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diff --git a/161-0.txt b/161-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed0bf3b --- /dev/null +++ b/161-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13054 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Sense and Sensibility + +Author: Jane Austen + +Release Date: September, 1994 [eBook #161] +[Most recently updated: March 16, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Special thanks are due to Sharon Partridge for extensive proofreading and correction of this etext. + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENSE AND SENSIBILITY *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +Sense and Sensibility + +by Jane Austen + +(1811) + + +Contents + + CHAPTER I + CHAPTER II + CHAPTER III + CHAPTER IV + CHAPTER V + CHAPTER VI + CHAPTER VII + CHAPTER VIII + CHAPTER IX + CHAPTER X + CHAPTER XI + CHAPTER XII + CHAPTER XIII + CHAPTER XIV + CHAPTER XV + CHAPTER XVI + CHAPTER XVII + CHAPTER XVIII + CHAPTER XIX + CHAPTER XX + CHAPTER XXI + CHAPTER XXII + CHAPTER XXIII + CHAPTER XXIV + CHAPTER XXV + CHAPTER XXVI + CHAPTER XXVII + CHAPTER XXVIII + CHAPTER XXIX + CHAPTER XXX + CHAPTER XXXI + CHAPTER XXXII + CHAPTER XXXIII + CHAPTER XXXIV + CHAPTER XXXV + CHAPTER XXXVI + CHAPTER XXXVII + CHAPTER XXXVIII + CHAPTER XXXIX + CHAPTER XL + CHAPTER XLI + CHAPTER XLII + CHAPTER XLIII + CHAPTER XLIV + CHAPTER XLV + CHAPTER XLVI + CHAPTER XLVII + CHAPTER XLVIII + CHAPTER XLIX + CHAPTER L + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate +was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of +their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so +respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their +surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single +man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his +life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her +death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great +alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received +into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal +inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to +bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their +children, the old Gentleman’s days were comfortably spent. His +attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and +Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from +interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid +comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the +children added a relish to his existence. + +By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present +lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was +amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, +and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own +marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his +wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not +so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent +of what might arise to them from their father’s inheriting that +property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their +father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the +remaining moiety of his first wife’s fortune was also secured to her +child, and he had only a life-interest in it. + +The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other +will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so +unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but +he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the +bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife +and daughters than for himself or his son;—but to his son, and his +son’s son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as +to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear +to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or +by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the +benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and +mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by +such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three +years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his +own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh +all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received +from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however, +and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a +thousand pounds a-piece. + +Mr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was +cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years, +and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce +of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate +improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was +his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten +thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for +his widow and daughters. + +His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr. +Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness +could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters. + +Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the +family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at +such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make +them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, +and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might +prudently be in his power to do for them. + +He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted +and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well +respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of +his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have +been made still more respectable than he was:—he might even have been +made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very +fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of +himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish. + +When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to +increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand +pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The +prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income, +besides the remaining half of his own mother’s fortune, warmed his +heart, and made him feel capable of generosity. “Yes, he would give +them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would +be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could +spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.” He thought of +it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent. + +No sooner was his father’s funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, +without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law, +arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her +right to come; the house was her husband’s from the moment of his +father’s decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the +greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood’s situation, with only common +feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in _her_ mind there was +a sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of +the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of +immovable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with +any of her husband’s family; but she had had no opportunity, till the +present, of showing them with how little attention to the comfort of +other people she could act when occasion required it. + +So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so +earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the +arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had +not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the +propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children +determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach +with their brother. + +Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual, possessed +a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified +her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and +enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, +that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led +to imprudence. She had an excellent heart;—her disposition was +affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern +them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which +one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught. + +Marianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor’s. +She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her +joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: +she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her +mother was strikingly great. + +Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensibility; but +by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each +other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which +overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was +created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their +sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could +afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future. +Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she +could exert herself. She could consult with her brother, could receive +her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention; +and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage +her to similar forbearance. + +Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but +as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne’s romance, without +having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal +her sisters at a more advanced period of life. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her +mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors. +As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by +her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody +beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them, with +some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no plan +appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could +accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation +was accepted. + +A continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former +delight, was exactly what suited her mind. In seasons of cheerfulness, +no temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater +degree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness +itself. But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy, +and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy. + +Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended +to do for his sisters. To take three thousand pounds from the fortune +of their dear little boy would be impoverishing him to the most +dreadful degree. She begged him to think again on the subject. How +could he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too, +of so large a sum? And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods, +who were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no +relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount. It +was very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist +between the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he +to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his +money to his half sisters? + +“It was my father’s last request to me,” replied her husband, “that I +should assist his widow and daughters.” + +“He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he +was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, he could +not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half your +fortune from your own child.” + +“He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only +requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their +situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it +would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could +hardly suppose I should neglect them. But as he required the promise, I +could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time. The +promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something must be +done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new home.” + +“Well, then, _let_ something be done for them; but _that_ something +need not be three thousand pounds. Consider,” she added, “that when the +money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will +marry, and it will be gone for ever. If, indeed, it could be restored +to our poor little boy—” + +“Why, to be sure,” said her husband, very gravely, “that would make +great difference. The time may come when Harry will regret that so +large a sum was parted with. If he should have a numerous family, for +instance, it would be a very convenient addition.” + +“To be sure it would.” + +“Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were +diminished one half.—Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase +to their fortunes!” + +“Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do half so much +for his sisters, even if _really_ his sisters! And as it is—only half +blood!—But you have such a generous spirit!” + +“I would not wish to do any thing mean,” he replied. “One had rather, +on such occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can +think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly +expect more.” + +“There is no knowing what _they_ may expect,” said the lady, “but we +are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can +afford to do.” + +“Certainly—and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds +a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have +about three thousand pounds on their mother’s death—a very comfortable +fortune for any young woman.” + +“To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no +addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst +them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do +not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten +thousand pounds.” + +“That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the +whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother +while she lives, rather than for them—something of the annuity kind I +mean.—My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself. +A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.” + +His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this +plan. + +“To be sure,” said she, “it is better than parting with fifteen hundred +pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years +we shall be completely taken in.” + +“Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that +purchase.” + +“Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when +there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy, +and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over +and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. You are not +aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble +of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to +old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is amazing how +disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be +paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then +one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be +no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her +own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more +unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been +entirely at my mother’s disposal, without any restriction whatever. It +has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would +not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world.” + +“It is certainly an unpleasant thing,” replied Mr. Dashwood, “to have +those kind of yearly drains on one’s income. One’s fortune, as your +mother justly says, is _not_ one’s own. To be tied down to the regular +payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it +takes away one’s independence.” + +“Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it. They think +themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises +no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be done at my +own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow them any +thing yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a +hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses.” + +“I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should +be no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will +be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they +would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger +income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the +year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty +pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for +money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my +father.” + +“To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within +myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at +all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might +be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a +comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things, +and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they +are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed, +it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. Do but consider, +my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law +and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds, +besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which +brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will +pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether, they will have +five hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want +for more than that?—They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will be +nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any +servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of any +kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a year! +I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as to +your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will be +much more able to give _you_ something.” + +“Upon my word,” said Mr. Dashwood, “I believe you are perfectly right. +My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than +what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil +my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you +have described. When my mother removes into another house my services +shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little +present of furniture too may be acceptable then.” + +“Certainly,” returned Mrs. John Dashwood. “But, however, _one_ thing +must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland, +though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and +linen was saved, and is now left to your mother. Her house will +therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.” + +“That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy +indeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant +addition to our own stock here.” + +“Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what +belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for +any place _they_ can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. +Your father thought only of _them_. And I must say this: that you owe +no particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we +very well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything +in the world to _them_.” + +This argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions whatever of +decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be +absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the +widow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as +his own wife pointed out. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any +disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased +to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when +her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other +exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy +remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her +inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for +to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could hear +of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease, +and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment +rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother +would have approved. + +Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on +the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last +earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no +more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her +daughters’ sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was +persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000£ would support her in +affluence. For their brother’s sake, too, for the sake of his own +heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his +merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive +behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare +was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the +liberality of his intentions. + +The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for +her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge +of her character, which half a year’s residence in her family afforded; +and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal +affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it +impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular +circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to +the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters’ continuance at +Norland. + +This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and +the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentleman-like and pleasing young +man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister’s +establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of +his time there. + +Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of +interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died +very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, +for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the +will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either +consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, +that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It +was contrary to every doctrine of hers that difference of fortune +should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of +disposition; and that Elinor’s merit should not be acknowledged by +every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible. + +Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any +peculiar graces of person or address. He was not handsome, and his +manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident +to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, +his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. His +understanding was good, and his education had given it solid +improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to +answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him +distinguished—as—they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine +figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to +interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to +see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John +Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these +superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her +ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for +great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and +the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother who was +more promising. + +Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged +much of Mrs. Dashwood’s attention; for she was, at that time, in such +affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects. She saw +only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He +did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation. +She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a +reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference +between him and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him +most forcibly to her mother. + +“It is enough,” said she; “to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough. It +implies everything amiable. I love him already.” + +“I think you will like him,” said Elinor, “when you know more of him.” + +“Like him!” replied her mother with a smile. “I feel no sentiment of +approbation inferior to love.” + +“You may esteem him.” + +“I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.” + +Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him. Her manners +were attaching, and soon banished his reserve. She speedily +comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor +perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his +worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all +her established ideas of what a young man’s address ought to be, was no +longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper +affectionate. + +No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to +Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and +looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching. + +“In a few months, my dear Marianne,” said she, “Elinor will, in all +probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but _she_ will be +happy.” + +“Oh! Mama, how shall we do without her?” + +“My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live within a few +miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives. You will +gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest +opinion in the world of Edward’s heart. But you look grave, Marianne; +do you disapprove your sister’s choice?” + +“Perhaps,” said Marianne, “I may consider it with some surprise. Edward +is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet—he is not the kind of +young man—there is something wanting—his figure is not striking; it has +none of that grace which I should expect in the man who could seriously +attach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at +once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this, I am +afraid, Mama, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely to attract +him, and though he admires Elinor’s drawings very much, it is not the +admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident, +in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact +he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a +connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could +not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide +with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the +same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was +Edward’s manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most +severely. Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely +to notice it. I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful +lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such +impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!” + + +“He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose. +I thought so at the time; but you _would_ give him Cowper.” + +“Nay, Mama, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!—but we must allow +for difference of taste. Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she +may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broke _my_ +heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility. +Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I +shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much! He +must have all Edward’s virtues, and his person and manners must +ornament his goodness with every possible charm.” + +“Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in +life to despair of such a happiness. Why should you be less fortunate +than your mother? In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your +destiny be different from hers!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +“What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward should have no +taste for drawing.” + +“No taste for drawing!” replied Elinor, “why should you think so? He +does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the +performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means +deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of +improving it. Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would +have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so +much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture; +but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which in +general direct him perfectly right.” + +Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but +the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the +drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight, +which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling +within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind +partiality to Edward which produced it. + +“I hope, Marianne,” continued Elinor, “you do not consider him as +deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot, +for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if _that_ were your +opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.” + +Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of +her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was +impossible. At length she replied: + +“Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing +equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many opportunities +of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations +and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of +his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is worthy and +amiable.” + +“I am sure,” replied Elinor, with a smile, “that his dearest friends +could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not +perceive how you could express yourself more warmly.” + +Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased. + +“Of his sense and his goodness,” continued Elinor, “no one can, I +think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in +unreserved conversation. The excellence of his understanding and his +principles can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps +him silent. You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth. +But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from +peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself. He and I +have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been +wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother. I +have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments and heard +his opinion on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I +venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books +exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his observation just and +correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every +respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person. At +first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can +hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are +uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is +perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really +handsome; or at least, almost so. What say you, Marianne?” + +“I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now. When +you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection +in his face, than I now do in his heart.” + +Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she +had been betrayed into, in speaking of him. She felt that Edward stood +very high in her opinion. She believed the regard to be mutual; but she +required greater certainty of it to make Marianne’s conviction of their +attachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne and her mother +conjectured one moment, they believed the next—that with them, to wish +was to hope, and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain the real +state of the case to her sister. + +“I do not attempt to deny,” said she, “that I think very highly of +him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him.” + +Marianne here burst forth with indignation— + +“Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than +cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I +will leave the room this moment.” + +Elinor could not help laughing. “Excuse me,” said she; “and be assured +that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my +own feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared; believe +them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion—the hope of +his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly. But +farther than this you must _not_ believe. I am by no means assured of +his regard for me. There are moments when the extent of it seems +doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at +my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by +believing or calling it more than it is. In my heart I feel +little—scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points +to be considered besides his inclination. He is very far from being +independent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from +Fanny’s occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never +been disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if +Edward is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in +his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great +fortune or high rank.” + +Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother +and herself had outstripped the truth. + +“And you really are not engaged to him!” said she. “Yet it certainly +soon will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay. _I_ +shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of +improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be +so indispensably necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should be +so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how +delightful it would be!” + +Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could not consider +her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne had +believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if +it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as +unpromising. A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not +give him more than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce that +dejection of mind which frequently attended him. A more reasonable +cause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the +indulgence of his affection. She knew that his mother neither behaved +to him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him +any assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly +attending to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge as +this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject. She was +far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which her +mother and sister still considered as certain. Nay, the longer they +were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and +sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more +than friendship. + +But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived +by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was +still more common,) to make her uncivil. She took the first opportunity +of affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to her so +expressively of her brother’s great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars’s +resolution that both her sons should marry well, and of the danger +attending any young woman who attempted to _draw him in;_ that Mrs. +Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be +calm. She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and instantly +left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or +expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor should not be +exposed another week to such insinuations. + +In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the +post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the +offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of +her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The +letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit +of friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a +dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage, +he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might +think necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed +her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with +her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from +whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses +were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable +to her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of +his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of +giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was +suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer +connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her +resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county +so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours +before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every +possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first +recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an +evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of +the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for +ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or +visit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir +John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance +of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her +daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her +answer were sent. + +Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle +at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present +acquaintance. On _that_ head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose +her mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as +described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so +uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either +point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm +to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland +beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from +sending a letter of acquiescence. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged +herself in the pleasure of announcing to her son-in-law and his wife +that she was provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer +than till every thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her +with surprise. Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly +hoped that she would not be settled far from Norland. She had great +satisfaction in replying that she was going into Devonshire.—Edward +turned hastily towards her, on hearing this, and, in a voice of +surprise and concern, which required no explanation to her, repeated, +“Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to +what part of it?” She explained the situation. It was within four miles +northward of Exeter. + +“It is but a cottage,” she continued, “but I hope to see many of my +friends in it. A room or two can easily be added; and if my friends +find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will +find none in accommodating them.” + +She concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood +to visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater +affection. Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had +made her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than was +unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect on her in that +point to which it principally tended. To separate Edward and Elinor was +as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John +Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally she +disregarded her disapprobation of the match. + +Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry +he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to +prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture. He +really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very +exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his +father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.—The furniture +was all sent around by water. It chiefly consisted of household linen, +plate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne’s. Mrs. +John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help +feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood’s income would be so trifling in +comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of +furniture. + +Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished, +and she might have immediate possession. No difficulty arose on either +side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her +effects at Norland, and to determine her future household, before she +set off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the +performance of everything that interested her, was soon done.