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diff --git a/old/141-h/141-h.htm b/old/141-h/141-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1e8834b..0000000 --- a/old/141-h/141-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19102 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen</title> - -<style type="text/css"> - -body { margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; - text-align: justify; } - -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: -normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} - -h1 {font-size: 300%; - margin-top: 0.6em; - margin-bottom: 0.6em; - letter-spacing: 0.12em; - word-spacing: 0.2em; - text-indent: 0em;} -h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} -h4 {font-size: 120%;} -h5 {font-size: 110%;} - -.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} - -hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} - -p {text-indent: 1em; - margin-top: 0.25em; - margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-size: 90%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.center {text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.right {text-align: right; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} -a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} -a:hover {color:red} - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Mansfield Park</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jane Austen</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June, 1994 [eBook #141]<br /> -[Last updated: September 21, 2022]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MANSFIELD PARK ***</div> - -<h1>MANSFIELD PARK</h1> - -<h4>(1814)</h4> - -<h2 class="no-break">By Jane Austen</h2> - -<hr /> - -<h2>Contents</h2> - -<table summary="" style=""> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0033">CHAPTER XXXIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0034">CHAPTER XXXIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0035">CHAPTER XXXV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0036">CHAPTER XXXVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0037">CHAPTER XXXVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0038">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0039">CHAPTER XXXIX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0040">CHAPTER XL</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0041">CHAPTER XLI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0042">CHAPTER XLII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0043">CHAPTER XLIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0044">CHAPTER XLIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0045">CHAPTER XLV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0046">CHAPTER XLVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0047">CHAPTER XLVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> -<a href="#link2HCH0048">CHAPTER XLVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>yours</i>, 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, -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</i> will engage to -get the child to Mansfield; <i>you</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Lady Bertram made no opposition. -</p> - -<p> -“I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl,” continued Mrs. -Norris, “and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having such -friends.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>younger</i> 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 <i>them</i>, and everything to hope -for <i>her</i>, from the association.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>them</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“I hope she will not tease my poor pug,” said Lady Bertram; -“I have but just got Julia to leave it alone.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>daughters</i> 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 <i>Miss Bertram</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>was</i> -her home, and she cannot as yet understand how much she has changed for the -better; but then there is moderation in all things.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, very.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, cousin, will it go to the post?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“My uncle!” repeated Fanny, with a frightened look. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it to my father to -frank.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>them</i>. 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>the</i> <i>Island</i>, 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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>were</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her aunt’s words, -“Going to leave you?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I shall be very sorry to go away,” said she, with a faltering -voice. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I dare say you will; <i>that’s</i> natural enough. I suppose -you have had as little to vex you since you came into this house as any -creature in the world.” -</p> - -<p> -“I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt,” said Fanny modestly. -</p> - -<p> -“No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you a very good -girl.” -</p> - -<p> -“And am I never to live here again?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I should call -it an excellent one.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, cousin!” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>must</i> be important to -her.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can never be important to any one.” -</p> - -<p> -“What is to prevent you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>Here</i> there are too many whom you can hide behind; but with -<i>her</i> you will be forced to speak for yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! do not say so.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>Here</i>, I know, I am of none, and yet I love the place so -well.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>your</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when Fanny goes -to live with you.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris almost started. “Live with me, dear Lady Bertram! what do you -mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Is she not to live with you? I thought you had settled it with Sir -Thomas.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thought it best.” -</p> - -<p> -“But what did he say? He could not say he <i>wished</i> me to take Fanny. -I am sure in his heart he could not wish me to do it.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>have</i> <i>been</i> 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 <i>must</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I dare say you will. You always do, don’t you?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, you know, Sir Thomas’s means will be rather straitened if the -Antigua estate is to make such poor returns.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! <i>that</i> will soon be settled. Sir Thomas has been writing about -it, I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> <i>time</i>, 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. <i>Her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>protegee</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Henry bowed and thanked her. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“My dear brother, I will not believe this of you.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>last</i> best gift.’” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no disinclination -to the state herself. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“So they are indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it. But you like -Julia best.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes! I like Julia best.” -</p> - -<p> -“But do you really? for Miss Bertram is in general thought the -handsomest.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you <i>will</i> like her best -at last.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do not I tell you that I like her best <i>at</i> <i>first</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Remember that, my dear brother. -Her choice is made.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, as to that, Mr. Rushworth is a very good sort of young man, and it -is a great match for her.” -</p> - -<p> -“But Miss Bertram does not care three straws for him; <i>that</i> is your -opinion of your intimate friend. <i>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mary, how shall we manage him?” -</p> - -<p> -“We must leave him to himself, I believe. Talking does no good. He will -be taken in at last.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I would not have him <i>taken</i> <i>in</i>; I would not have him -duped; I would have it all fair and honourable.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not always in marriage, dear Mary.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>is</i> so; and I feel that it <i>must</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in Hill Street.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well done, sister! I honour your <i>esprit</i> <i>du</i> <i>corps</i>. -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>He</i> 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 <i>should</i> like the -eldest best. She knew it was her way. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -And Fanny, what was <i>she</i> doing and thinking all this while? and what was -<i>her</i> 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 -<i>him</i>. 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 <i>out</i>; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly -suppose she <i>is</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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! <i>That</i> 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 <i>you</i> have sometimes met with -such changes.” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You -are quizzing me and Miss Anderson.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am -quite in the dark. But I <i>will</i> quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, if -you will tell me what about.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>out</i>, 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 <i>out</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Those who are showing the world what female manners <i>should</i> -be,” said Mr. Bertram gallantly, “are doing a great deal to set -them right.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>before</i> they appear in public than -afterwards.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, <i>that</i> 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 <i>out</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>her</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>now</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, for shame!” cried Mrs. Norris. “A prison indeed? -Sotherton Court is the noblest old place in the world.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>every</i> improvement in time which his heart can desire.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly, -“would be Mr. Repton, I imagine.