miss Crawford’s note only once, and -how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most -distressing. Quite unpractised in such sort of note-writing, had there -been time for scruples and fears as to style she would have felt them -in abundance: but something must be instantly written; and with only -one decided feeling, that of wishing not to appear to think anything -really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and -hand— - -“I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind -congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William. The rest -of your note I know means nothing; but I am so unequal to anything of -the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no farther -notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his -manners; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave -differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour -of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour -of your note, - - -I remain, dear Miss Crawford, -&c., &c.” - - -The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for -she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the note, was -coming towards her. - -“You cannot think I mean to hurry you,” said he, in an undervoice, -perceiving the amazing trepidation with which she made up the note, -“you cannot think I have any such object. Do not hurry yourself, I -entreat.” - -“Oh! I thank you; I have quite done, just done; it will be ready in a -moment; I am very much obliged to you; if you will be so good as to -give _that_ to Miss Crawford.” - -The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she instantly and with -averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, where sat the others, he had -nothing to do but to go in good earnest. - -Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of -pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die -with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William’s -advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more. She had -no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the -language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no -arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being -neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford’s attentions. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -Fanny had by no means forgotten Mr. Crawford when she awoke the next -morning; but she remembered the purport of her note, and was not less -sanguine as to its effect than she had been the night before. If Mr. -Crawford would but go away! That was what she most earnestly desired: -go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to -Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could -not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay. Fanny had -hoped, in the course of his yesterday’s visit, to hear the day named; -but he had only spoken of their journey as what would take place ere -long. - -Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note would convey, -she could not but be astonished to see Mr. Crawford, as she -accidentally did, coming up to the house again, and at an hour as early -as the day before. His coming might have nothing to do with her, but -she must avoid seeing him if possible; and being then on her way -upstairs, she resolved there to remain, during the whole of his visit, -unless actually sent for; and as Mrs. Norris was still in the house, -there seemed little danger of her being wanted. - -She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, -and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached -the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able -to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and -would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter. - -Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, -when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a -heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her -uncle’s; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as -often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to -speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas -who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come -in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all -renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in -French and English. - -She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him, and trying -to appear honoured; and, in her agitation, had quite overlooked the -deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping short as he entered, -said, with much surprise, “Why have you no fire to-day?” - -There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She -hesitated. - -“I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year.” - -“But you have a fire in general?” - -“No, sir.” - -“How comes this about? Here must be some mistake. I understood that you -had the use of this room by way of making you perfectly comfortable. In -your bedchamber I know you _cannot_ have a fire. Here is some great -misapprehension which must be rectified. It is highly unfit for you to -sit, be it only half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. -You are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this.” - -Fanny would rather have been silent; but being obliged to speak, she -could not forbear, in justice to the aunt she loved best, from saying -something in which the words “my aunt Norris” were distinguishable. - -“I understand,” cried her uncle, recollecting himself, and not wanting -to hear more: “I understand. Your aunt Norris has always been an -advocate, and very judiciously, for young people’s being brought up -without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in -everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will -influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another -account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments -have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have -been, and I believe _has_ _been_, carried too far in your case. I am -aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced -distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will -ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding -which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging -partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you -will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that -_they_ were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you -for that mediocrity of condition which _seemed_ to be your lot. Though -their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; -and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will -be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been -imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by -failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and -attention that are due to her. But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I -must speak to you for a few minutes, but I will not detain you long.” - -Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After a moment’s -pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went on. - -“You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor this morning. I -had not been long in my own room, after breakfast, when Mr. Crawford -was shewn in. His errand you may probably conjecture.” - -Fanny’s colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle, perceiving that -she was embarrassed to a degree that made either speaking or looking up -quite impossible, turned away his own eyes, and without any farther -pause proceeded in his account of Mr. Crawford’s visit. - -Mr. Crawford’s business had been to declare himself the lover of Fanny, -make decided proposals for her, and entreat the sanction of the uncle, -who seemed to stand in the place of her parents; and he had done it all -so well, so openly, so liberally, so properly, that Sir Thomas, -feeling, moreover, his own replies, and his own remarks to have been -very much to the purpose, was exceedingly happy to give the particulars -of their conversation; and little aware of what was passing in his -niece’s mind, conceived that by such details he must be gratifying her -far more than himself. He talked, therefore, for several minutes -without Fanny’s daring to interrupt him. She had hardly even attained -the wish to do it. Her mind was in too much confusion. She had changed -her position; and, with her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, -was listening to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay. For a -moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious of it, when, -rising from his chair, he said, “And now, Fanny, having performed one -part of my commission, and shewn you everything placed on a basis the -most assured and satisfactory, I may execute the remainder by -prevailing on you to accompany me downstairs, where, though I cannot -but presume on having been no unacceptable companion myself, I must -submit to your finding one still better worth listening to. Mr. -Crawford, as you have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in -my room, and hoping to see you there.” - -There was a look, a start, an exclamation on hearing this, which -astonished Sir Thomas; but what was his increase of astonishment on -hearing her exclaim—“Oh! no, sir, I cannot, indeed I cannot go down to -him. Mr. Crawford ought to know—he must know that: I told him enough -yesterday to convince him; he spoke to me on this subject yesterday, -and I told him without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me, -and quite out of my power to return his good opinion.” - -“I do not catch your meaning,” said Sir Thomas, sitting down again. -“Out of your power to return his good opinion? What is all this? I know -he spoke to you yesterday, and (as far as I understand) received as -much encouragement to proceed as a well-judging young woman could -permit herself to give. I was very much pleased with what I collected -to have been your behaviour on the occasion; it shewed a discretion -highly to be commended. But now, when he has made his overtures so -properly, and honourably—what are your scruples _now_?” - -“You are mistaken, sir,” cried Fanny, forced by the anxiety of the -moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong; “you are quite -mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such a thing? I gave him no -encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I told him, I cannot -recollect my exact words, but I am sure I told him that I would not -listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to me in every respect, and -that I begged him never to talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I -said as much as that and more; and I should have said still more, if I -had been quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not -like to be, I could not bear to be, imputing more than might be -intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with _him_.” - -She could say no more; her breath was almost gone. - -“Am I to understand,” said Sir Thomas, after a few moments’ silence, -“that you mean to _refuse_ Mr. Crawford?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Refuse him?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what reason?” - -“I—I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him.” - -“This is very strange!” said Sir Thomas, in a voice of calm -displeasure. “There is something in this which my comprehension does -not reach. Here is a young man wishing to pay his addresses to you, -with everything to recommend him: not merely situation in life, -fortune, and character, but with more than common agreeableness, with -address and conversation pleasing to everybody. And he is not an -acquaintance of to-day; you have now known him some time. His sister, -moreover, is your intimate friend, and he has been doing _that_ for -your brother, which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient -recommendation to you, had there been no other. It is very uncertain -when my interest might have got William on. He has done it already.” - -“Yes,” said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down with fresh shame; -and she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her -uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford. - -“You must have been aware,” continued Sir Thomas presently, “you must -have been some time aware of a particularity in Mr. Crawford’s manners -to you. This cannot have taken you by surprise. You must have observed -his attentions; and though you always received them very properly (I -have no accusation to make on that head), I never perceived them to be -unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that you do not -quite know your own feelings.” - -“Oh yes, sir! indeed I do. His attentions were always—what I did not -like.” - -Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. “This is beyond me,” -said he. “This requires explanation. Young as you are, and having seen -scarcely any one, it is hardly possible that your affections—” - -He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a _no_, -though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like scarlet. That, -however, in so modest a girl, might be very compatible with innocence; -and chusing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added, “No, no, I -know _that_ is quite out of the question; quite impossible. Well, there -is nothing more to be said.” - -And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was deep in thought. His -niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to harden and prepare -herself against farther questioning. She would rather die than own the -truth; and she hoped, by a little reflection, to fortify herself beyond -betraying it. - -“Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford’s _choice_ seemed to -justify” said Sir Thomas, beginning again, and very composedly, “his -wishing to marry at all so early is recommendatory to me. I am an -advocate for early marriages, where there are means in proportion, and -would have every young man, with a sufficient income, settle as soon -after four-and-twenty as he can. This is so much my opinion, that I am -sorry to think how little likely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr. -Bertram, is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, -matrimony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I wish he were more -likely to fix.” Here was a glance at Fanny. “Edmund, I consider, from -his dispositions and habits, as much more likely to marry early than -his brother. _He_, indeed, I have lately thought, has seen the woman he -could love, which, I am convinced, my eldest son has not. Am I right? -Do you agree with me, my dear?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was easy on the -score of the cousins. But the removal of his alarm did his niece no -service: as her unaccountableness was confirmed his displeasure -increased; and getting up and walking about the room with a frown, -which Fanny could picture to herself, though she dared not lift up her -eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a voice of authority, said, “Have -you any reason, child, to think ill of Mr. Crawford’s temper?” - -“No, sir.” - -She longed to add, “But of his principles I have”; but her heart sunk -under the appalling prospect of discussion, explanation, and probably -non-conviction. Her ill opinion of him was founded chiefly on -observations, which, for her cousins’ sake, she could scarcely dare -mention to their father. Maria and Julia, and especially Maria, were so -closely implicated in Mr. Crawford’s misconduct, that she could not -give his character, such as she believed it, without betraying them. -She had hoped that, to a man like her uncle, so discerning, so -honourable, so good, the simple acknowledgment of settled _dislike_ on -her side would have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it -was not. - -Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in trembling -wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold sternness, said, “It is of -no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put an end to this -most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not be kept longer -waiting. I will, therefore, only add, as thinking it my duty to mark my -opinion of your conduct, that you have disappointed every expectation I -had formed, and proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what -I had supposed. For I _had_, Fanny, as I think my behaviour must have -shewn, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the period of my -return to England. I had thought you peculiarly free from wilfulness of -temper, self-conceit, and every tendency to that independence of spirit -which prevails so much in modern days, even in young women, and which -in young women is offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. -But you have now shewn me that you can be wilful and perverse; that you -can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration or -deference for those who have surely some right to guide you, without -even asking their advice. You have shewn yourself very, very different -from anything that I had imagined. The advantage or disadvantage of -your family, of your parents, your brothers and sisters, never seems to -have had a moment’s share in your thoughts on this occasion. How _they_ -might be benefited, how _they_ must rejoice in such an establishment -for you, is nothing to _you_. You think only of yourself, and because -you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young heated fancy -imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him at -once, without wishing even for a little time to consider of it, a -little more time for cool consideration, and for really examining your -own inclinations; and are, in a wild fit of folly, throwing away from -you such an opportunity of being settled in life, eligibly, honourably, -nobly settled, as will, probably, never occur to you again. Here is a -young man of sense, of character, of temper, of manners, and of -fortune, exceedingly attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most -handsome and disinterested way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you -may live eighteen years longer in the world without being addressed by -a man of half Mr. Crawford’s estate, or a tenth part of his merits. -Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughters on him. Maria -is nobly married; but had Mr. Crawford sought Julia’s hand, I should -have given it to him with superior and more heartfelt satisfaction than -I gave Maria’s to Mr. Rushworth.” After half a moment’s pause: “And I -should have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on -receiving a proposal of marriage at any time which might carry with it -only _half_ the eligibility of _this_, immediately and peremptorily, -and without paying my opinion or my regard the compliment of any -consultation, put a decided negative on it. I should have been much -surprised and much hurt by such a proceeding. I should have thought it -a gross violation of duty and respect. _You_ are not to be judged by -the same rule. You do not owe me the duty of a child. But, Fanny, if -your heart can acquit you of _ingratitude_—” - -He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly that, angry as he -was, he would not press that article farther. Her heart was almost -broke by such a picture of what she appeared to him; by such -accusations, so heavy, so multiplied, so rising in dreadful gradation! -Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all -this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. -What was to become of her? - -“I am very sorry,” said she inarticulately, through her tears, “I am -very sorry indeed.” - -“Sorry! yes, I hope you are sorry; and you will probably have reason to -be long sorry for this day’s transactions.” - -“If it were possible for me to do otherwise” said she, with another -strong effort; “but I am so perfectly convinced that I could never make -him happy, and that I should be miserable myself.” - -Another burst of tears; but in spite of that burst, and in spite of -that great black word _miserable_, which served to introduce it, Sir -Thomas began to think a little relenting, a little change of -inclination, might have something to do with it; and to augur -favourably from the personal entreaty of the young man himself. He knew -her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous; and thought it not -improbable that her mind might be in such a state as a little time, a -little pressing, a little patience, and a little impatience, a -judicious mixture of all on the lover’s side, might work their usual -effect on. If the gentleman would but persevere, if he had but love -enough to persevere, Sir Thomas began to have hopes; and these -reflections having passed across his mind and cheered it, “Well,” said -he, in a tone of becoming gravity, but of less anger, “well, child, dry -up your tears. There is no use in these tears; they can do no good. You -must now come downstairs with me. Mr. Crawford has been kept waiting -too long already. You must give him your own answer: we cannot expect -him to be satisfied with less; and you only can explain to him the -grounds of that misconception of your sentiments, which, unfortunately -for himself, he certainly has imbibed. I am totally unequal to it.” - -But Fanny shewed such reluctance, such misery, at the idea of going -down to him, that Sir Thomas, after a little consideration, judged it -better to indulge her. His hopes from both gentleman and lady suffered -a small depression in consequence; but when he looked at his niece, and -saw the state of feature and complexion which her crying had brought -her into, he thought there might be as much lost as gained by an -immediate interview. With a few words, therefore, of no particular -meaning, he walked off by himself, leaving his poor niece to sit and -cry over what had passed, with very wretched feelings. - -Her mind was all disorder. The past, present, future, everything was -terrible. But her uncle’s anger gave her the severest pain of all. -Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable -for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for -her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but -all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might -have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see -it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her. She -could not but feel some resentment against Mr. Crawford; yet, if he -really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness -together. - -In about a quarter of an hour her uncle returned; she was almost ready -to faint at the sight of him. He spoke calmly, however, without -austerity, without reproach, and she revived a little. There was -comfort, too, in his words, as well as his manner, for he began with, -“Mr. Crawford is gone: he has just left me. I need not repeat what has -passed. I do not want to add to anything you may now be feeling, by an -account of what he has felt. Suffice it, that he has behaved in the -most gentlemanlike and generous manner, and has confirmed me in a most -favourable opinion of his understanding, heart, and temper. Upon my -representation of what you were suffering, he immediately, and with the -greatest delicacy, ceased to urge to see you for the present.” - -Here Fanny, who had looked up, looked down again. “Of course,” -continued her uncle, “it cannot be supposed but that he should request -to speak with you alone, be it only for five minutes; a request too -natural, a claim too just to be denied. But there is no time fixed; -perhaps to-morrow, or whenever your spirits are composed enough. For -the present you have only to tranquillise yourself. Check these tears; -they do but exhaust you. If, as I am willing to suppose, you wish to -shew me any observance, you will not give way to these emotions, but -endeavour to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I advise -you to go out: the air will do you good; go out for an hour on the -gravel; you will have the shrubbery to yourself, and will be the better -for air and exercise. And, Fanny” (turning back again for a moment), “I -shall make no mention below of what has passed; I shall not even tell -your aunt Bertram. There is no occasion for spreading the -disappointment; say nothing about it yourself.” - -This was an order to be most joyfully obeyed; this was an act of -kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. To be spared from her aunt -Norris’s interminable reproaches! he left her in a glow of gratitude. -Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. -Crawford would be less overpowering. - -She walked out directly, as her uncle recommended, and followed his -advice throughout, as far as she could; did check her tears; did -earnestly try to compose her spirits and strengthen her mind. She -wished to prove to him that she did desire his comfort, and sought to -regain his favour; and he had given her another strong motive for -exertion, in keeping the whole affair from the knowledge of her aunts. -Not to excite suspicion by her look or manner was now an object worth -attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her -from her aunt Norris. - -She was struck, quite struck, when, on returning from her walk and -going into the East room again, the first thing which caught her eye -was a fire lighted and burning. A fire! it seemed too much; just at -that time to be giving her such an indulgence was exciting even painful -gratitude. She wondered that Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of -such a trifle again; but she soon found, from the voluntary information -of the housemaid, who came in to attend it, that so it was to be every -day. Sir Thomas had given orders for it. - -“I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!” said she, -in soliloquy. “Heaven defend me from being ungrateful!” - -She saw nothing more of her uncle, nor of her aunt Norris, till they -met at dinner. Her uncle’s behaviour to her was then as nearly as -possible what it had been before; she was sure he did not mean there -should be any change, and that it was only her own conscience that -could fancy any; but her aunt was soon quarrelling with her; and when -she found how much and how unpleasantly her having only walked out -without her aunt’s knowledge could be dwelt on, she felt all the reason -she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of -reproach, exerted on a more momentous subject. - -“If I had known you were going out, I should have got you just to go as -far as my house with some orders for Nanny,” said she, “which I have -since, to my very great inconvenience, been obliged to go and carry -myself. I could very ill spare the time, and you might have saved me -the trouble, if you would only have been so good as to let us know you -were going out. It would have made no difference to you, I suppose, -whether you had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house.” - -“I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place,” said Sir -Thomas. - -“Oh!” said Mrs. Norris, with a moment’s check, “that was very kind of -you, Sir Thomas; but you do not know how dry the path is to my house. -Fanny would have had quite as good a walk there, I assure you, with the -advantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her -fault. If she would but have let us know she was going out but there is -a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to -go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes -her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little -spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I -would advise her to get the better of.” - -As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be -more unjust, though he had been so lately expressing the same -sentiments himself, and he tried to turn the conversation: tried -repeatedly before he could succeed; for Mrs. Norris had not discernment -enough to perceive, either now, or at any other time, to what degree he -thought well of his niece, or how very far he was from wishing to have -his own children’s merits set off by the depreciation of hers. She was -talking _at_ Fanny, and resenting this private walk half through the -dinner. - -It was over, however, at last; and the evening set in with more -composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness of spirits than she could -have hoped for after so stormy a morning; but she trusted, in the first -place, that she had done right: that her judgment had not misled her. -For the purity of her intentions she could answer; and she was willing -to hope, secondly, that her uncle’s displeasure was abating, and would -abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality, and -felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how -hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection. - -When the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was past, -she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally -concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield, that everything -would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, could -not believe, that Mr. Crawford’s affection for her could distress him -long; his mind was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. -In London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be -thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil -consequences. - -While Fanny’s mind was engaged in these sort of hopes, her uncle was, -soon after tea, called out of the room; an occurrence too common to -strike her, and she thought nothing of it till the butler reappeared -ten minutes afterwards, and advancing decidedly towards herself, said, -“Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you, ma’am, in his own room.” Then it -occurred to her what might be going on; a suspicion rushed over her -mind which drove the colour from her cheeks; but instantly rising, she -was preparing to obey, when Mrs. Norris called out, “Stay, stay, Fanny! -what are you about? where are you going? don’t be in such a hurry. -Depend upon it, it is not you who are wanted; depend upon it, it is me” -(looking at the butler); “but you are so very eager to put yourself -forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? It is me, Baddeley, you -mean; I am coming this moment. You mean me, Baddeley, I am sure; Sir -Thomas wants me, not Miss Price.” - -But Baddeley was stout. “No, ma’am, it is Miss Price; I am certain of -its being Miss Price.” And there was a half-smile with the words, which -meant, “I do not think you would answer the purpose at all.” - -Mrs. Norris, much discontented, was obliged to compose herself to work -again; and Fanny, walking off in agitating consciousness, found -herself, as she anticipated, in another minute alone with Mr. Crawford. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -The conference was neither so short nor so conclusive as the lady had -designed. The gentleman was not so easily satisfied. He had all the -disposition to persevere that Sir Thomas could wish him. He had vanity, -which strongly inclined him in the first place to think she did love -him, though she might not know it herself; and which, secondly, when -constrained at last to admit that she did know her own present -feelings, convinced him that he should be able in time to make those -feelings what he wished. - -He was in love, very much in love; and it was a love which, operating -on an active, sanguine spirit, of more warmth than delicacy, made her -affection appear of greater consequence because it was withheld, and -determined him to have the glory, as well as the felicity, of forcing -her to love him. - -He would not despair: he would not desist. He had every well-grounded -reason for solid attachment; he knew her to have all the worth that -could justify the warmest hopes of lasting happiness with her; her -conduct at this very time, by speaking the disinterestedness and -delicacy of her character (qualities which he believed most rare -indeed), was of a sort to heighten all his wishes, and confirm all his -resolutions. He knew not that he had a pre-engaged heart to attack. Of -_that_ he had no suspicion. He considered her rather as one who had -never thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had been -guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of person; whose modesty -had prevented her from understanding his attentions, and who was still -overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so wholly unexpected, and -the novelty of a situation which her fancy had never taken into -account. - -Must it not follow of course, that, when he was understood, he should -succeed? He believed it fully. Love such as his, in a man like himself, -must with perseverance secure a return, and at no great distance; and -he had so much delight in the idea of obliging her to love him in a -very short time, that her not loving him now was scarcely regretted. A -little difficulty to be overcome was no evil to Henry Crawford. He -rather derived spirits from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too -easily. His situation was new and animating. - -To Fanny, however, who had known too much opposition all her life to -find any charm in it, all this was unintelligible. She found that he -did mean to persevere; but how he could, after such language from her -as she felt herself obliged to use, was not to be understood. She told -him that she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never -should love him; that such a change was quite impossible; that the -subject was most painful to her; that she must entreat him never to -mention it again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be -considered as concluded for ever. And when farther pressed, had added, -that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar as to -make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were unfitted for -each other by nature, education, and habit. All this she had said, and -with the earnestness of sincerity; yet this was not enough, for he -immediately denied there being anything uncongenial in their -characters, or anything unfriendly in their situations; and positively -declared, that he would still love, and still hope! - -Fanny knew her own meaning, but was no judge of her own manner. Her -manner was incurably gentle; and she was not aware how much it -concealed the sternness of her purpose. Her diffidence, gratitude, and -softness made every expression of indifference seem almost an effort of -self-denial; seem, at least, to be giving nearly as much pain to -herself as to him. Mr. Crawford was no longer the Mr. Crawford who, as -the clandestine, insidious, treacherous admirer of Maria Bertram, had -been her abhorrence, whom she had hated to see or to speak to, in whom -she could believe no good quality to exist, and whose power, even of -being agreeable, she had barely acknowledged. He was now the Mr. -Crawford who was addressing herself with ardent, disinterested love; -whose feelings were apparently become all that was honourable and -upright, whose views of happiness were all fixed on a marriage of -attachment; who was pouring out his sense of her merits, describing and -describing again his affection, proving as far as words could prove it, -and in the language, tone, and spirit of a man of talent too, that he -sought her for her gentleness and her goodness; and to complete the -whole, he was now the Mr. Crawford who had procured William’s -promotion! - -Here was a change, and here were claims which could not but operate! -She might have disdained him in all the dignity of angry virtue, in the -grounds of Sotherton, or the theatre at Mansfield Park; but he -approached her now with rights that demanded different treatment. She -must be courteous, and she must be compassionate. She must have a -sensation of being honoured, and whether thinking of herself or her -brother, she must have a strong feeling of gratitude. The effect of the -whole was a manner so pitying and agitated, and words intermingled with -her refusal so expressive of obligation and concern, that to a temper -of vanity and hope like Crawford’s, the truth, or at least the strength -of her indifference, might well be questionable; and he was not so -irrational as Fanny considered him, in the professions of persevering, -assiduous, and not desponding attachment which closed the interview. - -It was with reluctance that he suffered her to go; but there was no -look of despair in parting to belie his words, or give her hopes of his -being less unreasonable than he professed himself. - -Now she was angry. Some resentment did arise at a perseverance so -selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of delicacy and regard -for others which had formerly so struck and disgusted her. Here was -again a something of the same Mr. Crawford whom she had so reprobated -before. How evidently was there a gross want of feeling and humanity -where his own pleasure was concerned—And, alas! how always known no -principle to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in. Had her -own affections been as free—as perhaps they ought to have been—he never -could have engaged them. - -So thought Fanny, in good truth and sober sadness, as she sat musing -over that too great indulgence and luxury of a fire upstairs: wondering -at the past and present; wondering at what was yet to come, and in a -nervous agitation which made nothing clear to her but the persuasion of -her being never under any circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford, and -the felicity of having a fire to sit over and think of it. - -Sir Thomas was obliged, or obliged himself, to wait till the morrow for -a knowledge of what had passed between the young people. He then saw -Mr. Crawford, and received his account. The first feeling was -disappointment: he had hoped better things; he had thought that an -hour’s entreaty from a young man like Crawford could not have worked so -little change on a gentle-tempered girl like Fanny; but there was -speedy comfort in the determined views and sanguine perseverance of the -lover; and when seeing such confidence of success in the principal, Sir -Thomas was soon able to depend on it himself. - -Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, or kindness, -that might assist the plan. Mr. Crawford’s steadiness was honoured, and -Fanny was praised, and the connexion was still the most desirable in -the world. At Mansfield Park Mr. Crawford would always be welcome; he -had only to consult his own judgment and feelings as to the frequency -of his visits, at present or in future. In all his niece’s family and -friends, there could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject; the -influence of all who loved her must incline one way. - -Everything was said that could encourage, every encouragement received -with grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the best of friends. - -Satisfied that the cause was now on a footing the most proper and -hopeful, Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all farther importunity -with his niece, and to shew no open interference. Upon her disposition -he believed kindness might be the best way of working. Entreaty should -be from one quarter only. The forbearance of her family on a point, -respecting which she could be in no doubt of their wishes, might be -their surest means of forwarding it. Accordingly, on this principle, -Sir Thomas took the first opportunity of saying to her, with a mild -gravity, intended to be overcoming, “Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. -Crawford again, and learn from him exactly how matters stand between -you. He is a most extraordinary young man, and whatever be the event, -you must feel that you have created an attachment of no common -character; though, young as you are, and little acquainted with the -transient, varying, unsteady nature of love, as it generally exists, -you cannot be struck as I am with all that is wonderful in a -perseverance of this sort against discouragement. With him it is -entirely a matter of feeling: he claims no merit in it; perhaps