—The +horses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his +death, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage, +she agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest +daughter. For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her +own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor +prevailed. _Her_ wisdom too limited the number of their servants to +three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from +amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland. + +The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire, +to prepare the house for their mistress’s arrival; for as Lady +Middleton was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going +directly to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she +relied so undoubtingly on Sir John’s description of the house, as to +feel no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own. +Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by +the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her +removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed +under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure. Now was the time +when her son-in-law’s promise to his father might with particular +propriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected to do it on first coming +to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as the most +suitable period for its accomplishment. But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly +to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the +general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no farther +than their maintenance for six months at Norland. He so frequently +talked of the increasing expenses of housekeeping, and of the perpetual +demands upon his purse, which a man of any consequence in the world was +beyond calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to stand in need +of more money himself than to have any design of giving money away. + +In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton’s +first letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future +abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their +journey. + +Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so +much beloved. “Dear, dear Norland!” said Marianne, as she wandered +alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; “when +shall I cease to regret you!—when learn to feel a home elsewhere!—Oh! +happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this +spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!—And you, ye +well-known trees!—but you will continue the same.—No leaf will decay +because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we +can observe you no longer!—No; you will continue the same; unconscious +of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any +change in those who walk under your shade!—But who will remain to enjoy +you?” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +The first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy a +disposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant. But as they +drew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance of a +country which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view +of Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness. It was a +pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture. After winding +along it for more than a mile, they reached their own house. A small +green court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket +gate admitted them into it. + +As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact; +but as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular, the +roof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were +the walls covered with honeysuckles. A narrow passage led directly +through the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance +was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond them were the +offices and the stairs. Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest +of the house. It had not been built many years and was in good repair. +In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!—but the tears +which recollection called forth as they entered the house were soon +dried away. They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their +arrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy. +It was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first +seeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received an +impression in its favour which was of material service in recommending +it to their lasting approbation. + +The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately +behind, and at no great distance on each side; some of which were open +downs, the others cultivated and woody. The village of Barton was +chiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the +cottage windows. The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded +the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond. The hills +which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley in that direction; +under another name, and in another course, it branched out again +between two of the steepest of them. + +With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon the +whole well satisfied; for though her former style of life rendered many +additions to the latter indispensable, yet to add and improve was a +delight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough to supply +all that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments. “As for the +house itself, to be sure,” said she, “it is too small for our family, +but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the present, as it +is too late in the year for improvements. Perhaps in the spring, if I +have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about +building. These parlors are both too small for such parties of our +friends as I hope to see often collected here; and I have some thoughts +of throwing the passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the +other, and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance; this, +with a new drawing room which may be easily added, and a bed-chamber +and garret above, will make it a very snug little cottage. I could wish +the stairs were handsome. But one must not expect every thing; though I +suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them. I shall see how +much I am before-hand with the world in the spring, and we will plan +our improvements accordingly.” + +In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the +savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman who never saved +in her life, they were wise enough to be contented with the house as it +was; and each of them was busy in arranging their particular concerns, +and endeavoring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to +form themselves a home. Marianne’s pianoforte was unpacked and properly +disposed of; and Elinor’s drawings were affixed to the walls of their +sitting room. + +In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast +the next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome +them to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own +house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient. Sir +John Middleton was a good looking man about forty. He had formerly +visited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins to +remember him. His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured; and his +manners were as friendly as the style of his letter. Their arrival +seemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an +object of real solicitude to him. He said much of his earnest desire of +their living in the most sociable terms with his family, and pressed +them so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were +better settled at home, that, though his entreaties were carried to a +point of perseverance beyond civility, they could not give offence. His +kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he left +them, a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the +park, which was followed before the end of the day by a present of +game. He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and from +the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of sending +them his newspaper every day. + +Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her +intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon as she could be assured +that her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this message was +answered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced +to them the next day. + +They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of +their comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance of her appearance +was favourable to their wishes. Lady Middleton was not more than six or +seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and striking, +and her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance which her +husband’s wanted. But they would have been improved by some share of +his frankness and warmth; and her visit was long enough to detract +something from their first admiration, by showing that, though +perfectly well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for +herself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark. + +Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty, and +Lady Middleton had taken the wise precaution of bringing with her their +eldest child, a fine little boy about six years old, by which means +there was one subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in case of +extremity, for they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beauty, +and ask him questions which his mother answered for him, while he hung +about her and held down his head, to the great surprise of her +ladyship, who wondered at his being so shy before company, as he could +make noise enough at home. On every formal visit a child ought to be of +the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it +took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his +father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of +course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the +opinion of the others. + +An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the +rest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house without +securing their promise of dining at the park the next day. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The ladies had +passed near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from +their view at home by the projection of a hill. The house was large and +handsome; and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and +elegance. The former was for Sir John’s gratification, the latter for +that of his lady. They were scarcely ever without some friends staying +with them in the house, and they kept more company of every kind than +any other family in the neighbourhood. It was necessary to the +happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward +behaviour, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of +talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with +such as society produced, within a very narrow compass. Sir John was a +sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she +humoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady +Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the +year round, while Sir John’s independent employments were in existence +only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, +supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the +good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his +wife. + +Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of +all her domestic arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her +greatest enjoyment in any of their parties. But Sir John’s satisfaction +in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting about him +more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier they were +the better was he pleased. He was a blessing to all the juvenile part +of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was for ever forming parties to +eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, and in winter his private balls +were numerous enough for any young lady who was not suffering under the +unsatiable appetite of fifteen. + +The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy +to him, and in every point of view he was charmed with the inhabitants +he had now procured for his cottage at Barton. The Miss Dashwoods were +young, pretty, and unaffected. It was enough to secure his good +opinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to +make her mind as captivating as her person. The friendliness of his +disposition made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation +might be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate. In +showing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction +of a good heart; and in settling a family of females only in his +cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman, +though he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is +not often desirous of encouraging their taste by admitting them to a +residence within his own manor. + +Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house by +Sir John, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity; +and as he attended them to the drawing room repeated to the young +ladies the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day +before, at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. They +would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a +particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very +young nor very gay. He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the +party, and could assure them it should never happen so again. He had +been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some +addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full +of engagements. Luckily Lady Middleton’s mother had arrived at Barton +within the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman, +he hoped the young ladies would not find it so very dull as they might +imagine. The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly +satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for +no more. + +Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, was a good-humoured, merry, +fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and +rather vulgar. She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner +was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and +husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex, +and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not. Marianne was +vexed at it for her sister’s sake, and turned her eyes towards Elinor +to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave +Elinor far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery +as Mrs. Jennings’s. + +Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by +resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be +his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton’s mother. He was silent +and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite of his +being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old bachelor, +for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though his face +was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his address was +particularly gentlemanlike. + +There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as +companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton +was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of +Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and his +mother-in-law was interesting. Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to +enjoyment only by the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner, +who pulled her about, tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of +discourse except what related to themselves. + +In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was +invited to play. The instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to be +charmed, and Marianne, who sang very well, at their request went +through the chief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought into +the family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since in +the same position on the pianoforte, for her ladyship had celebrated +that event by giving up music, although by her mother’s account, she +had played extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it. + +Marianne’s performance was highly applauded. Sir John was loud in his +admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation +with the others while every song lasted. Lady Middleton frequently +called him to order, wondered how any one’s attention could be diverted +from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song +which Marianne had just finished. Colonel Brandon alone, of all the +party, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her only the +compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the +occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless +want of taste. His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that +ecstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was +estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the +others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and +thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every +exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every +allowance for the colonel’s advanced state of life which humanity +required. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two +daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and +she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the +world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far +as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting +weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was +remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the +advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by +insinuations of her power over such a young man; and this kind of +discernment enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to +pronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much in love with Marianne +Dashwood. She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening +of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she +sang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons’ dining +at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again. +It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It would be an +excellent match, for _he_ was rich, and _she_ was handsome. Mrs. +Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever +since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; +and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl. + +The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for +it supplied her with endless jokes against them both. At the park she +laughed at the colonel, and in the cottage at Marianne. To the former +her raillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself, +perfectly indifferent; but to the latter it was at first +incomprehensible; and when its object was understood, she hardly knew +whether most to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence, +for she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel’s +advanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor. + +Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than +herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of +her daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of +wishing to throw ridicule on his age. + +“But at least, Mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation, +though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. Colonel Brandon +is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be +_my_ father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must +have long outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! +When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not +protect him?” + +“Infirmity!” said Elinor, “do you call Colonel Brandon infirm? I can +easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my +mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of +his limbs!” + +“Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the +commonest infirmity of declining life?” + +“My dearest child,” said her mother, laughing, “at this rate you must +be in continual terror of _my_ decay; and it must seem to you a miracle +that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.” + +“Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that Colonel +Brandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of +losing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer. +But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony.” + +“Perhaps,” said Elinor, “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have +any thing to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any +chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should +not think Colonel Brandon’s being thirty-five any objection to his +marrying _her_.” + +“A woman of seven and twenty,” said Marianne, after pausing a moment, +“can never hope to feel or inspire affection again, and if her home be +uncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can suppose that she might bring +herself to submit to the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the +provision and security of a wife. In his marrying such a woman +therefore there would be nothing unsuitable. It would be a compact of +convenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes it would be +no marriage at all, but that would be nothing. To me it would seem only +a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the +expense of the other.” + +“It would be impossible, I know,” replied Elinor, “to convince you that +a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five +anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her. +But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the +constant confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to +complain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in +one of his shoulders.” + +“But he talked of flannel waistcoats,” said Marianne; “and with me a +flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps, +rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and +the feeble.” + +“Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have despised him +half so much. Confess, Marianne, is not there something interesting to +you in the flushed cheek, hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?” + +Soon after this, upon Elinor’s leaving the room, “Mama,” said Marianne, +“I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot conceal from +you. I am sure Edward Ferrars is not well. We have now been here almost +a fortnight, and yet he does not come. Nothing but real indisposition +could occasion this extraordinary delay. What else can detain him at +Norland?” + +“Had you any idea of his coming so soon?” said Mrs. Dashwood. “_I_ had +none. On the contrary, if I have felt any anxiety at all on the +subject, it has been in recollecting that he sometimes showed a want of +pleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation, when I talked of his +coming to Barton. Does Elinor expect him already?” + +“I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must.” + +“I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her +yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed +that there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the +room would be wanted for some time.” + +“How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it! But the whole of +their behaviour to each other has been unaccountable! How cold, how +composed were their last adieus! How languid their conversation the +last evening of their being together! In Edward’s farewell there was no +distinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an +affectionate brother to both. Twice did I leave them purposely together +in the course of the last morning, and each time did he most +unaccountably follow me out of the room. And Elinor, in quitting +Norland and Edward, cried not as I did. Even now her self-command is +invariable. When is she dejected or melancholy? When does she try to +avoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfied in it?” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to +themselves. The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding +them, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had +given to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater +enjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss of their +father. Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first +fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at +home, could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed. + +Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in +spite of Sir John’s urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the +neighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at +their service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood’s spirit overcame the +wish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to +visit any family beyond the distance of a walk. There were but few who +could be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable. +About a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding +valley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton, as formerly +described, the girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered an +ancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding them a little +of Norland, interested their imagination and made them wish to be +better acquainted with it. But they learnt, on enquiry, that its +possessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately +too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home. + +The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high +downs which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to +seek the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy +alternative when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior +beauties; and towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one +memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine +of a showery sky, and unable longer to bear the confinement which the +settled rain of the two preceding days had occasioned. The weather was +not tempting enough to draw the two others from their pencil and their +book, in spite of Marianne’s declaration that the day would be +lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn off +from their hills; and the two girls set off together. + +They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at +every glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the +animating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears +which had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such +delightful sensations. + +“Is there a felicity in the world,” said Marianne, “superior to +this?—Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.” + +Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, resisting +it with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer, when suddenly +the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in +their face. Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though +unwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own +house. One consolation however remained for them, to which the exigence +of the moment gave more than usual propriety,—it was that of running +with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which led +immediately to their garden gate. + +They set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step +brought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop +herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the +bottom in safety. + +A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was +passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her +accident happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She +had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in +her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his +services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation +rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther delay, and +carried her down the hill. Then passing through the garden, the gate of +which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly into the +house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his hold till +he had seated her in a chair in the parlour. + +Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while +the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret +admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for +his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so +graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received +additional charms from his voice and expression. Had he been even old, +ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would +have been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the +influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the +action which came home to her feelings. + +She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which +always attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he declined, as +he was dirty and wet. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was +obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present home was +at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of +calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The honour was readily +granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting, +in the midst of a heavy rain. + +His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the +theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised +against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior +attractions. Marianne herself had seen less of his person than the +rest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting +her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their +entering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in all the +admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her +praise. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn +for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the +house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of +thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every +circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his +residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that +of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her +imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a +sprained ankle was disregarded. + +Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather +that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne’s accident +being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any +gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham. + +“Willoughby!” cried Sir John; “what, is _he_ in the country? That is +good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on +Thursday.” + +“You know him then,” said Mrs. Dashwood. + +“Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.” + +“And what sort of a young man is he?” + +“As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent +shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.” + +“And is _that_ all you can say for him?” cried Marianne, indignantly. +“But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his +pursuits, his talents, and genius?” + +Sir John was rather puzzled. + +“Upon my soul,” said he, “I do not know much about him as to all +_that_. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the +nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with him +today?” + +But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr. +Willoughby’s pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his +mind. + +“But who is he?” said Elinor. “Where does he come from? Has he a house +at Allenham?” + +On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he +told them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the +country; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady +at Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was +to inherit; adding, “Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I can +tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of his own in +Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up to my +younger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills. Miss Marianne +must not expect to have all the men to herself. Brandon will be +jealous, if she does not take care.” + +“I do not believe,” said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile, +“that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of +_my_ daughters towards what you call _catching him_. It is not an +employment to which they have been brought up. Men are very safe with +us, let them be ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what you +say, that he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance +will not be ineligible.” + +“He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived,” repeated +Sir John. “I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he +danced from eight o’clock till four, without once sitting down.” + +“Did he indeed?” cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, “and with +elegance, with spirit?” + +“Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.” + +“That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be +his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and +leave him no sense of fatigue.” + +“Aye, aye, I see how it will be,” said Sir John, “I see how it will be. +You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor +Brandon.” + +“That is an expression, Sir John,” said Marianne, warmly, “which I +particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit is +intended; and ‘setting one’s cap at a man,’ or ‘making a conquest,’ are +the most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if +their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago +destroyed all its ingenuity.” + +Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as +heartily as if he did, and then replied, + +“Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other. Poor +Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting +your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and +spraining of ankles.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +Marianne’s preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision, +styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make +his personal enquiries. He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than +politeness; with a kindness which Sir John’s account of him and her own +gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed during the visit tended +to assure him of the sense, elegance, mutual affection, and domestic +comfort of the family to whom accident had now introduced him. Of their +personal charms he had not required a second interview to be convinced. + +Miss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a +remarkably pretty figure. Marianne was still handsomer. Her form, +though not so correct as her sister’s, in having the advantage of +height, was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the +common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less +violently outraged than usually happens. Her skin was very brown, but, +from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her +features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her +eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, +which could hardly be seen without delight. From Willoughby their +expression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which the +remembrance of his assistance created. But when this passed away, when +her spirits became collected, when she saw that to the perfect +good-breeding of the gentleman, he united frankness and vivacity, and +above all, when she heard him declare, that of music and dancing he was +passionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as secured +the largest share of his discourse to herself for the rest of his stay. + +It was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her +to talk. She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and +she had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion. They speedily +discovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and +that it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related +to either. Encouraged by this to a further examination of his opinions, +she proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her favourite +authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a +delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been +insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence +of such works, however disregarded before. Their taste was strikingly +alike. The same books, the same passages were idolized by each—or if +any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than +till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be +displayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her +enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with +the familiarity of a long-established acquaintance. + +“Well, Marianne,” said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, “for _one_ +morning I think you have done pretty well. You have already ascertained +Mr. Willoughby’s opinion in almost every matter of importance. You know +what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating +their beauties as he ought, and you have received every assurance of +his admiring Pope no more than is proper. But how is your acquaintance +to be long supported, under such extraordinary despatch of every +subject for discourse? You will soon have exhausted each favourite +topic. Another meeting will suffice to explain his sentiments on +picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and then you can have nothing +farther to ask.” + +“Elinor,” cried Marianne, “is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so +scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too +happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of +decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been +reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful—had I talked only of the +weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this +reproach would have been spared.” + +“My love,” said her mother, “you must not be offended with Elinor—she +was only in jest. I should scold her myself, if she were capable of +wishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new friend.” +Marianne was softened in a moment. + +Willoughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure in their +acquaintance, which an evident wish of improving it could offer. He +came to them every day. To enquire after Marianne was at first his +excuse; but the encouragement of his reception, to which every day gave +greater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had ceased +to be possible, by Marianne’s perfect recovery. She was confined for +some days to the house; but never had any confinement been less +irksome. Willoughby was a young man of good abilities, quick +imagination, lively spirits, and open, affectionate manners. He was +exactly formed to engage Marianne’s heart, for with all this, he joined +not only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was +now roused and increased by the example of her own, and which +recommended him to her affection beyond every thing else. + +His society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment. They read, +they talked, they sang together; his musical talents were considerable; +and he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward had +unfortunately wanted. + +In Mrs. Dashwood’s estimation he was as faultless as in Marianne’s; and +Elinor saw nothing to censure in him but a propensity, in which he +strongly resembled and peculiarly delighted her sister, of saying too +much what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or +circumstances. In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other +people, in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoyment of undivided +attention where his heart was engaged, and in slighting too easily the +forms of worldly propriety, he displayed a want of caution which Elinor +could not approve, in spite of all that he and Marianne could say in +its support. + +Marianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized +her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her +ideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable. Willoughby was +all that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour and in every +brighter period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour +declared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his abilities +were strong. + +Her mother too, in whose mind not one speculative thought of their +marriage had been raised, by his prospect of riches, was led before the +end of a week to hope and expect it; and secretly to congratulate +herself on having gained two such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby. + +Colonel Brandon’s partiality for Marianne, which had so early been +discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when +it ceased to be noticed by them. Their attention and wit were drawn off +to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had +incurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings +began really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility. +Elinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments +which Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction, were now +actually excited by her sister; and that however a general resemblance +of disposition between the parties might forward the affection of Mr. +Willoughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no +hindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon. She saw it with concern; +for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a +very lively one of five and twenty? and as she could not even wish him +successful, she heartily wished him indifferent. She liked him—in spite +of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of interest. +His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve appeared rather +the result of some oppression of spirits than of any natural gloominess +of temper. Sir John had dropped hints of past injuries and +disappointments, which justified her belief of his being an unfortunate +man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion. + +Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by +Willoughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither +lively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits. + +“Brandon is just the kind of man,” said Willoughby one day, when they +were talking of him together, “whom every body speaks well of, and +nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers +to talk to.” + +“That is exactly what I think of him,” cried Marianne. + +“Do not boast of it, however,” said Elinor, “for it is injustice in +both of you. He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and I +never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him.” + +“That he is patronised by _you_,” replied Willoughby, “is certainly in +his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in +itself. Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a +woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the +indifference of any body else?” + +“But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will +make amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother. If their +praise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more +undiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust.” + +“In defence of your _protégé_ you can even be saucy.” + +“My _protégé_, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will +always have attractions for me. Yes, Marianne, even in a man between +thirty and forty. He has seen a great deal of the world; has been +abroad, has read, and has a thinking mind. I have found him capable of +giving me much information on various subjects; and he has always +answered my inquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good nature.” + +“That is to say,” cried Marianne contemptuously, “he has told you, that +in the East Indies the climate is hot, and the mosquitoes are +troublesome.” + +“He _would_ have told me so, I doubt not, had I made any such +inquiries, but they happened to be points on which I had been +previously informed.” + +“Perhaps,” said Willoughby, “his observations may have extended to the +existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins.” + +“I may venture to say that _his_ observations have stretched much +further than _your_ candour. But why should you dislike him?” + +“I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a very +respectable man, who has every body’s good word, and nobody’s notice; +who has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to +employ, and two new coats every year.” + +“Add to which,” cried Marianne, “that he has neither genius, taste, nor +spirit. That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no +ardour, and his voice no expression.” + +“You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass,” replied Elinor, +“and so much on the strength of your own imagination, that the +commendation _I_ am able to give of him is comparatively cold and +insipid. I can only pronounce him to be a sensible man, well-bred, +well-informed, of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable +heart.” + +“Miss Dashwood,” cried Willoughby, “you are now using me unkindly. You +are endeavouring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my +will. But it will not do. You shall find me as stubborn as you can be +artful. I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel +Brandon; he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has +found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him +to buy my brown mare. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, +to be told, that I believe his character to be in other respects +irreproachable, I am ready to confess it. And in return for an +acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the +privilege of disliking him as much as ever.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came +into Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their +time as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such +frequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little +leisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne +was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir +John had been previously forming, were put into execution. The private +balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and +accomplished as often as a showery October would allow. In every +meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and +familiarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly +calculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the +Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of +Marianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving, +in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her +affection. + +Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only wished that +it were less openly shown; and once or twice did venture to suggest the +propriety of some self-command to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all +concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim +at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable, +appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful +subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions. Willoughby +thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an illustration +of their opinions. + +When he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every thing he +did, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their evenings at +the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest +of the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement of +the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to +separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and +scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of +course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and +seemed hardly to provoke them. + +Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left +her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them. To her +it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and +ardent mind. + +This was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was devoted to +Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with +her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it +possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her +present home. + +Elinor’s happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much at ease, +nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They afforded her no +companion that could make amends for what she had left behind, nor that +could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than ever. Neither +Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the conversation +she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker, and from the +first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a large share +of her discourse. She had already repeated her own history to Elinor +three or four times; and had Elinor’s memory been equal to her means of +improvement, she might have known very early in their acquaintance all +the particulars of Mr. Jennings’s last illness, and what he said to his +wife a few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton was more agreeable +than her mother only in being more silent. Elinor needed little +observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness of manner +with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother she +was the same as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be +looked for nor desired. She had nothing to say one day that she had not +said the day before. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her +spirits were always the same; and though she did not oppose the parties +arranged by her husband, provided every thing were conducted in style +and her two eldest children attended her, she never appeared to receive +more enjoyment from them than she might have experienced in sitting at +home;—and so little did her presence add to the pleasure of the others, +by any share in their conversation, that they were sometimes only +reminded of her being amongst them by her solicitude about her +troublesome boys. + +In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find +a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite +the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby +was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly +regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly +Marianne’s, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally +pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such +encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor +he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister. + +Elinor’s compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect +that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him. +This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from +him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by +mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on +Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint +smile, “Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second +attachments.” + +“No,” replied Elinor, “her opinions are all romantic.” + +“Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.” + +“I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the +character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A +few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of +common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define +and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.” + +“This will probably be the case,” he replied; “and yet there is +something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is +sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.” + +“I cannot agree with you there,” said Elinor. “There are inconveniences +attending such feelings as Marianne’s, which all the charms of +enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems +have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a +better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her +greatest possible advantage.” + +After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,— + +“Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a +second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those +who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the +inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be +equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?” + +“Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles. +I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second +attachment’s being pardonable.” + +“This,” said he, “cannot hold; but a change, a total change of +sentiments—No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements +of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they +succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I +speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind +greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who +from an enforced change—from a series of unfortunate circumstances—” +Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much, +and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not +otherwise have entered Elinor’s head. The lady would probably have +passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what +concerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it required but +a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender +recollection of past regard. Elinor attempted no more. But Marianne, in +her place, would not have done so little. The whole story would have +been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing +established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the +latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of +all that she knew before of Marianne’s imprudence and want of thought, +surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her, +with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one +that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was +exactly calculated to carry a woman. Without considering that it was +not in her mother’s plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter +her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the +servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable +to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and +told her sister of it in raptures. + +“He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,” +she added, “and when it arrives we will ride every day. You shall share +its use with me. Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a +gallop on some of these downs.” + +Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to +comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for +some time she refused to submit to them. As to an additional servant, +the expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to +it; and any horse would do for _him;_ he might always get one at the +park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. Elinor then +ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a +man so little, or at least so lately known to her. This was too much. + +“You are mistaken, Elinor,” said she warmly, “in supposing I know very +little of Willoughby. I have not known him long indeed, but I am much +better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the +world, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is +to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be +insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven +days are more than enough for others. I should hold myself guilty of +greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from +Willoughby. Of John I know very little, though we have lived together +for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed.” + +Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more. She knew her +sister’s temper. Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach +her the more to her own opinion. But by an appeal to her affection for +her mother, by representing the inconveniences which that indulgent +mother must draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she +consented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was shortly +subdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother to such imprudent +kindness by mentioning the offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw +him next, that it must be declined. + +She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the +cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to +him in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his +present. The reasons for this alteration were at the same time related, +and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side impossible. +His concern however was very apparent; and after expressing it with +earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,—“But, Marianne, the horse +is still yours, though you cannot use it now. I shall keep it only till +you can claim it. When you leave Barton to form your own establishment +in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall receive you.” + +This was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the whole of the +sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her +sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so +decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between +them. From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each +other; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or +any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover +it by accident. + +Margaret related something to her the next day, which placed this +matter in a still clearer light. Willoughby had spent the preceding +evening with them, and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlour +with only him and Marianne, had had opportunity for observations, +which, with a most important face, she communicated to her eldest +sister, when they were next by themselves. + +“Oh, Elinor!” she cried, “I have such a secret to tell you about +Marianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon.” + +“You have said so,” replied Elinor, “almost every day since they first +met on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I +believe, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round +her neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great +uncle.” + +“But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they will be married +very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair.” + +“Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some great uncle of +_his_.” + +“But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne’s. I am almost sure it is, for I +saw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you and mama went out of +the room, they were whispering and talking together as fast as could +be, and he seemed to be begging something of her, and presently he took +up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all +tumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of +white paper; and put it into his pocket-book.” + +For such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not +withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance +was in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself. + +Margaret’s sagacity was not always displayed in a way so satisfactory +to her sister. When Mrs. Jennings attacked her one evening at the park, +to give the name of the young man who was Elinor’s particular +favourite, which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her, +Margaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying, “I must not +tell, may I, Elinor?” + +This of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too. +But the effort was painful. She was convinced that Margaret had fixed +on a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a +standing joke with Mrs. Jennings. + +Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good +to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to +Margaret, + +“Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to +repeat them.” + +“I never had any conjectures about it,” replied Margaret; “it was you +who told me of it yourself.” + +This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly +pressed to say something more. + +“Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,” said Mrs. +Jennings. “What is the gentleman’s name?” + +“I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is; and I know +where he is too.” + +“Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be +sure. He is the curate of the parish I dare say.” + +“No, _that_ he is not. He is of no profession at all.” + +“Margaret,” said Marianne with great warmth, “you know that all this is +an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in +existence.” + +“Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such +a man once, and his name begins with an F.” + +Most grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for observing, at this +moment, “that it rained very hard,” though she believed the +interruption to proceed less from any attention to her, than from her +ladyship’s great dislike of all such inelegant subjects of raillery as +delighted her husband and mother. The idea however started by her, was +immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion +mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of +rain by both of them. Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked +Marianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of +different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground. But not so +easily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her. + +A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a +very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a +brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not +be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders +on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir +John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be +a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, +twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece +of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s +amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be +employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete +party of pleasure. + +To some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking, +considering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the +last fortnight;—and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was +persuaded by Elinor to stay at home. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from +what Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued, +and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for they did +not go at all. + +By ten o’clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they +were to breakfast. The morning was rather favourable, though it had +rained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky, +and the sun frequently appeared. They were all in high spirits and good +humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest +inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise. + +While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the +rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;—he took it, looked at the +direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room. + +“What is the matter with Brandon?” said Sir John. + +Nobody could tell. + +“I hope he has had no bad news,” said Lady Middleton. “It must be +something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my +breakfast table so suddenly.” + +In about five minutes he returned. + +“No bad news, Colonel, I hope;” said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he +entered the room. + +“None at all, ma’am, I thank you.” + +“Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is +worse.” + +“No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business.” + +“But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a +letter of business? Come, come, this won’t do, Colonel; so let us hear +the truth of it.” + +“My dear madam,” said Lady Middleton, “recollect what you are saying.” + +“Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?” said +Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter’s reproof. + +“No, indeed, it is not.” + +“Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.” + +“Whom do you mean, ma’am?” said he, colouring a little. + +“Oh! you know who I mean.” + +“I am particularly sorry, ma’am,” said he, addressing Lady Middleton, +“that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which +requires my immediate attendance in town.” + +“In town!” cried Mrs. Jennings. “What can you have to do in town at +this time of year?” + +“My own loss is great,” he continued, “in being obliged to leave so +agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence +is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell.” + +What a blow upon them all was this! + +“But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,” said +Marianne, eagerly, “will it not be sufficient?” + +He shook his head. + +“We must go,” said Sir John.—“It shall not be put off when we are so +near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.” + +“I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to +delay my journey for one day!” + +“If you would but let us know what your business is,” said Mrs. +Jennings, “we might see whether it could be put off or not.” + +“You would not be six hours later,” said Willoughby, “if you were to +defer your journey till our return.” + +“I cannot afford to lose _one_ hour.” + +Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, “There +are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of +them. He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this +trick for getting out of it. I would lay fifty guineas the letter was +of his own writing.” + +“I have no doubt of it,” replied Marianne. + +“There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of +old,” said Sir John, “when once you are determined on anything. But, +however, I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two +Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked up +from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual +time, on purpose to go to Whitwell.” + +Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of +disappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be +unavoidable. + +“Well, then, when will you come back again?” + +“I hope we shall see you at Barton,” added her ladyship, “as soon as +you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to +Whitwell till you return.” + +“You are very obliging. But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in +my power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all.” + +“Oh! he must and shall come back,” cried Sir John. “If he is not here +by the end of the week, I shall go after him.” + +“Ay, so do, Sir John,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “and then perhaps you may +find out what his business is.” + +“I do not want to pry into other men’s concerns. I suppose it is +something he is ashamed of.” + +Colonel Brandon’s horses were announced. + +“You do not go to town on horseback, do you?” added Sir John. + +“No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.” + +“Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you +had better change your mind.” + +“I assure you it is not in my power.” + +He then took leave of the whole party. + +“Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this +winter, Miss Dashwood?” + +“I am afraid, none at all.” + +“Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to +do.” + +To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing. + +“Come Colonel,” said Mrs. Jennings, “before you go, do let us know what +you are going about.” + +He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room. + +The complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto +restrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and +again how provoking it was to be so disappointed. + +“I can guess what his business is, however,” said Mrs. Jennings +exultingly. + +“Can you, ma’am?” said almost every body. + +“Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.” + +“And who is Miss Williams?” asked Marianne. + +“What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have +heard of her before. She is a relation of the Colonel’s, my dear; a +very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the +young ladies.” Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor, +“She is his natural daughter.” + +“Indeed!” + +“Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will +leave her all his fortune.” + +When Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret +on so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as +they were all got together, they must do something by way of being +happy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although +happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a +tolerable composure of mind by driving about the country. The carriages +were then ordered; Willoughby’s was first, and Marianne never looked +happier than when she got into it. He drove through the park very fast, +and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till +their return, which did not happen till after the return of all the +rest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said only in +general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others went on +the downs. + +It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that +every body should be extremely merry all day long. Some more of the +Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly +twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment. +Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods. +Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor’s right hand; and they had not been long +seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to +Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, “I have found you out in +spite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning.” + +Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, “Where, pray?” + +“Did not you know,” said Willoughby, “that we had been out in my +curricle?” + +“Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined +to find out _where_ you had been to. I hope you like your house, Miss +Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I +hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I +was there six years ago.” + +Marianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed +heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they +had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr. +Willoughby’s groom; and that she had by that method been informed that +they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in +walking about the garden and going all over the house. + +Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely +that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house +while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest +acquaintance. + +As soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it; +and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance +related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true. Marianne was quite angry +with her for doubting it. + +“Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we +did not see the house? Is not it what you have often wished to do +yourself?” + +“Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with +no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.” + +“Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to show +that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to +have any other companion. I never spent a pleasanter morning in my +life.” + +“I am afraid,” replied Elinor, “that the pleasantness of an employment +does not always evince its propriety.” + +“On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if +there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been +sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting +wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.” + +“But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very +impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of +your own conduct?” + +“If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of +impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives. +I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation. I +am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs. +Smith’s grounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr. +Willoughby’s, and—” + +“If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be +justified in what you have done.” + +She blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her; +and after a ten minutes’ interval of earnest thought, she came to her +sister again, and said with great good humour, “Perhaps, Elinor, it +_was_ rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby +wanted particularly to show me the place; and it is a charming house, I +assure you.—There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a +nice comfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it +would be delightful. It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides. +On one side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a +beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church +and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so +often admired. I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be more +forlorn than the furniture,—but if it were newly fitted up—a couple of +hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest +summer-rooms in England.” + +Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others, +she would have described every room in the house with equal delight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon’s visit at the park, with his +steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the +wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great +wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all +the comings and goings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with +little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must +be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could +have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape +them all. + +“Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure,” said she. “I +could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may +be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two +thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do +think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can +it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the +truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare +say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be +she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a +notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about +Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his +circumstances _now_, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must +have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be +his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting +off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his +trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.” + +So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion varying with every +fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose. +Elinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel +Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away, +which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that the +circumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or +variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of. It was +engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on +the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them +all. As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange +and more incompatible with the disposition of both. Why they should not +openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant +behaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not +imagine. + +She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in +their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason +to believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at about six +or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that +income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of +his poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by them +relative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all, +she could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to their +general opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind +of their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her +making any inquiry of Marianne. + +Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than +Willoughby’s behaviour. To Marianne it had all the distinguishing +tenderness which a lover’s heart could give, and to the rest of the +family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother. The +cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many more +of his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general +engagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him +out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest +of the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his +favourite pointer at her feet. + +One evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the +country, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of +attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood’s happening +to mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly +opposed every alteration of a place which affection had established as +perfect with him. + +“What!” he exclaimed—“Improve this dear cottage! No. _That_ I will +never consent to. Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch +to its size, if my feelings are regarded.” + +“Do not be alarmed,” said Miss Dashwood, “nothing of the kind will be +done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it.” + +“I am heartily glad of it,” he cried. “May she always be poor, if she +can employ her riches no better.” + +“Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not +sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one +whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it +that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in +the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it +in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this +place as to see no defect in it?” + +“I am,” said he. “To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider it as +the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I +rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in +the exact plan of this cottage.” + +“With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,” said +Elinor. + +“Yes,” cried he in the same eager tone, “with all and every thing +belonging to it;—in no one convenience or inconvenience about it, +should the least variation be perceptible. Then, and then only, under +such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at +Barton.” + +“I flatter myself,” replied Elinor, “that even under the disadvantage +of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your +own house as faultless as you now do this.” + +“There certainly are circumstances,” said Willoughby, “which might +greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of +my affection, which no other can possibly share.” + +Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were +fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she +understood him. + +“How often did I wish,” added he, “when I was at Allenham this time +twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! I never passed within +view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one +should live in it. How little did I then think that the very first news +I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country, would +be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate satisfaction +and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of prescience of +what happiness I should experience from it, can account for. Must it +not have been so, Marianne?” speaking to her in a lowered voice. Then +continuing his former tone, he said, “And yet this house you would +spoil, Mrs. Dashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by imaginary +improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance first +began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by us +together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance, and +every body would be eager to pass through the room which has hitherto +contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort than any +other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world could +possibly afford.” + +Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should +be attempted. + +“You are a good woman,” he warmly replied. “Your promise makes me easy. +Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy. Tell me that not +only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever find you +and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will always +consider me with the kindness which has made everything belonging to +you so dear to me.” + +The promise was readily given, and Willoughby’s behaviour during the +whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness. + +“Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?” said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was +leaving them. “I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must +walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton.” + +He engaged to be with them by four o’clock. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +Mrs. Dashwood’s visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and +two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from +being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her +mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the +night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly +satisfied with her remaining at home. + +On their return from the park they found Willoughby’s curricle and +servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that +her conjecture had been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen; +but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her +to expect. They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came +hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her +handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs. +Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had +just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against +the mantel-piece with his back towards them. He turned round on their +coming in, and his countenance showed that he strongly partook of the +emotion which over-powered Marianne. + +“Is anything the matter with her?” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she +entered—“is she ill?” + +“I hope not,” he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced +smile presently added, “It is I who may rather expect to be ill—for I +am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!” + +“Disappointment?” + +“Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. Mrs. Smith has +this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent +cousin, by sending me on business to London. I have just received my +dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of +exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you.” + +“To London!—and are you going this morning?” + +“Almost this moment.” + +“This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;—and her +business will not detain you from us long I hope.” + +He coloured as he replied, “You are very kind, but I have no idea of +returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are +never repeated within the twelvemonth.” + +“And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the +neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can +you wait for an invitation here?” + +His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only +replied, “You are too good.” + +Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal +amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first +spoke. + +“I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you +will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here +immediately, because you only can judge how far _that_ might be +pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to +question your judgment than to doubt your inclination.” + +“My engagements at present,” replied Willoughby, confusedly, “are of +such a nature—that—I dare not flatter myself—” + +He stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another +pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint +smile, “It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment myself +any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible +for me now to enjoy.” + +He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him +step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight. + +Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the +parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this +sudden departure occasioned. + +Elinor’s uneasiness was at least equal to her mother’s. She thought of +what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby’s behaviour +in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of +cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother’s +invitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself, +greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design had +ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate +quarrel had taken place between him and her sister;—the distress in +which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could +most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne’s +love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible. + +But whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister’s +affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest +compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability +not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a +duty. + +In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were +red, her countenance was not uncheerful. + +“Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,” said she, +as she sat down to work, “and with how heavy a heart does he travel?” + +“It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work +of a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so +affectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice—Gone too without +intending to return!—Something more than what he owned to us must have +happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. _You_ must +have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have +quarrelled? Why else should he have shown such unwillingness to accept +your invitation here?” + +“It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see +_that_. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all +over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at +first seemed strange to me as well as to you.” + +“Can you, indeed!” + +“Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;—but +you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—it will not satisfy _you_, +I know; but you shall not talk _me_ out of my trust in it. I am +persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves +of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that +account is eager to get him away;—and that the business which she sends +him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is +what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she _does_ +disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to +her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from +his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself +from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or +may _not_ have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can +point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory +at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?” + +“Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.” + +“Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened. +Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take +evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for +Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the +latter. You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave +of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown. And is no +allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by +recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely +because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we +have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill +of? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though +unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect +him of?” + +“I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is the +inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in +him. There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the +allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be +candid in my judgment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have +very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has. +But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at +once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at +its being practiced by him.” + +“Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the +deviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I +have said in his defence?—I am happy—and he is acquitted.” + +“Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they +_are_ engaged) from Mrs. Smith—and if that is the case, it must be +highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at +present. But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.” + +“Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and +Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have +been reproaching them every day for incautiousness.” + +“I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor; “but of their +engagement I do.” + +“I am perfectly satisfied of both.” + +“Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of +them.” + +“I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has +not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last +fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future +wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation? +Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been +daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate +respect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How could +such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that Willoughby, +persuaded as he must be of your sister’s love, should leave her, and +leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his +affection;—that they should part without a mutual exchange of +confidence?” + +“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except _one_ is +in favour of their engagement; but that _one_ is the total silence of +both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.” + +“How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby, +if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the +nature of the terms on which they are together. Has he been acting a +part in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him +really indifferent to her?” + +“No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.” + +“But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such +indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to +him.” + +“You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this +matter as certain. I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are +fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away. If we +find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed.” + +“A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at the altar, you +would suppose they were going to be married. Ungracious girl! But _I_ +require no such proof. Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify +doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly open and +unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister’s wishes. It must be +Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why? Is he not a man of +honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to +create alarm? can he be deceitful?” + +“I hope not, I believe not,” cried Elinor. “I love Willoughby, +sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more +painful to yourself than to me. It has been involuntary, and I will not +encourage it. I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his +manners this morning;—he did not speak like himself, and did not return +your kindness with any cordiality. But all this may be explained by +such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed. He had just +parted from my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest +affliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs. +Smith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yet aware +that by declining your invitation, by saying that he was going away for +some time, he should seem to act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by +our family, he might well be embarrassed and disturbed. In such a case, +a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more to his +honour I think, as well as more consistent with his general +character;—but I will not raise objections against any one’s conduct on +so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgment from myself, or +a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.” + +“You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be +suspected. Though _we_ have not known him long, he is no stranger in +this part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage? +Had he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately, +it might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging +everything to me at once: but this is not the case. It is an engagement +in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage must be at +a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it can be +observed, may now be very advisable.” + +They were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and Elinor was then +at liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to +acknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all. + +They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the +room and took her place at the table without saying a word. Her eyes +were red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then +restrained with difficulty. She avoided the looks of them all, could +neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother’s silently +pressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude +was quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room. + +This violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening. She was +without any power, because she was without any desire of command over +herself. The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughby +overpowered her in an instant; and though her family were most +anxiously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, if they +spoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her feelings +connected with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Marianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able +to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She +would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next +morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than +when she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a +disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the +whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with a +headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment; +giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all +attempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough! + +When breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and wandered about +the village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment +and crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning. + +The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling. She played +over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, +every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at +the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out +for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be +gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She spent +whole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and crying; her voice +often totally suspended by her tears. In books too, as well as in +music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and +present was certain of giving. She read nothing but what they had been +used to read together. + +Such violence of affliction indeed could not be supported for ever; it +sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; but these employments, +to which she daily recurred, her solitary walks and silent meditations, +still produced occasional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever. + +No letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed expected by Marianne. +Her mother was surprised, and Elinor again became uneasy. But Mrs. +Dashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at +least satisfied herself. + +“Remember, Elinor,” said she, “how very often Sir John fetches our +letters himself from the post, and carries them to it. We have already +agreed that secrecy may be necessary, and we must acknowledge that it +could not be maintained if their correspondence were to pass through +Sir John’s hands.” + +Elinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to find in it a +motive sufficient for their silence. But there was one method so +direct, so simple, and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real +state of the affair, and of instantly removing all mystery, that she +could not help suggesting it to her mother. + +“Why do you not ask Marianne at once,” said she, “whether she is or she +is not engaged to Willoughby? From you, her mother, and so kind, so +indulgent a mother, the question could not give offence. It would be +the natural result of your affection for her. She used to be all +unreserve, and to you more especially.” + +“I would not ask such a question for the world. Supposing it possible +that they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry +inflict! At any rate it would be most ungenerous. I should never +deserve her confidence again, after forcing from her a confession of +what is meant at present to be unacknowledged to any one. I know +Marianne’s heart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not +be the last to whom the affair is made known, when circumstances make +the revealment of it eligible. I would not attempt to force the +confidence of any one; of a child much less; because a sense of duty +would prevent the denial which her wishes might direct.” + +Elinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister’s +youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, common +care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood’s romantic +delicacy. + +It was several days before Willoughby’s name was mentioned before +Marianne by any of her family; Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, indeed, were +not so nice; their witticisms added pain to many a painful hour;—but +one evening, Mrs. Dashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of +Shakespeare, exclaimed, + +“We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away +before we could get through it. We will put it by, that when he comes +again...But it may be months, perhaps, before _that_ happens.” + +“Months!” cried Marianne, with strong surprise. “No—nor many weeks.” + +Mrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor +pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of +confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions. + +One morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was +prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of +wandering away by herself. Hitherto she had carefully avoided every +companion in her rambles. If her sisters intended to walk on the downs, +she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of the +valley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be +found when the others set off. But at length she was secured by the +exertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion. +They walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence, +for Marianne’s _mind_ could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied +with gaining one point, would not then attempt more. Beyond the +entrance of the valley, where the country, though still rich, was less +wild and more open, a long stretch of the road which they had travelled +on first coming to Barton, lay before them; and on reaching that point, +they stopped to look around them, and examine a prospect which formed +the distance of their view from the cottage, from a spot which they had +never happened to reach in any of their walks before. + +Amongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated one; +it was a man on horseback riding towards them. In a few minutes they +could distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment afterwards +Marianne rapturously exclaimed, + +“It is he; it is indeed;—I know it is!”—and was hastening to meet him, +when Elinor cried out, + +“Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby. The +person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air.” + +“He has, he has,” cried Marianne, “I am sure he has. His air, his coat, +his horse. I knew how soon he would come.” + +She walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne from +particularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being Willoughby, +quickened her pace and kept up with her. They were soon within thirty +yards of the gentleman. Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within +her; and abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back, when the voices +of both her sisters were raised to detain her; a third, almost as well +known as Willoughby’s, joined them in begging her to stop, and she +turned round with surprise to see and welcome Edward Ferrars. + +He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be +forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained a +smile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on _him_, and in +her sister’s happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment. + +He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with +them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them. + +He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by +Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than +even Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward +and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness +which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour. On +Edward’s side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a +lover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was confused, +seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither +rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by +questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne +saw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a +dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by +carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a +contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect. + +After a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries +of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No, +he had been in Devonshire a fortnight. + +“A fortnight!” she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same +county with Elinor without seeing her before. + +He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with +some friends near Plymouth. + +“Have you been lately in Sussex?” said Elinor. + +“I was at Norland about a month ago.” + +“And how does dear, dear Norland look?” cried Marianne. + +“Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor, “probably looks much as it always +does at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered with +dead leaves.” + +“Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what transporting sensation have I formerly +seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven +in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, +the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They +are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as +possible from the sight.” + +“It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead +leaves.” + +“No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But +_sometimes_ they are.”—As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a +few moments;—but rousing herself again, “Now, Edward,” said she, +calling his attention to the prospect, “here is Barton valley. Look up +to it, and be tranquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever +see their equals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and +plantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, beneath that +farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.” + +“It is a beautiful country,” he replied; “but these bottoms must be +dirty in winter.” + +“How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?” + +“Because,” replied he, smiling, “among the rest of the objects before +me, I see a very dirty lane.” + +“How strange!” said Marianne to herself as she walked on. + +“Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the Middletons pleasant +people?” + +“No, not all,” answered Marianne; “we could not be more unfortunately +situated.” + +“Marianne,” cried her sister, “how can you say so? How can you be so +unjust? They are a very respectable family, Mr. Ferrars; and towards us +have behaved in the friendliest manner. Have you forgot, Marianne, how +many pleasant days we have owed to them?” + +“No,” said Marianne, in a low voice, “nor how many painful moments.” + +Elinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention to their +visitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse with him, by +talking of their present residence, its conveniences, &c. extorting +from him occasional questions and remarks. His coldness and reserve +mortified her severely; she was vexed and half angry; but resolving to +regulate her behaviour to him by the past rather than the present, she +avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, and treated him +as she thought he ought to be treated from the family connection. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +Mrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at seeing him; for his +coming to Barton was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural. +Her joy and expression of regard long outlived her wonder. He received +the kindest welcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not +stand against such a reception. They had begun to fail him before he +entered the house, and they were quite overcome by the captivating +manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a man could not very well be in love +with either of her daughters, without extending the passion to her; and +Elinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become more like +himself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and his +interest in their welfare again became perceptible. He was not in +spirits, however; he praised their house, admired its prospect, was +attentive, and kind; but still he was not in spirits. The whole family +perceived it, and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of +liberality in his mother, sat down to table indignant against all +selfish parents. + +“What are Mrs. Ferrars’s views for you at present, Edward?” said she, +when dinner was over and they had drawn round the fire; “are you still +to be a great orator in spite of yourself?” + +“No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no more talents than +inclination for a public life!” + +“But how is your fame to be established? for famous you must be to +satisfy all your family; and with no inclination for expense, no +affection for strangers, no profession, and no assurance, you may find +it a difficult matter.” + +“I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to be distinguished; and have +every reason to hope I never shall. Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced +into genius and eloquence.” + +“You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishes are all moderate.” + +“As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe. I wish as +well as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, like every body +else it must be in my own way. Greatness will not make me so.” + +“Strange that it would!” cried Marianne. “What have wealth or grandeur +to do with happiness?” + +“Grandeur has but little,” said Elinor, “but wealth has much to do with +it.” + +“Elinor, for shame!” said Marianne, “money can only give happiness +where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence, it can +afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is concerned.” + +“Perhaps,” said Elinor, smiling, “we may come to the same point. _Your_ +competence and _my_ wealth are very much alike, I dare say; and without +them, as the world goes now, we shall both agree that every kind of +external comfort must be wanting. Your ideas are only more noble than +mine. Come, what is your competence?” + +“About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than _that_.” + +Elinor laughed. “_two_ thousand a year! _one_ is my wealth! I guessed +how it would end.” + +“And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income,” said Marianne. +“A family cannot well be maintained on a smaller. I am sure I am not +extravagant in my demands. A proper establishment of servants, a +carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less.” + +Elinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so accurately their +future expenses at Combe Magna. + +“Hunters!” repeated Edward—“but why must you have hunters? Every body +does not hunt.” + +Marianne coloured as she replied, “But most people do.” + +“I wish,” said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, “that somebody +would give us all a large fortune apiece!” + +“Oh that they would!” cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with +animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary +happiness. + +“We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,” said Elinor, “in spite +of the insufficiency of wealth.” + +“Oh dear!” cried Margaret, “how happy I should be! I wonder what I +should do with it!” + +Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point. + +“I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,” said Mrs. +Dashwood, “if my children were all to be rich without my help.” + +“You must begin your improvements on this house,” observed Elinor, “and +your difficulties will soon vanish.” + +“What magnificent orders would travel from this family to London,” said +Edward, “in such an event! What a happy day for booksellers, +music-sellers, and print-shops! You, Miss Dashwood, would give a +general commission for every new print of merit to be sent you—and as +for Marianne, I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music +enough in London to content her. And books!—Thomson, Cowper, Scott—she +would buy them all over and over again: she would buy up every copy, I +believe, to prevent their falling into unworthy hands; and she would +have every book that tells her how to admire an old twisted tree. +Should not you, Marianne? Forgive me, if I am very saucy. But I was +willing to show you that I had not forgot our old disputes.” + +“I love to be reminded of the past, Edward—whether it be melancholy or +gay, I love to recall it—and you will never offend me by talking of +former times. You are very right in supposing how my money would be +spent—some of it, at least—my loose cash would certainly be employed in +improving my collection of music and books.” + +“And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annuities on the +authors or their heirs.” + +“No, Edward, I should have something else to do with it.” + +“Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on that person who +wrote the ablest defence of your favourite maxim, that no one can ever +be in love more than once in their life—your opinion on that point is +unchanged, I presume?” + +“Undoubtedly. At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed. It is +not likely that I should now see or hear any thing to change them.” + +“Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see,” said Elinor, “she is not +at all altered.” + +“She is only grown a little more grave than she was.” + +“Nay, Edward,” said Marianne, “_you_ need not reproach me. You are not +very gay yourself.” + +“Why should you think so!” replied he, with a sigh. “But gaiety never +was a part of _my_ character.” + +“Nor do I think it a part of Marianne’s,” said Elinor; “I should hardly +call her a lively girl—she is very earnest, very eager in all she +does—sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation—but she is +not often really merry.” + +“I believe you are right,” he replied, “and yet I have always set her +down as a lively girl.” + +“I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes,” said +Elinor, “in a total misapprehension of character in some point or +other: fancying people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or +stupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why or in what the +deception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what they say of +themselves, and very frequently by what other people say of them, +without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.” + +“But I thought it was right, Elinor,” said Marianne, “to be guided +wholly by the opinion of other people. I thought our judgments were +given us merely to be subservient to those of neighbours. This has +always been your doctrine, I am sure.” + +“No, Marianne, never. My doctrine has never aimed at the subjection of +the understanding. All I have ever attempted to influence has been the +behaviour. You must not confound my meaning. I am guilty, I confess, of +having often wished you to treat our acquaintance in general with +greater attention; but when have I advised you to adopt their +sentiments or to conform to their judgment in serious matters?” + +“You have not been able to bring your sister over to your plan of +general civility,” said Edward to Elinor, “Do you gain no ground?” + +“Quite the contrary,” replied Elinor, looking expressively at Marianne. + +“My judgment,” he returned, “is all on your side of the question; but I +am afraid my practice is much more on your sister’s. I never wish to +offend, but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent, when I +am only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have frequently thought +that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I +am so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!” + +“Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of hers,” said +Elinor. + +“She knows her own worth too well for false shame,” replied Edward. +“Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or +other. If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy +and graceful, I should not be shy.” + +“But you would still be reserved,” said Marianne, “and that is worse.” + +Edward started—“Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?” + +“Yes, very.” + +“I do not understand you,” replied he, colouring. “Reserved!—how, in +what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?” + +Elinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to laugh off the +subject, she said to him, “Do not you know my sister well enough to +understand what she means? Do not you know she calls every one reserved +who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturously +as herself?” + +Edward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him +in their fullest extent—and he sat for some time silent and dull. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +Elinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend. His +visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own +enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was +unhappy; she wished it were equally evident that he still distinguished +her by the same affection which once she had felt no doubt of +inspiring; but hitherto the continuance of his preference seemed very +uncertain; and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted +one moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one. + +He joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-room the next morning +before the others were down; and Marianne, who was always eager to +promote their happiness as far as she could, soon left them to +themselves. But before she was half way upstairs she heard the parlour +door open, and, turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself +come out. + +“I am going into the village to see my horses,” said he, “as you are +not yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again presently.” + + +Edward returned to them with fresh admiration of the surrounding +country; in his walk to the village, he had seen many parts of the +valley to advantage; and the village itself, in a much higher situation +than the cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which had +exceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensured Marianne’s +attention, and she was beginning to describe her own admiration of +these scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects that had +particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, “You +must not enquire too far, Marianne—remember I have no knowledge in the +picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste +if we come to particulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be +bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and +rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be +indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere. You must be +satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give. I call it a very +fine country—the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, +and the valley looks comfortable and snug—with rich meadows and several +neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly answers my idea +of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility—and I dare say +it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily +believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush +wood, but these are all lost on me. I know nothing of the picturesque.” + +“I am afraid it is but too true,” said Marianne; “but why should you +boast of it?” + +“I suspect,” said Elinor, “that to avoid one kind of affectation, +Edward here falls into another. Because he believes many people pretend +to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and +is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and +less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is +fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.” + +“It is very true,” said Marianne, “that admiration of landscape scenery +is become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to +describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what +picturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I +have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to +describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and +meaning.” + +“I am convinced,” said Edward, “that you really feel all the delight in +a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister +must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, +but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, +blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and +flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of +nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug +farm-house than a watch-tower—and a troop of tidy, happy villagers +please me better than the finest banditti in the world.” + +Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her +sister. Elinor only laughed. + +The subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained +thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention. +She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, +his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait +of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers. + +“I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,” she cried. “Is that +Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should +have thought her hair had been darker.” + +Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt—but when she saw +how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought +could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a +momentary glance at Elinor, replied, “Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The +setting always casts a different shade on it, you know.” + +Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair +was her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne; +the only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne +considered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must +have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She +was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and affecting +to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of something +else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity +of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it +was exactly the shade of her own. + +Edward’s embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of +mind still more settled. He was particularly grave the whole morning. +Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own +forgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little +offence it had given her sister. + +Before the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs. +Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the +cottage, came to take a survey of the guest. With the assistance of his +mother-in-law, Sir John was not long in discovering that the name of +Ferrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery +against the devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their +acquaintance with Edward could have prevented from being immediately +sprung. But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant +looks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret’s instructions, +extended. + +Sir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to +dine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening. +On the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor, +towards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished +to engage them for both. + +“You _must_ drink tea with us to night,” said he, “for we shall be +quite alone—and tomorrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall +be a large party.” + +Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. “And who knows but you may raise +a dance,” said she. “And that will tempt _you_, Miss Marianne.” + +“A dance!” cried Marianne. “Impossible! Who is to dance?” + +“Who! why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure.—What! +you thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be +nameless is gone!” + +“I wish with all my soul,” cried Sir John, “that Willoughby were among +us again.” + +This, and Marianne’s blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward. “And who +is Willoughby?” said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he +was sitting. + +She gave him a brief reply. Marianne’s countenance was more +communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning of +others, but such of Marianne’s expressions as had puzzled him before; +and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round her, and +said, in a whisper, “I have been guessing. Shall I tell you my guess?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Shall I tell you?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.” + +Marianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not help smiling at +the quiet archness of his manner, and after a moment’s silence, said, + +“Oh, Edward! How can you?—But the time will come I hope...I am sure you +will like him.” + +“I do not doubt it,” replied he, rather astonished at her earnestness +and warmth; for had he not imagined it to be a joke for the good of her +acquaintance in general, founded only on a something or a nothing +between Mr. Willoughby and herself, he would not have ventured to +mention it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Edward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly pressed by Mrs. +Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if he were bent only on +self-mortification, he seemed resolved to be gone when his enjoyment +among his friends was at the height. His spirits, during the last two +or three days, though still very unequal, were greatly improved—he grew +more and more partial to the house and environs—never spoke of going +away without a sigh—declared his time to be wholly disengaged—even +doubted to what place he should go when he left them—but still, go he +must. Never had any week passed so quickly—he could hardly believe it +to be gone. He said so repeatedly; other things he said too, which +marked the turn of his feelings and gave the lie to his actions. He had +no pleasure at Norland; he detested being in town; but either to +Norland or London, he must go. He valued their kindness beyond any +thing, and his greatest happiness was in being with them. Yet, he must +leave them at the end of a week, in spite of their wishes and his own, +and without any restraint on his time. + +Elinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to his +mother’s account; and it was happy for her that he had a mother whose +character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the general excuse +for every thing strange on the part of her son. Disappointed, however, +and vexed as she was, and sometimes displeased with his uncertain +behaviour to herself, she was very well disposed on the whole to regard +his actions with all the candid allowances and generous qualifications, +which had been rather more painfully extorted from her, for +Willoughby’s service, by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness, +and of consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of +independence, and his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars’s disposition +and designs. The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose +in leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same +inevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother. The old +well-established grievance of duty against will, parent against child, +was the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when these +difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,—when Mrs. +Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. But +from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for comfort to the renewal +of her confidence in Edward’s affection, to the remembrance of every +mark of regard in look or word which fell from him while at Barton, and +above all to that flattering proof of it which he constantly wore round +his finger. + +“I think, Edward,” said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at breakfast the +last morning, “you would be a happier man if you had any profession to +engage your time and give an interest to your plans and actions. Some +inconvenience to your friends, indeed, might result from it—you would +not be able to give them so much of your time. But (with a smile) you +would be materially benefited in one particular at least—you would know +where to go when you left them.” + +“I do assure you,” he replied, “that I have long thought on this point, +as you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will always be a +heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage +me, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like +independence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my +friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being. We never +could agree in our choice of a profession. I always preferred the +church, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family. +They recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The +law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers +in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and +drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no inclination for the +law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family approved. +As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I was too old when the +subject was first started to enter it—and, at length, as there was no +necessity for my having any profession at all, as I might be as dashing +and expensive without a red coat on my back as with one, idleness was +pronounced on the whole to be most advantageous and honourable, and a +young man of eighteen is not in general so earnestly bent on being busy +as to resist the solicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was +therefore entered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since.” + +“The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,” said Mrs. Dashwood, +“since leisure has not promoted your own happiness, that your sons will +be brought up to as many pursuits, employments, professions, and trades +as Columella’s.” + +“They will be brought up,” said he, in a serious accent, “to be as +unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in +every thing.” + +“Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits, +Edward. You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one unlike +yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from +friends will be felt by every body at times, whatever be their +education or state. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but +patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. Your mother +will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so anxious for; +it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long become her happiness to +prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent. How much may +not a few months do?” + +“I think,” replied Edward, “that I may defy many months to produce any +good to me.” + +This desponding turn of mind, though it could not be communicated to +Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to them all in the parting, which +shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Elinor’s +feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue. +But as it was her determination to subdue it, and to prevent herself +from appearing to suffer more than what all her family suffered on his +going away, she did not adopt the method so judiciously employed by +Marianne, on a similar occasion, to augment and fix her sorrow, by +seeking silence, solitude and idleness. Their means were as different +as their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each. + +Elinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was out of the +house, busily employed herself the whole day, neither sought nor +avoided the mention of his name, appeared to interest herself almost as +much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this +conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented +from unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisters were spared much +solicitude on her account. + +Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, appeared no +more meritorious to Marianne, than her own had seemed faulty to her. +The business of self-command she settled very easily;—with strong +affections it was impossible, with calm ones it could have no merit. +That her sister’s affections _were_ calm, she dared not deny, though +she blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave +a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in +spite of this mortifying conviction. + +Without shutting herself up from her family, or leaving the house in +determined solitude to avoid them, or lying awake the whole night to +indulge meditation, Elinor found every day afforded her leisure enough +to think of Edward, and of Edward’s behaviour, in every possible +variety which the different state of her spirits at different times +could produce,—with tenderness, pity, approbation, censure, and doubt. +There were moments in abundance, when, if not by the absence of her +mother and sisters, at least by the nature of their employments, +conversation was forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was +produced. Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be +chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so +interesting, must be before her, must force her attention, and engross +her memory, her reflection, and her fancy. + +From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-table, she was +roused one morning, soon after Edward’s leaving them, by the arrival of +company. She happened to be quite alone. The closing of the little +gate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the house, drew +her eyes to the window, and she saw a large party walking up to the +door. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, +but there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown +to her. She was sitting near the window, and as soon as Sir John +perceived her, he left the rest of the party to the ceremony of +knocking at the door, and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open +the casement to speak to him, though the space was so short between the +door and the window, as to make it hardly possible to speak at one +without being heard at the other. + +“Well,” said he, “we have brought you some strangers. How do you like +them?” + +“Hush! they will hear you.” + +“Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte is very +pretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look this way.” + +As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without +taking that liberty, she begged to be excused. + +“Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I see her +instrument is open.” + +“She is walking, I believe.” + +They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to +wait till the door was opened before she told _her_ story. She came +hallooing to the window, “How do you do, my dear? How does Mrs. +Dashwood do? And where are your sisters? What! all alone! you will be +glad of a little company to sit with you. I have brought my other son +and daughter to see you. Only think of their coming so suddenly! I +thought I heard a carriage last night, while we were drinking our tea, +but it never entered my head that it could be them. I thought of +nothing but whether it might not be Colonel Brandon come back again; so +I said to Sir John, I do think I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel +Brandon come back again—” + +Elinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her story, to +receive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton introduced the two +strangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret came down stairs at the same +time, and they all sat down to look at one another, while Mrs. Jennings +continued her story as she walked through the passage into the parlour, +attended by Sir John. + +Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton, and totally +unlike her in every respect. She was short and plump, had a very pretty +face, and the finest expression of good humour in it that could +possibly be. Her manners were by no means so elegant as her sister’s, +but they were much more prepossessing. She came in with a smile, smiled +all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, and smiled when she +went away. Her husband was a grave looking young man of five or six and +twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense than his wife, but of +less willingness to please or be pleased. He entered the room with a +look of self-consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without +speaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and their +apartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read +it as long as he staid. + +Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by nature with a +turn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly seated before her +admiration of the parlour and every thing in it burst forth. + +“Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw anything so +charming! Only think, Mama, how it is improved since I was here last! I +always thought it such a sweet place, ma’am! (turning to Mrs. Dashwood) +but you have made it so charming! Only look, sister, how delightful +every thing is! How I should like such a house for myself! Should not +you, Mr. Palmer?” + +Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the +newspaper. + +“Mr. Palmer does not hear me,” said she, laughing; “he never does +sometimes. It is so ridiculous!” + +This was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never been used to +find wit in the inattention of any one, and could not help looking with +surprise at them both. + +Mrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as she could, and +continued her account of their surprise, the evening before, on seeing +their friends, without ceasing till every thing was told. Mrs. Palmer +laughed heartily at the recollection of their astonishment, and every +body agreed, two or three times over, that it had been quite an +agreeable surprise. + +“You may believe how glad we all were to see them,” added Mrs. +Jennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speaking in a low voice +as if she meant to be heard by no one else, though they were seated on +different sides of the room; “but, however, I can’t help wishing they +had not travelled quite so fast, nor made such a long journey of it, +for they came all round by London upon account of some business, for +you know (nodding significantly and pointing to her daughter) it was +wrong in her situation. I wanted her to stay at home and rest this +morning, but she would come with us; she longed so much to see you +all!” + +Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm. + +“She expects to be confined in February,” continued Mrs. Jennings. + +Lady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation, and +therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in +the paper. + +“No, none at all,” he replied, and read on. + +“Here comes Marianne,” cried Sir John. “Now, Palmer, you shall see a +monstrous pretty girl.” + +He immediately went into the passage, opened the front door, and +ushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as she +appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer laughed so +heartily at the question, as to show she understood it. Mr. Palmer +looked up on her entering the room, stared at her some minutes, and +then returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer’s eye was now caught by the +drawings which hung round the room. She got up to examine them. + +“Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delightful! Do but look, +mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite charming; I could look at +them for ever.” And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot that +there were any such things in the room. + +When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down +the newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around. + +“My love, have you been asleep?” said his wife, laughing. + +He made her no answer; and only observed, after again examining the +room, that it was very low pitched, and that the ceiling was crooked. +He then made his bow, and departed with the rest. + +Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at +the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener +than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account; +her daughters might do as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to +see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of +pleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, therefore, +likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not +likely to be good. But Sir John would not be satisfied—the carriage +should be sent for them and they must come. Lady Middleton too, though +she did not press their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. +Palmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a +family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield. + +“Why should they ask us?” said Marianne, as soon as they were gone. +“The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very +hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying +either with them, or with us.” + +“They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,” said Elinor, “by +these frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a +few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their parties are +grown tedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +As the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the park the next +day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as +good humoured and merry as before. She took them all most +affectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them +again. + +“I am so glad to see you!” said she, seating herself between Elinor and +Marianne, “for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come, +which would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow. We must +go, for the Westons come to us next week you know. It was quite a +sudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the +carriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I +would go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells me any +thing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again +in town very soon, I hope.” + +They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation. + +“Not go to town!” cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, “I shall be quite +disappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest house in the world +for you, next door to ours, in Hanover-square. You must come, indeed. I +am sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am +confined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public.” + +They thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties. + +“Oh, my love,” cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who just then entered +the room—“you must help me to persuade the Miss Dashwoods to go to town +this winter.” + +Her love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began +complaining of the weather. + +“How horrid all this is!” said he. “Such weather makes every thing and +every body disgusting. Dullness is as much produced within doors as +without, by rain. It makes one detest all one’s acquaintance. What the +devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his house? +How few people know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as the +weather.” + +The rest of the company soon dropt in. + +“I am afraid, Miss Marianne,” said Sir John, “you have not been able to +take your usual walk to Allenham today.” + +Marianne looked very grave and said nothing. + +“Oh, don’t be so sly before us,” said Mrs. Palmer; “for we know all +about it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very much, for I think +he is extremely handsome. We do not live a great way from him in the +country, you know. Not above ten miles, I dare say.” + +“Much nearer thirty,” said her husband. + +“Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his house; but +they say it is a sweet pretty place.” + +“As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,” said Mr. Palmer. + +Marianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her +interest in what was said. + +“Is it very ugly?” continued Mrs. Palmer—“then it must be some other +place that is so pretty I suppose.” + +When they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret +that they were only eight all together. + +“My dear,” said he to his lady, “it is very provoking that we should be +so few. Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come to us today?” + +“Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about it before, +that it could not be done? They dined with us last.” + +“You and I, Sir John,” said Mrs. Jennings, “should not stand upon such +ceremony.” + +“Then you would be very ill-bred,” cried Mr. Palmer. + +“My love you contradict every body,” said his wife with her usual +laugh. “Do you know that you are quite rude?” + +“I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother +ill-bred.” + +“Ay, you may abuse me as you please,” said the good-natured old lady, +“you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and cannot give her back again. +So there I have the whip hand of you.” + +Charlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband could not get rid +of her; and exultingly said, she did not care how cross he was to her, +as they must live together. It was impossible for any one to be more +thoroughly good-natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs. +Palmer. The studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her +husband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused her, she was +highly diverted. + +“Mr. Palmer is so droll!” said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. “He is +always out of humour.” + +Elinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give him credit +for being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill-natured or ill-bred as he +wished to appear. His temper might perhaps be a little soured by +finding, like many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable +bias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman—but +she knew that this kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man +to be lastingly hurt by it. It was rather a wish of distinction, she +believed, which produced his contemptuous treatment of every body, and +his general abuse of every thing before him. It was the desire of +appearing superior to other people. The motive was too common to be +wondered at; but the means, however they might succeed by establishing +his superiority in ill-breeding, were not likely to attach any one to +him except his wife. + +“Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Palmer soon afterwards, “I have +got such a favour to ask of you and your sister. Will you come and +spend some time at Cleveland this Christmas? Now, pray do,—and come +while the Westons are with us. You cannot think how happy I shall be! +It will be quite delightful!—My love,” applying to her husband, “don’t +you long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to Cleveland?” + +“Certainly,” he replied, with a sneer—“I came into Devonshire with no +other view.” + +“There now,”—said his lady, “you see Mr. Palmer expects you; so you +cannot refuse to come.” + +They both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation. + +“But indeed you must and shall come. I am sure you will like it of all +things. The Westons will be with us, and it will be quite delightful. +You cannot think what a sweet place Cleveland is; and we are so gay +now, for Mr. Palmer is always going about the country canvassing +against the election; and so many people came to dine with us that I +never saw before, it is quite charming! But, poor fellow! it is very +fatiguing to him! for he is forced to make every body like him.” + +Elinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the +hardship of such an obligation. + +“How charming it will be,” said Charlotte, “when he is in +Parliament!—won’t it? How I shall laugh! It will be so ridiculous to +see all his letters directed to him with an M.P.—But do you know, he +says, he will never frank for me? He declares he won’t. Don’t you, Mr. +Palmer?” + +Mr. Palmer took no notice of her. + +“He cannot bear writing, you know,” she continued—“he says it is quite +shocking.” + +“No,” said he, “I never said any thing so irrational. Don’t palm all +your abuses of language upon me.” + +“There now; you see how droll he is. This is always the way with him! +Sometimes he won’t speak to me for half a day together, and then he +comes out with something so droll—all about any thing in the world.” + +She surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing-room, +by asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively. + +“Certainly,” said Elinor; “he seems very agreeable.” + +“Well—I am so glad you do. I thought you would, he is so pleasant; and +Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you and your sisters I can tell +you, and you can’t think how disappointed he will be if you don’t come +to Cleveland.—I can’t imagine why you should object to it.” + +Elinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and by changing the +subject, put a stop to her entreaties. She thought it probable that as +they lived in the same county, Mrs. Palmer might be able to give some +more particular account of Willoughby’s general character, than could +be gathered from the Middletons’ partial acquaintance with him; and she +was eager to gain from any one, such a confirmation of his merits as +might remove the possibility of fear from Marianne. She began by +inquiring if they saw much of Mr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether +they were intimately acquainted with him. + +“Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well,” replied Mrs. Palmer;—“Not +that I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have seen him for ever in town. +Somehow or other I never happened to be staying at Barton while he was +at Allenham. Mama saw him here once before;—but I was with my uncle at +Weymouth. However, I dare say we should have seen a great deal of him +in Somersetshire, if it had not happened very unluckily that we should +never have been in the country together. He is very little at Combe, I +believe; but if he were ever so much there, I do not think Mr. Palmer +would visit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and besides it +is such a way off. I know why you inquire about him, very well; your +sister is to marry him. I am monstrous glad of it, for then I shall +have her for a neighbour you know.” + +“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “you know much more of the matter than +I do, if you have any reason to expect such a match.” + +“Don’t pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks +of. I assure you I heard of it in my way through town.” + +“My dear Mrs. Palmer!” + +“Upon my honour I did.—I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in +Bond-street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly.” + +“You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you of it! Surely you +must be mistaken. To give such intelligence to a person who could not +be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should expect +Colonel Brandon to do.” + +“But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how +it happened. When we met him, he turned back and walked with us; and so +we began talking of my brother and sister, and one thing and another, +and I said to him, ‘So, Colonel, there is a new family come to Barton +cottage, I hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that +one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby of Combe Magna. Is +it true, pray? for of course you must know, as you have been in +Devonshire so lately.’” + +“And what did the Colonel say?” + +“Oh—he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so +from that moment I set it down as certain. It will be quite delightful, +I declare! When is it to take place?” + +“Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?” + +“Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but +say fine things of you.” + +“I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I +think him uncommonly pleasing.” + +“So do I. He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should +be so grave and so dull. Mama says _he_ was in love with your sister +too. I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly +ever falls in love with any body.” + +“Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?” said +Elinor. + +“Oh! yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many people are +acquainted with him, because Combe Magna is so far off; but they all +think him extremely agreeable I assure you. Nobody is more liked than +Mr. Willoughby wherever he goes, and so you may tell your sister. She +is a monstrous lucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he +is much more lucky in getting her, because she is so very handsome and +agreeable, that nothing can be good enough for her. However, I don’t +think her hardly at all handsomer than you, I assure you; for I think +you both excessively pretty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure, +though we could not get him to own it last night.” + +Mrs. Palmer’s information respecting Willoughby was not very material; +but any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her. + +“I am so glad we are got acquainted at last,” continued Charlotte.—“And +now I hope we shall always be great friends. You can’t think how much I +longed to see you! It is so delightful that you should live at the +cottage! Nothing can be like it, to be sure! And I am so glad your +sister is going to be well married! I hope you will be a great deal at +Combe Magna. It is a sweet place, by all accounts.” + +“You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?” + +“Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married. He was a particular +friend of Sir John’s. I believe,” she added in a low voice, “he would +have been very glad to have had me, if he could. Sir John and Lady +Middleton wished it very much. But mama did not think the match good +enough for me, otherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to the +Colonel, and we should have been married immediately.” + +“Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John’s proposal to your mother +before it was made? Had he never owned his affection to yourself?” + +“Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say he would have +liked it of all things. He had not seen me then above twice, for it was +before I left school. However, I am much happier as I am. Mr. Palmer is +the kind of man I like.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +The Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the two families at +Barton were again left to entertain each other. But this did not last +long; Elinor had hardly got their last visitors out of her head, had +hardly done wondering at Charlotte’s being so happy without a cause, at +Mr. Palmer’s acting so simply, with good abilities, and at the strange +unsuitableness which often existed between husband and wife, before Sir +John’s and Mrs. Jennings’s active zeal in the cause of society, +procured her some other new acquaintance to see and observe. + +In a morning’s excursion to Exeter, they had met with two young ladies, +whom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction of discovering to be her +relations, and this was enough for Sir John to invite them directly to +the park, as soon as their present engagements at Exeter were over. +Their engagements at Exeter instantly gave way before such an +invitation, and Lady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the +return of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive a +visit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, and of whose +elegance,—whose tolerable gentility even, she could have no proof; for +the assurances of her husband and mother on that subject went for +nothing at all. Their being her relations too made it so much the +worse; and Mrs. Jennings’s attempts at consolation were therefore +unfortunately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care about +their being so fashionable; because they were all cousins and must put +up with one another. As it was impossible, however, now to prevent +their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with +all the philosophy of a well-bred woman, contenting herself with merely +giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times +every day. + +The young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or +unfashionable. Their dress was very smart, their manners very civil, +they were delighted with the house, and in raptures with the furniture, +and they happened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady +Middleton’s good opinion was engaged in their favour before they had +been an hour at the Park. She declared them to be very agreeable girls +indeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration. Sir John’s +confidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he +set off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss +Steeles’ arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls +in the world. From such commendation as this, however, there was not +much to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the +world were to be met with in every part of England, under every +possible variation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John +wanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his +guests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was painful to him even to +keep a third cousin to himself. + +“Do come now,” said he—“pray come—you must come—I declare you shall +come—You can’t think how you will like them. Lucy is monstrous pretty, +and so good humoured and agreeable! The children are all hanging about +her already, as if she was an old acquaintance. And they both long to +see you of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that you are the +most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told them it is all +very true, and a great deal more. You will be delighted with them I am +sure. They have brought the whole coach full of playthings for the +children. How can you be so cross as not to come? Why they are your +cousins, you know, after a fashion. _You_ are my cousins, and they are +my wife’s, so you must be related.” + +But Sir John could not prevail. He could only obtain a promise of their +calling at the Park within a day or two, and then left them in +amazement at their indifference, to walk home and boast anew of their +attractions to the Miss Steeles, as he had been already boasting of the +Miss Steeles to them. + +When their promised visit to the Park and consequent introduction to +these young ladies took place, they found in the appearance of the +eldest, who was nearly thirty, with a very plain and not a sensible +face, nothing to admire; but in the other, who was not more than two or +three and twenty, they acknowledged considerable beauty; her features +were pretty, and she had a sharp quick eye, and a smartness of air, +which though it did not give actual elegance or grace, gave distinction +to her person. Their manners were particularly civil, and Elinor soon +allowed them credit for some kind of sense, when she saw with what +constant and judicious attention they were making themselves agreeable +to Lady Middleton. With her children they were in continual raptures, +extolling their beauty, courting their notice, and humouring their +whims; and such of their time as could be spared from the importunate +demands which this politeness made on it, was spent in admiration of +whatever her ladyship was doing, if she happened to be doing any thing, +or in taking patterns of some elegant new dress, in which her +appearance the day before had thrown them into unceasing delight. +Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond +mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most +rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands +are exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing; and the excessive +affection and endurance of the Miss Steeles towards her offspring were +viewed therefore by Lady Middleton without the smallest surprise or +distrust. She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent +encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted. +She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their +work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt +no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other +surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by, +without claiming a share in what was passing. + +“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s +pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window—“He is full of +monkey tricks.” + +And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the +same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!” + +“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing +a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last +two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet—Never was there +such a quiet little thing!” + +But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s +head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this +pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone +by any creature professedly noisy. The mother’s consternation was +excessive; but it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and +every thing was done by all three, in so critical an emergency, which +affection could suggest as likely to assuage the agonies of the little +sufferer. She was seated in her mother’s lap, covered with kisses, her +wound bathed with lavender-water, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was +on her knees to attend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by +the other. With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to +cease crying. She still screamed and sobbed lustily, kicked her two +brothers for offering to touch her, and all their united soothings were +ineffectual till Lady Middleton luckily remembering that in a scene of +similar distress last week, some apricot marmalade had been +successfully applied for a bruised temple, the same remedy was eagerly +proposed for this unfortunate scratch, and a slight intermission of +screams in the young lady on hearing it, gave them reason to hope that +it would not be rejected. She was carried out of the room therefore in +her mother’s arms, in quest of this medicine, and as the two boys chose +to follow, though earnestly entreated by their mother to stay behind, +the four young ladies were left in a quietness which the room had not +known for many hours. + +“Poor little creatures!” said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone. +“It might have been a very sad accident.” + +“Yet I hardly know how,” cried Marianne, “unless it had been under +totally different circumstances. But this is the usual way of +heightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality.” + +“What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!” said Lucy Steele. + +Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not +feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole +task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell. She did +her best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more +warmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy. + +“And Sir John too,” cried the elder sister, “what a charming man he +is!” + +Here too, Miss Dashwood’s commendation, being only simple and just, +came in without any eclat. She merely observed that he was perfectly +good humoured and friendly. + +“And what a charming little family they have! I never saw such fine +children in my life.