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, and if they were <i>ten</i>,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am -sure <i>you</i> 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 -<i>that</i> disheartened me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I -used to talk of. If it had not been for <i>that</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of his acquiescence, and tried -to make out something complimentary; but, between his submission to <i>her</i> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“The avenue! Oh! I do not recollect it. I really know very little of -Sotherton.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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.’” -</p> - -<p> -He smiled as he answered, “I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, -Fanny.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you will tell me how it -has been altered.” -</p> - -<p> -“I collect,” said Miss Crawford, “that Sotherton is an old -place, and a place of some grandeur. In any particular style of -building?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself, “He is a -well-bred man; he makes the best of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> would know what you were about, of course; but that would not -suit <i>me</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It would be delightful to <i>me</i> to see the progress of it -all,” said Fanny. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>in</i> <i>hand</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever means, and hope -there will be no further delay.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>his</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You could not be expected to have thought on the subject before; but -when you <i>do</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, at present, -foresee any occasion for writing.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“When they are at a distance from all their family,” said Fanny, -colouring for William’s sake, “they can write long letters.” -</p> - -<p> -“Miss Price has a brother at sea,” said Edmund, “whose -excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us.” -</p> - -<p> -“At sea, has she? In the king’s service, of course?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain?” said Edmund; -“Captain Marshall? You have a large acquaintance in the navy, I -conclude?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>us</i>. 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 -<i>Rears</i> and <i>Vices</i> I saw enough. Now do not be suspecting me of a -pun, I entreat.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, “It is a noble -profession.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>me</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect of -hearing her play. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“My dear Henry, have <i>you</i> 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 -<i>used</i> 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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are fond of the sort of thing?” said Julia. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly,” -said Julia. “<i>You</i> can never want employment. Instead of envying Mr. -Rushworth, you should assist him with your opinion.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>their</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p> -“Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford <i>now</i>?” said -Edmund the next day, after thinking some time on the subject himself. -“How did you like her yesterday?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong; very -indecorous.” -</p> - -<p> -“And very ungrateful, I think.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle has any claim -to her <i>gratitude</i>; 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 <i>opinions</i>; but there -certainly <i>is</i> impropriety in making them public.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>me</i> so, under any circumstances. And what right had she to suppose that -<i>you</i> would not write long letters when you were absent?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> 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: -<i>she</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> 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 <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i> may not be fatigued by so much -exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I was sure she would ride well,” said Julia; “she has the -make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother’s.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride the next -day. -</p> - -<p> -“No, I do not know—not if you want the mare,” was her answer. -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>She</i> rides only for pleasure; -<i>you</i> for health.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> 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 -<i>not</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, not that I know of,” replied Mrs. Norris; “she was here -a moment ago.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>we</i> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Fanny,” said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, “I am -sure you have the headache.” -</p> - -<p> -She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad. -</p> - -<p> -“I can hardly believe you,” he replied; “I know your looks -too well. How long have you had it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat.” -</p> - -<p> -“Did you go out in the heat?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>all</i> out? Even -your mother was out to-day for above an hour.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor thing! -<i>She</i> found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could not -wait.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>then</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“She has got it,” said Lady Bertram; “she has had it ever -since she came back from your house the second time.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>her</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma’am.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>wish</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no! I cannot do without Fanny.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>one</i> might go with -him. -</p> - -<p> -“But why is it necessary,” said Edmund, “that -Crawford’s carriage, or his <i>only</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Besides,” said Maria, “I know that Mr. Crawford depends upon -taking us. After what passed at first, he would claim it as a promise.” -</p> - -<p> -“And, my dear Edmund,” added Mrs. Norris, “taking out -<i>two</i> carriages when <i>one</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant,” said Edmund, -“in going on the barouche box.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“There can be no objection, then, to Fanny’s going with you; there -can be no doubt of your having room for her.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You can have no reason, I imagine, madam,” said he, addressing his -mother, “for wishing Fanny <i>not</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“To be sure not, but I <i>cannot</i> do without her.” -</p> - -<p> -“You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes! very glad, if your aunt sees no objection.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>now</i>, arose more from -partiality for her own scheme, because it <i>was</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It seems very odd,” said Maria, “that you should be staying -at home instead of Fanny.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion requires,” was -Edmund’s only reply, and the subject dropt. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.’” -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>There</i> you must look for the banners and -the achievements.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was foolish of me not to think of all that; but I am -disappointed.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Every generation has its improvements,” said Miss Crawford, with a -smile, to Edmund. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr. Crawford; and Edmund, -Fanny, and Miss Crawford remained in a cluster together. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>That</i> is hardly Fanny’s idea of a family assembling,” -said Edmund. “If the master and mistress do <i>not</i> attend themselves, -there must be more harm than good in the custom.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>at</i> <i>times</i> 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 -<i>private</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“The mind which does not struggle against itself under <i>one</i> -circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the <i>other</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -“I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly,” was his reply, with a -look of meaning. -</p> - -<p> -Julia, joining them at the moment, carried on the joke. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Ordained!” said Miss Crawford; “what, are you to be a -clergyman?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; I shall take orders soon after my father’s -return—probably at Christmas.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>too</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite -universal. I am one of the exceptions, and <i>being</i> one, must do something -for myself.” -</p> - -<p> -“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought <i>that</i> was always the -lot of the youngest, where there were many to chuse before him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Never</i> is a black word. But yes, in the <i>never</i> of -conversation, which means <i>not</i> <i>very</i> <i>often</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“The <i>nothing</i> of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well -as the <i>never</i>. 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 <i>office</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> are speaking of London, <i>I</i> am speaking of the nation at -large.” -</p> - -<p> -“The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the rest.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>manners</i> I speak of might -rather be called <i>conduct</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly,” said Fanny, with gentle earnestness. -</p> - -<p> -“There,” cried Miss Crawford, “you have quite convinced Miss -Price already.” -</p> - -<p> -“I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Go into the law! With as much ease as I was told to go into this -wilderness.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You need not hurry when the object is only to prevent my saying a -<i>bon</i> <i>mot</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Your</i> attentiveness and consideration makes me more sensible of my -own neglect. Fanny’s interest seems in safer hands with you than with -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is an immense distance,” said she; “I see <i>that</i> -with a glance.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, there is nothing else to be done. But now, sincerely, do not you -find the place altogether worse than you expected?” -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</i> shall -ever see Sotherton again with so much pleasure as I do now. Another summer will -hardly improve it to me.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You think her more light-hearted than I am?