is -entitled to none. Yet, having chosen so well, his constancy has a -respectable stamp. Had his choice been less unexceptionable, I should -have condemned his persevering.” - -“Indeed, sir,” said Fanny, “I am very sorry that Mr. Crawford should -continue to—I know that it is paying me a very great compliment, and I -feel most undeservedly honoured; but I am so perfectly convinced, and I -have told him so, that it never will be in my power—” - -“My dear,” interrupted Sir Thomas, “there is no occasion for this. Your -feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and regrets must be to -you. There is nothing more to be said or done. From this hour the -subject is never to be revived between us. You will have nothing to -fear, or to be agitated about. You cannot suppose me capable of trying -to persuade you to marry against your inclinations. Your happiness and -advantage are all that I have in view, and nothing is required of you -but to bear with Mr. Crawford’s endeavours to convince you that they -may not be incompatible with his. He proceeds at his own risk. You are -on safe ground. I have engaged for your seeing him whenever he calls, -as you might have done had nothing of this sort occurred. You will see -him with the rest of us, in the same manner, and, as much as you can, -dismissing the recollection of everything unpleasant. He leaves -Northamptonshire so soon, that even this slight sacrifice cannot be -often demanded. The future must be very uncertain. And now, my dear -Fanny, this subject is closed between us.” - -The promised departure was all that Fanny could think of with much -satisfaction. Her uncle’s kind expressions, however, and forbearing -manner, were sensibly felt; and when she considered how much of the -truth was unknown to him, she believed she had no right to wonder at -the line of conduct he pursued. He, who had married a daughter to Mr. -Rushworth: romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him. -She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty easier -than it now was. - -She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr. Crawford’s attachment -would hold out for ever; she could not but imagine that steady, -unceasing discouragement from herself would put an end to it in time. -How much time she might, in her own fancy, allot for its dominion, is -another concern. It would not be fair to inquire into a young lady’s -exact estimate of her own perfections. - -In spite of his intended silence, Sir Thomas found himself once more -obliged to mention the subject to his niece, to prepare her briefly for -its being imparted to her aunts; a measure which he would still have -avoided, if possible, but which became necessary from the totally -opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford as to any secrecy of proceeding. He -had no idea of concealment. It was all known at the Parsonage, where he -loved to talk over the future with both his sisters, and it would be -rather gratifying to him to have enlightened witnesses of the progress -of his success. When Sir Thomas understood this, he felt the necessity -of making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the business -without delay; though, on Fanny’s account, he almost dreaded the effect -of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much as Fanny herself. He -deprecated her mistaken but well-meaning zeal. Sir Thomas, indeed, was, -by this time, not very far from classing Mrs. Norris as one of those -well-meaning people who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable -things. - -Mrs. Norris, however, relieved him. He pressed for the strictest -forbearance and silence towards their niece; she not only promised, but -did observe it. She only looked her increased ill-will. Angry she was: -bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received -such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to -Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford’s choice; and, independently -of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she -would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always -trying to depress. - -Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion than she -deserved; and Fanny could have blessed her for allowing her only to see -her displeasure, and not to hear it. - -Lady Bertram took it differently. She had been a beauty, and a -prosperous beauty, all her life; and beauty and wealth were all that -excited her respect. To know Fanny to be sought in marriage by a man of -fortune, raised her, therefore, very much in her opinion. By convincing -her that Fanny _was_ very pretty, which she had been doubting about -before, and that she would be advantageously married, it made her feel -a sort of credit in calling her niece. - -“Well, Fanny,” said she, as soon as they were alone together -afterwards, and she really had known something like impatience to be -alone with her, and her countenance, as she spoke, had extraordinary -animation; “Well, Fanny, I have had a very agreeable surprise this -morning. I must just speak of it _once_, I told Sir Thomas I must -_once_, and then I shall have done. I give you joy, my dear niece.” And -looking at her complacently, she added, “Humph, we certainly are a -handsome family!” - -Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; when, hoping to -assail her on her vulnerable side, she presently answered— - -“My dear aunt, _you_ cannot wish me to do differently from what I have -done, I am sure. _You_ cannot wish me to marry; for you would miss me, -should not you? Yes, I am sure you would miss me too much for that.” - -“No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when such an offer as -this comes in your way. I could do very well without you, if you were -married to a man of such good estate as Mr. Crawford. And you must be -aware, Fanny, that it is every young woman’s duty to accept such a very -unexceptionable offer as this.” - -This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of advice, -which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the course of eight -years and a half. It silenced her. She felt how unprofitable contention -would be. If her aunt’s feelings were against her, nothing could be -hoped from attacking her understanding. Lady Bertram was quite -talkative. - -“I will tell you what, Fanny,” said she, “I am sure he fell in love -with you at the ball; I am sure the mischief was done that evening. You -did look remarkably well. Everybody said so. Sir Thomas said so. And -you know you had Chapman to help you to dress. I am very glad I sent -Chapman to you. I shall tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that -evening.” And still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts, she soon -afterwards added, “And I will tell you what, Fanny, which is more than -I did for Maria: the next time Pug has a litter you shall have a -puppy.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many surprises were -awaiting him. The first that occurred was not least in interest: the -appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through -the village as he rode into it. He had concluded—he had meant them to -be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight -purposely to avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfield with -spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender -associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her -brother’s arm, and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably -friendly, from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking -of as seventy miles off, and as farther, much farther, from him in -inclination than any distance could express. - -Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, -had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from such a purport -fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected anything rather -than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It -was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the -properest state for feeling the full value of the other joyful -surprises at hand. - -William’s promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon master of; -and with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to -help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratifying sensation and -unvarying cheerfulness all dinner-time. - -After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny’s -history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the -present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him. - -Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much longer than usual -in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; -and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by -Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by -her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment she -thought that, but for the occupation and the scene which the tea-things -afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable -excess. - -He was not intending, however, by such action, to be conveying to her -that unqualified approbation and encouragement which her hopes drew -from it. It was designed only to express his participation in all that -interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened -every feeling of affection. He was, in fact, entirely on his father’s -side of the question. His surprise was not so great as his father’s at -her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider -him with anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be -rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly -unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connexion as more -desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him; and while -honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present -indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas -could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in -believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual -affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly -fitted to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning -seriously to consider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had -not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end. -With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, -Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy conclusion. -Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny’s embarrassment to make him -scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by any word, or -look, or movement. - -Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund’s return, Sir -Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it -was really a necessary compliment. He staid of course, and Edmund had -then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what -degree of immediate encouragement for him might be extracted from her -manners; and it was so little, so very, very little—every chance, every -possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only; if there was -not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else—that he was -almost ready to wonder at his friend’s perseverance. Fanny was worth it -all; he held her to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion -of mind, but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any -woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his -eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford -saw clearer, and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his -friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, -and at, and after dinner. - -In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more -promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his -mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if -there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing -their apparently deep tranquillity. - -“We have not been so silent all the time,” replied his mother. “Fanny -has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you -coming.” And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the -air of being very recently closed: a volume of Shakespeare. “She often -reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very -fine speech of that man’s—what’s his name, Fanny?—when we heard your -footsteps.” - -Crawford took the volume. “Let me have the pleasure of finishing that -speech to your ladyship,” said he. “I shall find it immediately.” And -by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find -it, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, -who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, -that he had got the very speech. Not a look or an offer of help had -Fanny given; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for -her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But -taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five -minutes: she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her -pleasure in good reading extreme. To _good_ reading, however, she had -been long used: her uncle read well, her cousins all, Edmund very well, -but in Mr. Crawford’s reading there was a variety of excellence beyond -what she had ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, -Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, the -happiest power of jumping and guessing, he could always alight at will -on the best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether it were -dignity, or pride, or tenderness, or remorse, or whatever were to be -expressed, he could do it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic. His -acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his -reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with -greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback -as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss -Bertram. - -Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and -gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, -which at the beginning seemed to occupy her totally: how it fell from -her hand while she sat motionless over it, and at last, how the eyes -which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were -turned and fixed on Crawford—fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in -short, till the attraction drew Crawford’s upon her, and the book was -closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking again into -herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been -enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially -thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny’s secret feelings too. - -“That play must be a favourite with you,” said he; “you read as if you -knew it well.” - -“It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour,” replied Crawford; -“but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand -before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry the Eighth acted, or I -have heard of it from somebody who did, I am not certain which. But -Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part -of an Englishman’s constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so -spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with -him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of -his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately.” - -“No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree,” said Edmund, -“from one’s earliest years. His celebrated passages are quoted by -everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk -Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions; but -this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To know -him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly -is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday -talent.” - -“Sir, you do me honour,” was Crawford’s answer, with a bow of mock -gravity. - -Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant -praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not -be. Her praise had been given in her attention; _that_ must content -them. - -Lady Bertram’s admiration was expressed, and strongly too. “It was -really like being at a play,” said she. “I wish Sir Thomas had been -here.” - -Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with all her -incompetency and languor, could feel this, the inference of what her -niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating. - -“You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,” said her -ladyship soon afterwards; “and I will tell you what, I think you will -have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean -when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a -theatre at your house in Norfolk.” - -“Do you, ma’am?” cried he, with quickness. “No, no, that will never be. -Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham! Oh no!” And -he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, -“That lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham.” - -Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined _not_ to see it, as to -make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the full meaning of -the protestation; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a -ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than -not. - -The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men -were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the -too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, -in the ordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural, yet -in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness -of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the -necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, -giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, -the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, -of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause: want of -early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great -entertainment. - -“Even in my profession,” said Edmund, with a smile, “how little the art -of reading has been studied! how little a clear manner, and good -delivery, have been attended to! I speak rather of the past, however, -than the present. There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but -among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the -larger number, to judge by their performance, must have thought reading -was reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. The -subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness and -energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and -besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical -knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congregation there is a -larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge -and criticise.” - -Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; -and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from -Crawford as to his feelings and success; questions, which being made, -though with the vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste, without -any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund knew -to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying; and -when Crawford proceeded to ask his opinion and give his own as to the -properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be -delivered, shewing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, -and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. This -would be the way to Fanny’s heart. She was not to be won by all that -gallantry and wit and good-nature together could do; or, at least, she -would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of -sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects. - -“Our liturgy,” observed Crawford, “has beauties, which not even a -careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also -redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. -For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I -ought to be” (here was a glance at Fanny); “that nineteen times out of -twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to -have it to read myself. Did you speak?” stepping eagerly to Fanny, and -addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying “No,” he added, -“Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied you -might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not _allow_ -my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?” - -“No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to—even supposing—” - -She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be -prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes of -supplication and waiting. He then returned to his former station, and -went on as if there had been no such tender interruption. - -“A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well -read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. It is more difficult -to speak well than to compose well; that is, the rules and trick of -composition are oftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, -thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear -such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than -half a mind to take orders and preach myself. There is something in the -eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled -to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect -such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long -worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or -striking, anything that rouses the attention without offending the -taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one -could not, in his public capacity, honour enough. I should like to be -such a man.” - -Edmund laughed. - -“I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my -life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a London audience. I -could not preach but to the educated; to those who were capable of -estimating my composition. And I do not know that I should be fond of -preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring, -after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together; but -not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy.” - -Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and -Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her -meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his drawing in a chair, and -sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, -that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as -possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very -sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into -explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her -ardent lover; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the -business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various -advertisements of “A most desirable Estate in South Wales”; “To Parents -and Guardians”; and a “Capital season’d Hunter.” - -Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless -as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund’s -arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, -gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and -inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both. - -“What did that shake of the head mean?” said he. “What was it meant to -express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what? What had I been saying to -displease you? Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly, -irreverently on the subject? Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I -was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one -moment put down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?” - -In vain was her “Pray, sir, don’t; pray, Mr. Crawford,” repeated twice -over; and in vain did she try to move away. In the same low, eager -voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he went on, reurging the same -questions as before. She grew more agitated and displeased. - -“How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can—” - -“Do I astonish you?” said he. “Do you wonder? Is there anything in my -present entreaty that you do not understand? I will explain to you -instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me -an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. -I will not leave you to wonder long.” - -In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said -nothing. - -“You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to -engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy. Yes, that -was the word. Constancy: I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, -read it, write it with anybody. I see nothing alarming in the word. Did -you think I ought?” - -“Perhaps, sir,” said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking—“perhaps, -sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well -as you seemed to do at that moment.” - -Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to -keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an -extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was -only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to -another. He had always something to entreat the explanation of. The -opportunity was too fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her -in her uncle’s room, none such might occur again before his leaving -Mansfield. Lady Bertram’s being just on the other side of the table was -a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half-awake, and -Edmund’s advertisements were still of the first utility. - -“Well,” said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant -answers; “I am happier than I was, because I now understand more -clearly your opinion of me. You think me unsteady: easily swayed by the -whim of the moment, easily tempted, easily put aside. With such an -opinion, no wonder that—But we shall see.—It is not by protestations -that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged; it is not by -telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for -me; absence, distance, time shall speak for me. _They_ shall prove -that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You -are infinitely my superior in merit; all _that_ I know. You have -qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in -any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond -what—not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything -like it—but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not -frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is -out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the -strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a -return. There I build my confidence. By that right I do and will -deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I -declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes. -Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny. Nay” (seeing her draw back displeased), -“forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right; but by what other name can -I call you? Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under -any other? No, it is ‘Fanny’ that I think of all day, and dream of all -night. You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing -else can now be descriptive of you.” - -Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained -from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public -opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of -approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching -for, and long thinking strangely delayed. - -The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn, and -cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous -imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford was obliged to move. She -was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected. - -Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who -might speak and hear. But though the conference had seemed full long to -him, and though on looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, -he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened -to without some profit to the speaker. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - -Edmund had determined that it belonged entirely to Fanny to chuse -whether her situation with regard to Crawford should be mentioned -between them or not; and that if she did not lead the way, it should -never be touched on by him; but after a day or two of mutual reserve, -he was induced by his father to change his mind, and try what his -influence might do for his friend. - -A day, and a very early day, was actually fixed for the Crawfords’ -departure; and Sir Thomas thought it might be as well to make one more -effort for the young man before he left Mansfield, that all his -professions and vows of unshaken attachment might have as much hope to -sustain them as possible. - -Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection of Mr. -Crawford’s character in that point. He wished him to be a model of -constancy; and fancied the best means of effecting it would be by not -trying him too long. - -Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage in the business; he -wanted to know Fanny’s feelings. She had been used to consult him in -every difficulty, and he loved her too well to bear to be denied her -confidence now; he hoped to be of service to her, he thought he must be -of service to her; whom else had she to open her heart to? If she did -not need counsel, she must need the comfort of communication. Fanny -estranged from him, silent and reserved, was an unnatural state of -things; a state which he must break through, and which he could easily -learn to think she was wanting him to break through. - -“I will speak to her, sir: I will take the first opportunity of -speaking to her alone,” was the result of such thoughts as these; and -upon Sir Thomas’s information of her being at that very time walking -alone in the shrubbery, he instantly joined her. - -“I am come to walk with you, Fanny,” said he. “Shall I?” Drawing her -arm within his. “It is a long while since we have had a comfortable -walk together.” - -She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her spirits were low. - -“But, Fanny,” he presently added, “in order to have a comfortable walk, -something more is necessary than merely pacing this gravel together. -You must talk to me. I know you have something on your mind. I know -what you are thinking of. You cannot suppose me uninformed. Am I to -hear of it from everybody but Fanny herself?” - -Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, “If you hear of it from -everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to tell.” - -“Not of facts, perhaps; but of feelings, Fanny. No one but you can tell -me them. I do not mean to press you, however. If it is not what you -wish yourself, I have done. I had thought it might be a relief.” - -“I am afraid we think too differently for me to find any relief in -talking of what I feel.” - -“Do you suppose that we think differently? I have no idea of it. I dare -say that, on a comparison of our opinions, they would be found as much -alike as they have been used to be: to the point—I consider Crawford’s -proposals as most advantageous and desirable, if you could return his -affection. I consider it as most natural that all your family should -wish you could return it; but that, as you cannot, you have done -exactly as you ought in refusing him. Can there be any disagreement -between us here?” - -“Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you were against me. -This is such a comfort!” - -“This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had you sought it. But -how could you possibly suppose me against you? How could you imagine me -an advocate for marriage without love? Were I even careless in general -on such matters, how could you imagine me so where your happiness was -at stake?” - -“My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you.” - -“As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. I may be -sorry, I may be surprised—though hardly _that_, for you had not had -time to attach yourself—but I think you perfectly right. Can it admit -of a question? It is disgraceful to us if it does. You did not love -him; nothing could have justified your accepting him.” - -Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days. - -“So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quite mistaken -who wished you to do otherwise. But the matter does not end here. -Crawford’s is no common attachment; he perseveres, with the hope of -creating that regard which had not been created before. This, we know, -must be a work of time. But” (with an affectionate smile) “let him -succeed at last, Fanny, let him succeed at last. You have proved -yourself upright and disinterested, prove yourself grateful and -tender-hearted; and then you will be the perfect model of a woman which -I have always believed you born for.” - -“Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me.” And she spoke -with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund, and which she blushed at -the recollection of herself, when she saw his look, and heard him -reply, “Never! Fanny!—so very determined and positive! This is not like -yourself, your rational self.” - -“I mean,” she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself, “that I _think_ I -never shall, as far as the future can be answered for; I think I never -shall return his regard.” - -“I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than Crawford can -be, that the man who means to make you love him (you having due notice -of his intentions) must have very uphill work, for there are all your -early attachments and habits in battle array; and before he can get -your heart for his own use he has to unfasten it from all the holds -upon things animate and inanimate, which so many years’ growth have -confirmed, and which are considerably tightened for the moment by the -very idea of separation. I know that the apprehension of being forced -to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming you against him. I wish he -had not been obliged to tell you what he was trying for. I wish he had -known you as well as I do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should have -won you. My theoretical and his practical knowledge together could not -have failed. He should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, -that time, proving him (as I firmly believe it will) to deserve you by -his steady affection, will give him his reward. I cannot suppose that -you have not the _wish_ to love him—the natural wish of gratitude. You -must have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorry for your own -indifference.” - -“We are so totally unlike,” said Fanny, avoiding a direct answer, “we -are so very, very different in all our inclinations and ways, that I -consider it as quite impossible we should ever be tolerably happy -together, even if I _could_ like him. There never were two people more -dissimilar. We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable.” - -“You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong. You are -quite enough alike. You _have_ tastes in common. You have moral and -literary tastes in common. You have both warm hearts and benevolent -feelings; and, Fanny, who that heard him read, and saw you listen to -Shakespeare the other night, will think you unfitted as companions? You -forget yourself: there is a decided difference in your tempers, I -allow. He is lively, you are serious; but so much the better: his -spirits will support yours. It is your disposition to be easily -dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are. His -cheerfulness will counteract this. He sees difficulties nowhere: and -his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support to you. Your -being so far unlike, Fanny, does not in the smallest degree make -against the probability of your happiness together: do not imagine it. -I am myself convinced that it is rather a favourable circumstance. I am -perfectly persuaded that the tempers had better be unlike: I mean -unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the manners, in the inclination -for much or little company, in the propensity to talk or to be silent, -to be grave or to be gay. Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly -convinced, friendly to matrimonial happiness. I exclude extremes, of -course; and a very close resemblance in all those points would be the -likeliest way to produce an extreme. A counteraction, gentle and -continual, is the best safeguard of manners and conduct.” - -Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were now: Miss -Crawford’s power was all returning. He had been speaking of her -cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His avoiding her was quite -at an end. He had dined at the Parsonage only the preceding day. - -After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minutes, Fanny, -feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr. Crawford, and said, “It is -not merely in _temper_ that I consider him as totally unsuited to -myself; though, in _that_ respect, I think the difference between us -too great, infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me; but -there is something in him which I object to still more. I must say, -cousin, that I cannot approve his character. I have not thought well of -him from the time of the play. I then saw him behaving, as it appeared -to me, so very improperly and unfeelingly—I may speak of it now because -it is all over—so improperly by poor Mr. Rushworth, not seeming to care -how he exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, -which—in short, at the time of the play, I received an impression which -will never be got over.” - -“My dear Fanny,” replied Edmund, scarcely hearing her to the end, “let -us not, any of us, be judged by what we appeared at that period of -general folly. The time of the play is a time which I hate to -recollect. Maria was wrong, Crawford was wrong, we were all wrong -together; but none so wrong as myself. Compared with me, all the rest -were blameless. I was playing the fool with my eyes open.” - -“As a bystander,” said Fanny, “perhaps I saw more than you did; and I -do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous.” - -“Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more improper than the -whole business. I am shocked whenever I think that Maria could be -capable of it; but, if she could undertake the part, we must not be -surprised at the rest.” - -“Before the play, I am much mistaken if _Julia_ did not think he was -paying her attentions.” - -“Julia! I have heard before from some one of his being in love with -Julia; but I could never see anything of it. And, Fanny, though I hope -I do justice to my sisters’ good qualities, I think it very possible -that they might, one or both, be more desirous of being admired by -Crawford, and might shew that desire rather more unguardedly than was -perfectly prudent. I can remember that they were evidently fond of his -society; and with such encouragement, a man like Crawford, lively, and -it may be, a little unthinking, might be led on to—there could be -nothing very striking, because it is clear that he had no pretensions: -his heart was reserved for you. And I must say, that its being for you -has raised him inconceivably in my opinion. It does him the highest -honour; it shews his proper estimation of the blessing of domestic -happiness and pure attachment. It proves him unspoilt by his uncle. It -proves him, in short, everything that I had been used to wish to -believe him, and feared he was not.” - -“I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious -subjects.” - -“Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious subjects, -which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it be otherwise, -with such an education and adviser? Under the disadvantages, indeed, -which both have had, is it not wonderful that they should be what they -are? Crawford’s _feelings_, I am ready to acknowledge, have hitherto -been too much his guides. Happily, those feelings have generally been -good. You will supply the rest; and a most fortunate man he is to -attach himself to such a creature—to a woman who, firm as a rock in her -own principles, has a gentleness of character so well adapted to -recommend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare felicity. -He will make you happy, Fanny; I know he will make you happy; but you -will make him everything.” - -“I would not engage in such a charge,” cried Fanny, in a shrinking -accent; “in such an office of high responsibility!” - -“As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything! fancying everything -too much for you! Well, though I may not be able to persuade you into -different feelings, you will be persuaded into them, I trust. I confess -myself sincerely anxious that you may. I have no common interest in -Crawford’s well-doing. Next to your happiness, Fanny, his has the first -claim on me. You are aware of my having no common interest in -Crawford.” - -Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say; and they walked -on together some fifty yards in mutual silence and abstraction. Edmund -first began again— - -“I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it yesterday, -particularly pleased, because I had not depended upon her seeing -everything in so just a light. I knew she was very fond of you; but yet -I was afraid of her not estimating your worth to her brother quite as -it deserved, and of her regretting that he had not rather fixed on some -woman of distinction or fortune. I was afraid of the bias of those -worldly maxims, which she has been too much used to hear. But it was -very different. She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She desires -the connexion as warmly as your uncle or myself. We had a long talk -about it. I should not have mentioned the subject, though very anxious -to know her sentiments; but I had not been in the room five minutes -before she began introducing it with all that openness of heart, and -sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit and ingenuousness which are so -much a part of herself. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity.” - -“Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then?” - -“Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisters together by -themselves; and when once we had begun, we had not done with you, -Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in.” - -“It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford.” - -“Yes, she laments it; yet owns it may have been best. You will see her, -however, before she goes. She is very angry with you, Fanny; you must -be prepared for that. She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine -her anger. It is the regret and disappointment of a sister, who thinks -her brother has a right to everything he may wish for, at the first -moment. She is hurt, as you would be for William; but she loves and -esteems you with all her heart.” - -“I knew she would be very angry with me.” - -“My dearest Fanny,” cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer to him, “do -not let the idea of her anger distress you. It is anger to be talked of -rather than felt. Her heart is made for love and kindness, not for -resentment. I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise; I -wish you could have seen her countenance, when she said that you -_should_ be Henry’s wife. And I observed that she always spoke of you -as ‘Fanny,’ which she was never used to do; and it had a sound of most -sisterly cordiality.” - -“And Mrs. Grant, did she say—did she speak; was she there all the -time?” - -“Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The surprise of your -refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded. That you could refuse -such a man as Henry Crawford seems more than they can understand. I -said what I could for you; but in good truth, as they stated the -case—you must prove yourself to be in your senses as soon as you can by -a different conduct; nothing else will satisfy them. But this is -teasing you. I have done. Do not turn away from me.” - -“I _should_ have thought,” said Fanny, after a pause of recollection -and exertion, “that every woman must have felt the possibility of a -man’s not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex at -least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all the -perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as -certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to -like himself. But, even supposing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to -have all the claims which his sisters think he has, how was I to be -prepared to meet him with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me -wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to me before -had any meaning; and surely I was not to be teaching myself to like him -only because he was taking what seemed very idle notice of me. In my -situation, it would have been the extreme of vanity to be forming -expectations on Mr. Crawford. I am sure his sisters, rating him as they -do, must have thought it so, supposing he had meant nothing. How, then, -was I to be—to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me? -How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked -for? His sisters should consider me as well as him. The higher his -deserts, the more improper for me ever to have thought of him. And, -and—we think very differently of the nature of women, if they can -imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an affection as this -seems to imply.” - -“My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this to be the -truth; and most worthy of you are such feelings. I had attributed them -to you before. I thought I could understand you. You have now given -exactly the explanation which I ventured to make for you to your friend -and Mrs. Grant, and they were both better satisfied, though your -warm-hearted friend was still run away with a little by the enthusiasm -of her fondness for Henry. I told them that you were of all human -creatures the one over whom habit had most power and novelty least; and -that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford’s addresses was -against him. Their being so new and so recent was all in their -disfavour; that you could tolerate nothing that you were not used to; -and a great deal more to the same purpose, to give them a knowledge of -your character. Miss Crawford made us laugh by her plans of -encouragement for her brother. She meant to urge him to persevere in -the hope of being loved in time, and of having his addresses most -kindly received at the end of about ten years’ happy marriage.” - -Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here asked for. Her -feelings were all in revolt. She feared she had been doing wrong: -saying too much, overacting the caution which she had been fancying -necessary; in guarding against one evil, laying herself open to -another; and to have Miss Crawford’s liveliness repeated to her at such -a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation. - -Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and immediately resolved -to forbear all farther discussion; and not even to mention the name of -Crawford again, except as it might be connected with what _must_ be -agreeable to her. On this principle, he soon afterwards observed—“They -go on Monday. You are sure, therefore, of seeing your friend either -to-morrow or Sunday. They really go on Monday; and I was within a -trifle of being persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day! I -had almost promised it. What a difference it might have made! Those -five or six days more at Lessingby might have been felt all my life.” - -“You were near staying there?” - -“Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented. Had I -received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you were all going -on, I believe I should certainly have staid; but I knew nothing that -had happened here for a fortnight, and felt that I had been away long -enough.” - -“You spent your time pleasantly there?” - -“Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not. They were -all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so. I took uneasiness with -me, and there was no getting rid of it till I was in Mansfield again.” - -“The Miss Owens—you liked them, did not you?” - -“Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls. But I am -spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. Good-humoured, unaffected -girls will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women. They -are two distinct orders of being. You and Miss Crawford have made me -too nice.” - -Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it in her -looks, it could not be talked away; and attempting it no more, he led -her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, into -the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with all that Fanny -could tell, or could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments, and he -was satisfied. It had been, as he before presumed, too hasty a measure -on Crawford’s side, and time must be given to make the idea first -familiar, and then agreeable to her. She must be used to the -consideration of his being in love with her, and then a return of -affection might not be very distant. - -He gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his father; -and recommended there being nothing more said to her: no farther -attempts to influence or persuade; but that everything should be left -to Crawford’s assiduities, and the natural workings of her own mind. - -Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund’s account of Fanny’s -disposition he could believe to be just; he supposed she had all those -feelings, but he must consider it as very unfortunate that she _had_; -for, less willing than his son to trust to the future, he could not -help fearing that if such very long allowances of time and habit were -necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself into receiving -his addresses properly before the young man’s inclination for paying -them were over. There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit -quietly and hope the best. - -The promised visit from “her friend,” as Edmund called Miss Crawford, -was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of -it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of -what she said, and in another light so triumphant and secure, she was -in every way an object of painful alarm. Her displeasure, her -penetration, and her happiness were all fearful to encounter; and the -dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny’s only -support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as -possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no -solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden -attack. - -She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, with her aunt, when -Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over, and Miss Crawford -looking and speaking with much less particularity of expression than -she had anticipated, Fanny began to hope there would be nothing worse -to be endured than a half-hour of moderate agitation. But here she -hoped too much; Miss Crawford was not the slave of opportunity. She was -determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably -soon, in a low voice, “I must speak to you for a few minutes -somewhere”; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and -all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, -on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of -the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable. - -They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of countenance was -over on Miss Crawford’s side. She immediately shook her head at Fanny -with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and taking her hand, seemed -hardly able to help beginning directly. She said nothing, however, but, -“Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you,” and -had discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of -having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned upstairs, and -took her guest to the apartment which was now always fit for -comfortable use; opening the door, however, with a most aching heart, -and feeling that she had a more distressing scene before her than ever -that spot had yet witnessed. But the evil ready to burst on her was at -least delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford’s ideas; by the -strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the East room -again produced. - -“Ha!” she cried, with instant animation, “am I here again? The East -room! Once only was I in this room before”; and after stopping to look -about her, and seemingly to retrace all that had then passed, she -added, “Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your -cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and -prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we -were, just in this part of the room: here was your cousin, here was I, -here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things ever pass away?” - -Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely -self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet remembrances. - -“The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it -so very—very—what shall I say? He was to be describing and recommending -matrimony to me. I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and -composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. ‘When two -sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called -a happy life.’ I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I -have of his looks and voice as he said those words. It was curious, -very curious, that we should have such a scene to play! If I had the -power of recalling any one week of my existence, it should be that -week—that acting week. Say what you would, Fanny, it should be _that_; -for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy -spirit to bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, -that very evening destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most -unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, -do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though -I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He -is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober -sadness, I believe I now love you all.” And having said so, with a -degree of tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen in -her before, and now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a -moment to recover herself. “I have had a little fit since I came into -this room, as you may perceive,” said she presently, with a playful -smile, “but it is over now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for -as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do, I have -not the heart for it when it comes to the point.” And embracing her -very affectionately, “Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being -the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite -impossible to do anything but love you.” - -Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her -feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word -“last.” She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she -possibly could; and Miss Crawford, yet farther softened by the sight of -such emotion, hung about her with fondness, and said, “I hate to leave -you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we -shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be -connected; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear -Fanny.” - -Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, “But you are -only going from one set of friends to another. You are going to a very -particular friend.” - -“Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years. But -I have not the least inclination to go near her. I can think only of -the friends I am leaving: my excellent sister, yourself, and the -Bertrams in general. You have all so much more _heart_ among you than -one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being -able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows -nothing of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till -after Easter, a much better time for the visit, but now I cannot put -her off. And when I have done with her I must go to her sister, Lady -Stornaway, because _she_ was rather my most particular friend of the -two, but I have not cared much for _her_ these three years.” - -After this speech the two girls sat many minutes silent, each -thoughtful: Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friendship in -the world, Mary on something of less philosophic tendency. _She_ first -spoke again. - -“How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you upstairs, and -setting off to find my way to the East room, without having an idea -whereabouts it was! How well I remember what I was thinking of as I -came along, and my looking in and seeing you here sitting at this table -at work; and then your cousin’s astonishment, when he opened the door, -at seeing me here! To be sure, your uncle’s returning that very -evening! There never was anything quite like it.” - -Another short fit of abstraction followed, when, shaking it off, she -thus attacked her companion. - -“Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie. Thinking, I hope, of one -who is always thinking of you. Oh! that I could transport you for a -short time into our circle in town, that you might understand how your -power over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyings and -heartburnings of dozens and dozens; the wonder, the incredulity that -will be felt at hearing what you have done! For as to secrecy, Henry is -quite the hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should -come to London to know how to estimate your conquest. If you were to -see how he is courted, and how I am courted for his sake! Now, I am -well aware that I shall not be half so welcome to Mrs. Fraser in -consequence of his situation with you. When she comes to know the truth -she will, very likely, wish me in Northamptonshire again; for there is -a daughter of Mr. Fraser, by a first wife, whom she is wild to get -married, and wants Henry to take. Oh! she has been trying for him to -such a degree. Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an -idea of the _sensation_ that you will be occasioning, of the curiosity -there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall have to -answer! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever about your eyes and -your teeth, and how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish -Margaret were married, for my poor friend’s sake, for I look upon the -Frasers to be about as unhappy as most other married people. And yet it -was a most desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all -delighted. She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, -and she had nothing; but he turns out ill-tempered and _exigeant_, and -wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five-and-twenty, to be -as steady as himself. And my friend does not manage him well; she does -not seem to know how to make the best of it. There is a spirit of -irritation which, to say nothing worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In -their house I shall call to mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield -Parsonage with respect. Even Dr. Grant does shew a thorough confidence -in my sister, and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes -one feel there _is_ attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with -the Frasers. I shall be at Mansfield for ever, Fanny. My own sister as -a wife, Sir Thomas Bertram as a husband, are my standards of -perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in, and yet there was -nothing improper on her side: she did not run into the match -inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight. She took three days to -consider of his proposals, and during those three days asked the advice -of everybody connected with her whose opinion was worth having, and -especially applied to my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world -made her judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the -young people of her acquaintance, and she was decidedly in favour of -Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a security for matrimonial -comfort. I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, who jilted a -very nice young man in the Blues for the sake of that horrid Lord -Stornaway, who has about as much sense, Fanny, as Mr. Rushworth, but -much worse-looking, and with a blackguard character. I _had_ my doubts -at the time about her being right, for he has not even the air of a -gentleman, and now I am sure she was wrong. By the bye, Flora Ross was -dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to attempt to -tell you of all the women whom I have known to be in love with him, I -should never have done. It is you, only you, insensible Fanny, who can -think of him with anything like indifference. But are you so insensible -as you profess yourself? No, no, I see you are not.” - -There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny’s face at that moment as -might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind. - -“Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything shall take its -course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that you were not so absolutely -unprepared to have the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not -possible but that you must have had some thoughts on the subject, some -surmises as to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to -please you by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you -at the ball? And then before the ball, the necklace! Oh! you received -it just as it was meant. You were as conscious as heart could desire. I -remember it perfectly.” - -“Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? -Oh! Miss Crawford, _that_ was not fair.” - -“Knew of it! It was his own doing entirely, his own thought. I am -ashamed to say that it had never entered my head, but I was delighted -to act on his proposal for both your sakes.” - -“I will not say,” replied Fanny, “that I was not half afraid at the -time of its being so, for there was something in your look that -frightened me, but not at first; I was as unsuspicious of it at -first—indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. And had I -had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to accept the -necklace. As to your brother’s behaviour, certainly I was sensible of a -particularity: I had been sensible of it some little time, perhaps two -or three weeks; but then I considered it as meaning nothing: I put it -down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from -wishing him to have any serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss -Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him -and some part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but -I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford amused himself -in gallantries which did mean nothing.” - -“Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared -very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies’ -affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; -and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any -affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one -who has been shot at by so many; of having it in one’s power to pay off -the debts of one’s sex! Oh! I am sure it is not in woman’s nature to -refuse such a triumph.” - -Fanny shook her head. “I cannot think well of a man who sports with any -woman’s feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered -than a stander-by can judge of.” - -“I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he -has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. But -this I will say, that his fault, the liking to make girls a little in -love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife’s happiness as a -tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to. -And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a -way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all -his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any man -ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you.” - -Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say. - -“I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier,” continued Mary -presently, “than when he had succeeded in getting your brother’s -commission.” - -She had made a sure push at Fanny’s feelings here. - -“Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him.” - -“I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties -he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favours; -and there are so many young men’s claims to be attended to in the same -way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put -by. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him.” - -Poor Fanny’s mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its -varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was -always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. -Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had been -first watching her complacently, and then musing on something else, -suddenly called her attention by saying: “I should like to sit talking -with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so -good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though we shall -nominally part in the breakfast-parlour, I must take leave of you here. -And I do take leave, longing for a happy reunion, and trusting that -when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our -hearts to each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve.” - -A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied -these words. - -“I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks of being there -tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the -spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia, I am -sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have two favours to -ask, Fanny: one is your correspondence. You must write to me. And the -other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for -my being gone.” - -The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not have been -asked; but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence; it -was impossible for her even not to accede to it more readily than her -own judgment authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent -affection. Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to value a fond -treatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it, she was the -more overcome by Miss Crawford’s. Besides, there was gratitude towards -her, for having made their _tête-à-tête_ so much less painful than her -fears had predicted. - -It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without -detection. Her secret was still her own; and while that was the case, -she thought she could resign herself to almost everything. - -In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat -some time with them; and her spirits not being previously in the -strongest state, her heart was softened for a while towards him, -because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he -scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must -grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he -were the husband of some other woman. - -When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand, he would -not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or nothing that she heard, -and when he had left the room, she was better pleased that such a token -of friendship had passed. - -On the morrow the Crawfords were gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas’s next object was that he should be -missed; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank -in the loss of those attentions which at the time she had felt, or -fancied, an evil. She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering -form; and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again into -nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched -her with this idea; but he could hardly tell with what success. He -hardly knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. -She was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond his -discrimination. He did not understand her: he felt that he did not; and -therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she stood affected on the -present occasion, and whether she were more or less happy than she had -been. - -Edmund did not discern any symptoms of regret, and thought his father a -little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four days could -produce any. - -What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford’s sister, the friend -and companion who had been so much to her, should not be more visibly -regretted. He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of _her_, and had so -little voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation. - -Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was now the -chief bane of Fanny’s comfort. If she could have believed Mary’s future -fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she was determined the brother’s -should be, if she could have hoped her return thither to be as distant -as she was much inclined to think his, she would have been light of -heart indeed; but the more she recollected and observed, the more -deeply was she convinced that everything was now in a fairer train for -Miss Crawford’s marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. On his -side the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. His -objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away, nobody -could tell how; and the doubts and hesitations of her ambition were -equally got over—and equally without apparent reason. It could only be -imputed to increasing attachment. His good and her bad feelings yielded -to love, and such love must unite them. He was to go to town as soon as -some business relative to Thornton Lacey were completed—perhaps within -a fortnight; he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when once -with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her acceptance must be -as certain as his offer; and yet there were bad feelings still -remaining which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, -independently, she believed, independently of self. - -In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some -amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been Miss -Crawford; still shewn a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any -suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might -love, but she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. Fanny -believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; -and she may be forgiven by older sages for looking on the chance of -Miss Crawford’s future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking -that if Edmund’s influence in this season of love had already done so -little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his worth -would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony. - -Experience might have hoped more for any young people so circumstanced, -and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford’s nature that -participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to -adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected as her own. But -as such were Fanny’s persuasions, she suffered very much from them, and -could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain. - -Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes and his own -observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of human -nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power and -consequence on his niece’s spirits, and the past attentions of the -lover producing a craving for their return; and he was soon afterwards -able to account for his not yet completely and indubitably seeing all -this, by the prospect of another visitor, whose approach he could allow -to be quite enough to support the spirits he was watching. William had -obtained a ten days’ leave of absence, to be given to Northamptonshire, -and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, -to shew his happiness and describe his uniform. - -He came; and he would have been delighted to shew his uniform there -too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty. So -the uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that before -Fanny had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness and all the -freshness of its wearer’s feelings must be worn away. It would be sunk -into a badge of disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more -worthless, than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant -a year or two, and sees others made commanders before him? So reasoned -Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a scheme which placed -Fanny’s chance of seeing the second lieutenant of H.M.S. Thrush in all -his glory in another light. - -This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to -Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family. It had -occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a right and -desirable measure; but before he absolutely made up his mind, he -consulted his son. Edmund considered it every way, and saw nothing but -what was right. The thing was good in itself, and could not be done at -a better time; and he had no doubt of it being highly agreeable to -Fanny. This was enough to determine Sir Thomas; and a decisive “then so -it shall be” closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring -from it with some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and -above what he had communicated to his son; for his prime motive in -sending her away had very little to do with the propriety of her seeing -her parents again, and nothing at all with any idea of making her -happy. He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly -wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and that -a little abstinence from the elegancies and luxuries of Mansfield Park -would bring her mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster -estimate of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal -comfort, of which she had the offer. - -It was a medicinal project upon his niece’s understanding, which he -must consider as at present diseased. A residence of eight or nine -years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little disordered her -powers of comparing and judging. Her father’s house would, in all -probability, teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that -she would be the wiser and happier woman, all her life, for the -experiment he had devised. - -Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong -attack of them when she first understood what was intended, when her -uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, and brothers, -and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of -returning for a couple of months to the scenes of her infancy, with -William for the protector and companion of her journey, and the -certainty of continuing to see William to the last hour of his -remaining on land. Had she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must -have been then, for she was delighted, but her happiness was of a -quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort; and though never a great talker, she -was always more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the -moment she could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when familiarised -with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more -largely to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were -emotions of tenderness that could not be clothed in words. The -remembrance of all her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered -in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it -seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had since -grown out of the separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, -loved by so many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before; -to feel affection without fear or restraint; to feel herself the equal -of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the -Crawfords, safe from every look which could be fancied a reproach on -their account. This was a prospect to be dwelt on with a fondness that -could be but half acknowledged. - -Edmund, too—to be two months from _him_ (and perhaps she might be -allowed to make her absence three) must do her good. At a distance, -unassailed by his looks or his kindness, and safe from the perpetual -irritation of knowing his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence, -she should be able to reason herself into a properer state; she should -be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there, -without wretchedness. What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield -was to become a slight evil at Portsmouth. - -The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram’s being comfortable -without her. She was of use to no one else; but _there_ she might be -missed to a degree that she did not like to think of; and that part of -the arrangement was, indeed, the hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish, -and what only _he_ could have accomplished at all. - -But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really resolved on any -measure, he could always carry it through; and now by dint of long -talking on the subject, explaining and dwelling on the duty of Fanny’s -sometimes seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go; -obtaining it rather from submission, however, than conviction, for Lady -Bertram was convinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas thought -Fanny ought to go, and therefore that she must. In the calmness of her -own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own meditations, -unbiased by his bewildering statements, she could not acknowledge any -necessity for Fanny’s ever going near a father and mother who had done -without her so long, while she was so useful to herself. And as to the -not missing her, which under Mrs. Norris’s discussion was the point -attempted to be proved, she set herself very steadily against admitting -any such thing. - -Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity. He -called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and self-command -as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her that Fanny could be -very well spared—_she_ being ready to give up all her own time to her -as requested—and, in short, could not really be wanted or missed. - -“That may be, sister,” was all Lady Bertram’s reply. “I dare say you -are very right; but I am sure I shall miss her very much.” - -The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny wrote to offer -herself; and her mother’s answer, though short, was so kind—a few -simple lines expressed so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect of -seeing her child again, as to confirm all the daughter’s views of -happiness in being with her—convincing her that she should now find a -warm and affectionate friend in the “mama” who had certainly shewn no -remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this she could easily suppose -to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated -love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been -unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could -deserve. Now, when she knew better how to be useful, and how to -forbear, and when her mother could be no longer occupied by the -incessant demands of a house full of little children, there would be -leisure and inclination for every comfort, and they should soon be what -mother and daughter ought to be to each other. - -William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It would be the -greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the last moment before he -sailed, and perhaps find her there still when he came in from his first -cruise. And besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush -before she went out of harbour—the Thrush was certainly the finest -sloop in the service—and there were several improvements in the -dockyard, too, which he quite longed to shew her. - -He did not scruple to add that her being at home for a while would be a -great advantage to everybody. - -“I do not know how it is,” said he; “but we seem to want some of your -nice ways and orderliness at my father’s. The house is always in -confusion. You will set things going in a better way, I am sure. You -will tell my mother how it all ought to be, and you will be so useful -to Susan, and you will teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind -you. How right and comfortable it will all be!” - -By the time Mrs. Price’s answer arrived, there remained but a very few -days more to be spent at Mansfield; and for part of one of those days -the young travellers were in a good deal of alarm on the subject of -their journey, for when the mode of it came to be talked of, and Mrs. -Norris found that all her anxiety to save her brother-in-law’s money -was vain, and that in spite of her wishes and hints for a less -expensive conveyance of Fanny, they were to travel post; when she saw -Sir Thomas actually give William notes for the purpose, she was struck -with the idea of there being room for a third in the carriage, and -suddenly seized with a strong inclination to go with them, to go and -see her poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must -say that she had more than half a mind to go with the young people; it -would be such an indulgence to her; she had not seen her poor dear -sister Price for more than twenty years; and it would be a help to the -young people in their journey to have her older head to manage for -them; and she could not help thinking her poor dear sister Price would -feel it very unkind of her not to come by such an opportunity. - -William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea. - -All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be destroyed at -once. With woeful countenances they looked at each other. Their -suspense lasted an hour or two. No one interfered to encourage or -dissuade. Mrs. Norris was left to settle the matter by herself; and it -ended, to the infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection -that she could not possibly be spared from Mansfield Park at present; -that she was a great deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram -for her to be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a -week, and therefore must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to -that of being useful to them. - -It had, in fact, occurred to her, that though taken to Portsmouth for -nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid paying her own -expenses back again. So her poor dear sister Price was left to all the -disappointment of her missing such an opportunity, and another twenty -years’ absence, perhaps, begun. - -Edmund’s plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey, this absence -of Fanny’s. He too had a sacrifice to make to Mansfield Park as well as -his aunt. He had intended, about this time, to be going to London; but -he could not leave his father and mother just when everybody else of -most importance to their comfort was leaving them; and with an effort, -felt but not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey -which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his -happiness for ever. - -He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she must know -everything. It made the substance of one other confidential discourse -about Miss Crawford; and Fanny was the more affected from feeling it to -be the last time in which Miss Crawford’s name would ever be mentioned -between them with any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was -alluded to by him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece in the -evening to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good -correspondent herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, then added -in a whisper, “And _I_ shall write to you, Fanny, when I have anything -worth writing about, anything to say that I think you will like to -hear, and that you will not hear so soon from any other quarter.” Had -she doubted his meaning while she listened, the glow in his face, when -she looked up at him, would have been decisive. - -For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter from Edmund -should be a subject of terror! She began to feel that she had not yet -gone through all the changes of opinion and sentiment which the -progress of time and variation of circumstances occasion in this world -of changes. The vicissitudes of the human mind had not yet been -exhausted by her. - -Poor Fanny! though going as she did willingly and eagerly, the last -evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness. Her heart was -completely sad at parting. She had tears for every room in the house, -much more for every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because -she would miss her; she kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling -sobs, because she had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could -neither speak, nor look, nor think, when the last moment came with -_him_; and it was not till it was over that she knew he was giving her -the affectionate farewell of a brother. - -All this passed overnight, for the journey was to begin very early in -the morning; and when the small, diminished party met at breakfast, -William and Fanny were talked of as already advanced one stage. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - -The novelty of travelling, and the happiness of being with William, -soon produced their natural effect on Fanny’s spirits, when Mansfield -Park was fairly left behind; and by the time their first stage was -ended, and they were to quit Sir Thomas’s carriage, she was able to -take leave of the old coachman, and send back proper messages, with -cheerful looks. - -Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister there was no end. -Everything supplied an amusement to the high glee of William’s mind, -and he was full of frolic and joke in the intervals of their -higher-toned subjects, all of which ended, if they did not begin, in -praise of the Thrush, conjectures how she would be employed, schemes -for an action with some superior force, which (supposing the first -lieutenant out of the way, and William was not very merciful to the -first lieutenant) was to give himself the next step as soon as -possible, or speculations upon prize-money, which was to be generously -distributed at home, with only the reservation of enough to make the -little cottage comfortable, in which he and Fanny were to pass all -their middle and later life together. - -Fanny’s immediate concerns, as far as they involved Mr. Crawford, made -no part of their conversation. William knew what had passed, and from -his heart lamented that his sister’s feelings should be so cold towards -a man whom he must consider as the first of human characters; but he -was of an age to be all for love, and therefore unable to blame; and -knowing her wish on the subject, he would not distress her by the -slightest allusion. - -She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by Mr. Crawford. -She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the three weeks which -had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and in each letter there had -been a few lines from himself, warm and determined like his speeches. -It was a correspondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she -had feared. Miss Crawford’s style of writing, lively and affectionate, -was itself an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into -reading from the brother’s pen, for Edmund would never rest till she -had read the chief of the letter to him; and then she had to listen to -his admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments. -There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of -recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could -not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to find herself forced -into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a correspondence which was -bringing her the addresses of the man she did not love, and obliging -her to administer to the adverse passion of the man she did, was -cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her present removal promised advantage. -When no longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss -Crawford would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome the -trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into -nothing. - -With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded -in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as expeditiously as could -rationally be hoped in the dirty month of February. They entered -Oxford, but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund’s college as -they passed along, and made no stop anywhere till they reached Newbury, -where a comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the -enjoyments and fatigues of the day. - -The next morning saw them off again at an early hour; and with no -events, and no delays, they regularly advanced, and were in the -environs of Portsmouth while there was yet daylight for Fanny to look -around her, and wonder at the new buildings. They passed the -drawbridge, and entered the town; and the light was only beginning to -fail as, guided by William’s powerful voice, they were rattled into a -narrow street, leading from the High Street, and drawn up before the -door of a small house now inhabited by Mr. Price. - -Fanny was all agitation and flutter; all hope and apprehension. The -moment they stopped, a trollopy-looking maidservant, seemingly in -waiting for them at the door, stepped forward, and more intent on -telling the news than giving them any help, immediately began with, -“The Thrush is gone out of harbour, please sir, and one of the officers -has been here to—” She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven -years old, who, rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and -while William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, “You are -just in time. We have been looking for you this half-hour. The Thrush -went out of harbour this morning. I saw her. It was a beautiful sight. -And they think she will have her orders in a day or two. And Mr. -Campbell was here at four o’clock to ask for you: he has got one of the -Thrush’s boats, and is going off to her at six, and hoped you would be -here in time to go with him.” - -A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the carriage, was -all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed; but he made no -objection to her kissing him, though still entirely engaged in -detailing farther particulars of the Thrush’s going out of harbour, in -which he had a strong right of interest, being to commence his career -of seamanship in her at this very time. - -Another moment and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passage of the -house, and in her mother’s arms, who met her there with looks of true -kindness, and with features which Fanny loved the more, because they -brought her aunt Bertram’s before her, and there were her two sisters: -Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of -the family, about five—both glad to see her in their way, though with -no advantage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did not want. -Would they but love her, she should be satisfied. - -She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first conviction -was of its being only a passage-room to something better, and she stood -for a moment expecting to be invited on; but when she saw there was no -other door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, she -called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they -should have been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long -enough to suspect anything. She was gone again to the street-door, to -welcome William. “Oh! my dear William, how glad I am to see you. But -have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of harbour already; -three days before we had any thought of it; and I do not know what I am -to do about Sam’s things, they will never be ready in time; for she may -have her orders to-morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. And now -you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell has been here, quite in a -worry about you; and now what shall we do? I thought to have had such a -comfortable evening with you, and here everything comes upon me at -once.” - -Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everything was always for -the best; and making light of his own inconvenience in being obliged to -hurry away so soon. - -“To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour, that I might -have sat a few hours with you in comfort; but as there is a boat -ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is no help for it. -Whereabouts does the Thrush lay at Spithead? Near the Canopus? But no -matter; here’s Fanny in the parlour, and why should we stay in the -passage? Come, mother, you have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny -yet.” - -In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her daughter -again, and commented a little on her growth, began with very natural -solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants as travellers. - -“Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now, what will you have? I -began to think you would never come. Betsey and I have been watching -for you this half-hour. And when did you get anything to eat? And what -would you like to have now? I could not tell whether you would be for -some meat, or only a dish of tea, after your journey, or else I would -have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here -before there is time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand. -It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We were -better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like some tea as soon -as it can be got.” - -They both declared they should prefer it to anything. “Then, Betsey, my -dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebecca has put the water on; and -tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon as she can. I wish we could -get the bell mended; but Betsey is a very handy little messenger.” - -Betsey went with alacrity, proud to shew her abilities before her fine -new sister. - -“Dear me!” continued the anxious mother, “what a sad fire we have got, -and I dare say you are both starved with cold. Draw your chair nearer, -my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told -her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken -care of the fire.” - -“I was upstairs, mama, moving my things,” said Susan, in a fearless, -self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. “You know you had but just -settled that my sister Fanny and I should have the other room; and I -could not get Rebecca to give me any help.” - -Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles: first, the driver -came to be paid; then there was a squabble between Sam and Rebecca -about the manner of carrying up his sister’s trunk, which he would -manage all his own way; and lastly, in walked Mr. Price himself, his -own loud voice preceding him, as with something of the oath kind he -kicked away his son’s portmanteau and his daughter’s bandbox in the -passage, and called out for a candle; no candle was brought, however, -and he walked into the room. - -Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him, but sank down again -on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and unthought of. With -a friendly shake of his son’s hand, and an eager voice, he instantly -began—“Ha! welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard the -news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. Sharp is the word, -you see! By G—, you are just in time! The doctor has been here -inquiring for you: he has got one of the boats, and is to be off for -Spithead by six, so you had better go with him. I have been to Turner’s -about your mess; it is all in a way to be done. I should not wonder if -you had your orders to-morrow: but you cannot sail with this wind, if -you are to cruise to the westward; and Captain Walsh thinks you will -certainly have a cruise to the westward, with the Elephant. By G—, I -wish you may! But old Scholey was saying, just now, that he thought you -would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready, whatever -happens. But by G—, you lost a fine sight by not being here in the -morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour! I would not have been out -of the way for a thousand pounds. Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, -to say she had slipped her moorings and was coming out, I jumped up, -and made but two steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect -beauty afloat, she is one; and there she lays at Spithead, and anybody -in England would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the -platform two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the -Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the -sheer hulk.” - -“Ha!” cried William, “_that’s_ just where I should have put her myself. -It’s the best berth at Spithead. But here is my sister, sir; here is -Fanny,” turning and leading her forward; “it is so dark you do not see -her.” - -With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her, Mr. Price now -received his daughter; and having given her a cordial hug, and observed -that she was grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a -husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again. Fanny -shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by his language and -his smell of spirits; and he talked on only to his son, and only of the -Thrush, though William, warmly interested as he was in that subject, -more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny, and her long -absence and long journey. - -After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained; but as there was -still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey’s reports from the -kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable period, William -determined to go and change his dress, and make the necessary -preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his -tea in comfort afterwards. - -As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, about eight -and nine years old, rushed into it just released from school, and -coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the Thrush was gone -out of harbour; Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny’s -going away, but Tom she had often helped to nurse, and now felt a -particular pleasure in seeing again. Both were kissed very tenderly, -but Tom she wanted to keep by her, to try to trace the features of the -baby she had loved, and talked to, of his infant preference of herself. -Tom, however, had no mind for such treatment: he came home not to stand -and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise; and both boys had -soon burst from her, and slammed the parlour-door till her temples -ached. - -She had now seen all that were at home; there remained only two -brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk in a public -office in London, and the other midshipman on board an Indiaman. But -though she had _seen_ all the members of the family, she had not yet -_heard_ all the noise they could make. Another quarter of an hour -brought her a great deal more. William was soon calling out from the -landing-place of the second story for his mother and for Rebecca. He -was in distress for something that he had left there, and did not find -again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his new hat, -and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform waistcoat, -which he had been promised to have done for him, entirely neglected. - -Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey all went up to defend themselves, all -talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done as -well as it could in a great hurry; William trying in vain to send -Betsey down again, or keep her from being troublesome where she was; -the whole of which, as almost every door in the house was open, could -be plainly distinguished in the parlour, except when drowned at -intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each -other up and down stairs, and tumbling about and hallooing. - -Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house and thinness of -the walls brought everything so close to her, that, added to the -fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew -how to bear it. _Within_ the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan -having disappeared with the others, there were soon only her father and -herself remaining; and he, taking out a newspaper, the accustomary loan -of a neighbour, applied himself to studying it, without seeming to -recollect her existence. The solitary candle was held between himself -and the paper, without any reference to her possible convenience; but -she had nothing to do, and was glad to have the light screened from her -aching head, as she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation. - -She was at home. But, alas! it was not such a home, she had not such a -welcome, as—she checked herself; she was unreasonable. What right had -she to be of importance to her family? She could have none, so long -lost sight of! William’s concerns must be dearest, they always had -been, and he had every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about -herself, to have scarcely an inquiry made after Mansfield! It did pain -her to have Mansfield forgotten; the friends who had done so much—the -dear, dear friends! But here, one subject swallowed up all the rest. -Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the Thrush must be now -preeminently interesting. A day or two might shew the difference. _She_ -only was to blame. Yet she thought it would not have been so at -Mansfield. No, in her uncle’s house there would have been a -consideration of times and seasons, a regulation of subject, a -propriety, an attention towards everybody which there was not here. - -The only interruption which thoughts like these received for nearly -half an hour was from a sudden burst of her father’s, not at all -calculated to compose them. At a more than ordinary pitch of thumping -and hallooing in the passage, he exclaimed, “Devil take those young -dogs! How they are singing out! Ay, Sam’s voice louder than all the -rest! That boy is fit for a boatswain. Holla, you there! Sam, stop your -confounded pipe, or I shall be after you.” - -This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though within five -minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into the room together and -sat down, Fanny could not consider it as a proof of anything more than -their being for the time thoroughly fagged, which their hot faces and -panting breaths seemed to prove, especially as they were still kicking -each other’s shins, and hallooing out at sudden starts immediately -under their father’s eye. - -The next opening of the door brought something more welcome: it was for -the tea-things, which she had begun almost to despair of seeing that -evening. Susan and an attendant girl, whose inferior appearance -informed Fanny, to her great surprise, that she had previously seen the -upper servant, brought in everything necessary for the meal; Susan -looking, as she put the kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, -as if divided between the agreeable triumph of shewing her activity and -usefulness, and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an -office. “She had been into the kitchen,” she said, “to hurry Sally and -help make the toast, and spread the bread and butter, or she did not -know when they should have got tea, and she was sure her sister must -want something after her journey.” - -Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that she should be very -glad of a little tea, and Susan immediately set about making it, as if -pleased to have the employment all to herself; and with only a little -unnecessary bustle, and some few injudicious attempts at keeping her -brothers in better order than she could, acquitted herself very well. -Fanny’s spirit was as much refreshed as her body; her head and heart -were soon the better for such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, -sensible countenance; she was like William, and Fanny hoped to find her -like him in disposition and goodwill towards herself. - -In this more placid state of things William reentered, followed not far -behind by his mother and Betsey. He, complete in his lieutenant’s -uniform, looking and moving all the taller, firmer, and more graceful -for it, and with the happiest smile over his face, walked up directly -to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at him for a moment in -speechless admiration, and then threw her arms round his neck to sob -out her various emotions of pain and pleasure. - -Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered herself; and wiping -away her tears, was able to notice and admire all the striking parts of -his dress; listening with reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes of -being on shore some part of every day before they sailed, and even of -getting her to Spithead to see the sloop. - -The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeon of the Thrush, a -very well-behaved young man, who came to call for his friend, and for -whom there was with some contrivance found a chair, and with some hasty -washing of the young tea-maker’s, a cup and saucer; and after another -quarter of an hour of earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising -upon noise, and bustle upon bustle, men and boys at last all in motion -together, the moment came for setting off; everything was ready, -William took leave, and all of them were gone; for the three boys, in -spite of their mother’s entreaty, determined to see their brother and -Mr. Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr. Price walked off at the same -time to carry back his neighbour’s newspaper. - -Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for; and accordingly, -when Rebecca had been prevailed on to carry away the tea-things, and -Mrs. Price had walked about the room some time looking for a -shirt-sleeve, which Betsey at last hunted out from a drawer in the -kitchen, the small party of females were pretty well composed, and the -mother having lamented again over the impossibility of getting Sam -ready in time, was at leisure to think of her eldest daughter and the -friends she had come from. - -A few inquiries began: but one of the earliest—“How did sister Bertram -manage about her servants?” “Was she as much plagued as herself to get -tolerable servants?”—soon led her mind away from Northamptonshire, and -fixed it on her own domestic grievances, and the shocking character of -all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were the -very worst, engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were all forgotten -in detailing the faults of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much to -depose, and little Betsey a great deal more, and who did seem so -thoroughly without a single recommendation, that Fanny could not help -modestly presuming that her mother meant to part with her when her year -was up. - -“Her year!” cried Mrs. Price; “I am sure I hope I shall be rid of her -before she has staid a year, for that will not be up till November. -Servants are come to such a pass, my dear, in Portsmouth, that it is -quite a miracle if one keeps them more than half a year. I have no hope -of ever being settled; and if I was to part with Rebecca, I should only -get something worse. And yet I do not think I am a very difficult -mistress to please; and I am sure the place is easy enough, for there -is always a girl under her, and I often do half the work myself.” - -Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that there might not be -a remedy found for some of these evils. As she now sat looking at -Betsey, she could not but think particularly of another sister, a very -pretty little girl, whom she had left there not much younger when she -went into Northamptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards. There -had been something remarkably amiable about her. Fanny in those early -days had preferred her to Susan; and when the news of her death had at -last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been quite afflicted. The -sight of Betsey brought the image of little Mary back again, but she -would not have pained her mother by alluding to her for the world. -While considering her with these ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, -was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at -the same time from Susan’s. - -“What have you got there, my love?” said Fanny; “come and shew it to -me.” - -It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her own, and -trying to get it away; but the child ran to her mother’s protection, -and Susan could only reproach, which she did very warmly, and evidently -hoping to interest Fanny on her side. “It was very hard that she was -not to have her _own_ knife; it was her own knife; little sister Mary -had left it to her upon her deathbed, and she ought to have had it to -keep herself long ago. But mama kept it from her, and was always -letting Betsey get hold of it; and the end of it would be that Betsey -would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mama had _promised_ her -that Betsey should not have it in her own hands.” - -Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour, and tenderness -was wounded by her sister’s speech and her mother’s reply. - -“Now, Susan,” cried Mrs. Price, in a complaining voice, “now, how can -you be so cross? You are always quarrelling about that knife. I wish -you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor little Betsey; how cross Susan is -to you! But you should not have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you -to the drawer. You know I told you not to touch it, because Susan is so -cross about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary little -thought it would be such a bone of contention when she gave it me to -keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul! she could but -just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, ‘Let sister Susan -have my knife, mama, when I am dead and buried.’ Poor little dear! she -was so fond of it, Fanny, that she would have it lay by her in bed, all -through her illness. It was the gift of her good godmother, old Mrs. -Admiral Maxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death. Poor -little sweet creature! Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My -own Betsey” (fondling her), “_you_ have not the luck of such a good -godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such little people -as you.” - -Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, but a message to -say she hoped that her god-daughter was a good girl, and learnt her -book. There had been at one moment a slight murmur in the drawing-room -at Mansfield Park about sending her a prayer-book; but no second sound -had been heard of such a purpose. Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home -and taken down two old prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but, -upon examination, the ardour of generosity went off. One was found to -have too small a print for a child’s eyes, and the other to be too -cumbersome for her to carry about. - -Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to accept the first -invitation of going to bed; and before Betsey had finished her cry at -being allowed to sit up only one hour extraordinary in honour of -sister, she was off, leaving all below in confusion and noise again; -the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out for his rum -and water, and Rebecca never where she ought to be. - -There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confined and scantily -furnished chamber that she was to share with Susan. The smallness of -the rooms above and below, indeed, and the narrowness of the passage -and staircase, struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learned to -think with respect of her own little attic at Mansfield Park, in _that_ -house reckoned too small for anybody’s comfort. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - -Could Sir Thomas have seen all his niece’s feelings, when she wrote her -first letter to her aunt, he would not have despaired; for though a -good night’s rest, a pleasant morning, the hope of soon seeing William -again, and the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and -Charles being gone to school, Sam on some project of his own, and her -father on his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully -on the subject of home, there were still, to her own perfect -consciousness, many drawbacks suppressed. Could he have seen only half -that she felt before the end of a week, he would have thought Mr. -Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own sagacity. - -Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first place, -William was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the wind had changed, -and he was sailed within four days from their reaching Portsmouth; and -during those days she had seen him only twice, in a short and hurried -way, when he had come ashore on duty. There had been no free -conversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dockyard, no -acquaintance with the Thrush, nothing of all that they had planned and -depended on. Everything in that quarter failed her, except William’s -affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He stepped -back again to the door to say, “Take care of Fanny, mother. She is -tender, and not used to rough it like the rest of us. I charge you, -take care of Fanny.” - -William was gone: and the home he had left her in was, Fanny could not -conceal it from herself, in almost every respect the very reverse of -what she could have wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and -impropriety. Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it -ought to be. She could not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her -father, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent -of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than she -had been prepared for. He did not want abilities but he had no -curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he read only the -newspaper and the navy-list; he talked only of the dockyard, the -harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank; he swore and he drank, he was -dirty and gross. She had never been able to recall anything approaching -to tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had remained -only a general impression of roughness and loudness; and now he -scarcely ever noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke. - -Her disappointment in her mother was greater: _there_ she had hoped -much, and found almost nothing. Every flattering scheme of being of -consequence to her soon fell to the ground. Mrs. Price was not unkind; -but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming -more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from -her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was -soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price’s attachment had no other source. Her -heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor -affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her. -She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the -first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most -injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and -John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her -maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These -shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her -servants. Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle; all was busy -without getting on, always behindhand and lamenting it, without -altering her ways; wishing to be an economist, without contrivance or -regularity; dissatisfied with her servants, without skill to make them -better, and whether helping, or reprimanding, or indulging them, -without any power of engaging their respect. - -Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled Lady Bertram -than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. -Norris’s inclination for it, or any of her activity. Her disposition -was naturally easy and indolent, like Lady Bertram’s; and a situation -of similar affluence and do-nothingness would have been much more -suited to her capacity than the exertions and self-denials of the one -which her imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made -just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. Norris -would have been a more respectable mother of nine children on a small -income. - -Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of. She might scruple -to make use of the words, but she must and did feel that her mother was -a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught -nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement -and discomfort from beginning to end, and who had no talent, no -conversation, no affection towards herself; no curiosity to know her -better, no desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company -that could lessen her sense of such feelings. - -Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above her home, -or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her foreign education, -from contributing her help to its comforts, and therefore set about -working for Sam immediately; and by working early and late, with -perseverance and great despatch, did so much that the boy was shipped -off at last, with more than half his linen ready. She had great -pleasure in feeling her usefulness, but could not conceive how they -would have managed without her. - -Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted when he went, -for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be employed in any -errand in the town; and though spurning the remonstrances of Susan, -given as they were, though very reasonable in themselves, with -ill-timed and powerless warmth, was beginning to be influenced by -Fanny’s services and gentle persuasions; and she found that the best of -the three younger ones was gone in him: Tom and Charles being at least -as many years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling -and reason, which might suggest the expediency of making friends, and -of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister soon despaired of -making the smallest impression on _them_; they were quite untameable by -any means of address which she had spirits or time to attempt. Every -afternoon brought a return of their riotous games all over the house; -and she very early learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday’s -constant half-holiday. - -Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet her -greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasure, and then -encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost as ready to -despair of being able to love or assist; and of Susan’s temper she had -many doubts. Her continual disagreements with her mother, her rash -squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with Betsey, were at -least so distressing to Fanny that, though admitting they were by no -means without provocation, she feared the disposition that could push -them to such length must be far from amiable, and from affording any -repose to herself. - -Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head, and teach -her to think of her cousin Edmund with moderated feelings. On the -contrary, she could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved -inmates, its happy ways. Everything where she now was in full contrast -to it. The elegance, propriety, regularity, harmony, and perhaps, above -all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her -remembrance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of everything -opposite to them _here_. - -The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper delicate and -nervous like Fanny’s, an evil which no superadded elegance or harmony -could have entirely atoned for. It was the greatest misery of all. At -Mansfield, no sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, -no tread of violence, was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular course -of cheerful orderliness; everybody had their due importance; -everybody’s feelings were consulted. If tenderness could be ever -supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding supplied its place; and -as to the little irritations sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they -were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water to the -ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here -everybody was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her -mother’s, which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram’s, only -worn into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the -servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in -constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done -without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention -when they spoke. - -In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end -of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson’s celebrated -judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield -Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - - -Fanny was right enough in not expecting to hear from Miss Crawford now -at the rapid rate in which their correspondence had begun; Mary’s next -letter was after a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was -not right in supposing that such an interval would be felt a great -relief to herself. Here was another strange revolution of mind! She was -really glad to receive the letter when it did come. In her present -exile from good society, and distance from everything that had been -wont to interest her, a letter from one belonging to the set where her -heart lived, written with affection, and some degree of elegance, was -thoroughly acceptable. The usual plea of increasing engagements was -made in excuse for not having written to her earlier; “And now that I -have begun,” she continued, “my letter will not be worth your reading, -for there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or -four lines _passionnées_ from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for -Henry is in Norfolk; business called him to Everingham ten days ago, or -perhaps he only pretended the call, for the sake of being travelling at -the same time that you were. But there he is, and, by the bye, his -absence may sufficiently account for any remissness of his sister’s in -writing, for there has been no ‘Well, Mary, when do you write to Fanny? -Is not it time for you to write to Fanny?’ to spur me on. At last, -after various attempts at meeting, I have seen your cousins, ‘dear -Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth’; they found me at home yesterday, and -we were glad to see each other again. We _seemed_ _very_ glad to see -each other, and I do really think we were a little. We had a vast deal -to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs. Rushworth looked when your name was -mentioned? I did not use to think her wanting in self-possession, but -she had not quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the whole, -Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were spoken -of. There was no recovering the complexion from the moment that I spoke -of ‘Fanny,’ and spoke of her as a sister should. But Mrs. Rushworth’s -day of good looks will come; we have cards for her first party on the -28th. Then she will be in beauty, for she will open one of the best -houses in Wimpole Street. I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady -Lascelle’s, and prefer it to almost any I know in London, and certainly -she will then feel, to use a vulgar phrase, that she has got her -pennyworth for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her such a -house. I hope she will recollect it, and be satisfied, as well as she -may, with moving the queen of a palace, though the king may appear best -in the background; and as I have no desire to tease her, I shall never -_force_ your name upon her again. She will grow sober by degrees. From -all that I hear and guess, Baron Wildenheim’s attentions to Julia -continue, but I do not know that he has any serious encouragement. She -ought to do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine -any liking in the case, for take away his rants, and the poor baron has -nothing. What a difference a vowel makes! If his rents were but equal -to his rants! Your cousin Edmund moves slowly; detained, perchance, by -parish duties. There may be some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be -converted. I am unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a _young_ one. -Adieu! my dear sweet Fanny, this is a long letter from London: write me -a pretty one in reply to gladden Henry’s eyes, when he comes back, and -send me an account of all the dashing young captains whom you disdain -for his sake.” - -There was great food for meditation in this letter, and chiefly for -unpleasant meditation; and yet, with all the uneasiness it supplied, it -connected her with the absent, it told her of people and things about -whom she had never felt so much curiosity as now, and she would have -been glad to have been sure of such a letter every week. Her -correspondence with her aunt Bertram was her only concern of higher -interest. - -As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make amends for -deficiencies at home, there were none within the circle of her father’s -and mother’s acquaintance to afford her the smallest satisfaction: she -saw nobody in whose favour she could wish to overcome her own shyness -and reserve. The men appeared to her all coarse, the women all pert, -everybody underbred; and she gave as little contentment as she received -from introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young ladies -who approached her at first with some respect, in consideration of her -coming from a baronet’s family, were soon offended by what they termed -“airs”; for, as she neither played on the pianoforte nor wore fine -pelisses, they could, on farther observation, admit no right of -superiority. - -The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils of home, -the first which her judgment could entirely approve, and which gave any -promise of durability, was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope -of being of service to her. Susan had always behaved pleasantly to -herself, but the determined character of her general manners had -astonished and alarmed her, and it was at least a fortnight before she -began to understand a disposition so totally different from her own. -Susan saw that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That -a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason, should -err in the method of reform, was not wonderful; and Fanny soon became -more disposed to admire the natural light of the mind which could so -early distinguish justly, than to censure severely the faults of -conduct to which it led. Susan was only acting on the same truths, and -pursuing the same system, which her own judgment acknowledged, but -which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from -asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where _she_ could only have gone -away and cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive; that -things, bad as they were, would have been worse but for such -interposition, and that both her mother and Betsey were restrained from -some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity. - -In every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of reason the -advantage, and never was there any maternal tenderness to buy her off. -The blind fondness which was for ever producing evil around her she had -never known. There was no gratitude for affection past or present to -make her better bear with its excesses to the others. - -All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed Susan before -her sister as an object of mingled compassion and respect. That her -manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her measures often -ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and language very often -indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel; but she began to hope they -might be rectified. Susan, she found, looked up to her and wished for -her good opinion; and new as anything like an office of authority was -to Fanny, new as it was to imagine herself capable of guiding or -informing any one, she did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, -and endeavour to exercise for her advantage the juster notions of what -was due to everybody, and what would be wisest for herself, which her -own more favoured education had fixed in her. - -Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, originated -in an act of kindness by Susan, which, after many hesitations of -delicacy, she at last worked herself up to. It had very early occurred -to her that a small sum of money might, perhaps, restore peace for ever -on the sore subject of the silver knife, canvassed as it now was -continually, and the riches which she was in possession of herself, her -uncle having given her £10 at parting, made her as able as she was -willing to be generous. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, -except on the very poor, so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing -kindnesses among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to elevate -herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time to determine -that it would not be unbecoming in her to make such a present. It was -made, however, at last: a silver knife was bought for Betsey, and -accepted with great delight, its newness giving it every advantage over -the other that could be desired; Susan was established in the full -possession of her own, Betsey handsomely declaring that now she had got -one so much prettier herself, she should never want _that_ again; and -no reproach seemed conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which -Fanny had almost feared to be impossible. The deed thoroughly answered: -a source of domestic altercation was entirely done away, and it was the -means of opening Susan’s heart to her, and giving her something more to -love and be interested in. Susan shewed that she had delicacy: pleased -as she was to be mistress of property which she had been struggling for -at least two years, she yet feared that her sister’s judgment had been -against her, and that a reproof was designed her for having so -struggled as to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the -house. - -Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, blamed herself for -having contended so warmly; and from that hour Fanny, understanding the -worth of her disposition and perceiving how fully she was inclined to -seek her good opinion and refer to her judgment, began to feel again -the blessing of affection, and to entertain the hope of being useful to -a mind so much in need of help, and so much deserving it. She gave -advice, advice too sound to be resisted by a good understanding, and -given so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect -temper, and she had the happiness of observing its good effects not -unfrequently. More was not expected by one who, while seeing all the -obligation and expediency of submission and forbearance, saw also with -sympathetic acuteness of feeling all that must be hourly grating to a -girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder on the subject soon became—not -that Susan should have been provoked into disrespect and impatience -against her better knowledge—but that so much better knowledge, so many -good notions should have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the -midst of negligence and error, she should have formed such proper -opinions of what ought to be; she, who had had no cousin Edmund to -direct her thoughts or fix her principles. - -The intimacy thus begun between them was a material advantage to each. -By sitting together upstairs, they avoided a great deal of the -disturbance of the house; Fanny had peace, and Susan learned to think -it no misfortune to be quietly employed. They sat without a fire; but -that was a privation familiar even to Fanny, and she suffered the less -because reminded by it of the East room. It was the only point of -resemblance. In space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was -nothing alike in the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the -remembrance of all her books and boxes, and various comforts there. By -degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the morning upstairs, at -first only in working and talking, but after a few days, the -remembrance of the said books grew so potent and stimulative that Fanny -found it impossible not to try for books again. There were none in her -father’s house; but wealth is luxurious and daring, and some of hers -found its way to a circulating library. She became a subscriber; amazed -at being anything _in propria persona_, amazed at her own doings in -every way, to be a renter, a chuser of books! And to be having any -one’s improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. Susan had read -nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own first -pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry which she -delighted in herself. - -In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of the -recollections of Mansfield, which were too apt to seize her mind if her -fingers only were busy; and, especially at this time, hoped it might be -useful in diverting her thoughts from pursuing Edmund to London, -whither, on the authority of her aunt’s last letter, she knew he was -gone. She had no doubt of what would ensue. The promised notification -was hanging over her head. The postman’s knock within the neighbourhood -was beginning to bring its daily terrors, and if reading could banish -the idea for even half an hour, it was something gained. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - - -A week was gone since Edmund might be supposed in town, and Fanny had -heard nothing of him. There were three different conclusions to be -drawn from his silence, between which her mind was in fluctuation; each -of them at times being held the most probable. Either his going had -been again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing -Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter-writing! - -One morning, about this time, Fanny having now been nearly four weeks -from Mansfield, a point which she never failed to think over and -calculate every day, as she and Susan were preparing to remove, as -usual, upstairs, they were stopped by the knock of a visitor, whom they -felt they could not avoid, from Rebecca’s alertness in going to the -door, a duty which always interested her beyond any other. - -It was a gentleman’s voice; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning -pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room. - -Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon; and she -found that she had been able to name him to her mother, and recall her -remembrance of the name, as that of “William’s friend,” though she -could not previously have believed herself capable of uttering a -syllable at such a moment. The consciousness of his being known there -only as William’s friend was some support. Having introduced him, -however, and being all reseated, the terrors that occurred of what this -visit might lead to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the -point of fainting away. - -While trying to keep herself alive, their visitor, who had at first -approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was wisely and -kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time to recover, while he -devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending -to her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same time with -a degree of friendliness, of interest at least, which was making his -manner perfect. - -Mrs. Price’s manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of -such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish of appearing to -advantage before him, she was overflowing with gratitude—artless, -maternal gratitude—which could not be unpleasing. Mr. Price was out, -which she regretted very much. Fanny was just recovered enough to feel -that _she_ could not regret it; for to her many other sources of -uneasiness was added the severe one of shame for the home in which he -found her. She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no -scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet more -ashamed of her father than of all the rest. - -They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could never tire; -and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation as even her heart -could wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man in her -life; and was only astonished to find that, so great and so agreeable -as he was, he should be come down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to -the port-admiral, nor the commissioner, nor yet with the intention of -going over to the island, nor of seeing the dockyard. Nothing of all -that she had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the -employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He had reached it -late the night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the -Crown, had accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his -acquaintance since his arrival, but had no object of that kind in -coming. - -By the time he had given all this information, it was not unreasonable -to suppose that Fanny might be looked at and spoken to; and she was -tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he had spent half an hour -with his sister the evening before his leaving London; that she had -sent her best and kindest love, but had had no time for writing; that -he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having -spent scarcely twenty-four hours in London, after his return from -Norfolk, before he set off again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, -had been in town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him -himself, but that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and -was to dine, as yesterday, with the Frasers. - -Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circumstance; -nay, it seemed a relief to her worn mind to be at any certainty; and -the words, “then by this time it is all settled,” passed internally, -without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush. - -After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which her -interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the expediency of -an early walk. “It was a lovely morning, and at that season of the year -a fine morning so often turned off, that it was wisest for everybody -not to delay their exercise”; and such hints producing nothing, he soon -proceeded to a positive recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters -to take their walk without loss of time. Now they came to an -understanding. Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred out of -doors, except of a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large -family, find time for a walk. “Would she not, then, persuade her -daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the pleasure -of attending them?” Mrs. Price was greatly obliged and very complying. -“Her daughters were very much confined; Portsmouth was a sad place; -they did not often get out; and she knew they had some errands in the -town, which they would be very glad to do.” And the consequence was, -that Fanny, strange as it was—strange, awkward, and distressing—found -herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the High Street -with Mr. Crawford. - -It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; for they were -hardly in the High Street before they met her father, whose appearance -was not the better from its being Saturday. He stopt; and, -ungentlemanlike as he looked, Fanny was obliged to introduce him to Mr. -Crawford. She could not have a doubt of the manner in which Mr. -Crawford must be struck. He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. -He must soon give her up, and cease to have the smallest inclination -for the match; and yet, though she had been so much wanting his -affection to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost as -bad as the complaint; and I believe there is scarcely a young lady in -the United Kingdoms who would not rather put up with the misfortune of -being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by -the vulgarity of her nearest relations. - -Mr. Crawford probably could not regard his future father-in-law with -any idea of taking him for a model in dress; but (as Fanny instantly, -and to her great relief, discerned) her father was a very different -man, a very different Mr. Price in his behaviour to this most highly -respected stranger, from what he was in his own family at home. His -manners now, though not polished, were more than passable: they were -grateful, animated, manly; his expressions were those of an attached -father, and a sensible man; his loud tones did very well in the open -air, and there was not a single oath to be heard. Such was his -instinctive compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford; and, be the -consequence what it might, Fanny’s immediate feelings were infinitely -soothed. - -The conclusion of the two gentlemen’s civilities was an offer of Mr. -Price’s to take Mr. Crawford into the dockyard, which Mr. Crawford, -desirous of accepting as a favour what was intended as such, though he -had seen the dockyard again and again, and hoping to be so much the -longer with Fanny, was very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if -the Miss Prices were not afraid of the fatigue; and as it was somehow -or other ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they -were not at all afraid, to the dockyard they were all to go; and but -for Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, without -the smallest consideration for his daughters’ errands in the High -Street. He took care, however, that they should be allowed to go to the -shops they came out expressly to visit; and it did not delay them long, -for Fanny could so little bear to excite impatience, or be waited for, -that before the gentlemen, as they stood at the door, could do more -than begin upon the last naval regulations, or settle the number of -three-deckers now in commission, their companions were ready to -proceed. - -They were then to set forward for the dockyard at once, and the walk -would have been conducted—according to Mr. Crawford’s opinion—in a -singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed the entire regulation of -it, as the two girls, he found, would have been left to follow, and -keep up with them or not, as they could, while they walked on together -at their own hasty pace. He was able to introduce some improvement -occasionally, though by no means to the extent he wished; he absolutely -would not walk away from them; and at any crossing or any crowd, when -Mr. Price was only calling out, “Come, girls; come, Fan; come, Sue, -take care of yourselves; keep a sharp lookout!” he would give them his -particular attendance. - -Once fairly in the dockyard, he began to reckon upon some happy -intercourse with Fanny, as they were very soon joined by a brother -lounger of Mr. Price’s, who was come to take his daily survey of how -things went on, and who must prove a far more worthy companion than -himself; and after a time the two officers seemed very well satisfied -going about together, and discussing matters of equal and never-failing -interest, while the young people sat down upon some timbers in the -yard, or found a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all -went to look at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Crawford -could not have wished her more fatigued or more ready to sit down; but -he could have wished her sister away. A quick-looking girl of Susan’s -age was the very worst third in the world: totally different from Lady -Bertram, all eyes and ears; and there was no introducing the main point -before her. He must content himself with being only generally -agreeable, and letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with the -indulgence, now and then, of a look or hint for the better-informed and -conscious Fanny. Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk of: there he -had been some time, and everything there was rising in importance from -his present schemes. Such a man could come from no place, no society, -without importing something to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintance -were all of use, and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to her. -For Fanny, somewhat more was related than the accidental agreeableness -of the parties he had been in. For her approbation, the particular -reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, -was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a -lease in which the welfare of a large and—he believed—industrious -family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand -dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had -determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the -case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had -been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now -able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a -duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had -introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he -had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, -though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was -aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so -properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend -of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; -and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was -all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping -soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility -or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and -all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. - -She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was -willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been -wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out -well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, -and ought not to think of her. - -He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and that it would -be as well to talk of something else, and turned to Mansfield. He could -not have chosen better; that was a topic to bring back her attention -and her looks almost instantly. It was a real indulgence to her to hear -or to speak of Mansfield. Now so long divided from everybody who knew -the place, she felt it quite the voice of a friend when he mentioned -it, and led the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties -and comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed -her to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking of -her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as having the -sweetest of all sweet tempers. - -He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so; he looked -forward with the hope of spending much, very much, of his time there; -always there, or in the neighbourhood. He particularly built upon a -very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that it would be -so: he depended upon it; a summer and autumn infinitely superior to the -last. As animated, as diversified, as social, but with circumstances of -superiority undescribable. - -“Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey,” he continued; “what a society -will be comprised in those houses! And at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth -may be added: some small hunting-box in the vicinity of everything so -dear; for as to any partnership in Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram -once good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee two objections: two -fair, excellent, irresistible objections to that plan.” - -Fanny was doubly silenced here; though when the moment was passed, -could regret that she had not forced herself into the acknowledged -comprehension of one half of his meaning, and encouraged him to say -something more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which she -must learn to speak of, and the weakness that shrunk from it would soon -be quite unpardonable. - -When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished, or had -time for, the others were ready to return; and in the course of their -walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute’s privacy for telling Fanny -that his only business in Portsmouth was to see her; that he was come -down for a couple of days on her account, and hers only, and because he -could not endure a longer total separation. She was sorry, really -sorry; and yet in spite of this and the two or three other things which -she wished he had not said, she thought him altogether improved since -she had seen him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to -other people’s feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield; she had -never seen him so agreeable—so _near_ being agreeable; his behaviour to -her father could not offend, and there was something particularly kind -and proper in the notice he took of Susan. He was decidedly improved. -She wished the next day over, she wished he had come only for one day; -but it was not so very bad as she would have expected: the pleasure of -talking of Mansfield was so very great! - -Before they parted, she had to thank him for another pleasure, and one -of no trivial kind. Her father asked him to do them the honour of -taking his mutton with them, and Fanny had time for only one thrill of -horror, before he declared himself prevented by a prior engagement. He -was engaged to dinner already both for that day and the next; he had -met with some acquaintance at the Crown who would not be denied; he -should have the honour, however, of waiting on them again on the -morrow, etc., and so they parted—Fanny in a state of actual felicity -from escaping so horrible an evil! - -To have had him join their family dinner-party, and see all their -deficiencies, would have been dreadful! Rebecca’s cookery and Rebecca’s -waiting, and Betsey’s eating at table without restraint, and pulling -everything about as she chose, were what Fanny herself was not yet -enough inured to for her often to make a tolerable meal. _She_ was nice -only from natural delicacy, but _he_ had been brought up in a school of -luxury and epicurism. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - - -The Prices were just setting off for church the next day when Mr. -Crawford appeared again. He came, not to stop, but to join them; he was -asked to go with them to the Garrison chapel, which was exactly what he -had intended, and they all walked thither together. - -The family were now seen to advantage. Nature had given them no -inconsiderable share of beauty, and every Sunday dressed them in their -cleanest skins and best attire. Sunday always brought this comfort to -Fanny, and on this Sunday she felt it more than ever. Her poor mother -now did not look so very unworthy of being Lady Bertram’s sister as she -was but too apt to look. It often grieved her to the heart to think of -the contrast between them; to think that where nature had made so -little difference, circumstances should have made so much, and that her -mother, as handsome as Lady Bertram, and some years her junior, should -have an appearance so much more worn and faded, so comfortless, so -slatternly, so shabby. But Sunday made her a very creditable and -tolerably cheerful-looking Mrs. Price, coming abroad with a fine family -of children, feeling a little respite of her weekly cares, and only -discomposed if she saw her boys run into danger, or Rebecca pass by -with a flower in her hat. - -In chapel they were obliged to divide, but Mr. Crawford took care not -to be divided from the female branch; and after chapel he still -continued with them, and made one in the family party on the ramparts. - -Mrs. Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every fine Sunday -throughout the year, always going directly after morning service and -staying till dinner-time. It was her public place: there she met her -acquaintance, heard a little news, talked over the badness of the -Portsmouth servants, and wound up her spirits for the six days ensuing. - -Thither they now went; Mr. Crawford most happy to consider the Miss -Prices as his peculiar charge; and before they had been there long, -somehow or other, there was no saying how, Fanny could not have -believed it, but he was walking between them with an arm of each under -his, and she did not know how to prevent or put an end to it. It made -her uncomfortable for a time, but yet there were enjoyments in the day -and in the view which would be felt. - -The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; but it was April in -its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, occasionally clouded for -a minute; and everything looked so beautiful under the influence of -such a sky, the effects of the shadows pursuing each other on the ships -at Spithead and the island beyond, with the ever-varying hues of the -sea, now at high water, dancing in its glee and dashing against the -ramparts with so fine a sound, produced altogether such a combination -of charms for Fanny, as made her gradually almost careless of the -circumstances under which she felt them. Nay, had she been without his -arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, for she wanted -strength for a two hours’ saunter of this kind, coming, as it generally -did, upon a week’s previous inactivity. Fanny was beginning to feel the -effect of being debarred from her usual regular exercise; she had lost -ground as to health since her being in Portsmouth; and but for Mr. -Crawford and the beauty of the weather would soon have been knocked up -now. - -The loveliness of the day, and of the view, he felt like herself. They -often stopt with the same sentiment and taste, leaning against the -wall, some minutes, to look and admire; and considering he was not -Edmund, Fanny could not but allow that he was sufficiently open to the -charms of nature, and very well able to express his admiration. She had -a few tender reveries now and then, which he could sometimes take -advantage of to look in her face without detection; and the result of -these looks was, that though as bewitching as ever, her face was less -blooming than it ought to be. She _said_ she was very well, and did not -like to be supposed otherwise; but take it all in all, he was convinced -that her present residence could not be comfortable, and therefore -could not be salutary for her, and he was growing anxious for her being -again at Mansfield, where her own happiness, and his in seeing her, -must be so much greater. - -“You have been here a month, I think?” said he. - -“No; not quite a month. It is only four weeks to-morrow since I left -Mansfield.” - -“You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call that a -month.” - -“I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening.” - -“And it is to be a two months’ visit, is not?” - -“Yes. My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it will not be less.” - -“And how are you to be conveyed back again? Who comes for you?” - -“I do not know. I have heard nothing about it yet from my aunt. Perhaps -I may be to stay longer. It may not be convenient for me to be fetched -exactly at the two months’ end.” - -After a moment’s reflection, Mr. Crawford replied, “I know Mansfield, I -know its way, I know its faults towards _you_. I know the danger of -your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the -imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware -that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle -everything for coming himself, or sending your aunt’s maid for you, -without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he -may have laid down for the next quarter of a year. This will not do. -Two months is an ample allowance; I should think six weeks quite -enough. I am considering your sister’s health,” said he, addressing -himself to Susan, “which I think the confinement of Portsmouth -unfavourable to. She requires constant air and exercise. When you know -her as well as I do, I am sure you will agree that she does, and that -she ought never to be long banished from the free air and liberty of -the country. If, therefore” (turning again to Fanny), “you find -yourself growing unwell, and any difficulties arise about your -returning to Mansfield, without waiting for the two months to be ended, -_that_ must not be regarded as of any consequence, if you feel yourself -at all less strong or comfortable than usual, and will only let my -sister know it, give her only the slightest hint, she and I will -immediately come down, and take you back to Mansfield. You know the -ease and the pleasure with which this would be done. You know all that -would be felt on the occasion.” - -Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off. - -“I am perfectly serious,” he replied, “as you perfectly know. And I -hope you will not be cruelly concealing any tendency to indisposition. -Indeed, you shall _not_; it shall not be in your power; for so long -only as you positively say, in every letter to Mary, ‘I am well,’ and I -know you cannot speak or write a falsehood, so long only shall you be -considered as well.” - -Fanny thanked him again, but was affected and distressed to a degree -that made it impossible for her to say much, or even to be certain of -what she ought to say. This was towards the close of their walk. He -attended them to the last, and left them only at the door of their own -house, when he knew them to be going to dinner, and therefore pretended -to be waited for elsewhere. - -“I wish you were not so tired,” said he, still detaining Fanny after -all the others were in the house—“I wish I left you in stronger health. -Is there anything I can do for you in town? I have half an idea of -going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am -sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of -his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must -come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not -be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: -that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough -with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to -the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is -inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, -and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards -swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace -him, provided he does not try to displace _me_; but it would be simple -to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse -than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a -tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise -already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise -it?” - -“I advise! You know very well what is right.” - -“Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your -judgment is my rule of right.” - -“Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we -would attend to it, than any other person can be. Good-bye; I wish you -a pleasant journey