—I declare I quite doat upon them already, and +indeed I am always distractedly fond of children.” + +“I should guess so,” said Elinor, with a smile, “from what I have +witnessed this morning.” + +“I have a notion,” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather +too much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is +so natural in Lady Middleton; and for my part, I love to see children +full of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and +quiet.” + +“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never +think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.” + +A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss +Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now +said rather abruptly, “And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I +suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.” + +In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of +the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was. + +“Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss +Steele. + +“We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who seemed +to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister. + +“I think every one _must_ admire it,” replied Elinor, “who ever saw the +place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its +beauties as we do.” + +“And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so +many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast +addition always.” + +“But why should you think,” said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister, +“that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?” + +“Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. I’m +sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could +I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only +afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not +so many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care +about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them. For my +part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and +behave civil. But I can’t bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now there’s +Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk +to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a morning, +he is not fit to be seen. I suppose your brother was quite a beau, Miss +Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?” + +“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “I cannot tell you, for I do not +perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that +if he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is +not the smallest alteration in him.” + +“Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being beaux—they have +something else to do.” + +“Lord! Anne,” cried her sister, “you can talk of nothing but beaux;—you +will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else.” And then to +turn the discourse, she began admiring the house and the furniture. + +This specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough. The vulgar freedom and +folly of the eldest left her no recommendation, and as Elinor was not +blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the youngest, to her want +of real elegance and artlessness, she left the house without any wish +of knowing them better. + +Not so the Miss Steeles. They came from Exeter, well provided with +admiration for the use of Sir John Middleton, his family, and all his +relations, and no niggardly proportion was now dealt out to his fair +cousins, whom they declared to be the most beautiful, elegant, +accomplished, and agreeable girls they had ever beheld, and with whom +they were particularly anxious to be better acquainted. And to be +better acquainted therefore, Elinor soon found was their inevitable +lot, for as Sir John was entirely on the side of the Miss Steeles, +their party would be too strong for opposition, and that kind of +intimacy must be submitted to, which consists of sitting an hour or two +together in the same room almost every day. Sir John could do no more; +but he did not know that any more was required: to be together was, in +his opinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for their +meeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their being established +friends. + +To do him justice, he did every thing in his power to promote their +unreserve, by making the Miss Steeles acquainted with whatever he knew +or supposed of his cousins’ situations in the most delicate +particulars; and Elinor had not seen them more than twice, before the +eldest of them wished her joy on her sister’s having been so lucky as +to make a conquest of a very smart beau since she came to Barton. + +“’Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be sure,” said +she, “and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious handsome. And I +hope you may have as good luck yourself soon,—but perhaps you may have +a friend in the corner already.” + +Elinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more nice in +proclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, than he had been +with respect to Marianne; indeed it was rather his favourite joke of +the two, as being somewhat newer and more conjectural; and since +Edward’s visit, they had never dined together without his drinking to +her best affections with so much significancy and so many nods and +winks, as to excite general attention. The letter F—had been likewise +invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless +jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had +been long established with Elinor. + +The Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these +jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the +name of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently +expressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness +into the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long with +the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much +pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it. + +“His name is Ferrars,” said he, in a very audible whisper; “but pray do +not tell it, for it’s a great secret.” + +“Ferrars!” repeated Miss Steele; “Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he? +What! your sister-in-law’s brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable +young man to be sure; I know him very well.” + +“How can you say so, Anne?” cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment +to all her sister’s assertions. “Though we have seen him once or twice +at my uncle’s, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.” + +Elinor heard all this with attention and surprise. “And who was this +uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?” She wished very +much to have the subject continued, though she did not chuse to join in +it herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in +her life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after +petty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner in +which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for it +struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of +that lady’s knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his +disadvantage.—But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice +was taken of Mr. Ferrars’s name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even +openly mentioned by Sir John. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Marianne, who had never much toleration for any thing like +impertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or even difference of +taste from herself, was at this time particularly ill-disposed, from +the state of her spirits, to be pleased with the Miss Steeles, or to +encourage their advances; and to the invariable coldness of her +behaviour towards them, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on +their side, Elinor principally attributed that preference of herself +which soon became evident in the manners of both, but especially of +Lucy, who missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation, or of +striving to improve their acquaintance by an easy and frank +communication of her sentiments. + +Lucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and +as a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable; +but her powers had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and +illiterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of +information in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from +Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to +advantage. Elinor saw, and pitied her for, the neglect of abilities +which education might have rendered so respectable; but she saw, with +less tenderness of feeling, the thorough want of delicacy, of +rectitude, and integrity of mind, which her attentions, her +assiduities, her flatteries at the Park betrayed; and she could have no +lasting satisfaction in the company of a person who joined insincerity +with ignorance; whose want of instruction prevented their meeting in +conversation on terms of equality, and whose conduct toward others made +every show of attention and deference towards herself perfectly +valueless. + +“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Lucy to her +one day, as they were walking together from the park to the +cottage—“but pray, are you personally acquainted with your +sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. Ferrars?” + +Elinor _did_ think the question a very odd one, and her countenance +expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars. + +“Indeed!” replied Lucy; “I wonder at that, for I thought you must have +seen her at Norland sometimes. Then, perhaps, you cannot tell me what +sort of a woman she is?” + +“No,” returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward’s +mother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent +curiosity; “I know nothing of her.” + +“I am sure you think me very strange, for enquiring about her in such a +way,” said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she spoke; “but perhaps +there may be reasons—I wish I might venture; but however I hope you +will do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be +impertinent.” + +Elinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a few minutes in +silence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by +saying, with some hesitation, + +“I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious. I am sure I +would rather do any thing in the world than be thought so by a person +whose good opinion is so well worth having as yours. And I am sure I +should not have the smallest fear of trusting _you;_ indeed, I should +be very glad of your advice how to manage in such an uncomfortable +situation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to trouble _you_. +I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. Ferrars.” + +“I am sorry I do _not_,” said Elinor, in great astonishment, “if it +could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. But really I +never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and +therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry +into her character.” + +“I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But if +I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars +is certainly nothing to me at present—but the time _may_ come—how soon +it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately +connected.” + +She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side +glance at her companion to observe its effect on her. + +“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “what do you mean? Are you acquainted +with Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?” And she did not feel much +delighted with the idea of such a sister-in-law. + +“No,” replied Lucy, “not to Mr. _Robert_ Ferrars—I never saw him in my +life; but,” fixing her eyes upon Elinor, “to his eldest brother.” + +What felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as +painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the +assertion attended it. She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement, +unable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though +her complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no +danger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon. + +“You may well be surprised,” continued Lucy; “for to be sure you could +have had no idea of it before; for I dare say he never dropped the +smallest hint of it to you or any of your family; because it was always +meant to be a great secret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so +by me to this hour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but Anne, +and I never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt the +greatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I really +thought my behaviour in asking so many questions about Mrs. Ferrars +must seem so odd, that it ought to be explained. And I do not think Mr. +Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you, because I +know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and +looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own +sisters.”—She paused. + +Elinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonishment at what she +heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself +to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner, +which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude—“May I ask +if your engagement is of long standing?” + +“We have been engaged these four years.” + +“Four years!” + +“Yes.” + +Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it. + +“I did not know,” said she, “that you were even acquainted till the +other day.” + +“Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my +uncle’s care, you know, a considerable while.” + +“Your uncle!” + +“Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?” + +“I think I have,” replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which +increased with her increase of emotion. + +“He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near +Plymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was +often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was +formed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he +was almost always with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter +into it, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and approbation of +his mother; but I was too young, and loved him too well, to be so +prudent as I ought to have been. Though you do not know him so well as +me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he +is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.” + +“Certainly,” answered Elinor, without knowing what she said; but after +a moment’s reflection, she added, with revived security of Edward’s +honour and love, and her companion’s falsehood—“Engaged to Mr. Edward +Ferrars!—I confess myself so totally surprised at what you tell me, +that really—I beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake of +person or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.” + +“We can mean no other,” cried Lucy, smiling. “Mr. Edward Ferrars, the +eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your +sister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow +that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who +all my happiness depends.” + +“It is strange,” replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, “that I +should never have heard him even mention your name.” + +“No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our first care has +been to keep the matter secret. You knew nothing of me, or my family, +and, therefore, there could be no _occasion_ for ever mentioning my +name to you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s +suspecting any thing, _that_ was reason enough for his not mentioning +it.” + +She was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-command did not +sink with it. + +“Four years you have been engaged,” said she with a firm voice. + +“Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have to wait. Poor +Edward! It puts him quite out of heart.” Then taking a small miniature +from her pocket, she added, “To prevent the possibility of mistake, be +so good as to look at this face. It does not do him justice, to be +sure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was +drew for.—I have had it above these three years.” + +She put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the +painting, whatever other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or +her wish of detecting falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she +could have none of its being Edward’s face. She returned it almost +instantly, acknowledging the likeness. + +“I have never been able,” continued Lucy, “to give him my picture in +return, which I am very much vexed at, for he has been always so +anxious to get it! But I am determined to set for it the very first +opportunity.” + +“You are quite in the right,” replied Elinor calmly. They then +proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first. + +“I am sure,” said she, “I have no doubt in the world of your faithfully +keeping this secret, because you must know of what importance it is to +us, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of it, +I dare say. I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding +proud woman.” + +“I certainly did not seek your confidence,” said Elinor; “but you do me +no more than justice in imagining that I may be depended on. Your +secret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so +unnecessary a communication. You must at least have felt that my being +acquainted with it could not add to its safety.” + +As she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover +something in her countenance; perhaps the falsehood of the greatest +part of what she had been saying; but Lucy’s countenance suffered no +change. + +“I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you,” +said she, “in telling you all this. I have not known you long to be +sure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by +description a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as +if you was an old acquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really +thought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular +inquiries about Edward’s mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have +not a creature whose advice I can ask. Anne is the only person that +knows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a +great deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her +betraying me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must +perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world +t’other day, when Edward’s name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she +should out with it all. You can’t think how much I go through in my +mind from it altogether. I only wonder that I am alive after what I +have suffered for Edward’s sake these last four years. Every thing in +such suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom—we can hardly +meet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite +broke.” + +Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very +compassionate. + +“Sometimes.” continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, “I think whether it +would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely.” As +she said this, she looked directly at her companion. “But then at other +times I have not resolution enough for it. I cannot bear the thoughts +of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a thing +would do. And on my own account too—so dear as he is to me—I don’t +think I could be equal to it. What would you advise me to do in such a +case, Miss Dashwood? What would you do yourself?” + +“Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question; “but I can give +you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct +you.” + +“To be sure,” continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both +sides, “his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor +Edward is so cast down by it! Did you not think him dreadful +low-spirited when he was at Barton? He was so miserable when he left us +at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him +quite ill.” + +“Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited us?” + +“Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he +came directly from town?” + +“No,” replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh +circumstance in favour of Lucy’s veracity; “I remember he told us, that +he had been staying a fortnight with some friends near Plymouth.” She +remembered too, her own surprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing +farther of those friends, at his total silence with respect even to +their names. + +“Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?” repeated Lucy. + +“We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.” + +“I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect what was the +matter; but it made him so melancholy, not being able to stay more than +a fortnight with us, and seeing me so much affected. Poor fellow! I am +afraid it is just the same with him now; for he writes in wretched +spirits. I heard from him just before I left Exeter;” taking a letter +from her pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor. “You +know his hand, I dare say,—a charming one it is; but that is not +written so well as usual. He was tired, I dare say, for he had just +filled the sheet to me as full as possible.” + +Elinor saw that it _was_ his hand, and she could doubt no longer. This +picture, she had allowed herself to believe, might have been +accidentally obtained; it might not have been Edward’s gift; but a +correspondence between them by letter, could subsist only under a +positive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else; for a few +moments, she was almost overcome—her heart sunk within her, and she +could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary; and she +struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that +her success was speedy, and for the time complete. + +“Writing to each other,” said Lucy, returning the letter into her +pocket, “is the only comfort we have in such long separations. Yes, _I_ +have one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even +_that_. If he had but my picture, he says he should be easy. I gave him +a lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and +that was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture. +Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?” + +“I did,” said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was +concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt +before. She was mortified, shocked, confounded. + +Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the +conversation could be continued no farther. After sitting with them a +few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was then +at liberty to think and be wretched. + +END OF THE FIRST VOLUME + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +However small Elinor’s general dependence on Lucy’s veracity might be, +it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the +present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of +inventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to +be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported +as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and +contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. Their opportunity of +acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest, +at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward’s visit near Plymouth, +his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects, +his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the +Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had +often surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed +altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of +condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality +could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.—Her resentment of such +behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time +made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations, +soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had he feigned +a regard for her which he did not feel? Was his engagement to Lucy an +engagement of the heart? No; whatever it might once have been, she +could not believe it such at present. His affection was all her own. +She could not be deceived in that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny, all had +been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion +of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart +was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to forgive! He had +been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first +felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. In that, he +could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he +injured himself; if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His +imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have +deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in +time regain tranquillity; but _he_, what had he to look forward to? +Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he, were his +affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his +delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like +her—illiterate, artful, and selfish? + +The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every +thing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding +years—years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the +understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education, +while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society +and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity +which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty. + +If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties +from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely +to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in +connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself. These +difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not +press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the +person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness, +could be felt as a relief! + +As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept +for him, more than for herself. Supported by the conviction of having +done nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the +belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought +she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command +herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother +and sisters. And so well was she able to answer her own expectations, +that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first +suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have +supposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning +in secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object +of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the +perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly +possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove +near their house. + +The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been +entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing +exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor’s distress. On the contrary it +was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give +such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that +condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of +their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt +equal to support. + +From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive +no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress, +while her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their +example nor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own good +sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken, her +appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant +and so fresh, it was possible for them to be. + +Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the +subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for +more reasons than one. She wanted to hear many particulars of their +engagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what +Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her +declaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to +convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her +calmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in +it than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary +agitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least +doubtful. That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very +probable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her +praise, not merely from Lucy’s assertion, but from her venturing to +trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so +confessedly and evidently important. And even Sir John’s joking +intelligence must have had some weight. But indeed, while Elinor +remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by +Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it +natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very +confidence was a proof. What other reason for the disclosure of the +affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of +Lucy’s superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future? +She had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival’s +intentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every +principle of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection +for Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny +herself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was +unwounded. And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on +the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own +ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure. + +But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be +commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take +advantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine +enough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most +easily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at +least every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at +the former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of +conversation. Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady +Middleton’s head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for +a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse. They met for +the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards, +or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy. + +One or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording +Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at +the cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they +would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to +attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone, +except her mother and the two Miss Steeles. Elinor, who foresaw a +fairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this +was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil +and well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united +them together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the +invitation; Margaret, with her mother’s permission, was equally +compliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their +parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her +seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise. + +The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from +the frightful solitude which had threatened her. The insipidity of the +meeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one +novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting +than the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and +drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while +they remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of +engaging Lucy’s attention to attempt it. They quitted it only with the +removal of the tea-things. The card-table was then placed, and Elinor +began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of +finding time for conversation at the park. They all rose up in +preparation for a round game. + +“I am glad,” said Lady Middleton to Lucy, “you are not going to finish +poor little Annamaria’s basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt +your eyes to work filigree by candlelight. And we will make the dear +little love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I +hope she will not much mind it.” + +This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied, +“Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting +to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have +been at my filigree already. I would not disappoint the little angel +for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am +resolved to finish the basket after supper.” + +“You are very good, I hope it won’t hurt your eyes—will you ring the +bell for some working candles? My poor little girl would be sadly +disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for +though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon +having it done.” + +Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an +alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no +greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child. + +Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others. No one made +any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms +of general civility, exclaimed, “Your Ladyship will have the goodness +to excuse _me_—you know I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte; +I have not touched it since it was tuned.” And without farther +ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument. + +Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that _she_ had never +made so rude a speech. + +“Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma’am,” +said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; “and I do not +much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever +heard.” + +The remaining five were now to draw their cards. + +“Perhaps,” continued Elinor, “if I should happen to cut out, I may be +of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and +there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be +impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening. I +should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it.” + +“Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help,” cried Lucy, +“for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was; +and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after +all.” + +“Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,” said Miss Steele. “Dear little +soul, how I do love her!” + +“You are very kind,” said Lady Middleton to Elinor; “and as you really +like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till +another rubber, or will you take your chance now?” + +Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a +little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to +practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same +time. Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair +rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the +utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work. The pianoforte at +which Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had +by this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself, +was luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might +safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting +subject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began. + +“I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with, +if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its +subject. I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again.” + +“Thank you,” cried Lucy warmly, “for breaking the ice; you have set my +heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended +you by what I told you that Monday.” + +“Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,” and Elinor spoke +it with the truest sincerity, “nothing could be farther from my +intention than to give you such an idea. Could you have a motive for +the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?” + +“And yet I do assure you,” replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of +meaning, “there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your +manner that made me quite uncomfortable. I felt sure that you was angry +with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having +took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I am very +glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not blame +me. If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my heart +speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of my +life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am +sure.” + +“Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you, +to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall +never have reason to repent it. Your case is a very unfortunate one; +you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have +need of all your mutual affection to support you under them. Mr. +Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother.” + +“He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to +marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect +of more without a sigh. I have been always used to a very small income, +and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too well to +be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother +might give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it may be for +many years. With almost every other man in the world, it would be an +alarming prospect; but Edward’s affection and constancy nothing can +deprive me of I know.” + +“That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly +supported by the same trust in your’s. If the strength of your +reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under +many circumstances it naturally would during a four years’ engagement, +your situation would have been pitiable, indeed.” + +Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance +from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency. + +“Edward’s love for me,” said Lucy, “has been pretty well put to the +test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and +it has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt +it now. I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment’s alarm +on that account from the first.” + +Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion. + +Lucy went on. “I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from +our different situations in life, from his being so much more in the +world than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for +suspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had been +the slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or any +lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had talked +more of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less happy at +Longstaple than he used to be. I do not mean to say that I am +particularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case +I am sure I could not be deceived.” + +“All this,” thought Elinor, “is very pretty; but it can impose upon +neither of us.” + +“But what,” said she after a short silence, “are your views? or have +you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars’s death, which is a +melancholy and shocking extremity?