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as Julia, but I have more to think -of now.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny explained. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment with the key. Do wait -for Mr. Rushworth.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is a pity he should have so much trouble for nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>That</i> is Miss Maria’s concern. I am not obliged to punish -myself for <i>her</i> sins. The mother I could not avoid, as long as my -tiresome aunt was dancing about with the housekeeper, but the son I <i>can</i> -get away from.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“They desired me to stay—my cousin Maria charged me to say that you -would find them at that knoll, or thereabouts.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -And he sat down with a most gloomy countenance by Fanny. -</p> - -<p> -“I am very sorry,” said she; “it is very unlucky.” And -she longed to be able to say something more to the purpose. -</p> - -<p> -After an interval of silence, “I think they might as well have staid for -me,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Miss Bertram thought you would follow her.” -</p> - -<p> -“I should not have had to follow her if she had staid.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not think him at all handsome.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and she did not know how to contradict him. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -On this <i>rencontre</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -Maria was just discontented enough to say directly, “I think <i>you</i> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“What else have you been spunging?” said Maria, half-pleased that -Sotherton should be so complimented. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>early</i> in November, there were generally delays, a bad passage or -<i>something</i>; that favouring <i>something</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund looked round at Mr. Rushworth too, but had nothing to say. -</p> - -<p> -“Your father’s return will be a very interesting event.” -</p> - -<p> -“It will, indeed, after such an absence; an absence not only long, but -including so many dangers.” -</p> - -<p> -“It will be the forerunner also of other interesting events: your -sister’s marriage, and your taking orders.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“My taking orders, I assure you, is quite as voluntary as Maria’s -marrying.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Which you suppose has biassed me?” -</p> - -<p> -“But <i>that</i> I am sure it has not,” cried Fanny. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“What! take orders without a living! No; that is madness indeed; absolute -madness.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I speak what appears to me the general opinion; and where an opinion is -general, it is usually correct. Though <i>I</i> have not seen much of the -domestic lives of clergymen, it is seen by too many to leave any deficiency of -information.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</i> see him to be an -indolent, selfish <i>bon</i> <i>vivant</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>frequency</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I think the man who could often quarrel with Fanny,” said Edmund -affectionately, “must be beyond the reach of any sermons.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -“I had a very apt scholar. There’s Arcturus looking very -bright.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, and the Bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia.” -</p> - -<p> -“We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be afraid?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any -star-gazing.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -Fanny sighed alone at the window till scolded away by Mrs. Norris’s -threats of catching cold. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“What a favourite he is with my cousins!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“If Miss Bertram were not engaged,” said Fanny cautiously, “I -could sometimes almost think that he admired her more than Julia.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, ma’am, indeed,” replied the other, with a stately -simper, “there will be some satisfaction in looking on <i>now</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at a loss. -</p> - -<p> -“The couple above, ma’am. Do you see no symptoms there?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh dear! Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty match. -What is his property?” -</p> - -<p> -“Four thousand a year.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is not a settled thing, ma’am, yet. We only speak of it among -friends. But I have very little doubt it <i>will</i> be. He is growing -extremely particular in his attentions.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>all</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>we</i> play but half-crowns, you know, -you may bet half-guineas with <i>him</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>That</i> 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.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>him</i> 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>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>him</i>; -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 <i>you</i> amends, -Yates, I think we must raise a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be -our manager.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“We must have a curtain,” said Tom Bertram; “a few yards of -green baize for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe we must be satisfied with <i>less</i>,” said Maria. -“There would not be time, and other difficulties would arise. We must -rather adopt Mr. Crawford’s views, and make the <i>performance</i>, not -the <i>theatre</i>, our object. Many parts of our best plays are independent of -scenery.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?” said Edmund, in a -low voice, as his brother approached the fire. -</p> - -<p> -“Not serious! never more so, I assure you. What is there to surprise you -in it?” -</p> - -<p> -“I think it would be very wrong. In a <i>general</i> light, private -theatricals are open to some objections, but as <i>we</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>very</i> anxious period for her.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Edmund smiled and shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“What is the matter?” asked her ladyship, in the heavy tone of one -half-roused; “I was not asleep.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>this</i> I <i>will</i> maintain, that -we shall be doing no harm.” -</p> - -<p> -“I cannot agree with you; I am convinced that my father would totally -disapprove it.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>be’d</i> and not <i>to</i> -<i>be’d</i>, in this very room, for his amusement? And I am sure, -<i>my</i> <i>name</i> <i>was</i> <i>Norval</i>, every evening of my life -through one Christmas holidays.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will be wrong as an -expense.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, as to acting myself,” said Edmund, “<i>that</i> I -absolutely protest against.” -</p> - -<p> -Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund was left to sit down and -stir the fire in thoughtful vexation. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>them</i>, -and that is all I can do.” -</p> - -<p> -“I should think my aunt Norris would be on your side.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>did</i> seem -inclined to admit that Maria’s situation might require particular caution -and delicacy—but that could not extend to <i>her</i>—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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates; on -the comic, Tom Bertram, not <i>quite</i> 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, <i>that</i> will never do! Let us have -no ranting tragedies. Too many characters. Not a tolerable woman’s part -in the play. Anything but <i>that</i>, 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. <i>That</i> might do, perhaps, but for the -low parts. If I <i>must</i> give my opinion, I have always thought it the most -insipid play in the English language. <i>I</i> do not wish to make objections; -I shall be happy to be of any use, but I think we could not chuse worse.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>double</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>us</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>his</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Crawford desired <i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I must entreat Miss <i>Julia</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, as to <i>that</i>, 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; <i>he</i> 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>I</i> would -undertake him with all my heart.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>allow</i> 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 <i>will</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“Miss Crawford must be Amelia. She will be an excellent Amelia.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do not be afraid of <i>my</i> wanting the character,” cried Julia, -with angry quickness: “I am <i>not</i> 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 <i>jealousy</i> without great pity. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> would do it worse,” -was doubtless receiving all the compliments it called for. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>the</i> <i>Theatre</i>, and Miss Bertram’s -resolving to go down to the Parsonage herself with the offer of Amelia to Miss -Crawford; and Fanny remained alone. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But what do you do for women?” said Edmund gravely, and looking at -Maria. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I should not have thought it the sort of play to be so easily filled up, -with <i>us</i>,” replied Edmund, turning away to the fire, where sat his -mother, aunt, and Fanny, and seating himself with a look of great vexation. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i>, that I think it exceedingly unfit for -private representation, and that I hope you will give it up. I cannot but -suppose you <i>will</i> 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 <i>father’s</i> judgment, I -am convinced.” -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</i> am not the <i>only</i> young woman you find -who thinks it very fit for private representation.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry for it,” was his answer; “but in this matter it -is <i>you</i> who are to lead. <i>You</i> 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 <i>your</i> conduct must be law to the rest of the -party.” -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>There</i> would be the greatest indecorum, I -think.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am convinced, madam,” said Edmund, preventing Fanny, “that -Sir Thomas would not like it.” -</p> - -<p> -“There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?” -</p> - -<p> -“If I were to decline the part,” said Maria, with renewed zeal, -“Julia would certainly take it.