to-morrow.” - -“Is there nothing I can do for you in town?” - -“Nothing; I am much obliged to you.” - -“Have you no message for anybody?” - -“My love to your sister, if you please; and when you see my cousin, my -cousin Edmund, I wish you would be so good as to say that I suppose I -shall soon hear from him.” - -“Certainly; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write his excuses -myself.” - -He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer detained. He pressed -her hand, looked at her, and was gone. _He_ went to while away the next -three hours as he could, with his other acquaintance, till the best -dinner that a capital inn afforded was ready for their enjoyment, and -_she_ turned in to her more simple one immediately. - -Their general fare bore a very different character; and could he have -suspected how many privations, besides that of exercise, she endured in -her father’s house, he would have wondered that her looks were not much -more affected than he found them. She was so little equal to Rebecca’s -puddings and Rebecca’s hashes, brought to table, as they all were, with -such accompaniments of half-cleaned plates, and not half-cleaned knives -and forks, that she was very often constrained to defer her heartiest -meal till she could send her brothers in the evening for biscuits and -buns. After being nursed up at Mansfield, it was too late in the day to -be hardened at Portsmouth; and though Sir Thomas, had he known all, -might have thought his niece in the most promising way of being -starved, both mind and body, into a much juster value for Mr. -Crawford’s good company and good fortune, he would probably have feared -to push his experiment farther, lest she might die under the cure. - -Fanny was out of spirits all the rest of the day. Though tolerably -secure of not seeing Mr. Crawford again, she could not help being low. -It was parting with somebody of the nature of a friend; and though, in -one light, glad to have him gone, it seemed as if she was now deserted -by everybody; it was a sort of renewed separation from Mansfield; and -she could not think of his returning to town, and being frequently with -Mary and Edmund, without feelings so near akin to envy as made her hate -herself for having them. - -Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing around her; a -friend or two of her father’s, as always happened if he was not with -them, spent the long, long evening there; and from six o’clock till -half-past nine, there was little intermission of noise or grog. She was -very low. The wonderful improvement which she still fancied in Mr. -Crawford was the nearest to administering comfort of anything within -the current of her thoughts. Not considering in how different a circle -she had been just seeing him, nor how much might be owing to contrast, -she was quite persuaded of his being astonishingly more gentle and -regardful of others than formerly. And, if in little things, must it -not be so in great? So anxious for her health and comfort, so very -feeling as he now expressed himself, and really seemed, might not it be -fairly supposed that he would not much longer persevere in a suit so -distressing to her? - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - - -It was presumed that Mr. Crawford was travelling back, to London, on -the morrow, for nothing more was seen of him at Mr. Price’s; and two -days afterwards, it was a fact ascertained to Fanny by the following -letter from his sister, opened and read by her, on another account, -with the most anxious curiosity:— - -“I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny, that Henry has been down to -Portsmouth to see you; that he had a delightful walk with you to the -dockyard last Saturday, and one still more to be dwelt on the next day, -on the ramparts; when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet -looks and conversation were altogether in the most delicious harmony, -and afforded sensations which are to raise ecstasy even in retrospect. -This, as well as I understand, is to be the substance of my -information. He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to be -communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and these two said -walks, and his introduction to your family, especially to a fair sister -of yours, a fine girl of fifteen, who was of the party on the ramparts, -taking her first lesson, I presume, in love. I have not time for -writing much, but it would be out of place if I had, for this is to be -a mere letter of business, penned for the purpose of conveying -necessary information, which could not be delayed without risk of evil. -My dear, dear Fanny, if I had you here, how I would talk to you! You -should listen to me till you were tired, and advise me till you were -still tired more; but it is impossible to put a hundredth part of my -great mind on paper, so I will abstain altogether, and leave you to -guess what you like. I have no news for you. You have politics, of -course; and it would be too bad to plague you with the names of people -and parties that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you an account -of your cousin’s first party, but I was lazy, and now it is too long -ago; suffice it, that everything was just as it ought to be, in a style -that any of her connexions must have been gratified to witness, and -that her own dress and manners did her the greatest credit. My friend, -Mrs. Fraser, is mad for such a house, and it would not make _me_ -miserable. I go to Lady Stornaway after Easter; she seems in high -spirits, and very happy. I fancy Lord S. is very good-humoured and -pleasant in his own family, and I do not think him so very ill-looking -as I did—at least, one sees many worse. He will not do by the side of -your cousin Edmund. Of the last-mentioned hero, what shall I say? If I -avoided his name entirely, it would look suspicious. I will say, then, -that we have seen him two or three times, and that my friends here are -very much struck with his gentlemanlike appearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad -judge) declares she knows but three men in town who have so good a -person, height, and air; and I must confess, when he dined here the -other day, there were none to compare with him, and we were a party of -sixteen. Luckily there is no distinction of dress nowadays to tell -tales, but—but—but Yours affectionately.” - -“I had almost forgot (it was Edmund’s fault: he gets into my head more -than does me good) one very material thing I had to say from Henry and -myself—I mean about our taking you back into Northamptonshire. My dear -little creature, do not stay at Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks. -Those vile sea-breezes are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt -always felt affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral -of course never believed, but I know it was so. I am at your service -and Henry’s, at an hour’s notice. I should like the scheme, and we -would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham in our way, and -perhaps you would not mind passing through London, and seeing the -inside of St. George’s, Hanover Square. Only keep your cousin Edmund -from me at such a time: I should not like to be tempted. What a long -letter! one word more. Henry, I find, has some idea of going into -Norfolk again upon some business that _you_ approve; but this cannot -possibly be permitted before the middle of next week; that is, he -cannot anyhow be spared till after the 14th, for _we_ have a party that -evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion, is what -you can have no conception of; so you must take it upon my word to be -inestimable. He will see the Rushworths, which I own I am not sorry -for—having a little curiosity, and so I think has he—though he will not -acknowledge it.” - -This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read deliberately, -to supply matter for much reflection, and to leave everything in -greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be drawn from it was, -that nothing decisive had yet taken place. Edmund had not yet spoken. -How Miss Crawford really felt, how she meant to act, or might act -without or against her meaning; whether his importance to her were -quite what it had been before the last separation; whether, if -lessened, it were likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were -subjects for endless conjecture, and to be thought of on that day and -many days to come, without producing any conclusion. The idea that -returned the oftenest was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself -cooled and staggered by a return to London habits, would yet prove -herself in the end too much attached to him to give him up. She would -try to be more ambitious than her heart would allow. She would -hesitate, she would tease, she would condition, she would require a -great deal, but she would finally accept. - -This was Fanny’s most frequent expectation. A house in town—that, she -thought, must be impossible. Yet there was no saying what Miss Crawford -might not ask. The prospect for her cousin grew worse and worse. The -woman who could speak of him, and speak only of his appearance! What an -unworthy attachment! To be deriving support from the commendations of -Mrs. Fraser! _She_ who had known him intimately half a year! Fanny was -ashamed of her. Those parts of the letter which related only to Mr. -Crawford and herself, touched her, in comparison, slightly. Whether Mr. -Crawford went into Norfolk before or after the 14th was certainly no -concern of hers, though, everything considered, she thought he _would_ -go without delay. That Miss Crawford should endeavour to secure a -meeting between him and Mrs. Rushworth, was all in her worst line of -conduct, and grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped _he_ would -not be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He acknowledged no -such inducement, and his sister ought to have given him credit for -better feelings than her own. - -She was yet more impatient for another letter from town after receiving -this than she had been before; and for a few days was so unsettled by -it altogether, by what had come, and what might come, that her usual -readings and conversation with Susan were much suspended. She could not -command her attention as she wished. If Mr. Crawford remembered her -message to her cousin, she thought it very likely, most likely, that he -would write to her at all events; it would be most consistent with his -usual kindness; and till she got rid of this idea, till it gradually -wore off, by no letters appearing in the course of three or four days -more, she was in a most restless, anxious state. - -At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense must be -submitted to, and must not be allowed to wear her out, and make her -useless. Time did something, her own exertions something more, and she -resumed her attentions to Susan, and again awakened the same interest -in them. - -Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without any of the early -delight in books which had been so strong in Fanny, with a disposition -much less inclined to sedentary pursuits, or to information for -information’s sake, she had so strong a desire of not _appearing_ -ignorant, as, with a good clear understanding, made her a most -attentive, profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny was her oracle. Fanny’s -explanations and remarks were a most important addition to every essay, -or every chapter of history. What Fanny told her of former times dwelt -more on her mind than the pages of Goldsmith; and she paid her sister -the compliment of preferring her style to that of any printed author. -The early habit of reading was wanting. - -Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects so high as -history or morals. Others had their hour; and of lesser matters, none -returned so often, or remained so long between them, as Mansfield Park, -a description of the people, the manners, the amusements, the ways of -Mansfield Park. Susan, who had an innate taste for the genteel and -well-appointed, was eager to hear, and Fanny could not but indulge -herself in dwelling on so beloved a theme. She hoped it was not wrong; -though, after a time, Susan’s very great admiration of everything said -or done in her uncle’s house, and earnest longing to go into -Northamptonshire, seemed almost to blame her for exciting feelings -which could not be gratified. - -Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than her elder -sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand this, she began to -feel that when her own release from Portsmouth came, her happiness -would have a material drawback in leaving Susan behind. That a girl so -capable of being made everything good should be left in such hands, -distressed her more and more. Were _she_ likely to have a home to -invite her to, what a blessing it would be! And had it been possible -for her to return Mr. Crawford’s regard, the probability of his being -very far from objecting to such a measure would have been the greatest -increase of all her own comforts. She thought he was really -good-tempered, and could fancy his entering into a plan of that sort -most pleasantly. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - - -Seven weeks of the two months were very nearly gone, when the one -letter, the letter from Edmund, so long expected, was put into Fanny’s -hands. As she opened, and saw its length, she prepared herself for a -minute detail of happiness and a profusion of love and praise towards -the fortunate creature who was now mistress of his fate. These were the -contents— - -“My Dear Fanny,—Excuse me that I have not written before. Crawford told -me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I found it impossible to -write from London, and persuaded myself that you would understand my -silence. Could I have sent a few happy lines, they should not have been -wanting, but nothing of that nature was ever in my power. I am returned -to Mansfield in a less assured state than when I left it. My hopes are -much weaker. You are probably aware of this already. So very fond of -you as Miss Crawford is, it is most natural that she should tell you -enough of her own feelings to furnish a tolerable guess at mine. I will -not be prevented, however, from making my own communication. Our -confidences in you need not clash. I ask no questions. There is -something soothing in the idea that we have the same friend, and that -whatever unhappy differences of opinion may exist between us, we are -united in our love of you. It will be a comfort to me to tell you how -things now are, and what are my present plans, if plans I can be said -to have. I have been returned since Saturday. I was three weeks in -London, and saw her (for London) very often. I had every attention from -the Frasers that could be reasonably expected. I dare say I was not -reasonable in carrying with me hopes of an intercourse at all like that -of Mansfield. It was her manner, however, rather than any unfrequency -of meeting. Had she been different when I did see her, I should have -made no complaint, but from the very first she was altered: my first -reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I had almost resolved on -leaving London again directly. I need not particularise. You know the -weak side of her character, and may imagine the sentiments and -expressions which were torturing me. She was in high spirits, and -surrounded by those who were giving all the support of their own bad -sense to her too lively mind. I do not like Mrs. Fraser. She is a -cold-hearted, vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, -and though evidently unhappy in her marriage, places her disappointment -not to faults of judgment, or temper, or disproportion of age, but to -her being, after all, less affluent than many of her acquaintance, -especially than her sister, Lady Stornaway, and is the determined -supporter of everything mercenary and ambitious, provided it be only -mercenary and ambitious enough. I look upon her intimacy with those two -sisters as the greatest misfortune of her life and mine. They have been -leading her astray for years. Could she be detached from them!—and -sometimes I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me -principally on their side. They are very fond of her; but I am sure she -does not love them as she loves you. When I think of her great -attachment to you, indeed, and the whole of her judicious, upright -conduct as a sister, she appears a very different creature, capable of -everything noble, and I am ready to blame myself for a too harsh -construction of a playful manner. I cannot give her up, Fanny. She is -the only woman in the world whom I could ever think of as a wife. If I -did not believe that she had some regard for me, of course I should not -say this, but I do believe it. I am convinced that she is not without a -decided preference. I have no jealousy of any individual. It is the -influence of the fashionable world altogether that I am jealous of. It -is the habits of wealth that I fear. Her ideas are not higher than her -own fortune may warrant, but they are beyond what our incomes united -could authorise. There is comfort, however, even here. I could better -bear to lose her because not rich enough, than because of my -profession. That would only prove her affection not equal to -sacrifices, which, in fact, I am scarcely justified in asking; and, if -I am refused, that, I think, will be the honest motive. Her prejudices, -I trust, are not so strong as they were. You have my thoughts exactly -as they arise, my dear Fanny; perhaps they are sometimes contradictory, -but it will not be a less faithful picture of my mind. Having once -begun, it is a pleasure to me to tell you all I feel. I cannot give her -up. Connected as we already are, and, I hope, are to be, to give up -Mary Crawford would be to give up the society of some of those most -dear to me; to banish myself from the very houses and friends whom, -under any other distress, I should turn to for consolation. The loss of -Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and of -Fanny. Were it a decided thing, an actual refusal, I hope I should know -how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weaken her hold on my heart, -and in the course of a few years—but I am writing nonsense. Were I -refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can never cease to try for -her. This is the truth. The only question is _how_? What may be the -likeliest means? I have sometimes thought of going to London again -after Easter, and sometimes resolved on doing nothing till she returns -to Mansfield. Even now, she speaks with pleasure of being in Mansfield -in June; but June is at a great distance, and I believe I shall write -to her. I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter. To be -at an early certainty is a material object. My present state is -miserably irksome. Considering everything, I think a letter will be -decidedly the best method of explanation. I shall be able to write much -that I could not say, and shall be giving her time for reflection -before she resolves on her answer, and I am less afraid of the result -of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I think I am. My -greatest danger would lie in her consulting Mrs. Fraser, and I at a -distance unable to help my own cause. A letter exposes to all the evil -of consultation, and where the mind is anything short of perfect -decision, an adviser may, in an unlucky moment, lead it to do what it -may afterwards regret. I must think this matter over a little. This -long letter, full of my own concerns alone, will be enough to tire even -the friendship of a Fanny. The last time I saw Crawford was at Mrs. -Fraser’s party. I am more and more satisfied with all that I see and -hear of him. There is not a shadow of wavering. He thoroughly knows his -own mind, and acts up to his resolutions: an inestimable quality. I -could not see him and my eldest sister in the same room without -recollecting what you once told me, and I acknowledge that they did not -meet as friends. There was marked coolness on her side. They scarcely -spoke. I saw him draw back surprised, and I was sorry that Mrs. -Rushworth should resent any former supposed slight to Miss Bertram. You -will wish to hear my opinion of Maria’s degree of comfort as a wife. -There is no appearance of unhappiness. I hope they get on pretty well -together. I dined twice in Wimpole Street, and might have been there -oftener, but it is mortifying to be with Rushworth as a brother. Julia -seems to enjoy London exceedingly. I had little enjoyment there, but -have less here. We are not a lively party. You are very much wanted. I -miss you more than I can express. My mother desires her best love, and -hopes to hear from you soon. She talks of you almost every hour, and I -am sorry to find how many weeks more she is likely to be without you. -My father means to fetch you himself, but it will not be till after -Easter, when he has business in town. You are happy at Portsmouth, I -hope, but this must not be a yearly visit. I want you at home, that I -may have your opinion about Thornton Lacey. I have little heart for -extensive improvements till I know that it will ever have a mistress. I -think I shall certainly write. It is quite settled that the Grants go -to Bath; they leave Mansfield on Monday. I am glad of it. I am not -comfortable enough to be fit for anybody; but your aunt seems to feel -out of luck that such an article of Mansfield news should fall to my -pen instead of hers.—Yours ever, my dearest Fanny.” - -“I never will, no, I certainly never will wish for a letter again,” was -Fanny’s secret declaration as she finished this. “What do they bring -but disappointment and sorrow? Not till after Easter! How shall I bear -it? And my poor aunt talking of me every hour!” - -Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well as she could, but -she was within half a minute of starting the idea that Sir Thomas was -quite unkind, both to her aunt and to herself. As for the main subject -of the letter, there was nothing in that to soothe irritation. She was -almost vexed into displeasure and anger against Edmund. “There is no -good in this delay,” said she. “Why is not it settled? He is blinded, -and nothing will open his eyes; nothing can, after having had truths -before him so long in vain. He will marry her, and be poor and -miserable. God grant that her influence do not make him cease to be -respectable!” She looked over the letter again. “‘So very fond of me!’ -’tis nonsense all. She loves nobody but herself and her brother. Her -friends leading her astray for years! She is quite as likely to have -led _them_ astray. They have all, perhaps, been corrupting one another; -but if they are so much fonder of her than she is of them, she is the -less likely to have been hurt, except by their flattery. ‘The only -woman in the world whom he could ever think of as a wife.’ I firmly -believe it. It is an attachment to govern his whole life. Accepted or -refused, his heart is wedded to her for ever. ‘The loss of Mary I must -consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and Fanny.’ Edmund, you -do not know me. The families would never be connected if you did not -connect them! Oh! write, write. Finish it at once. Let there be an end -of this suspense. Fix, commit, condemn yourself.” - -Such sensations, however, were too near akin to resentment to be long -guiding Fanny’s soliloquies. She was soon more softened and sorrowful. -His warm regard, his kind expressions, his confidential treatment, -touched her strongly. He was only too good to everybody. It was a -letter, in short, which she would not but have had for the world, and -which could never be valued enough. This was the end of it. - -Everybody at all addicted to letter-writing, without having much to -say, which will include a large proportion of the female world at -least, must feel with Lady Bertram that she was out of luck in having -such a capital piece of Mansfield news as the certainty of the Grants -going to Bath, occur at a time when she could make no advantage of it, -and will admit that it must have been very mortifying to her to see it -fall to the share of her thankless son, and treated as concisely as -possible at the end of a long letter, instead of having it to spread -over the largest part of a page of her own. For though Lady Bertram -rather shone in the epistolary line, having early in her marriage, from -the want of other employment, and the circumstance of Sir Thomas’s -being in Parliament, got into the way of making and keeping -correspondents, and formed for herself a very creditable, common-place, -amplifying style, so that a very little matter was enough for her: she -could not do entirely without any; she must have something to write -about, even to her niece; and being so soon to lose all the benefit of -Dr. Grant’s gouty symptoms and Mrs. Grant’s morning calls, it was very -hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last epistolary uses she -could put them to. - -There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her. Lady Bertram’s -hour of good luck came. Within a few days from the receipt of Edmund’s -letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, beginning thus— - -“My Dear Fanny,—I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming -intelligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern”. - -This was a great deal better than to have to take up the pen to -acquaint her with all the particulars of the Grants’ intended journey, -for the present intelligence was of a nature to promise occupation for -the pen for many days to come, being no less than the dangerous illness -of her eldest son, of which they had received notice by express a few -hours before. - -Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to Newmarket, where -a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking had brought on a fever; -and when the party broke up, being unable to move, had been left by -himself at the house of one of these young men to the comforts of -sickness and solitude, and the attendance only of servants. Instead of -being soon well enough to follow his friends, as he had then hoped, his -disorder increased considerably, and it was not long before he thought -so ill of himself as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter -despatched to Mansfield. - -“This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose,” observed her -ladyship, after giving the substance of it, “has agitated us -exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly alarmed -and apprehensive for the poor invalid, whose state Sir Thomas fears may -be very critical; and Edmund kindly proposes attending his brother -immediately, but I am happy to add that Sir Thomas will not leave me on -this distressing occasion, as it would be too trying for me. We shall -greatly miss Edmund in our small circle, but I trust and hope he will -find the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be -apprehended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield -shortly, which Sir Thomas proposes should be done, and thinks best on -every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will soon be able -to bear the removal without material inconvenience or injury. As I have -little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear Fanny, under these -distressing circumstances, I will write again very soon.” - -Fanny’s feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably more warm and -genuine than her aunt’s style of writing. She felt truly for them all. -Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to attend him, and the sadly small -party remaining at Mansfield, were cares to shut out every other care, -or almost every other. She could just find selfishness enough to wonder -whether Edmund _had_ written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, -but no sentiment dwelt long with her that was not purely affectionate -and disinterestedly anxious. Her aunt did not neglect her: she wrote -again and again; they were receiving frequent accounts from Edmund, and -these accounts were as regularly transmitted to Fanny, in the same -diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts, hopes, and fears, all -following and producing each other at haphazard. It was a sort of -playing at being frightened. The sufferings which Lady Bertram did not -see had little power over her fancy; and she wrote very comfortably -about agitation, and anxiety, and poor invalids, till Tom was actually -conveyed to Mansfield, and her own eyes had beheld his altered -appearance. Then a letter which she had been previously preparing for -Fanny was finished in a different style, in the language of real -feeling and alarm; then she wrote as she might have spoken. “He is just -come, my dear Fanny, and is taken upstairs; and I am so shocked to see -him, that I do not know what to do. I am sure he has been very ill. -Poor Tom! I am quite grieved for him, and very much frightened, and so -is Sir Thomas; and how glad I should be if you were here to comfort me. -But Sir Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and says we must -consider his journey.” - -The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal bosom was not soon -over. Tom’s extreme impatience to be removed to Mansfield, and -experience those comforts of home and family which had been little -thought of in uninterrupted health, had probably induced his being -conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever came on, and for a -week he was in a more alarming state than ever. They were all very -seriously frightened. Lady Bertram wrote her daily terrors to her -niece, who might now be said to live upon letters, and pass all her -time between suffering from that of to-day and looking forward to -to-morrow’s. Without any particular affection for her eldest cousin, -her tenderness of heart made her feel that she could not spare him, and -the purity of her principles added yet a keener solicitude, when she -considered how little useful, how little self-denying his life had -(apparently) been. - -Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as on more common -occasions. Susan was always ready to hear and to sympathise. Nobody -else could be interested in so remote an evil as illness in a family -above an hundred miles off; not even Mrs. Price, beyond a brief -question or two, if she saw her daughter with a letter in her hand, and -now and then the quiet observation of, “My poor sister Bertram must be -in a great deal of trouble.” - -So long divided and so differently situated, the ties of blood were -little more than nothing. An attachment, originally as tranquil as -their tempers, was now become a mere name. Mrs. Price did quite as much -for Lady Bertram as Lady Bertram would have done for Mrs. Price. Three -or four Prices might have been swept away, any or all except Fanny and -William, and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or -perhaps might have caught from Mrs. Norris’s lips the cant of its being -a very happy thing and a great blessing to their poor dear sister Price -to have them so well provided for. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - - -At about the week’s end from his return to Mansfield, Tom’s immediate -danger was over, and he was so far pronounced safe as to make his -mother perfectly easy; for being now used to the sight of him in his -suffering, helpless state, and hearing only the best, and never -thinking beyond what she heard, with no disposition for alarm and no -aptitude at a hint, Lady Bertram was the happiest subject in the world -for a little medical imposition. The fever was subdued; the fever had -been his complaint; of course he would soon be well again. Lady Bertram -could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her aunt’s security, till -she received a few lines from Edmund, written purposely to give her a -clearer idea of his brother’s situation, and acquaint her with the -apprehensions which he and his father had imbibed from the physician -with respect to some strong hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the -frame on the departure of the fever. They judged it best that Lady -Bertram should not be harassed by alarms which, it was to be hoped, -would prove unfounded; but there was no reason why Fanny should not -know the truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs. - -A very few lines from Edmund shewed her the patient and the sickroom in -a juster and stronger light than all Lady Bertram’s sheets of paper -could do. There was hardly any one in the house who might not have -described, from personal observation, better than herself; not one who -was not more useful at times to her son. She could do nothing but glide -in quietly and look at him; but when able to talk or be talked to, or -read to, Edmund was the companion he preferred. His aunt worried him by -her cares, and Sir Thomas knew not how to bring down his conversation -or his voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. Edmund was all -in all. Fanny would certainly believe him so at least, and must find -that her estimation of him was higher than ever when he appeared as the -attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother. There was not -only the debility of recent illness to assist: there was also, as she -now learnt, nerves much affected, spirits much depressed to calm and -raise, and her own imagination added that there must be a mind to be -properly guided. - -The family were not consumptive, and she was more inclined to hope than -fear for her cousin, except when she thought of Miss Crawford; but Miss -Crawford gave her the idea of being the child of good luck, and to her -selfishness and vanity it would be good luck to have Edmund the only -son. - -Even in the sick chamber the fortunate Mary was not forgotten. Edmund’s -letter had this postscript. “On the subject of my last, I had actually -begun a letter when called away by Tom’s illness, but I have now -changed my mind, and fear to trust the influence of friends. When Tom -is better, I shall go.” - -Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, with scarcely any -change, till Easter. A line occasionally added by Edmund to his -mother’s letter was enough for Fanny’s information. Tom’s amendment was -alarmingly slow. - -Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most sorrowfully -considered, on first learning that she had no chance of leaving -Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she had yet heard nothing of her -return—nothing even of the going to London, which was to precede her -return. Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, but there was no -notice, no message from the uncle on whom all depended. She supposed he -could not yet leave his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to -her. The end of April was coming on; it would soon be almost three -months, instead of two, that she had been absent from them all, and -that her days had been passing in a state of penance, which she loved -them too well to hope they would thoroughly understand; and who could -yet say when there might be leisure to think of or fetch her? - -Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them, were such -as to bring a line or two of Cowper’s Tirocinium for ever before her. -“With what intense desire she wants her home,” was continually on her -tongue, as the truest description of a yearning which she could not -suppose any schoolboy’s bosom to feel more keenly. - -When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to call it her -home, had been fond of saying that she was going home; the word had -been very dear to her, and so it still was, but it must be applied to -Mansfield. _That_ was now the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; -Mansfield was home. They had been long so arranged in the indulgence of -her secret meditations, and nothing was more consolatory to her than to -find her aunt using the same language: “I cannot but say I much regret -your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to my -spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent -from home so long again,” were most delightful sentences to her. Still, -however, it was her private regale. Delicacy to her parents made her -careful not to betray such a preference of her uncle’s house. It was -always: “When I go back into Northamptonshire, or when I return to -Mansfield, I shall do so and so.” For a great while it was so, but at -last the longing grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found -herself talking of what she should do when she went home before she was -aware. She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards -her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There was no sign -of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were perfectly free from -any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to wish herself there as -to be there. - -It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not -known before what pleasures she _had_ to lose in passing March and -April in a town. She had not known before how much the beginnings and -progress of vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body -and mind, she had derived from watching the advance of that season -which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing -its increasing beauties from the earliest flowers in the warmest -divisions of her aunt’s garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle’s -plantations, and the glory of his woods. To be losing such pleasures -was no trifle; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of -closeness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, -substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was -infinitely worse: but even these incitements to regret were feeble, -compared with what arose from the conviction of being missed by her -best friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were wanting -her! - -Could she have been at home, she might have been of service to every -creature in the house. She felt that she must have been of use to all. -To all she must have saved some trouble of head or hand; and were it -only in supporting the spirits of her aunt Bertram, keeping her from -the evil of solitude, or the still greater evil of a restless, -officious companion, too apt to be heightening danger in order to -enhance her own importance, her being there would have been a general -good. She loved to fancy how she could have read to her aunt, how she -could have talked to her, and tried at once to make her feel the -blessing of what was, and prepare her mind for what might be; and how -many walks up and down stairs she might have saved her, and how many -messages she might have carried. - -It astonished her that Tom’s sisters could be satisfied with remaining -in London at such a time, through an illness which had now, under -different degrees of danger, lasted several weeks. _They_ might return -to Mansfield when they chose; travelling could be no difficulty to -_them_, and she could not comprehend how both could still keep away. If -Mrs. Rushworth could imagine any interfering obligations, Julia was -certainly able to quit London whenever she chose. It appeared from one -of her aunt’s letters that Julia had offered to return if wanted, but -this was all. It was evident that she would rather remain where she -was. - -Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very much at war -with all respectable attachments. She saw the proof of it in Miss -Crawford, as well as in her cousins; _her_ attachment to Edmund had -been respectable, the most respectable part of her character; her -friendship for herself had at least been blameless. Where was either -sentiment now? It was so long since Fanny had had any letter from her, -that she had some reason to think lightly of the friendship which had -been so dwelt on. It was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss -Crawford or of her other connexions in town, except through Mansfield, -and she was beginning to suppose that she might never know whether Mr. -Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or not till they met, and might -never hear from his sister any more this spring, when the following -letter was received to revive old and create some new sensations— - -“Forgive me, my dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for my long silence, -and behave as if you could forgive me directly. This is my modest -request and expectation, for you are so good, that I depend upon being -treated better than I deserve, and I write now to beg an immediate -answer. I want to know the state of things at Mansfield Park, and you, -no doubt, are perfectly able to give it. One should be a brute not to -feel for the distress they are in; and from what I hear, poor Mr. -Bertram has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of his -illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person to be made a -fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any trifling disorder, and was -chiefly concerned for those who had to nurse him; but now it is -confidently asserted that he is really in a decline, that the symptoms -are most alarming, and that part of the family, at least, are aware of -it. If it be so, I am sure you must be included in that part, that -discerning part, and therefore entreat you to let me know how far I -have been rightly informed. I need not say how rejoiced I shall be to -hear there has been any mistake, but the report is so prevalent that I -confess I cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young man cut off -in the flower of his days is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will feel -it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, -I see you smile and look cunning, but, upon my honour, I never bribed a -physician in my life. Poor young man! If he is to die, there will be -_two_ poor young men less in the world; and with a fearless face and -bold voice would I say to any one, that wealth and consequence could -fall into no hands more deserving of them. It was a foolish -precipitation last Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted -out in part. Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It will be but the -loss of the Esquire after his name. With real affection, Fanny, like -mine, more might be overlooked. Write to me by return of post, judge of -my anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real truth, as you -have it from the fountainhead. And now, do not trouble yourself to be -ashamed of either my feelings or your own. Believe me, they are not -only natural, they are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it to your -conscience, whether ‘Sir Edmund’ would not do more good with all the -Bertram property than any other possible ‘Sir.’ Had the Grants been at -home I would not have troubled you, but you are now the only one I can -apply to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach. Mrs. R. -has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers at Twickenham (as to be -sure you know), and is not yet returned; and Julia is with the cousins -who live near Bedford Square, but I forget their name and street. Could -I immediately apply to either, however, I should still prefer you, -because it strikes me that they have all along been so unwilling to -have their own amusements cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I -suppose Mrs. R.’s Easter holidays will not last much longer; no doubt -they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers are pleasant people; and -her husband away, she can have nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit -for promoting his going dutifully down to Bath, to fetch his mother; -but how will she and the dowager agree in one house? Henry is not at -hand, so I have nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund would -have been in town again long ago, but for this illness?—Yours ever, -Mary.” - -“I had actually begun folding my letter when Henry walked in, but he -brings no intelligence to prevent my sending it. Mrs. R. knows a -decline is apprehended; he saw her this morning: she returns to Wimpole -Street to-day; the old lady is come. Now do not make yourself uneasy -with any queer fancies because he has been spending a few days at -Richmond. He does it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody but -you. At this very moment he is wild to see you, and occupied only in -contriving the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure conduce -to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, what he said at -Portsmouth about our conveying you home, and I join him in it with all -my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly, and tell us to come. It will do us -all good. He and I can go to the Parsonage, you know, and be no trouble -to our friends at Mansfield Park. It would really be gratifying to see -them all again, and a little addition of society might be of infinite -use to them; and as to yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted -there, that you cannot in conscience—conscientious as you are—keep -away, when you have the means of returning. I have not time or patience -to give half Henry’s messages; be satisfied that the spirit of each and -every one is unalterable affection.” - -Fanny’s disgust at the greater part of this letter, with her extreme -reluctance to bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund together, -would have made her (as she felt) incapable of judging impartially -whether the concluding offer might be accepted or not. To herself, -individually, it was most tempting. To be finding herself, perhaps -within three days, transported to Mansfield, was an image of the -greatest felicity, but it would have been a material drawback to be -owing such felicity to persons in whose feelings and conduct, at the -present moment, she saw so much to condemn: the sister’s feelings, the -brother’s conduct, _her_ cold-hearted ambition, _his_ thoughtless -vanity. To have him still the acquaintance, the flirt perhaps, of Mrs. -Rushworth! She was mortified. She had thought better of him. Happily, -however, she was not left to weigh and decide between opposite -inclinations and doubtful notions of right; there was no occasion to -determine whether she ought to keep Edmund and Mary asunder or not. She -had a rule to apply to, which settled everything. Her awe of her uncle, -and her dread of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to -her what she had to do. She must absolutely decline the proposal. If he -wanted, he would send for her; and even to offer an early return was a -presumption which hardly anything would have seemed to justify. She -thanked Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. “Her uncle, she -understood, meant to fetch her; and as her cousin’s illness had -continued so many weeks without her being thought at all necessary, she -must suppose her return would be unwelcome at present, and that she -should be felt an encumbrance.” - -Her representation of her cousin’s state at this time was exactly -according to her own belief of it, and such as she supposed would -convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent the hope of everything -she was wishing for. Edmund would be forgiven for being a clergyman, it -seemed, under certain conditions of wealth; and this, she suspected, -was all the conquest of prejudice which he was so ready to congratulate -himself upon. She had only learnt to think nothing of consequence but -money. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - - -As Fanny could not doubt that her answer was conveying a real -disappointment, she was rather in expectation, from her knowledge of -Miss Crawford’s temper, of being urged again; and though no second -letter arrived for the space of a week, she had still the same feeling -when it did come. - -On receiving it, she could instantly decide on its containing little -writing, and was persuaded of its having the air of a letter of haste -and business. Its object was unquestionable; and two moments were -enough to start the probability of its being merely to give her notice -that they should be in Portsmouth that very day, and to throw her into -all the agitation of doubting what she ought to do in such a case. If -two moments, however, can surround with difficulties, a third can -disperse them; and before she had opened the letter, the possibility of -Mr. and Miss Crawford’s having applied to her uncle and obtained his -permission was giving her ease. This was the letter— - -“A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached me, and I -write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving the least credit to it, -should it spread into the country. Depend upon it, there is some -mistake, and that a day or two will clear it up; at any rate, that -Henry is blameless, and in spite of a moment’s _etourderie_, thinks of -nobody but you. Say not a word of it; hear nothing, surmise nothing, -whisper nothing till I write again. I am sure it will be all hushed up, -and nothing proved but Rushworth’s folly. If they are gone, I would lay -my life they are only gone to Mansfield Park, and Julia with them. But -why would not you let us come for you? I wish you may not repent -it.—Yours, etc.” - -Fanny stood aghast. As no scandalous, ill-natured rumour had reached -her, it was impossible for her to understand much of this strange -letter. She could only perceive that it must relate to Wimpole Street -and Mr. Crawford, and only conjecture that something very imprudent had -just occurred in that quarter to draw the notice of the world, and to -excite her jealousy, in Miss Crawford’s apprehension, if she heard it. -Miss Crawford need not be alarmed for her. She was only sorry for the -parties concerned and for Mansfield, if the report should spread so -far; but she hoped it might not. If the Rushworths were gone themselves -to Mansfield, as was to be inferred from what Miss Crawford said, it -was not likely that anything unpleasant should have preceded them, or -at least should make any impression. - -As to Mr. Crawford, she hoped it might give him a knowledge of his own -disposition, convince him that he was not capable of being steadily -attached to any one woman in the world, and shame him from persisting -any longer in addressing herself. - -It was very strange! She had begun to think he really loved her, and to -fancy his affection for her something more than common; and his sister -still said that he cared for nobody else. Yet there must have been some -marked display of attentions to her cousin, there must have been some -strong indiscretion, since her correspondent was not of a sort to -regard a slight one. - -Very uncomfortable she was, and must continue, till she heard from Miss -Crawford again. It was impossible to banish the letter from her -thoughts, and she could not relieve herself by speaking of it to any -human being. Miss Crawford need not have urged secrecy with so much -warmth; she might have trusted to her sense of what was due to her -cousin. - -The next day came and brought no second letter. Fanny was disappointed. -She could still think of little else all the morning; but, when her -father came back in the afternoon with the daily newspaper as usual, -she was so far from expecting any elucidation through such a channel -that the subject was for a moment out of her head. - -She was deep in other musing. The remembrance of her first evening in -that room, of her father and his newspaper, came across her. No candle -was now wanted. The sun was yet an hour and half above the horizon. She -felt that she had, indeed, been three months there; and the sun’s rays -falling strongly into the parlour, instead of cheering, made her still -more melancholy, for sunshine appeared to her a totally different thing -in a town and in the country. Here, its power was only a glare: a -stifling, sickly glare, serving but to bring forward stains and dirt -that might otherwise have slept. There was neither health nor gaiety in -sunshine in a town. She sat in a blaze of oppressive heat, in a cloud -of moving dust, and her eyes could only wander from the walls, marked -by her father’s head, to the table cut and notched by her brothers, -where stood the tea-board never thoroughly cleaned, the cups and -saucers wiped in streaks, the milk a mixture of motes floating in thin -blue, and the bread and butter growing every minute more greasy than -even Rebecca’s hands had first produced it. Her father read his -newspaper, and her mother lamented over the ragged carpet as usual, -while the tea was in preparation, and wished Rebecca would mend it; and -Fanny was first roused by his calling out to her, after humphing and -considering over a particular paragraph: “What’s the name of your great -cousins in town, Fan?” - -A moment’s recollection enabled her to say, “Rushworth, sir.” - -“And don’t they live in Wimpole Street?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then, there’s the devil to pay among them, that’s all! There” (holding -out the paper to her); “much good may such fine relations do you. I -don’t know what Sir Thomas may think of such matters; he may be too -much of the courtier and fine gentleman to like his daughter the less. -But, by G—! if she belonged to _me_, I’d give her the rope’s end as -long as I could stand over her. A little flogging for man and woman too -would be the best way of preventing such things.” - -Fanny read to herself that “it was with infinite concern the newspaper -had to announce to the world a matrimonial _fracas_ in the family of -Mr. R. of Wimpole Street; the beautiful Mrs. R., whose name had not -long been enrolled in the lists of Hymen, and who had promised to -become so brilliant a leader in the fashionable world, having quitted -her husband’s roof in company with the well-known and captivating Mr. -C., the intimate friend and associate of Mr. R., and it was not known -even to the editor of the newspaper whither they were gone.” - -“It is a mistake, sir,” said Fanny instantly; “it must be a mistake, it -cannot be true; it must mean some other people.” - -She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame; she spoke with a -resolution which sprung from despair, for she spoke what she did not, -could not believe herself. It had been the shock of conviction as she -read. The truth rushed on her; and how she could have spoken at all, -how she could even have breathed, was afterwards matter of wonder to -herself. - -Mr. Price cared too little about the report to make her much answer. -“It might be all a lie,” he acknowledged; “but so many fine ladies were -going to the devil nowadays that way, that there was no answering for -anybody.” - -“Indeed, I hope it is not true,” said Mrs. Price plaintively; “it would -be so very shocking! If I have spoken once to Rebecca about that -carpet, I am sure I have spoke at least a dozen times; have not I, -Betsey? And it would not be ten minutes’ work.” - -The horror of a mind like Fanny’s, as it received the conviction of -such guilt, and began to take in some part of the misery that must -ensue, can hardly be described. At first, it was a sort of -stupefaction; but every moment was quickening her perception of the -horrible evil. She could not doubt, she dared not indulge a hope, of -the paragraph being false. Miss Crawford’s letter, which she had read -so often as to make every line her own, was in frightful conformity -with it. Her eager defence of her brother, her hope of its being -_hushed_ _up_, her evident agitation, were all of a piece with -something very bad; and if there was a woman of character in existence, -who could treat as a trifle this sin of the first magnitude, who would -try to gloss it over, and desire to have it unpunished, she could -believe Miss Crawford to be the woman! Now she could see her own -mistake as to _who_ were gone, or _said_ to be gone. It was not Mr. and -Mrs. Rushworth; it was Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford. - -Fanny seemed to herself never to have been shocked before. There was no -possibility of rest. The evening passed without a pause of misery, the -night was totally sleepless. She passed only from feelings of sickness -to shudderings of horror; and from hot fits of fever to cold. The event -was so shocking, that there were moments even when her heart revolted -from it as impossible: when she thought it could not be. A woman -married only six months ago; a man professing himself devoted, even -_engaged_ to another; that other her near relation; the whole family, -both families connected as they were by tie upon tie; all friends, all -intimate together! It was too horrible a confusion of guilt, too gross -a complication of evil, for human nature, not in a state of utter -barbarism, to be capable of! yet her judgment told her it was so. _His_ -unsettled affections, wavering with his vanity, _Maria’s_ decided -attachment, and no sufficient principle on either side, gave it -possibility: Miss Crawford’s letter stampt it a fact. - -What would be the consequence? Whom would it not injure? Whose views -might it not affect? Whose peace would it not cut up for ever? Miss -Crawford, herself, Edmund; but it was dangerous, perhaps, to tread such -ground. She confined herself, or tried to confine herself, to the -simple, indubitable family misery which must envelop all, if it were -indeed a matter of certified guilt and public exposure. The mother’s -sufferings, the father’s; there she paused. Julia’s, Tom’s, Edmund’s; -there a yet longer pause. They were the two on whom it would fall most -horribly. Sir Thomas’s parental solicitude and high sense of honour and -decorum, Edmund’s upright principles, unsuspicious temper, and genuine -strength of feeling, made her think it scarcely possible for them to -support life and reason under such disgrace; and it appeared to her -that, as far as this world alone was concerned, the greatest blessing -to every one of kindred with Mrs. Rushworth would be instant -annihilation. - -Nothing happened the next day, or the next, to weaken her terrors. Two -posts came in, and brought no refutation, public or private. There was -no second letter to explain away the first from Miss Crawford; there -was no intelligence from Mansfield, though it was now full time for her -to hear again from her aunt. This was an evil omen. She had, indeed, -scarcely the shadow of a hope to soothe her mind, and was reduced to so -low and wan and trembling a condition, as no mother, not unkind, except -Mrs. Price could have overlooked, when the third day did bring the -sickening knock, and a letter was again put into her hands. It bore the -London postmark, and came from Edmund. - -“Dear Fanny,—You know our present wretchedness. May God support you -under your share! We have been here two days, but there is nothing to -be done. They cannot be traced. You may not have heard of the last -blow—Julia’s elopement; she is gone to Scotland with Yates. She left -London a few hours before we entered it. At any other time this would -have been felt dreadfully. Now it seems nothing; yet it is an heavy -aggravation. My father is not overpowered. More cannot be hoped. He is -still able to think and act; and I write, by his desire, to propose -your returning home. He is anxious to get you there for my mother’s -sake. I shall be at Portsmouth the morning after you receive this, and -hope to find you ready to set off for Mansfield. My father wishes you -to invite Susan to go with you for a few months. Settle it as you like; -say what is proper; I am sure you will feel such an instance of his -kindness at such a moment! Do justice to his meaning, however I may -confuse it. You may imagine something of my present state. There is no -end of the evil let loose upon us. You will see me early by the -mail.—Yours, etc.” - -Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had she felt such a one as -this letter contained. To-morrow! to leave Portsmouth to-morrow! She -was, she felt she was, in the greatest danger of being exquisitely -happy, while so many were miserable. The evil which brought such good -to her! She dreaded lest she should learn to be insensible of it. To be -going so soon, sent for so kindly, sent for as a comfort, and with -leave to take Susan, was altogether such a combination of blessings as -set her heart in a glow, and for a time seemed to distance every pain, -and make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress even of those -whose distress she thought of most. Julia’s elopement could affect her -comparatively but little; she was amazed and shocked; but it could not -occupy her, could not dwell on her mind. She was obliged to call -herself to think of it, and acknowledge it to be terrible and grievous, -or it was escaping her, in the midst of all the agitating pressing -joyful cares attending this summons to herself. - -There is nothing like employment, active indispensable employment, for -relieving sorrow. Employment, even melancholy, may dispel melancholy, -and her occupations were hopeful. She had so much to do, that not even -the horrible story of Mrs. Rushworth (now fixed to the last point of -certainty), could affect her as it had done before. She had not time to -be miserable. Within twenty-four hours she was hoping to be gone; her -father and mother must be spoken to, Susan prepared, everything got -ready. Business followed business; the day was hardly long enough. The -happiness she was imparting, too, happiness very little alloyed by the -black communication which must briefly precede it—the joyful consent of -her father and mother to Susan’s going with her—the general -satisfaction with which the going of both seemed regarded, and the -ecstasy of Susan herself, was all serving to support her spirits. - -The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the family. Mrs. -Price talked of her poor sister for a few minutes, but how to find -anything to hold Susan’s clothes, because Rebecca took away all the -boxes and spoilt them, was much more in her thoughts: and as for Susan, -now unexpectedly gratified in the first wish of her heart, and knowing -nothing personally of those who had sinned, or of those who were -sorrowing—if she could help rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as -much as ought to be expected from human virtue at fourteen. - -As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs. Price, or the good -offices of Rebecca, everything was rationally and duly accomplished, -and the girls were ready for the morrow. The advantage of much sleep to -prepare them for their journey was impossible. The cousin who was -travelling towards them could hardly have less than visited their -agitated spirits—one all happiness, the other all varying and -indescribable perturbation. - -By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The girls heard his -entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The idea of immediately -seeing him, with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought -back all her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. She was -ready to sink as she entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her -instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these -words, just articulate, “My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort -now!” She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say more. - -He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again, though his -voice still faltered, his manner shewed the wish of self-command, and -the resolution of avoiding any farther allusion. “Have you breakfasted? -When shall you be ready? Does Susan go?” were questions following each -other rapidly. His great object was to be off as soon as possible. When -Mansfield was considered, time was precious; and the state of his own -mind made him find relief only in motion. It was settled that he should -order the carriage to the door in half an hour. Fanny answered for -their having breakfasted and being quite ready in half an hour. He had -already ate, and declined staying for their meal. He would walk round -the ramparts, and join them with the carriage. He was gone again; glad -to get away even from Fanny. - -He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent emotions, which -he was determined to suppress. She knew it must be so, but it was -terrible to her. - -The carriage came; and he entered the house again at the same moment, -just in time to spend a few minutes with the family, and be a -witness—but that he saw nothing—of the tranquil manner in which the -daughters were parted with, and just in time to prevent their sitting -down to the breakfast-table, which, by dint of much unusual activity, -was quite and completely ready as the carriage drove from the door. -Fanny’s last meal in her father’s house was in character with her -first: she was dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been -welcomed. - -How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as she passed the barriers -of Portsmouth, and how Susan’s face wore its broadest smiles, may be -easily conceived. Sitting forwards, however, and screened by her -bonnet, those smiles were unseen. - -The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund’s deep sighs often -reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his heart must have opened -in spite of every resolution; but Susan’s presence drove him quite into -himself, and his attempts to talk on indifferent subjects could never -be long supported. - -Fanny watched him with never-failing solicitude, and sometimes catching -his eye, revived an affectionate smile, which comforted her; but the -first day’s journey passed without her hearing a word from him on the -subjects that were weighing him down. The next morning produced a -little more. Just before their setting out from Oxford, while Susan was -stationed at a window, in eager observation of the departure of a large -family from the inn, the other two were standing by the fire; and -Edmund, particularly struck by the alteration in Fanny’s looks, and -from his ignorance of the daily evils of her father’s house, -attributing an undue share of the change, attributing _all_ to the -recent event, took her hand, and said in a low, but very expressive -tone, “No wonder—you must feel it—you must suffer. How a man who had -once loved, could desert you! But _yours_—your regard was new compared -with——Fanny, think of _me_!” - -The first division of their journey occupied a long day, and brought -them, almost knocked up, to Oxford; but the second was over at a much -earlier hour. They were in the environs of Mansfield long before the -usual dinner-time, and as they approached the beloved place, the hearts -of both sisters sank a little. Fanny began to dread the meeting with -her aunts and Tom, under so dreadful a humiliation; and Susan to feel -with some anxiety, that all her best manners, all her lately acquired -knowledge of what was practised here, was on the point of being called -into action. Visions of good and ill breeding, of old vulgarisms and -new gentilities, were before her; and she was meditating much upon -silver forks, napkins, and finger-glasses. Fanny had been everywhere -awake to the difference of the country since February; but when they -entered the Park her perceptions and her pleasures were of the keenest -sort. It was three months, full three months, since her quitting it, -and the change was from winter to summer. Her eye fell everywhere on -lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, though not -fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is -known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the -sight, more yet remains for the imagination. Her enjoyment, however, -was for herself alone. Edmund could not share it. She looked at him, -but he was leaning back, sunk in a deeper gloom than ever, and with -eyes closed, as if the view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the -lovely scenes of home must be shut out. - -It made her melancholy again; and the knowledge of what must be -enduring there, invested even the house, modern, airy, and well -situated as it was, with a melancholy aspect. - -By one of the suffering party within they were expected with such -impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had scarcely passed the -solemn-looking servants, when Lady Bertram came from the drawing-room -to meet her; came with no indolent step; and falling on her neck, said, -“Dear Fanny! now I shall be comfortable.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - - -It had been a miserable party, each of the three believing themselves -most miserable. Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to Maria, was -really the greatest sufferer. Maria was her first favourite, the -dearest of all; the match had been her own contriving, as she had been -wont with such pride of heart to feel and say, and this conclusion of -it almost overpowered her. - -She was an altered creature, quieted, stupefied, indifferent to -everything that passed. The being left with her sister and nephew, and -all the house under her care, had been an advantage entirely thrown -away; she had been unable to direct or dictate, or even fancy herself -useful. When really touched by affliction, her active powers had been -all benumbed; and neither Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her -the smallest support or attempt at support. She had done no more for -them than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary, -helpless, and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others only -established her superiority in wretchedness. Her companions were -relieved, but there was no good for _her_. Edmund was almost as welcome -to his brother as Fanny to her aunt; but Mrs. Norris, instead of having -comfort from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the -person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have charged as -the daemon of the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford this could not -have happened. - -Susan too was a grievance. She had not spirits to notice her in more -than a few repulsive looks, but she felt her as a spy, and an intruder, -and an indigent niece, and everything most odious. By her other aunt, -Susan was received with quiet kindness. Lady Bertram could not give her -much time, or many words, but she felt her, as Fanny’s sister, to have -a claim at Mansfield, and was ready to kiss and like her; and Susan was -more than satisfied, for she came perfectly aware that nothing but -ill-humour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided -with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings, an escape from -many certain evils, that she could have stood against a great deal more -indifference than she met with from the others. - -She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted with the -house and grounds as she could, and spent her days very happily in so -doing, while those who might otherwise have attended to her were shut -up, or wholly occupied each with the person quite dependent on them, at -this time, for everything like comfort; Edmund trying to bury his own -feelings in exertions for the relief of his brother’s, and Fanny -devoted to her aunt Bertram, returning to every former office with more -than former zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who -seemed so much to want her. - -To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and lament, was all -Lady Bertram’s consolation. To be listened to and borne with, and hear -the voice of kindness and sympathy in return, was everything that could -be done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the question. The -case admitted of no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, -guided by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and -she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and neither -endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to think little -of guilt and infamy. - -Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious. After a -time, Fanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts to other -subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupations; but -whenever Lady Bertram _was_ fixed on the event, she could see it only -in one light, as comprehending the loss of a daughter, and a disgrace -never to be wiped off. - -Fanny learnt from her all the particulars which had yet transpired. Her -aunt was no very methodical narrator, but with the help of some letters -to and from Sir Thomas, and what she already knew herself, and could -reasonably combine, she was soon able to understand quite as much as -she wished of the circumstances attending the story. - -Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twickenham, with a -family whom she had just grown intimate with: a family of lively, -agreeable manners, and probably of morals and discretion to suit, for -to _their_ house Mr. Crawford had constant access at all times. His -having been in the same neighbourhood Fanny already knew. Mr. Rushworth -had been gone at this time to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother, -and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends without -any restraint, without even Julia; for Julia had removed from Wimpole -Street two or three weeks before, on a visit to some relations of Sir -Thomas; a removal which her father and mother were now disposed to -attribute to some view of convenience on Mr. Yates’s account. Very soon -after the Rushworths’ return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had received -a letter from an old and most particular friend in London, who hearing -and witnessing a good deal to alarm him in that quarter, wrote to -recommend Sir Thomas’s coming to London himself, and using his -influence with his daughter to put an end to the intimacy which was -already exposing her to unpleasant remarks, and evidently making Mr. -Rushworth uneasy. - -Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without communicating -its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when it was followed by -another, sent express from the same friend, to break to him the almost -desperate situation in which affairs then stood with the young people. -Mrs. Rushworth had left her husband’s house: Mr. Rushworth had been in -great anger and distress to _him_ (Mr. Harding) for his advice; Mr. -Harding feared there had been _at_ _least_ very flagrant indiscretion. -The maidservant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He -was doing all in his power to quiet everything, with the hope of Mrs. -Rushworth’s return, but was so much counteracted in Wimpole Street by -the influence of Mr. Rushworth’s mother, that the worst consequences -might be apprehended. - -This dreadful communication could not be kept from the rest of the -family. Sir Thomas set off, Edmund would go with him, and the others -had been left in a state of wretchedness, inferior only to what -followed the receipt of the next letters from London. Everything was by -that time public beyond a hope. The servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the -mother, had exposure in her power, and supported by her mistress, was -not to be silenced. The two ladies, even in the short time they had -been together, had disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against -her daughter-in-law might perhaps arise almost as much from the -personal disrespect with which she had herself been treated as from -sensibility for her son. - -However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had she been less -obstinate, or of less weight with her son, who was always guided by the -last speaker, by the person who could get hold of and shut him up, the -case would still have been hopeless, for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear -again, and there was every reason to conclude her to be concealed -somewhere with Mr. Crawford, who had quitted his uncle’s house, as for -a journey, on the very day of her absenting herself. - -Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in town, in the hope -of discovering and snatching her from farther vice, though all was lost -on the side of character. - -_His_ present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There was but -one of his children who was not at this time a source of misery to him. -Tom’s complaints had been greatly heightened by the shock of his -sister’s conduct, and his recovery so much thrown back by it, that even -Lady Bertram had been struck by the difference, and all her alarms were -regularly sent off to her husband; and Julia’s elopement, the -additional blow which had met him on his arrival in London, though its -force had been deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. -She saw that it was. His letters expressed how much he deplored it. -Under any circumstances it would have been an unwelcome alliance; but -to have it so clandestinely formed, and such a period chosen for its -completion, placed Julia’s feelings in a most unfavourable light, and -severely aggravated the folly of her choice. He called it a bad thing, -done in the worst manner, and at the worst time; and though Julia was -yet as more pardonable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but -regard the step she had taken as opening the worst probabilities of a -conclusion hereafter like her sister’s. Such was his opinion of the set -into which she had thrown herself. - -Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort but in -Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart. His displeasure -against herself she trusted, reasoning differently from Mrs. Norris, -would now be done away. _She_ should be justified. Mr. Crawford would -have fully acquitted her conduct in refusing him; but this, though most -material to herself, would be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her -uncle’s displeasure was terrible to her; but what could her -justification or her gratitude and attachment do for him? His stay must -be on Edmund alone. - -She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave his father no -present pain. It was of a much less poignant nature than what the -others excited; but Sir Thomas was considering his happiness as very -deeply involved in the offence of his sister and friend; cut off by it, -as he must be, from the woman whom he had been pursuing with undoubted -attachment and strong probability of success; and who, in everything -but this despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connexion. -He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf, in -addition to all the rest, when they were in town: he had seen or -conjectured his feelings; and, having reason to think that one -interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Edmund derived -only increased distress, had been as anxious on that account as on -others to get him out of town, and had engaged him in taking Fanny home -to her aunt, with a view to his relief and benefit, no less than -theirs. Fanny was not in the secret of her uncle’s feelings, Sir Thomas -not in the secret of Miss Crawford’s character. Had he been privy to -her conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong -to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty. - -That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did not admit -of a doubt with Fanny; and yet, till she knew that he felt the same, -her own conviction was insufficient. She thought he did, but she wanted -to be assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the unreserve -which had sometimes been too much for her before, it would be most -consoling; but _that_ she found was not to be. She seldom saw him: -never alone. He probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be -inferred? That his judgment submitted to all his own peculiar and -bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too keenly felt -to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must be his state. -He yielded, but it was with agonies which did not admit of speech. -Long, long would it be ere Miss Crawford’s name passed his lips again, -or she could hope for a renewal of such confidential intercourse as had -been. - -It _was_ long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and it was not till -Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the subject. Sitting -with her on Sunday evening—a wet Sunday evening—the very time of all -others when, if a friend is at hand, the heart must be opened, and -everything told; no one else in the room, except his mother, who, after -hearing an affecting sermon, had cried herself to sleep, it was -impossible not to speak; and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to -be traced as to what came first, and the usual declaration that if she -would listen to him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and -certainly never tax her kindness in the same way again; she need not -fear a repetition; it would be a subject prohibited entirely: he -entered upon the luxury of relating circumstances and sensations of the -first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he was -quite convinced. - -How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, what pain and what -delight, how the agitation of his voice was watched, and how carefully -her own eyes were fixed on any object but himself, may be imagined. The -opening was alarming. He had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invited to -see her. He had received a note from Lady Stornaway to beg him to call; -and regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview of -friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and -wretchedness which Crawford’s sister ought to have known, he had gone -to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, as made it for -a few moments impossible to Fanny’s fears that it should be the last. -But as he proceeded in his story, these fears were over. She had met -him, he said, with a serious—certainly a serious—even an agitated air; -but before he had been able to speak one intelligible sentence, she had -introduced the subject in a manner which he owned had shocked him. “‘I -heard you were in town,’ said she; ‘I wanted to see you. Let us talk -over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?’ -I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke. She felt reproved. -Sometimes how quick to feel! With a graver look and voice she then -added, ‘I do not mean to defend Henry at your sister’s expense.’ So she -began, but how she went on, Fanny, is not fit, is hardly fit to be -repeated to you. I cannot recall all her words. I would not dwell upon -them if I could. Their substance was great anger at the _folly_ of -each. She reprobated her brother’s folly in being drawn on by a woman -whom he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he -adored; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such a -situation, plunging into such difficulties, under the idea of being -really loved by a man who had long ago made his indifference clear. -Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom—no harsher name -than folly given! So voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass it! -No reluctance, no horror, no feminine, shall I say, no modest -loathings? This is what the world does. For where, Fanny, shall we find -a woman whom nature had so richly endowed? Spoilt, spoilt!” - -After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate -calmness. “I will tell you everything, and then have done for ever. She -saw it only as folly, and that folly stamped only by exposure. The want -of common discretion, of caution: his going down to Richmond for the -whole time of her being at Twickenham; her putting herself in the power -of a servant; it was the detection, in short—oh, Fanny! it was the -detection, not the offence, which she reprobated. It was the imprudence -which had brought things to extremity, and obliged her brother to give -up every dearer plan in order to fly with her.” - -He stopt. “And what,” said Fanny (believing herself required to speak), -“what could you say?” - -“Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man stunned. She went -on, began to talk of you; yes, then she began to talk of you, -regretting, as well she might, the loss of such a—. There she spoke -very rationally. But she has always done justice to you. ‘He has thrown -away,’ said she, ‘such a woman as he will never see again. She would -have fixed him; she would have made him happy for ever.’ My dearest -Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this -retrospect of what might have been—but what never can be now. You do -not wish me to be silent? If you do, give me but a look, a word, and I -have done.” - -No look or word was given. - -“Thank God,” said he. “We were all disposed to wonder, but it seems to -have been the merciful appointment of Providence that the heart which -knew no guile should not suffer. She spoke of you with high praise and -warm affection; yet, even here, there was alloy, a dash of evil; for in -the midst of it she could exclaim, ‘Why would not she have him? It is -all her fault. Simple girl! I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted -him as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage, -and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any other -object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with Mrs. Rushworth -again. It would have all ended in a regular standing flirtation, in -yearly meetings at Sotherton and Everingham.’ Could you have believed -it possible? But the charm is broken. My eyes are opened.” - -“Cruel!” said Fanny, “quite cruel. At such a moment to give way to -gaiety, to speak with lightness, and to you! Absolute cruelty.” - -“Cruelty, do you call it? We differ there. No, hers is not a cruel -nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my feelings. The evil -lies yet deeper: in her total ignorance, unsuspiciousness of there -being such feelings; in a perversion of mind which made it natural to -her to treat the subject as she did. She was speaking only as she had -been used to hear others speak, as she imagined everybody else would -speak. Hers are not faults of temper. She would not voluntarily give -unnecessary pain to any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot -but think that for me, for my feelings, she would—. Hers are faults of -principle, Fanny; of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, vitiated mind. -Perhaps it is best for me, since it leaves me so little to regret. Not -so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased pain of losing -her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I told her so.” - -“Did you?” - -“Yes; when I left her I told her so.” - -“How long were you together?” - -“Five-and-twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say that what remained -now to be done was to bring about a marriage between them. She spoke of -it, Fanny, with a steadier voice than I can.” He was obliged to pause -more than once as he continued. “‘We must persuade Henry to marry her,’ -said she; ‘and what with honour, and the certainty of having shut -himself out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must -give up. I do not think that even _he_ could now hope to succeed with -one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no insuperable -difficulty. My influence, which is not small shall all go that way; and -when once married, and properly supported by her own family, people of -respectability as they are, she may recover her footing in society to a -certain degree. In some circles, we know, she would never be admitted, -but with good dinners, and large parties, there will always be those -who will be glad of her acquaintance; and there is, undoubtedly, more -liberality and candour on those points than formerly. What I advise is, -that your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by -interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If by any -officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry’s protection, -there will be much less chance of his marrying her than if she remain -with him. I know how he is likely to be influenced. Let Sir Thomas -trust to his honour and compassion, and it may all end well; but if he -get his daughter away, it will be destroying the chief hold.’” - -After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected that Fanny, watching -him with silent, but most tender concern, was almost sorry that the -subject had been entered on at all. It was long before he could speak -again. At last, “Now, Fanny,” said he, “I shall soon have done. I have -told you the substance of all that she said. As soon as I could speak, -I replied that I had not supposed it possible, coming in such a state -of mind into that house as I had done, that anything could occur to -make me suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds in -almost every sentence. That though I had, in the course of our -acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in our opinions, -on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagination to -conceive the difference could be such as she had now proved it. That -the manner in which she treated the dreadful crime committed by her -brother and my sister (with whom lay the greater seduction I pretended -not to say), but the manner in which she spoke of the crime itself, -giving it every reproach but the right; considering its ill -consequences only as they were to be braved or overborne by a defiance -of decency and impudence in wrong; and last of all, and above all, -recommending to us a compliance, a compromise, an acquiescence in the -continuance of the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as -I now thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought; -all this together most grievously convinced me that I had never -understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, it had been -the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Crawford, that I had been -too apt to dwell on for many months past. That, perhaps, it was best -for me; I had less to regret in sacrificing a friendship, feelings, -hopes which must, at any rate, have been torn from me now. And yet, -that I must and would confess that, could I have restored her to what -she had appeared to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase -of the pain of parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of -tenderness and esteem. This is what I said, the purport of it; but, as -you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I have -repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly astonished—more -than astonished. I saw her change countenance. She turned extremely -red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings: a great, though short -struggle; half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame, but -habit, habit carried it. She would have laughed if she could. It was a -sort of laugh, as she answered, ‘A pretty good lecture, upon my word. -Was it part of your last sermon? At this rate you will soon reform -everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear of you next, -it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great society of Methodists, -or as a missionary into foreign parts.’ She tried to speak carelessly, -but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear. I only said in -reply, that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that -she might soon learn to think more justly, and not owe the most -valuable knowledge we could any of us acquire, the knowledge of -ourselves and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction, and -immediately left the room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard -the door open behind me. ‘Mr. Bertram,’ said she. I looked back. ‘Mr. -Bertram,’ said she, with a smile; but it was a smile ill-suited to the -conversation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite -in order to subdue me; at least it appeared so to me. I resisted; it -was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on. I have -since, sometimes, for a moment, regretted that I did not go back, but I -know I was right, and such has been the end of our acquaintance. And -what an acquaintance has it been! How have I been deceived! Equally in -brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This -has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done.” - -And such was Fanny’s dependence on his words, that for five minutes she -thought they _had_ done. Then, however, it all came on again, or -something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram’s rousing -thoroughly up could really close such a conversation. Till that -happened, they continued to talk of Miss Crawford alone, and how she -had attached him, and how delightful nature had made her, and how -excellent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier. -Fanny, now at liberty to speak openly, felt more than justified in -adding to his knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what -share his brother’s state of health might be supposed to have in her -wish for a complete reconciliation. This was not an agreeable -intimation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a vast -deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her attachment; -but his vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reason. He -submitted to believe that Tom’s illness had influenced her, only -reserving for himself this consoling thought, that considering the many -counteractions of opposing habits, she had certainly been _more_ -attached to him than could have been expected, and for his sake been -more near doing right. Fanny thought exactly the same; and they were -also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible -impression, which such a disappointment must make on his mind. Time -would undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a -sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and as -to his ever meeting with any other woman who could—it was too -impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny’s friendship was all -that he had to cling to. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - - -Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects -as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault -themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest. - -My Fanny, indeed, at this very time, I have the satisfaction of -knowing, must have been happy in spite of everything. She must have -been a happy creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she -felt, for the distress of those around her. She had sources of delight -that must force their way. She was returned to Mansfield Park, she was -useful, she was beloved; she was safe from Mr. Crawford; and when Sir -Thomas came back she had every proof that could be given in his then -melancholy state of spirits, of his perfect approbation and increased -regard; and happy as all this must make her, she would still have been -happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss -Crawford. - -It is true that Edmund was very far from happy himself. He was -suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over what was, and -wishing for what could never be. She knew it was so, and was sorry; but -it was with a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, -and so much in harmony with every dearest sensation, that there are few -who might not have been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it. - -Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errors in his -own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suffer. He felt that he -ought not to have allowed the marriage; that his daughter’s sentiments -had been sufficiently known to him to render him culpable in -authorising it; that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the -expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly -wisdom. These were reflections that required some time to soften; but -time will do almost everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. -Rushworth’s side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be -found greater than he had supposed in his other children. Julia’s match -became a less desperate business than he had considered it at first. -She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven; and Mr. Yates, desirous of -being really received into the family, was disposed to look up to him -and be guided. He was not very solid; but there was a hope of his -becoming less trifling, of his being at least tolerably domestic and -quiet; and at any rate, there was comfort in finding his estate rather -more, and his debts much less, than he had feared, and in being -consulted and treated as the friend best worth attending to. There was -comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without -regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. -He was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he had -learned to think: two advantages that he had never known before; and -the self-reproach arising from the deplorable event in Wimpole Street, -to which he felt himself accessory by all the dangerous intimacy of his -unjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind which, at the age -of six-and-twenty, with no want of sense or good companions, was -durable in its happy effects. He became what he ought to be: useful to -his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself. - -Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir Thomas could place -dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was contributing to his -father’s ease by improvement in the only point in which he had given -him pain before—improvement in his spirits. After wandering about and -sitting under trees with Fanny all the summer evenings, he had so well -talked his mind into submission as to be very tolerably cheerful again. - -These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradually brought -their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of what was lost, -and in part reconciling him to himself; though the anguish arising from -the conviction of his own errors in the education of his daughters was -never to be entirely done away. - -Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the character of any young -people must be the totally opposite treatment which Maria and Julia had -been always experiencing at home, where the excessive indulgence and -flattery of their aunt had been continually contrasted with his own -severity. He saw how ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what -was wrong in Mrs. Norris by its reverse in himself; clearly saw that he -had but increased the evil by teaching them to repress their spirits in -his presence so as to make their real disposition unknown to him, and -sending them for all their indulgences to a person who had been able to -attach them only by the blindness of her affection, and the excess of -her praise. - -Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was, he gradually -grew to feel that it had not been the most direful mistake in his plan -of education. Something must have been wanting _within_, or time would -have worn away much of its ill effect. He feared that principle, active -principle, had been wanting; that they had never been properly taught -to govern their inclinations and tempers by that sense of duty which -can alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their -religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be -distinguished for elegance and accomplishments, the authorised object -of their youth, could have had no useful influence that way, no moral -effect on the mind. He had meant them to be good, but his cares had -been directed to the understanding and manners, not the disposition; -and of the necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared they had -never heard from any lips that could profit them. - -Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely -comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that with all -the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought -up his daughters without their understanding their first duties, or his -being acquainted with their character and temper. - -The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth, especially, were -made known to him only in their sad result. She was not to be prevailed -on to leave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to marry him, and they continued -together till she was obliged to be convinced that such hope was vain, -and till the disappointment and wretchedness arising from the -conviction rendered her temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like -hatred, as to make them for a while each other’s punishment, and then -induce a voluntary separation. - -She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his -happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation in leaving -him than that she _had_ divided them. What can exceed the misery of -such a mind in such a situation? - -Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and so ended a -marriage contracted under such circumstances as to make any better end -the effect of good luck not to be reckoned on. She had despised him, -and loved another; and he had been very much aware that it was so. The -indignities of stupidity, and the disappointments of selfish passion, -can excite little pity. His punishment followed his conduct, as did a -deeper punishment the deeper guilt of his wife. _He_ was released from -the engagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty girl -could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set forward on a -second, and, it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial of the state: if -duped, to be duped at least with good humour and good luck; while she -must withdraw with infinitely stronger feelings to a retirement and -reproach which could allow no second spring of hope or character. - -Where she could be placed became a subject of most melancholy and -momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attachment seemed to augment -with the demerits of her niece, would have had her received at home and -countenanced by them all. Sir Thomas would not hear of it; and Mrs. -Norris’s anger against Fanny was so much the greater, from considering -_her_ residence there as the motive. She persisted in placing his -scruples to _her_ account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly assured her -that, had there been no young woman in question, had there been no -young person of either sex belonging to him, to be endangered by the -society or hurt by the character of Mrs. Rushworth, he would never have -offered so great an insult to the neighbourhood as to expect it to -notice her. As a daughter, he hoped a penitent one, she should be -protected by him, and secured in every comfort, and supported by every -encouragement to do right, which their relative situations admitted; -but farther than _that_ he could not go. Maria had destroyed her own -character, and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never -could be restored, by affording his sanction to vice, or in seeking to -lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing such misery in -another man’s family as he had known himself. - -It ended in Mrs. Norris’s resolving to quit Mansfield and devote -herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establishment being formed -for them in another country, remote and private, where, shut up -together with little society, on one side no affection, on the other no -judgment, it may be reasonably supposed that their tempers became their -mutual punishment. - -Mrs. Norris’s removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary -comfort of Sir Thomas’s life. His opinion of her had been sinking from -the day of his return from Antigua: in every transaction together from -that period, in their daily intercourse, in business, or in chat, she -had been regularly losing ground in his esteem, and convincing him that -either time had done her much disservice, or that he had considerably -over-rated her sense, and wonderfully borne with her manners before. He -had felt her as an hourly evil, which was so much the worse, as there -seemed no chance of its ceasing but with life; she seemed a part of -himself that must be borne for ever. To be relieved from her, -therefore, was so great a felicity that, had she not left bitter -remembrances behind her, there might have been danger of his learning -almost to approve the evil which produced such a good. - -She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had never been able to -attach even those she loved best; and since Mrs. Rushworth’s elopement, -her temper had been in a state of such irritation as to make her -everywhere tormenting. Not even Fanny had tears for aunt Norris, not -even when she was gone for ever. - -That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a -favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater -to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered -and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second -place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to -Maria. Her temper was naturally the easiest of the two; her feelings, -though quick, were more controllable, and education had not given her -so very hurtful a degree of self-consequence. - -She had submitted the best to the disappointment in Henry Crawford. -After the first bitterness of the conviction of being slighted was -over, she had been tolerably soon in a fair way of not thinking of him -again; and when the acquaintance was renewed in town, and Mr. -Rushworth’s house became Crawford’s object, she had had the merit of -withdrawing herself from it, and of chusing that time to pay a visit to -her other friends, in order to secure herself from being again too much -attracted. This had been her motive in going to her cousin’s. Mr. -Yates’s convenience had had nothing to do with it. She had been -allowing his attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever -accepting him; and had not her sister’s conduct burst forth as it did, -and her increased dread of her father and of home, on that event, -imagining its certain consequence to herself would be greater severity -and restraint, made her hastily resolve on avoiding such immediate -horrors at all risks, it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have -succeeded. She had not eloped with any worse feelings than those of -selfish alarm. It had appeared to her the only thing to be done. -Maria’s guilt had induced Julia’s folly. - -Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, -indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once -it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of -happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one -amiable woman’s affections, could he have found sufficient exultation -in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and -tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of -success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. -Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. -Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have -been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which -would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her -first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have -persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a -reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from -Edmund’s marrying Mary. - -Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to -Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been -deciding his own happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. -Fraser’s party; his staying was made of flattering consequence, and he -was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanity were both -engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasure was too strong for a -mind unused to make any sacrifice to right: he resolved to defer his -Norfolk journey, resolved that writing should answer the purpose of it, -or that its purpose was unimportant, and staid. He saw Mrs. Rushworth, -was received by her with a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, -and have established apparent indifference between them for ever; but -he was mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman whose -smiles had been so wholly at his command: he must exert himself to -subdue so proud a display of resentment; it was anger on Fanny’s -account; he must get the better of it, and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria -Bertram again in her treatment of himself. - -In this spirit he began the attack, and by animated perseverance had -soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse, of gallantry, of -flirtation, which bounded his views; but in triumphing over the -discretion which, though beginning in anger, might have saved them -both, he had put himself in the power of feelings on her side more -strong than he had supposed. She loved him; there was no withdrawing -attentions avowedly dear to her. He was entangled by his own vanity, -with as little excuse of love as possible, and without the smallest -inconstancy of mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and the Bertrams -from a knowledge of what was passing became his first object. Secrecy -could not have been more desirable for Mrs. Rushworth’s credit than he -felt it for his own. When he returned from Richmond, he would have been -glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no more. All that followed was the result of -her imprudence; and he went off with her at last, because he could not -help it, regretting Fanny even at the moment, but regretting her -infinitely more when all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and a -very few months had taught him, by the force of contrast, to place a -yet higher value on the sweetness of her temper, the purity of her -mind, and the excellence of her principles. - -That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just -measure attend _his_ share of the offence is, we know, not one of the -barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is -less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward -to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of -sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small -portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to -self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited -hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most -estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had -rationally as well as passionately loved. - -After what had passed to wound and alienate the two families, the -continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in such close neighbourhood -would have been most distressing; but the absence of the latter, for -some months purposely lengthened, ended very fortunately in the -necessity, or at least the practicability, of a permanent removal. Dr. -Grant, through an interest on which he had almost ceased to form hopes, -succeeded to a stall in Westminster, which, as affording an occasion -for leaving Mansfield, an excuse for residence in London, and an -increase of income to answer the expenses of the change, was highly -acceptable to those who went and those who staid. - -Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must have gone with -some regret from the scenes and people she had been used to; but the -same happiness of disposition must in any place, and any society, -secure her a great deal to enjoy, and she had again a home to offer -Mary; and Mary had had enough of her own friends, enough of vanity, -ambition, love, and disappointment in the course of the last half-year, -to be in need of the true kindness of her sister’s heart, and the -rational tranquillity of her ways. They lived together; and when Dr. -Grant had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary -dinners in one week, they still lived together; for Mary, though -perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a younger brother -again, was long in finding among the dashing representatives, or idle -heir-apparents, who were at the command of her beauty, and her £20,000, -any one who could satisfy the better taste she had acquired at -Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorise a hope of the -domestic happiness she had there learned to estimate, or put Edmund -Bertram sufficiently out of her head. - -Edmund had greatly the advantage of her in this respect. He had not to -wait and wish with vacant affections for an object worthy to succeed -her in them. Scarcely had he done regretting Mary Crawford, and -observing to Fanny how impossible it was that he should ever meet with -such another woman, before it began to strike him whether a very -different kind of woman might not do just as well, or a great deal -better: whether Fanny herself were not growing as dear, as important to -him in all her smiles and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been; -and whether it might not be a possible, a hopeful undertaking to -persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be -foundation enough for wedded love. - -I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may be -at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable -passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much as -to time in different people. I only entreat everybody to believe that -exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should be so, and -not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and -became as anxious to marry Fanny as Fanny herself could desire. - -With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a regard -founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and -completed by every recommendation of growing worth, what could be more -natural than the change? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had -been doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so great a -degree formed by his care, and her comfort depending on his kindness, -an object to him of such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his -own importance with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there -now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to -sparkling dark ones. And being always with her, and always talking -confidentially, and his feelings exactly in that favourable state which -a recent disappointment gives, those soft light eyes could not be very -long in obtaining the pre-eminence. - -Having once set out, and felt that he had done so on this road to -happiness, there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop him or -make his progress slow; no doubts of her deserving, no fears of -opposition of taste, no need of drawing new hopes of happiness from -dissimilarity of temper. Her mind, disposition, opinions, and habits -wanted no half-concealment, no self-deception on the present, no -reliance on future improvement. Even in the midst of his late -infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny’s mental superiority. What must -be his sense of it now, therefore? She was of course only too good for -him; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very -steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not -possible that encouragement from her should be long wanting. Timid, -anxious, doubting as she was, it was still impossible that such -tenderness as hers should not, at times, hold out the strongest hope of -success, though it remained for a later period to tell him the whole -delightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in knowing himself to -have been so long the beloved of such a heart, must have been great -enough to warrant any strength of language in which he could clothe it -to her or to himself; it must have been a delightful happiness. But -there was happiness elsewhere which no description can reach. Let no -one presume to give the feelings of a young woman on receiving the -assurance of that affection of which she has scarcely allowed herself -to entertain a hope. - -Their own inclinations ascertained, there were no difficulties behind, -no drawback of poverty or parent. It was a match which Sir Thomas’s -wishes had even forestalled. Sick of ambitious and mercenary -connexions, prizing more and more the sterling good of principle and -temper, and chiefly anxious to bind by the strongest securities all -that remained to him of domestic felicity, he had pondered with genuine -satisfaction on the more than possibility of the two young friends -finding their natural consolation in each other for all that had -occurred of disappointment to either; and the joyful consent which met -Edmund’s application, the high sense of having realised a great -acquisition in the promise of Fanny for a daughter, formed just such a -contrast with his early opinion on the subject when the poor little -girl’s coming had been first agitated, as time is for ever producing -between the plans and decisions of mortals, for their own instruction, -and their neighbours’ entertainment. - -Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His charitable kindness -had been rearing a prime comfort for himself. His liberality had a rich -repayment, and the general goodness of his intentions by her deserved -it. He might have made her childhood happier; but it had been an error -of judgment only which had given him the appearance of harshness, and -deprived him of her early love; and now, on really knowing each other, -their mutual attachment became very strong. After settling her at -Thornton Lacey with every kind attention to her comfort, the object of -almost every day was to see her there, or to get her away from it. - -Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady Bertram, she could not be -parted with willingly by _her_. No happiness of son or niece could make -her wish the marriage. But it was possible to part with her, because -Susan remained to supply her place. Susan became the stationary niece, -delighted to be so; and equally well adapted for it by a readiness of -mind, and an inclination for usefulness, as Fanny had been by sweetness -of temper, and strong feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be -spared. First as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as -her substitute, she was established at Mansfield, with every appearance -of equal permanency. Her more fearless disposition and happier nerves -made everything easy to her there. With quickness in understanding the -tempers of those she had to deal with, and no natural timidity to -restrain any consequent wishes, she was soon welcome and useful to all; -and after Fanny’s removal succeeded so naturally to her influence over -the hourly comfort of her aunt, as gradually to become, perhaps, the -most beloved of the two. In _her_ usefulness, in Fanny’s excellence, in -William’s continued good conduct and rising fame, and in the general -well-doing and success of the other members of the family, all -assisting to advance each other, and doing credit to his countenance -and aid, Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated, reason to -rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknowledge the -advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the consciousness of -being born to struggle and endure. - -With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune and -friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as secure as -earthly happiness can be. Equally formed for domestic life, and -attached to country pleasures, their home was the home of affection and -comfort; and to complete the picture of good, the acquisition of -Mansfield living, by the death of Dr. Grant, occurred just after they -had been married long enough to begin to want an increase of income, -and feel their distance from the paternal abode an inconvenience. - -On that event they removed to Mansfield; and the Parsonage there, -which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able -to approach but with some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon -grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as -everything else within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had -long been. - -FINIS. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MANSFIELD PARK *** - -***** This file should be named 141-0.txt or 141-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/141/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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