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” cried Edmund, “if she knew your reasons!” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! she might think the difference between us—the difference in -our situations—that <i>she</i> need not be so scrupulous as <i>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>that</i> -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 <i>am</i> 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>I’ll</i> 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!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>her</i>. “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. -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You chose very wisely, I am sure,” replied Miss Crawford, with a -brightened look; “Anhalt is a heavy part.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>The</i> <i>Count</i> has two-and-forty speeches,” returned Mr. -Rushworth, “which is no trifle.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your <i>brother</i> should take the part,” said Mr. Yates, in a -low voice. “Do not you think he would?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I</i> shall not ask him,” replied Tom, in a cold, determined -manner. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford talked of something else, and soon afterwards rejoined the party -at the fire. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i>. What shall we do for an Anhalt? Is it -practicable for any of the others to double it? What is your advice?” -</p> - -<p> -“My advice,” said he calmly, “is that you change the -play.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I</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 <i>that</i> <i>table</i>” -(looking round), “it certainly will not be taken.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund said no more. -</p> - -<p> -“If <i>any</i> part could tempt <i>you</i> to act, I suppose it would be -Anhalt,” observed the lady archly, after a short pause; “for he is -a clergyman, you know.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>That</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Fanny,” cried Tom Bertram, from the other table, where the -conference was eagerly carrying on, and the conversation incessant, “we -want your services.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! we do not want to disturb you from your seat. We do not want your -<i>present</i> services. We shall only want you in our play. You must be -Cottager’s wife.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, yes, you can act well enough for <i>us</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>place</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>she</i> could work as well, and begging for the pattern, and supposing Fanny -was now preparing for her <i>appearance</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>him</i> be applied to, if you please, for it will be less -unpleasant to me than to have a perfect stranger.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>his</i> speeches, and a great many of <i>my</i> -<i>own</i>, before we rehearse together. It will be very disagreeable, and by -no means what I expected.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>ought</i> <i>to</i> <i>do</i>; and as she walked round the room her doubts -were increasing. Was she <i>right</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, certainly.” -</p> - -<p> -“I want to consult. I want your opinion.” -</p> - -<p> -“My opinion!” she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, highly -as it gratified her. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>more</i> 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, <i>if</i> <i>possible</i>, -be prevented. Do not you see it in the same light?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; but what can be done? Your brother is so determined.” -</p> - -<p> -“There is but <i>one</i> thing to be done, Fanny. I must take Anhalt -myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet Tom.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny could not answer him. -</p> - -<p> -“It is not at all what I like,” he continued. “No man can -like being driven into the <i>appearance</i> of such inconsistency. After being -known to oppose the scheme from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face -of my joining them <i>now</i>, when they are exceeding their first plan in -every respect; but I can think of no other alternative. Can you, Fanny?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Fanny slowly, “not immediately, but—” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>may</i>, of -the unpleasantness that <i>must</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, it will be a great point.” -</p> - -<p> -“But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any other measure -by which I have a chance of doing equal good?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I cannot think of anything else.” -</p> - -<p> -“Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfortable without -it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, cousin!” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> would have entered more -into Miss Crawford’s feelings.” -</p> - -<p> -“No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief to her,” -said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner. -</p> - -<p> -“She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour to you last night. -It gave her a very strong claim on my goodwill.” -</p> - -<p> -“She <i>was</i> very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her -spared”... -</p> - -<p> -She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience stopt her in the -middle, but Edmund was satisfied. -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>You</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -They behaved very well, however, to <i>him</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps,” said Tom, “Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us -now. Perhaps you may persuade <i>her</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> 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: <i>her</i> -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 <i>her</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry,” was her -observation to Mary. -</p> - -<p> -“I dare say she is,” replied Mary coldly. “I imagine both -sisters are.” -</p> - -<p> -“Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of it. Think of -Mr. Rushworth!” -</p> - -<p> -“You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may do -<i>her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I dare say he <i>will</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense<br /> -To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -I will parody them— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -Blest Knight! whose dictatorial looks dispense<br /> -To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Will not that do, Mrs. Grant? Everything seems to depend upon Sir -Thomas’s return.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>Julia</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I would not give much for Mr. Rushworth’s chance if Henry stept in -before the articles were signed.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Julia <i>did</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> - -<p> -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 -<i>his</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> -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: -<i>his</i> 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 <i>him</i>. 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>tolerable</i> of -them, nobody had the smallest idea of that except his mother; <i>she</i>, -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>You</i> are best off, I can tell you: -but if nobody did more than <i>you</i>, we should not get on very fast.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any defence; but her -kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf— -</p> - -<p> -“One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny <i>should</i> 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>I</i> mean -to look in at their rehearsals too. What is the play about, Fanny? you have -never told me.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>believe</i> they had yet rehearsed it, -even in private. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>so</i> 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 -<i>were</i>, I do not think I could go through it with <i>him</i>, till I have -hardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two. You will be so -good, won’t you?” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could not give them in a -very steady voice. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>that</i> speech, and -<i>that</i>, and <i>that</i>. 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 <i>you</i> him, and -get on by degrees. You <i>have</i> a look of <i>his</i> sometimes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness; but I must -<i>read</i> the part, for I can say very little of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>None</i> 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 <i>they</i> are not perfect, I <i>shall</i> 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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>maternal</i> in her manner, so completely -<i>maternal</i> in her voice and countenance.’ Was not that well done of -me? He brightened up directly. Now for my soliloquy.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>them</i>. 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. -</p> - -<p> -<i>She</i> could not equal them in their warmth. <i>Her</i> 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 -<i>more</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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”. -</p> - -<p> -Here was disappointment! Mrs. Grant’s non-attendance was sad indeed. Her -pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made her always valuable amongst them; -but <i>now</i> 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 <i>read</i> the -part.” She was immediately surrounded by supplications; everybody asked -it; even Edmund said, “Do, Fanny, if it is not <i>very</i> disagreeable -to you.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“You have only to <i>read</i> the part,” said Henry Crawford, with -renewed entreaty. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny could not say she did <i>not</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -They <i>did</i> 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.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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>I</i> need not be afraid of appearing before -him.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>was</i> come; and besides, he did not think it would be -fair by the others to have everybody run away.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>very</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>almost</i> -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 -<i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness to her sister. Not that -<i>she</i> 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 -<i>manner</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed! and what have you been acting?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! they’ll tell you all about it.” -</p> - -<p> -“The <i>all</i> 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>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“Something must be done,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“This was, in fact, the origin of <i>our</i> 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 <i>your</i> having so often encouraged the -sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground again.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>he</i> 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 -<i>him</i>! Look so to all the others, but not to <i>him</i>!” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise at the -speaker. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>not</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> - -<p> -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. <i>Her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>general</i> 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. <i>There</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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—” -</p> - -<p> -“My dear Sir Thomas, if you had seen the state of the roads <i>that</i> -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 <i>that</i> I did not regard. My object was -accomplished in the visit.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.’” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>eclaircissement</i> 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 <i>his</i> absence. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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, <i>that</i> 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 <i>that</i> would -be from the first. It is early for Bath. You will find nobody there.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is about my uncle’s usual time.” -</p> - -<p> -“When do you think of going?” -</p> - -<p> -“I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> activity to keep pace with her wishes? -</p> - -<p> -Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise. In <i>his</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think so?” said Fanny: “in my opinion, my uncle would -not like <i>any</i> 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”. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i> -more than many other things have done; but then I am unlike other people, I -dare say.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why should you dare say <i>that</i>?” (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.” -</p> - -<p> -Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite embarrassed her. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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— -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> 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 -<i>many</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -He had expected a very different son-in-law; and beginning to feel grave on -Maria’s account, tried to understand <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>him</i>, rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, for -<i>his</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But they are passed over,” said Fanny. “I have been watching -them. This weather is all from the south.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>more</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say; and Fanny, -perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what she thought must interest. -</p> - -<p> -“It may seem impertinent in <i>me</i> 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!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” replied Miss Crawford carelessly, “it does very well -for a place of this sort. One does not think of extent <i>here</i>; 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Too</i> quiet for you, I believe.” -</p> - -<p> -“I should have thought so <i>theoretically</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>half</i> 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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> 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 -<i>that</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>Edmund</i> Bertram so formal, so pitiful, so -younger-brother-like, that I detest it.” -</p> - -<p> -“How differently we feel!” cried Fanny. “To me, the sound of -<i>Mr.</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I grant you the name is good in itself, and <i>Lord</i> Edmund or -<i>Sir</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>him</i> -from the first; but you, Mrs. Grant, my sister, my own sister, I think I had a -right to alarm you a little.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>will</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!” said Miss -Crawford archly. “Commend me to the nurseryman and the poulterer.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! you can do nothing but what you do already: be plagued very often, -and never lose your temper.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You intend to be very rich?” said Edmund, with a look which, to -Fanny’s eye, had a great deal of serious meaning. -</p> - -<p> -“To be sure. Do not you? Do not we all?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least rise to any -distinction?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>That</i> 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 <i>are</i> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>did</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“If you cannot do without me, ma’am—” said Fanny, in a -self-denying tone. -</p> - -<p> -“But my mother will have my father with her all the evening.” -</p> - -<p> -“To be sure, so I shall.” -</p> - -<p> -“Suppose you take my father’s opinion, ma’am.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“As you please, ma’am, on that head; but I meant my father’s -opinion as to the <i>propriety</i> 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 <i>first</i> invitation it should be accepted.” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised that -Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the -surprise. -</p> - -<p> -“Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?” -</p> - -<p> -“She will be late,” said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; -“but what is your difficulty?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But is it not very natural,” observed Edmund, “that Mrs. -Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>first</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed I think you may.” -</p> - -<p> -“She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, and -I shall certainly be at home.” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund.” -</p> - -<p> -The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way to his -own. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you, I am <i>so</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>you</i>; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. -Grant thinks it a civility due to <i>us</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you would -not be allowed to go. <i>I</i> shall be here, so you may be quite easy about -your aunt. And I hope you will have a very <i>agreeable</i> day, and find it -all mighty <i>delightful</i>. 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 <i>elegant</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> 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. <i>That</i> 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 <i>that</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, ma’am, I should not think of anything else.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“My dear Sir Thomas!” cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, -“Fanny can walk.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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— -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard and -coach-house. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on seeing -him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected <i>his</i> 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!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they not? -And Julia is with them.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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! <i>He</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny coloured, and said nothing. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, said, with a -firmer tone than usual, “As far as <i>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now -observed, “Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to -discuss.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>menus</i> <i>plaisirs</i>; and a -sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of -sacrifice.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>menus</i> <i>plaisirs</i> were to be limited to seven hundred a -year.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps I might; but all <i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford <i>could</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will he not feel this?” thought Fanny. “No, he can feel -nothing as he ought.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>had</i> 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 <i>he</i> could so command his affections, -<i>hers</i> should do her no harm. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -“To walk and ride with me, to be sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but <i>that</i> would -be exercise only to my body, and I must take care of my mind. Besides, -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be satisfied with her two -cousins.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>tout</i> <i>ensemble</i>, is so -indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches, at least, since -October.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>little</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> which Sir Thomas could not but observe with -complacency, even before Edmund had pointed it out to him. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>would</i> -<i>have</i> <i>thought</i> that Mr. Crawford was the admirer of Fanny Price. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation; which will amuse me -most?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I hope your ladyship is pleased with the game.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It sounds like it,” said Edmund; “but which way did you turn -after passing Sewell’s farm?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>not</i> Thornton Lacey—for such it certainly -was.” -</p> - -<p> -“You inquired, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I never inquire. But I <i>told</i> a man mending a hedge that it was -Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it.” -</p> - -<p> -“You have a good memory. I had forgotten having ever told you half so -much of the place.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” continued Edmund, “and how did you like what you -saw?” -</p> - -<p> -“Very much indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will be work for five -summers at least before the place is liveable.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>there</i> 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 <i>will</i> <i>be</i> the -garden, as well as what now <i>is</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>That</i> 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 <i>place</i>. 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. <i>You</i> think with me, I hope” (turning with a softened -voice to Fanny). “Have you ever seen the place?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Fanny had much rather it were William’s,” said Edmund, -smiling at her. “Poor Fanny! not allowed to cheat herself as she -wishes!” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>planning</i> judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see things very -differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> 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 <i>perfecting</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, “It is the only way, sir, in which -I could <i>not</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on; but, on -understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence. -</p> - -<p> -“I repeat again,” added Sir Thomas, “that Thornton Lacey is -the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should <i>not</i> be happy to -wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier.” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks. -</p> - -<p> -“Sir Thomas,” said Edmund, “undoubtedly understands the duty -of a parish priest. We must hope his son may prove that <i>he</i> knows it -too.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>not</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -All the agreeable of <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“This is the assembly night,” said William. “If I were at -Portsmouth I should be at it, perhaps.” -</p> - -<p> -“But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>is</i> nothing, indeed. You remember -the Gregorys; they are grown up amazing fine girls, but they will hardly speak -to <i>me</i>, because Lucy is courted by a lieutenant.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i>; 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny. Everybody gets -made but me.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, very; only I am soon tired.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>would</i>, 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?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>one</i> person in company who does not like to have Miss -Price spoken of.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrangement, previously -communicated to his wife and sister; but <i>that</i> seemed forgotten by Mrs. -Norris, who must fancy that she settled it all herself. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> - -<p> -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—” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>they</i> were at home to grace the ball, a -ball you would have this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, William, thank your -uncle!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> must be the -doer of everything: Lady Bertram would of course be spared all thought and -exertion, and it would all fall upon <i>her</i>. 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> -no trouble, and as she had foreseen, “there was, in fact, no trouble in -the business.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a thought. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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!” -</p> - -<p> -He turned back. -</p> - -<p> -“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—” -</p> - -<p> -“If that is all you have to say, Fanny” smiling and turning away -again. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no, it is not. I want to consult you.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it <i>be</i> 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 <i>could</i> <i>be</i>, but they -have been invariable; and to be returning them with what must have something -the <i>air</i> of ingratitude, though I know it could never have the -<i>meaning</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>coming</i> <i>out</i>; 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 <i>she</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I have not been out at all.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse. You had better -have gone out.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>will</i>. 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>think</i> evil, but she speaks it, speaks it in playfulness; and though -I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul.” -</p> - -<p> -“The effect of education,” said Fanny gently. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>me</i>. I am not competent.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“One thing more. Excuse the liberty; but take care <i>how</i> you talk to -me. Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter you may be sorry for. The time -may come—” -</p> - -<p> -The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Lady Bertram, “she looks very well. I sent -Chapman to her.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> 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 <i>à la mortal</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> 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 <i>her</i> <i>uncle</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>her</i> to be opening the ball—and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped -they would not envy her that distinction <i>now</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of gratifying <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrassment allowed. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>him</i> 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 <i>you</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I go. Sleep as -long as you can, and never mind me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! William.” -</p> - -<p> -“What! Did she think of being up before you set off?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i>.” 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>con</i> <i>amore</i> as her uncle intended, but it was -<i>con</i> <i>amore</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>that</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a whole day -together, and <i>he</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>ought</i> to feel was advanced for her use; and -everything that an affectionate mother <i>must</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i>, she is now -quite as necessary to <i>us</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Lady Bertram presently; “and it is a comfort to -think that we shall always have <i>her</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“And <i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>you</i> -like your cousin Edmund’s staying away so long? Being the only young -person at home, I consider <i>you</i> as the greatest sufferer. You must miss -him. Does his staying longer surprise you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not know,” said Fanny hesitatingly. “Yes; I had not -particularly expected it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is the general -way all young men do.” -</p> - -<p> -“He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before.” -</p> - -<p> -“He finds the house more agreeable <i>now</i>. 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>few</i> days longer, or <i>some</i> days longer; I am not quite sure -which.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Three grown up.” -</p> - -<p> -“Are they musical?” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not at all know. I never heard.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know nothing of the Miss Owens,” said Fanny calmly. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny felt obliged to speak. “You cannot doubt your being missed by -many,” said she. “You will be very much missed.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>am</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Fanny stoutly, “I do not expect it at all.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I do not,” said Fanny softly, hoping she did not err either in -the belief or the acknowledgment of it. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> - -<p> -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 <i>did</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“Sitting with them an hour and a half!” exclaimed Mary. -</p> - -<p> -But this was only the beginning of her surprise. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lucky, lucky girl!” cried Mary, as soon as she could speak; -“what a match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my <i>first</i> -feeling; but my <i>second</i>, 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 <i>true</i> friends in it! How <i>they</i> will -rejoice! But tell me all about it! Talk to me for ever. When did you begin to -think seriously about her?” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“What are you waiting for?” -</p> - -<p> -“For—for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is not like -her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>without</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her,” said he; -“and <i>that</i> is what I want.” -</p> - -<p> -Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of Fanny -Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in her prospects. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” cried Mary; “settle in Northamptonshire! That is -pleasant! Then we shall be all together.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“You will divide your year between London and Northamptonshire?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“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! <i>You</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>this</i> 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 <i>loved</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, Henry, not by all; not forgotten by all; not friendless or -forgotten. Her cousin Edmund never forgets her.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>do</i> -they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world, to what I -<i>shall</i> do?” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>does</i> prove it. <i>Now</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Has this been all <i>your</i> doing, then?” cried Fanny. -“Good heaven! how very, very kind! Have you really—was it by -<i>your</i> desire? I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral -Crawford apply? How was it? I am stupefied.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>deepest</i> <i>interest</i>, in <i>twofold</i> -<i>motives</i>, in <i>views</i> <i>and</i> <i>wishes</i> <i>more</i> -<i>than</i> <i>could</i> <i>be</i> <i>told</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>not</i> thinking of me. I know it is all nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -But William was a lieutenant. <i>That</i> 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! -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -“M<small>Y DEAR</small> F<small>ANNY</small>,—for so I may now -always call you, to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at -<i>Miss</i> <i>Price</i> 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. -</p> - -<p class="right"> -Yours affectionately,<br /> -M. C.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>appear</i> 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 <i>his</i> were immediately -directed towards her. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas -as with any part of it. “<i>Now</i> 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 -<i>her</i> 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 <i>her</i>, with <i>her</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am glad you gave him something considerable,” said Lady Bertram, -with most unsuspicious calmness, “for <i>I</i> gave him only -£10.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir Thomas told me £10 would be enough.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began to -take the matter in another point. -</p> - -<p> -“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>I</i> do -for them.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>against</i> 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 <i>she</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes! certainly,” cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of -embarrassment and of wanting to get away—“I will write -directly.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -“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, -</p> - -<p class="right"> -I remain, dear Miss Crawford,<br /> -&c., &c.” -</p> - -<p> -The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found -that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the note, was coming towards -her. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>that</i> to Miss Crawford.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She hesitated. -</p> - -<p> -“I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year.” -</p> - -<p> -“But you have a fire in general?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>cannot</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>has</i> <i>been</i>, 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 <i>they</i> were not least -your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of -condition which <i>seemed</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After a moment’s -pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went on. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>now</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>him</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -She could say no more; her breath was almost gone. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I to understand,” said Sir Thomas, after a few moments’ -silence, “that you mean to <i>refuse</i> Mr. Crawford?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Refuse him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what reason?” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh yes, sir! indeed I do. His attentions were always—what I did -not like.” -</p> - -<p> -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—” -</p> - -<p> -He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a <i>no</i>, 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 <i>that</i> is quite -out of the question; quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be -said.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford’s <i>choice</i> -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. <i>He</i>, 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>dislike</i> on her side would have been sufficient. To her infinite -grief she found it was not. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>had</i>, 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 <i>they</i> might be benefited, how <i>they</i> must rejoice in -such an establishment for you, is nothing to <i>you</i>. 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 <i>half</i> the eligibility of <i>this</i>, 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. <i>You</i> 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 -<i>ingratitude</i>—” -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -“I am very sorry,” said she inarticulately, through her tears, -“I am very sorry indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sorry! yes, I hope you are sorry; and you will probably have reason to -be long sorry for this day’s transactions.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Another burst of tears; but in spite of that burst, and in spite of that great -black word <i>miserable</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!” said -she, in soliloquy. “Heaven defend me from being ungrateful!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place,” said -Sir Thomas. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>at</i> Fanny, and resenting this -private walk half through the dinner. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Everything was said that could encourage, every encouragement received with -grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the best of friends. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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—” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>was</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>once</i>, I told Sir Thomas I must <i>once</i>, 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!” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; when, hoping to assail her on -her vulnerable side, she presently answered— -</p> - -<p> -“My dear aunt, <i>you</i> cannot wish me to do differently from what I -have done, I am sure. <i>You</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>good</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“That play must be a favourite with you,” said he; “you read -as if you knew it well.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir, you do me honour,” was Crawford’s answer, with a bow of -mock gravity. -</p> - -<p> -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; <i>that</i> must content them. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined <i>not</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>allow</i> my -thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to—even -supposing—” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Edmund laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you -can—” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. <i>They</i> shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved -by anybody, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her spirits were low. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, “If you hear of it from -everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to tell.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am afraid we think too differently for me to find any relief in -talking of what I feel.” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you were against me. This -is such a comfort!” -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -“My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. I may be -sorry, I may be surprised—though hardly <i>that</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I mean,” she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself, “that I -<i>think</i> I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for; I think I -never shall return his regard.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>wish</i> to love him—the natural wish of gratitude. You must -have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorry for your own -indifference.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>could</i> like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. -We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong. You are -quite enough alike. You <i>have</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>temper</i> that I consider him as totally unsuited to myself; though, in -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“As a bystander,” said Fanny, “perhaps I saw more than you -did; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Before the play, I am much mistaken if <i>Julia</i> did not think he was -paying her attentions.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious -subjects.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 -<i>feelings</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I would not engage in such a charge,” cried Fanny, in a shrinking -accent; “in such an office of high responsibility!” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I knew she would be very angry with me.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>should</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Mrs. Grant, did she say—did she speak; was she there all the -time?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“I <i>should</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>must</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You were near staying there?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“You spent your time pleasantly there?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“The Miss Owens—you liked them, did not you?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>had</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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?” -</p> - -<p> -Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely -self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet remembrances. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>that</i>; 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>heart</i> 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 <i>she</i> was rather my most particular -friend of the two, but I have not cared much for <i>her</i> these three -years.” -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> first spoke again. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Another short fit of abstraction followed, when, shaking it off, she thus -attacked her companion. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>sensation</i> 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 <i>exigeant</i>, 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 <i>is</i> 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 -<i>had</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny’s face at that moment as -might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? -Oh! Miss Crawford, <i>that</i> was not fair.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say. -</p> - -<p> -“I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier,” continued Mary -presently, “than when he had succeeded in getting your brother’s -commission.” -</p> - -<p> -She had made a sure push at Fanny’s feelings here. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied these -words. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> so -much less painful than her fears had predicted. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -On the morrow the Crawfords were gone. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i>, and had so little -voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Edmund, too—to be two months from <i>him</i> (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. -</p> - -<p> -The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram’s being comfortable -without her. She was of use to no one else; but <i>there</i> 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 <i>he</i> could have accomplished at all. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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—<i>she</i> being ready to give up all her own time to her as -requested—and, in short, could not really be wanted or missed. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -He did not scruple to add that her being at home for a while would be a great -advantage to everybody. -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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>I</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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>him</i>; and it was not till it was over that she knew he was -giving her the affectionate farewell of a brother. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -Betsey went with alacrity, proud to shew her abilities before her fine new -sister. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ha!” cried William, “<i>that’s</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>seen</i> all the members of the family, she had not yet <i>heard</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>Within</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“What have you got there, my love?” said Fanny; “come and -shew it to me.” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>own</i> 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 <i>promised</i> her that Betsey should not have it in her own -hands.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour, and tenderness was -wounded by her sister’s speech and her mother’s reply. -</p> - -<p> -“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), “<i>you</i> have not the luck of such a -good godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such little people as -you.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> house reckoned too small for -anybody’s comfort. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Her disappointment in her mother was greater: <i>there</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>them</i>; 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>here</i>. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2> - -<p> -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 <i>passionnées</i> 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 <i>seemed</i> <i>very</i> 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 <i>force</i> 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 <i>young</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>in propria persona</i>, -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -It was a gentleman’s voice; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning -pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>near</i> 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! -</p> - -<p> -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! -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>She</i> was nice only from natural -delicacy, but <i>he</i> had been brought up in a school of luxury and -epicurism. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>said</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -“You have been here a month, I think?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“No; not quite a month. It is only four weeks to-morrow since I left -Mansfield.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call that a -month.” -</p> - -<p> -“I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening.” -</p> - -<p> -“And it is to be a two months’ visit, is not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it will not be -less.” -</p> - -<p> -“And how are you to be conveyed back again? Who comes for you?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -After a moment’s reflection, Mr. Crawford replied, “I know -Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards <i>you</i>. 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, -<i>that</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>not</i>; 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i>; 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?” -</p> - -<p> -“I advise! You know very well what is right.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your -judgment is my rule of right.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is there nothing I can do for you in town?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing; I am much obliged to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Have you no message for anybody?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Certainly; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write his excuses -myself.” -</p> - -<p> -He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer detained. He pressed her -hand, looked at her, and was gone. <i>He</i> 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 <i>she</i> turned in to -her more simple one immediately. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> - -<p> -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:— -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>you</i> 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 <i>we</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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! -<i>She</i> 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 <i>would</i> 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 -<i>he</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>appearing</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>she</i> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"></a>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>how</i>? 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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!” -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>them</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“My Dear Fanny,—I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming -intelligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern”. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>had</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"></a>CHAPTER XLV</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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? -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>That</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not known -before what pleasures she <i>had</i> 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! -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. <i>They</i> might return to Mansfield -when they chose; travelling could be no difficulty to <i>them</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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; <i>her</i> 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— -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>two</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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, <i>her</i> cold-hearted ambition, <i>his</i> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"></a>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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— -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>etourderie</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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?” -</p> - -<p> -A moment’s recollection enabled her to say, “Rushworth, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“And don’t they live in Wimpole Street?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>me</i>, 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.” -</p> - -<p> -Fanny read to herself that “it was with infinite concern the newspaper -had to announce to the world a matrimonial <i>fracas</i> 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.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is a mistake, sir,” said Fanny instantly; “it must be a -mistake, it cannot be true; it must mean some other people.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>hushed</i> <i>up</i>, 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 <i>who</i> were gone, or -<i>said</i> to be gone. It was not Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth; it was Mrs. -Rushworth and Mr. Crawford. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>engaged</i> 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. <i>His</i> -unsettled affections, wavering with his vanity, <i>Maria’s</i> decided -attachment, and no sufficient principle on either side, gave it possibility: -Miss Crawford’s letter stampt it a fact. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>all</i> 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 <i>yours</i>—your -regard was new compared with——Fanny, think of <i>me</i>!” -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"></a>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i>. 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>was</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>their</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>him</i> (Mr. Harding) for his advice; Mr. Harding feared there had been -<i>at</i> <i>least</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -<i>His</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -<i>She</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>that</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -It <i>was</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>folly</i> 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!” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -He stopt. “And what,” said Fanny (believing herself required to -speak), “what could you say?” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -No look or word was given. -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Cruel!” said Fanny, “quite cruel. At such a moment to give -way to gaiety, to speak with lightness, and to you! Absolute cruelty.” -</p> - -<p> -“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.” -</p> - -<p> -“Did you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; when I left her I told her so.” -</p> - -<p> -“How long were you together?” -</p> - -<p> -“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 <i>he</i> 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.’” -</p> - -<p> -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.” -</p> - -<p> -And such was Fanny’s dependence on his words, that for five minutes she -thought they <i>had</i> 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 <i>more</i> 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. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>within</i>, 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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 -<i>had</i> divided them. What can exceed the misery of such a mind in such a -situation? -</p> - -<p> -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. -<i>He</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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 <i>her</i> residence there as the -motive. She persisted in placing his scruples to <i>her</i> 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 <i>that</i> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure -attend <i>his</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady Bertram, she could not be parted -with willingly by <i>her</i>. 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 <i>her</i> 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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p> -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. -</p> - -<p class="center"> -FINIS. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MANSFIELD PARK ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 141-h.htm or 141-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/141/</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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