—Is her son determined to submit to +this, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in which +it may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a +while by owning the truth?” + +“If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! But Mrs. +Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger +upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and +the idea of that, for Edward’s sake, frightens away all my inclination +for hasty measures.” + +“And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness +beyond reason.” + +Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent. + +“Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?” asked Elinor. + +“Not at all—I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his +brother—silly and a great coxcomb.” + +“A great coxcomb!” repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those +words by a sudden pause in Marianne’s music. “Oh, they are talking of +their favourite beaux, I dare say.” + +“No sister,” cried Lucy, “you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux +are _not_ great coxcombs.” + +“I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood’s is not,” said Mrs. Jennings, +laughing heartily; “for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved +young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little +creature, there is no finding out who _she_ likes.” + +“Oh,” cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, “I dare +say Lucy’s beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss +Dashwood’s.” + +Elinor blushed in spite of herself. Lucy bit her lip, and looked +angrily at her sister. A mutual silence took place for some time. Lucy +first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne was +then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent +concerto,— + +“I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my +head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into +the secret, for you are a party concerned. I dare say you have seen +enough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other +profession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he +can, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind +enough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard +to me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living; +which I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not +likely to live a great while. That would be enough for us to marry +upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest.” + +“I should always be happy,” replied Elinor, “to show any mark of my +esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my +interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary? He is +brother to Mrs. John Dashwood—_that_ must be recommendation enough to +her husband.” + +“But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward’s going into +orders.” + +“Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little.” + +They were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy exclaimed with +a deep sigh, + +“I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at +once by dissolving the engagement. We seem so beset with difficulties +on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we +should be happier perhaps in the end. But you will not give me your +advice, Miss Dashwood?” + +“No,” answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated +feelings, “on such a subject I certainly will not. You know very well +that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the +side of your wishes.” + +“Indeed you wrong me,” replied Lucy, with great solemnity; “I know +nobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do +really believe, that if you was to say to me, ‘I advise you by all +means to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be +more for the happiness of both of you,’ I should resolve upon doing it +immediately.” + +Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward’s future wife, and +replied, “This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any +opinion on the subject had I formed one. It raises my influence much +too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too +much for an indifferent person.” + +“’Tis because you are an indifferent person,” said Lucy, with some +pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, “that your +judgment might justly have such weight with me. If you could be +supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion +would not be worth having.” + +Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might +provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and +was even partly determined never to mention the subject again. Another +pause therefore of many minutes’ duration, succeeded this speech, and +Lucy was still the first to end it. + +“Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?” said she with all +her accustomary complacency. + +“Certainly not.” + +“I am sorry for that,” returned the other, while her eyes brightened at +the information, “it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you +there! But I dare say you will go for all that. To be sure, your +brother and sister will ask you to come to them.” + +“It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do.” + +“How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there. Anne +and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who have +been wanting us to visit them these several years! But I only go for +the sake of seeing Edward. He will be there in February, otherwise +London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it.” + +Elinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first +rubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore +at an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for +nothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other +less than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table +with the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without +affection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not +even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere +affection on _her_ side would have given, for self-interest alone could +induce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so +thoroughly aware that he was weary. + +From this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when +entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it, +and was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness +whenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the +former with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility +would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which +Lucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself. + +The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond +what the first invitation implied. Their favour increased; they could +not be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of +their numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the +absolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was +in full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay +nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of +that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private +balls and large dinners to proclaim its importance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +Though Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of +the year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without +a settled habitation of her own. Since the death of her husband, who +had traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had +resided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman +Square. Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to turn +her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very unexpectedly +by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her. Elinor, +without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the +animated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave +a grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself +to be speaking their united inclinations. The reason alleged was their +determined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the +year. Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and +repeated her invitation immediately. + +“Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I _do_ +beg you will favour me with your company, for I’ve quite set my heart +upon it. Don’t fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I +shan’t put myself at all out of my way for you. It will only be sending +Betty by the coach, and I hope I can afford _that_. We three shall be +able to go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do +not like to go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one +of my daughters. I am sure your mother will not object to it; for I +have had such good luck in getting my own children off my hands that +she will think me a very fit person to have the charge of you; and if I +don’t get one of you at least well married before I have done with you, +it shall not be my fault. I shall speak a good word for you to all the +young men, you may depend upon it.” + +“I have a notion,” said Sir John, “that Miss Marianne would not object +to such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it. It is very +hard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss +Dashwood does not wish it. So I would advise you two, to set off for +town, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss +Dashwood about it.” + +“Nay,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure I shall be monstrous glad of +Miss Marianne’s company, whether Miss Dashwood will go or not, only the +more the merrier say I, and I thought it would be more comfortable for +them to be together; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk +to one another, and laugh at my odd ways behind my back. But one or the +other, if not both of them, I must have. Lord bless me! how do you +think I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till +this winter to have Charlotte with me. Come, Miss Marianne, let us +strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her +mind by and bye, why so much the better.” + +“I thank you, ma’am, sincerely thank you,” said Marianne, with warmth: +“your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give +me such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of, +to be able to accept it. But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,—I +feel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made +less happy, less comfortable by our absence—Oh! no, nothing should +tempt me to leave her. It should not, must not be a struggle.” + +Mrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare +them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw +to what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her +eagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct +opposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother’s +decision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any +support in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not +approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had +particular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her +mother would be eager to promote—she could not expect to influence the +latter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had +never been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain +the motive of her own disinclination for going to London. That +Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs. +Jennings’ manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook +every inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be +most wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object, +was such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object +to her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to +witness. + +On being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such +an excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her +daughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to +herself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of +their declining the offer upon _her_ account; insisted on their both +accepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual +cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all, +from this separation. + +“I am delighted with the plan,” she cried, “it is exactly what I could +wish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves. +When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and +happily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret +so improved when you come back again! I have a little plan of +alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without +any inconvenience to any one. It is very right that you _should_ go to +town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life +acquainted with the manners and amusements of London. You will be under +the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I +can have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your brother, +and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife, when I +consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly estranged +from each other.” + +“Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,” said Elinor, “you +have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which +occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion, +cannot be so easily removed.” + +Marianne’s countenance sunk. + +“And what,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “is my dear prudent Elinor going to +suggest? What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward? Do not +let me hear a word about the expense of it.” + +“My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings’s +heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or +whose protection will give us consequence.” + +“That is very true,” replied her mother, “but of her society, +separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing +at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady +Middleton.” + +“If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings,” said +Marianne, “at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation. I +have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every +unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort.” + +Elinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards +the manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in +persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved +within herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go +likewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left +to the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should +be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her +domestic hours. To this determination she was the more easily +reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy’s account, was +not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any +unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished. + +“I will have you _both_ go,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “these objections are +nonsensical. You will have much pleasure in being in London, and +especially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to +anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of +sources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her +acquaintance with her sister-in-law’s family.” + +Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her +mother’s dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the +shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this +attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin +her design by saying, as calmly as she could, “I like Edward Ferrars +very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of +the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am +ever known to them or not.” + +Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lifted up her eyes in +astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held +her tongue. + +After very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the +invitation should be fully accepted. Mrs. Jennings received the +information with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness +and care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her. Sir John was +delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of +being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in +London, was something. Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being +delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for +the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in +their lives as this intelligence made them. + +Elinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with +less reluctance than she had expected to feel. With regard to herself, +it was now a matter of unconcern whether she went to town or not, and +when she saw her mother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her +sister exhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all +her usual animation, and elevated to more than her usual gaiety, she +could not be dissatisfied with the cause, and would hardly allow +herself to distrust the consequence. + +Marianne’s joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the +perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone. Her +unwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness; +and at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive. Her +mother’s affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of the +three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of +eternal. + +Their departure took place in the first week in January. The Middletons +were to follow in about a week. The Miss Steeles kept their station at +the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the family. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Elinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. Jennings, and +beginning a journey to London under her protection, and as her guest, +without wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance +with that lady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and +disposition, and so many had been her objections against such a measure +only a few days before! But these objections had all, with that happy +ardour of youth which Marianne and her mother equally shared, been +overcome or overlooked; and Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt +of Willoughby’s constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful +expectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of +Marianne, without feeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless +her own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would +engage in the solicitude of Marianne’s situation to have the same +animating object in view, the same possibility of hope. A short, a very +short time however must now decide what Willoughby’s intentions were; +in all probability he was already in town. Marianne’s eagerness to be +gone declared her dependence on finding him there; and Elinor was +resolved not only upon gaining every new light as to his character +which her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her, +but likewise upon watching his behaviour to her sister with such +zealous attention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant, +before many meetings had taken place. Should the result of her +observations be unfavourable, she was determined at all events to open +the eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, her exertions would be +of a different nature—she must then learn to avoid every selfish +comparison, and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction +in the happiness of Marianne. + +They were three days on their journey, and Marianne’s behaviour as they +travelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and +companionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be. She sat in +silence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely +ever voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty +within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively +addressed to her sister. To atone for this conduct therefore, Elinor +took immediate possession of the post of civility which she had +assigned herself, behaved with the greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings, +talked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever she +could; and Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all +possible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and +enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make them choose their +own dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferring +salmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets. They reached town by +three o’clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey, +from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury +of a good fire. + +The house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies +were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. It +had formerly been Charlotte’s, and over the mantelpiece still hung a +landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having +spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect. + +As dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their +arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her +mother, and sat down for that purpose. In a few moments Marianne did +the same. “_I_ am writing home, Marianne,” said Elinor; “had not you +better defer your letter for a day or two?” + +“I am _not_ going to write to my mother,” replied Marianne, hastily, +and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Elinor said no more; it +immediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and +the conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however +mysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be +engaged. This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her +pleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity. +Marianne’s was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no +more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with +eager rapidity. Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the +direction; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the +bell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed +for her to the two-penny post. This decided the matter at once. + +Her spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them +which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this +agitation increased as the evening drew on. She could scarcely eat any +dinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed +anxiously listening to the sound of every carriage. + +It was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much +engaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing. The tea +things were brought in, and already had Marianne been disappointed more +than once by a rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was suddenly +heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, Elinor +felt secure of its announcing Willoughby’s approach, and Marianne, +starting up, moved towards the door. Every thing was silent; this could +not be borne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few steps +towards the stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned into +the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard him +would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that instant +she could not help exclaiming, “Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby, indeed it +is!” and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when +Colonel Brandon appeared. + +It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately +left the room. Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her +regard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt +particularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive +that she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing +him. She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even +observed Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and +concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded +towards herself. + +“Is your sister ill?” said he. + +Elinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of +head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which +she could decently attribute her sister’s behaviour. + +He heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect +himself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of +his pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about +their journey, and the friends they had left behind. + +In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side, +they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts +of both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very much to ask whether +Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by +any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something, +she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last. +“Yes,” he replied, with some embarrassment, “almost ever since; I have +been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in +my power to return to Barton.” + +This, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to +her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with +the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she +was fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the +subject than she had ever felt. + +Mrs. Jennings soon came in. “Oh! Colonel,” said she, with her usual +noisy cheerfulness, “I am monstrous glad to see you—sorry I could not +come before—beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a +little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been +at home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do +after one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to +settle with. Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner! But +pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town +today?” + +“I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I have been +dining.” + +“Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? How does +Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by this time.” + +“Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you, +that you will certainly see her to-morrow.” + +“Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have brought two +young ladies with me, you see—that is, you see but one of them now, but +there is another somewhere. Your friend, Miss Marianne, too—which you +will not be sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby +will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and +handsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very handsome—worse +luck for me. However, I got a very good husband, and I don’t know what +the greatest beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has been dead these +eight years and better. But Colonel, where have you been to since we +parted? And how does your business go on? Come, come, let’s have no +secrets among friends.” + +He replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but +without satisfying her in any. Elinor now began to make the tea, and +Marianne was obliged to appear again. + +After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent +than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to +stay long. No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were +unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed. + +Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks. +The disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the +expectation of what was to happen that day. They had not long finished +their breakfast before Mrs. Palmer’s barouche stopped at the door, and +in a few minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to see +them all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure +from meeting her mother or the Miss Dashwoods again. So surprised at +their coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all +along; so angry at their accepting her mother’s invitation after having +declined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven +them if they had not come! + +“Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,” said she; “What do you think +he said when he heard of your coming with Mama? I forget what it was +now, but it was something so droll!” + +After an hour or two spent in what her mother called comfortable chat, +or in other words, in every variety of inquiry concerning all their +acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings’s side, and in laughter without cause on +Mrs. Palmer’s, it was proposed by the latter that they should all +accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning, to +which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having likewise +some purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, though declining it at +first was induced to go likewise. + +Wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch. In Bond +Street especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in +constant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind +was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all +that interested and occupied the others. Restless and dissatisfied +every where, her sister could never obtain her opinion of any article +of purchase, however it might equally concern them both: she received +no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and +could with difficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs. +Palmer, whose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new; +who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her +time in rapture and indecision. + +It was late in the morning before they returned home; and no sooner had +they entered the house than Marianne flew eagerly up stairs, and when +Elinor followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful +countenance, which declared that no Willoughby had been there. + +“Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?” said she to +the footman who then entered with the parcels. She was answered in the +negative. “Are you quite sure of it?” she replied. “Are you certain +that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?” + +The man replied that none had. + +“How very odd!” said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she +turned away to the window. + +“How odd, indeed!” repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister +with uneasiness. “If she had not known him to be in town she would not +have written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna; +and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write! +Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement +between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in +so doubtful, so mysterious a manner! _I_ long to inquire; and how will +_my_ interference be borne.” + +She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued +many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in +the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious +enquiry into the affair. + +Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings’s intimate +acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with +them. The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening +engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table +for the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she would +never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her own +disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure to +her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of expectation +and the pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured for a few +minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she returned +to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and forwards +across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the window, +in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +“If this open weather holds much longer,” said Mrs. Jennings, when they +met at breakfast the following morning, “Sir John will not like leaving +Barton next week; ’tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day’s +pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to +take it so much to heart.” + +“That is true,” cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the +window as she spoke, to examine the day. “I had not thought of _that_. +This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.” + +It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it. +“It is charming weather for _them_ indeed,” she continued, as she sat +down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance. “How much they +must enjoy it! But” (with a little return of anxiety) “it cannot be +expected to last long. At this time of the year, and after such a +series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts +will soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day +or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer—nay, +perhaps it may freeze tonight!” + +“At any rate,” said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from +seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did, “I dare say we +shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next +week.” + +“Ay, my dear, I’ll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.” + +“And now,” silently conjectured Elinor, “she will write to Combe by +this day’s post.” + +But if she _did_, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy +which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. Whatever the +truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough +contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could +not be very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy +in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of +a frost. + +The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs. +Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and +Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind, +watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the +air. + +“Don’t you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There +seems to me a very decided difference. I can hardly keep my hands warm +even in my muff. It was not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem +parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear +afternoon.” + +Elinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered, +and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in +the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching +frost. + +The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs. +Jennings’s style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her +behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. Every thing in her +household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and +excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton’s regret, she +had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at +all discompose the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find +herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had +expected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real +enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or +abroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her. + +Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with +them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor, +who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from +any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much +concern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was a +strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which +he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than +when at Barton. + +About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was +also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the +morning’s drive. + +“Good God!” cried Marianne, “he has been here while we were out.” +Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to +say, “Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.” But Marianne seemed +hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings’s entrance, escaped with the +precious card. + +This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of +her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation. From this +moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every +hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted on being +left behind, the next morning, when the others went out. + +Elinor’s thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street +during their absence; but a moment’s glance at her sister when they +returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second +visit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table. + +“For me!” cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward. + +“No, ma’am, for my mistress.” + +But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up. + +“It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!” + +“You are expecting a letter, then?” said Elinor, unable to be longer +silent. + +“Yes, a little—not much.” + +After a short pause. “You have no confidence in me, Marianne.” + +“Nay, Elinor, this reproach from _you_—you who have confidence in no +one!” + +“Me!” returned Elinor in some confusion; “indeed, Marianne, I have +nothing to tell.” + +“Nor I,” answered Marianne with energy, “our situations then are alike. +We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not +communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.” + +Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was +not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to +press for greater openness in Marianne. + +Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it +aloud. It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit +Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and +cousins the following evening. Business on Sir John’s part, and a +violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street. +The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew +near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that +they should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty +in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of +Willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad, +than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence. + +Elinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not +materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled +in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty +young people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair, +however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an +unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the +reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it +was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it +known that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine +couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation. + +Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former, whom they had +not seen before since their arrival in town, as he was careful to avoid +the appearance of any attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore +never came near her, they received no mark of recognition on their +entrance. He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they +were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the +room. Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it +was enough—_he_ was not there—and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to +receive or communicate pleasure. After they had been assembled about an +hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his +surprise on seeing them in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first +informed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said +something very droll on hearing that they were to come. + +“I thought you were both in Devonshire,” said he. + +“Did you?” replied Elinor. + +“When do you go back again?” + +“I do not know.” And thus ended their discourse. + +Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was +that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise. She +complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street. + +“Aye, aye,” said Mrs. Jennings, “we know the reason of all that very +well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you +would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very +pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited.” + +“Invited!” cried Marianne. + +“So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him +somewhere in the street this morning.” Marianne said no more, but +looked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this situation to be doing +something that might lead to her sister’s relief, Elinor resolved to +write the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears +for the health of Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been +so long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by +perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne was again +writing to Willoughby, for she could not suppose it to be to any other +person. + +About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on +business, and Elinor began her letter directly, while Marianne, too +restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one +window to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation. +Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all +that had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby’s inconstancy, urging her +by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account +of her real situation with respect to him. + +Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and +Colonel Brandon was announced. Marianne, who had seen him from the +window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he +entered it. He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing +satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in +particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word. +Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her +sister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening. It was not the +first time of her feeling the same kind of conviction; for, more than +once before, beginning with the observation of “your sister looks +unwell to-day,” or “your sister seems out of spirits,” he had appeared +on the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something +particular about her. After a pause of several minutes, their silence +was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was +to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Elinor was not +prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged +to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He +tried to smile as he replied, “your sister’s engagement to Mr. +Willoughby is very generally known.” + +“It cannot be generally known,” returned Elinor, “for her own family do +not know it.” + +He looked surprised and said, “I beg your pardon, I am afraid my +inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy +intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally +talked of.” + +“How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?” + +“By many—by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are +most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons. But +still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps +rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to +support its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today, +accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in +your sister’s writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I +could ask the question. Is every thing finally settled? Is it +impossible to—? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of +succeeding. Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong in +saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I +have the strongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely +resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if +concealment be possible, is all that remains.” + +These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for +her sister, affected her very much. She was not immediately able to say +anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a +short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give. The real +state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known +to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable +to say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced that Marianne’s +affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel Brandon’s +success, whatever the event of that affection might be, and at the same +time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought it most +prudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than she really +knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though she had +never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with +each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their +correspondence she was not astonished to hear. + +He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak, +rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion, +“to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he +may endeavour to deserve her,”—took leave, and went away. + +Elinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation, to +lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left, on the +contrary, with a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon’s +unhappiness, and was prevented even from wishing it removed, by her +anxiety for the very event that must confirm it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor +regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby +neither came nor wrote. They were engaged about the end of that time to +attend Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept +away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party, +Marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, and seeming +equally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one +look of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the drawing-room +fire after tea, till the moment of Lady Middleton’s arrival, without +once stirring from her seat, or altering her attitude, lost in her own +thoughts, and insensible of her sister’s presence; and when at last +they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the door, she +started as if she had forgotten that any one was expected. + +They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as +the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the +stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another +in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full +of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of +politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted +to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and +inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some +time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to +Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and +Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great +distance from the table. + +They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived +Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest +conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon +caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to +speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her; +and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned +involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by +her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance +glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him +instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her. + +“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is there—Oh! why does he +not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?” + +“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you +feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.” + +This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be +composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it +was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected +every feature. + +At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up, +and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to +him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than +Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe +her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and +asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence +of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the +feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned +over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God! +Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my +letters? Will you not shake hands with me?” + +He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he +held her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently +struggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its +expression becoming more tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke +with calmness. + +“I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday, +and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find +yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.” + +“But have you not received my notes?” cried Marianne in the wildest +anxiety. “Here is some mistake I am sure—some dreadful mistake. What +can be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven’s sake tell +me, what is the matter?” + +He made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment +returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he +had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion, +he recovered himself again, and after saying, “Yes, I had the pleasure +of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so +good as to send me,” turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined +his friend. + +Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into +her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried +to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with +lavender water. + +“Go to him, Elinor,” she cried, as soon as she could speak, “and force +him to come to me. Tell him I must see him again—must speak to him +instantly.—I cannot rest—I shall not have a moment’s peace till this is +explained—some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this +moment.” + +“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is +not the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.” + +With difficulty however could she prevent her from following him +herself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least, +with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more +privacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued +incessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings, +by exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby +quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne +that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that +evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged +her sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was +too miserable to stay a minute longer. + +Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed +that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her +wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they +departed as soon as the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was +spoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent +agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was +luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where +hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon undressed and +in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left +her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure +enough for thinking over the past. + +That some kind of engagement had subsisted between Willoughby and +Marianne she could not doubt, and that Willoughby was weary of it, +seemed equally clear; for however Marianne might still feed her own +wishes, _she_ could not attribute such behaviour to mistake or +misapprehension of any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment +could account for it. Her indignation would have been still stronger +than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrassment which seemed to +speak a consciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented her from +believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting with the +affections of her sister from the first, without any design that would +bear investigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, and +convenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a +regard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt. + +As for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already +have given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in +its probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest +concern. Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she +could _esteem_ Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in +future, her mind might be always supported. But every circumstance that +could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of +Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby—in an immediate and +irreconcilable rupture with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +Before the housemaid had lit their fire the next day, or the sun gained +any power over a cold, gloomy morning in January, Marianne, only half +dressed, was kneeling against one of the window-seats for the sake of +all the little light she could command from it, and writing as fast as +a continual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation, Elinor, +roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived her; and +after observing her for a few moments with silent anxiety, said, in a +tone of the most considerate gentleness, + +“Marianne, may I ask—?” + +“No, Elinor,” she replied, “ask nothing; you will soon know all.” + +The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, lasted no +longer than while she spoke, and was immediately followed by a return +of the same excessive affliction. It was some minutes before she could +go on with her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still +obliged her, at intervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of +her feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing for the +last time to Willoughby. + +Elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power; and +she would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her still more, had not +Marianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous +irritability, not to speak to her for the world. In such circumstances, +it was better for both that they should not be long together; and the +restless state of Marianne’s mind not only prevented her from remaining +in the room a moment after she was dressed, but requiring at once +solitude and continual change of place, made her wander about the house +till breakfast time, avoiding the sight of every body. + +At breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any thing; and +Elinor’s attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in +pitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to +engage Mrs. Jennings’s notice entirely to herself. + +As this was a favourite meal with Mrs. Jennings, it lasted a +considerable time, and they were just setting themselves, after it, +round the common working table, when a letter was delivered to +Marianne, which she eagerly caught from the servant, and, turning of a +death-like paleness, instantly ran out of the room. Elinor, who saw as +plainly by this, as if she had seen the direction, that it must come +from Willoughby, felt immediately such a sickness at heart as made her +hardly able to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour as +made her fear it impossible to escape Mrs. Jennings’s notice. That good +lady, however, saw only that Marianne had received a letter from +Willoughby, which appeared to her a very good joke, and which she +treated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, that she would find it to +her liking. Of Elinor’s distress, she was too busily employed in +measuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; and +calmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disappeared, she said, + +“Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my +life! _My_ girls were nothing to her, and yet they used to be foolish +enough; but as for Miss Marianne, she is quite an altered creature. I +hope, from the bottom of my heart, he won’t keep her waiting much +longer, for it is quite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn. +Pray, when are they to be married?” + +Elinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that moment, +obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and, therefore, +trying to smile, replied, “And have you really, Ma’am, talked yourself +into a persuasion of my sister’s being engaged to Mr. Willoughby? I +thought it had been only a joke, but so serious a question seems to +imply more; and I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive +yourself any longer. I do assure you that nothing would surprise me +more than to hear of their being going to be married.” + +“For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood! how can you talk so? Don’t we all +know that it must be a match, that they were over head and ears in love +with each other from the first moment they met? Did not I see them +together in Devonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I know +that your sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wedding +clothes? Come, come, this won’t do. Because you are so sly about it +yourself, you think nobody else has any senses; but it is no such +thing, I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so +long. I tell every body of it and so does Charlotte.” + +“Indeed, Ma’am,” said Elinor, very seriously, “you are mistaken. +Indeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report, and +you will find that you have though you will not believe me now.” + +Mrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits to say more, +and eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written, hurried +away to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw Marianne +stretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand, +and two or three others lying by her. Elinor drew near, but without +saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed +her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of +tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne’s. The +latter, though unable to speak, seemed to feel all the tenderness of +this behaviour, and after some time thus spent in joint affliction, she +put all the letters into Elinor’s hands; and then covering her face +with her handkerchief, almost screamed with agony. Elinor, who knew +that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its +course, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent +itself, and then turning eagerly to Willoughby’s letter, read as +follows: + + “Bond Street, January. + + + MY DEAR MADAM, + “I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I + beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am much concerned to + find there was anything in my behaviour last night that did not + meet your approbation; and though I am quite at a loss to discover + in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat + your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly + unintentional. I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with + your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and + flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or + misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole family is + very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to + a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach + myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that + esteem. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be + impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long + engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before + this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey + your commands in returning the letters with which I have been + honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly + bestowed on me. + + +“I am, dear Madam, +“Your most obedient +“humble servant, +“JOHN WILLOUGHBY.” + + +With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss +Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it +must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their +separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be +suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable +of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and +delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to +send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing +with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no +breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever—a letter of +which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be +deep in hardened villainy. + +She paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read +it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her +abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him, +that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound +Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to +her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most +irremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled +man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important. + +In her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the +depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the +very different mind of a very different person, who had no other +connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with +every thing that passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her +sister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so +entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing +a carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who +could be coming so unreasonably early, she was all astonishment to +perceive Mrs. Jennings’s chariot, which she knew had not been ordered +till one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of +contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse +herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being +indisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thoroughly good-humoured concern for +its cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing +her safe off, returned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise +from the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from +falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest +and food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many +nights since she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer +supported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was +felt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous +faintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly, +made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some +sense of her kindness, by saying, + +“Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!” + +“I only wish,” replied her sister, “there were any thing I _could_ do, +which might be of comfort to you.” + +This, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne, +who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, “Oh! Elinor, I am +miserable, indeed,” before her voice was entirely lost in sobs. + +Elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in +silence. + +“Exert yourself, dear Marianne,” she cried, “if you would not kill +yourself and all who love you. Think of your mother; think of her +misery while _you_ suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.” + +“I cannot, I cannot,” cried Marianne; “leave me, leave me, if I +distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so. +Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of +exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, _you_ cannot have an idea of what I +suffer.” + +“Do you call _me_ happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!—And can you believe +me to be so, while I see you so wretched!” + +“Forgive me, forgive me,” throwing her arms round her sister’s neck; “I +know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are—you +must be happy; Edward loves you—what, oh what, can do away such +happiness as that?” + +“Many, many circumstances,” said Elinor, solemnly. + +“No, no, no,” cried Marianne wildly, “he loves you, and only you. You +_can_ have no grief.” + +“I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.” + +“And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing +can do away.” + +“You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? no friends? Is +your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? Much as you suffer +now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his +character had been delayed to a later period—if your engagement had +been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he +chose to put an end to it. Every additional day of unhappy confidence, +on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful.” + +“Engagement!” cried Marianne, “there has been no engagement.” + +“No engagement!” + +“No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith +with me.” + +“But he told you that he loved you.” + +“Yes—no—never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never +professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been, but it never +was.” + +“Yet you wrote to him?” + +“Yes: could that be wrong after all that had passed? But I cannot +talk.” + +Elinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now +raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the +contents of all. The first, which was what her sister had sent him on +their arrival in town, was to this effect. + +Berkeley Street, January. + + +“How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think +you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in +town. An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a +temptation we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time to +come here to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any rate I shall +expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu. + + +“M.D.” + + +Her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance +at the Middletons’, was in these words:— + +“I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before +yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a +note which I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting to hear +from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call +again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected +this in vain. You had better come earlier another time, because we are +generally out by one. We were last night at Lady Middleton’s, where +there was a dance. I have been told that you were asked to be of the +party. But could it be so? You must be very much altered indeed since +we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not +suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal +assurance of its being otherwise. + + +“M.D.” + + +The contents of her last note to him were these:— + +“What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour last night? Again +I demand an explanation of it. I was prepared to meet you with the +pleasure which our separation naturally produced, with the familiarity +which our intimacy at Barton appeared to me to justify. I was repulsed +indeed! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a +conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though I +have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your +behaviour, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it. You +have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something +concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion. Tell me what +it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall be +satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It would grieve me indeed to +be obliged to think ill of you; but if I am to do it, if I am to learn +that you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that your regard +for us all was insincere, that your behaviour to me was intended only +to deceive, let it be told as soon as possible. My feelings are at +present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but +certainty on either side will be ease to what I now suffer. If your +sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and +the lock of my hair which is in your possession. + + +“M.D.” + + +That such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been +so answered, Elinor, for Willoughby’s sake, would have been unwilling +to believe. But her condemnation of him did not blind her to the +impropriety of their having been written at all; and she was silently +grieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs +of tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, and most severely +condemned by the event, when Marianne, perceiving that she had finished +the letters, observed to her that they contained nothing but what any +one would have written in the same situation. + +“I felt myself,” she added, “to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if +the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other.” + +“I can believe it,” said Elinor; “but unfortunately he did not feel the +same.” + +“He _did_ feel the same, Elinor—for weeks and weeks he felt it. I know +he did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the +blackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear +to him as my own soul could wish. This lock of hair, which now he can +so readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest +supplication. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his +voice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being +together at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When he told me +that it might be many weeks before we met again—his distress—can I ever +forget his distress?” + +For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had +passed away, she added, in a firmer tone, + +“Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby.” + +“Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been +instigated?” + +“By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather believe +every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his +opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This woman of +whom he writes—whoever she be—or any one, in short, but your own dear +self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me. Beyond +you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not rather +suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?” + +Elinor would not contend, and only replied, “Whoever may have been so +detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph, +my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own +innocence and good intentions supports your spirits. It is a reasonable +and laudable pride which resists such malevolence.” + +“No, no,” cried Marianne, “misery such as mine has no pride. I care not +who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open +to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud +and independent as they like—may resist insult, or return +mortification—but I cannot. I must feel—I must be wretched—and they are +welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.” + +“But for my mother’s sake and mine—” + +“I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so +miserable—Oh! who can require it?” + +Again they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking +thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire, +without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning +objects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed, +with her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up +Willoughby’s letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence, +exclaimed,— + +“It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours! +Cruel, cruel—nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he +might have heard against me—ought he not to have suspended his belief? +ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of +clearing myself? ‘The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,) +which you so obligingly bestowed on me’—That is unpardonable. +Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words? Oh, +barbarously insolent!—Elinor, can he be justified?” + +“No, Marianne, in no possible way.” + +“And yet this woman—who knows what her art may have been?—how long it +may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!—Who is +she?—Who can she be?—Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and +attractive among his female acquaintance?—Oh! no one, no one—he talked +to me only of myself.” + +Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus. + +“Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be gone +to-morrow?” + +“To-morrow, Marianne!” + +“Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby’s sake—and now +who cares for me? Who regards me?” + +“It would be impossible to go to-morrow. We owe Mrs. Jennings much more +than civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a +hasty removal as that.” + +“Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I +cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people. +The Middletons and Palmers—how am I to bear their pity? The pity of +such a woman as Lady Middleton! Oh, what would _he_ say to that!” + +Elinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment she did so; but +no attitude could give her ease; and in restless pain of mind and body +she moved from one posture to another, till growing more and more +hysterical, her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at +all, and for some time was fearful of being constrained to call for +assistance. Some lavender drops, however, which she was at length +persuaded to take, were of use; and from that time till Mrs. Jennings +returned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +Mrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return, and without +waiting to have her request of admittance answered, opened the door and +walked in with a look of real concern. + +“How do you do my dear?”—said she in a voice of great compassion to +Marianne, who turned away her face without attempting to answer. + +“How is she, Miss Dashwood? Poor thing! she looks very bad. No wonder. +Ay, it is but too true. He is to be married very soon—a +good-for-nothing fellow! I have no patience with him. Mrs. Taylor told +me of it half an hour ago, and she was told it by a particular friend +of Miss Grey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed it; and +I was almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I, all I can say is, +that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my acquaintance +abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may plague his +heart out. And so I shall always say, my dear, you may depend on it. I +have no notion of men’s going on in this way; and if ever I meet him +again, I will give him such a dressing as he has not had this many a +day. But there is one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the +only young man in the world worth having; and with your pretty face you +will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won’t disturb her any +longer, for she had better have her cry out at once and have done with. +The Parrys and Sandersons luckily are coming tonight you know, and that +will amuse her.” + +She then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, as if she +supposed her young friend’s affliction could be increased by noise. + +Marianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on dining with +them. Elinor even advised her against it. But “no, she would go down; +she could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less.” +Elinor, pleased to have her governed for a moment by such a motive, +though believing it hardly possible that she could sit out the dinner, +said no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could, +while Marianne still remained on the bed, was ready to assist her into +the dining room as soon as they were summoned to it. + +When there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate more and was calmer +than her sister had expected. Had she tried to speak, or had she been +conscious of half Mrs. Jennings’s well-meant but ill-judged attentions +to her, this calmness could not have been maintained; but not a +syllable escaped her lips; and the abstraction of her thoughts +preserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing before her. + +Elinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings’s kindness, though its +effusions were often distressing, and sometimes almost ridiculous, made +her those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her +sister could not make or return for herself. Their good friend saw that +Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her which +might make her at all less so. She treated her therefore, with all the +indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the last +day of its holidays. Marianne was to have the best place by the fire, +was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to be +amused by the relation of all the news of the day. Had not Elinor, in +the sad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she could +have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings’s endeavours to cure a +disappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a +good fire. As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this was +forced by continual repetition on Marianne, she could stay no longer. +With a hasty exclamation of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to +follow her, she directly got up and hurried out of the room. + +“Poor soul!” cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, “how it +grieves me to see her! And I declare if she is not gone away without +finishing her wine! And the dried cherries too! Lord! nothing seems to +do her any good. I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I +would send all over the town for it. Well, it is the oddest thing to +me, that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill! But when there is +plenty of money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord bless +you! they care no more about such things!—” + +“The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her—is very rich?” + +“Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart, stylish +girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very well, Biddy +Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family are all rich +together. Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it won’t come +before it’s wanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No wonder! +dashing about with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don’t signify +talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes love to +a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly off +from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is ready to +have him. Why don’t he, in such a case, sell his horses, let his house, +turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant +you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters came +round. But that won’t do now-a-days; nothing in the way of pleasure can +ever be given up by the young men of this age.” + +“Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be +amiable?” + +“I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever heard her +mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this morning, that one day +Miss Walker hinted to her, that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would +not be sorry to have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could +never agree.” + +“And who are the Ellisons?” + +“Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may choose for +herself; and a pretty choice she has made!—What now,” after pausing a +moment—“your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by +herself. Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear, it +seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall have a +few friends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we play at? +She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares for?” + +“Dear ma’am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Marianne, I dare say, +will not leave her room again this evening. I shall persuade her if I +can to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.” + +“Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her name her own supper, +and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she has been looking so bad and so cast +down this last week or two, for this matter I suppose has been hanging +over her head as long as that. And so the letter that came today +finished it! Poor soul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it, I would +not have joked her about it for all my money. But then you know, how +should I guess such a thing? I made sure of its being nothing but a +common love letter, and you know young people like to be laughed at +about them. Lord! how concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when +they hear it! If I had my senses about me I might have called in +Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it. But I shall see +them tomorrow.” + +“It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution Mrs. Palmer and +Sir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby, or making the slightest +allusion to what has passed, before my sister. Their own good-nature +must point out to them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing +about it when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to +myself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, as you my +dear madam will easily believe.” + +“Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terrible for you to hear +it talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I would not mention a +word about it to her for the world. You saw I did not all dinner time. +No more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they are all very +thoughtful and considerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I +certainly will. For my part, I think the less that is said about such +things, the better, the sooner ’tis blown over and forgot. And what +good does talking ever do you know?” + +“In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than in many cases +of a similar kind, for it has been attended by circumstances which, for +the sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit to become the +public conversation. I must do _this_ justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has +broken no positive engagement with my sister.” + +“Law, my dear! Don’t pretend to defend him. No positive engagement +indeed! after taking her all over Allenham House, and fixing on the +very rooms they were to live in hereafter!” + +Elinor, for her sister’s sake, could not press the subject farther, and +she hoped it was not required of her for Willoughby’s; since, though +Marianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcement +of the real truth. After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings, +with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again. + +“Well, my dear, ’tis a true saying about an ill-wind, for it will be +all the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her at last; aye, that +he will. Mind me, now, if they an’t married by Mid-summer. Lord! how +he’ll chuckle over this news! I hope he will come tonight. It will be +all to one a better match for your sister. Two thousand a year without +debt or drawback—except the little love-child, indeed; aye, I had +forgot her; but she may be ’prenticed out at a small cost, and then +what does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly +what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and +conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered +with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in +one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were +there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a +very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for; +and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile +from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit +up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages +that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the +village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a +thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send +three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your +mother. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can. One +shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down. If we _can_ but put +Willoughby out of her head!” + +“Ay, if we can do _that_, Ma’am,” said Elinor, “we shall do very well +with or without Colonel Brandon.” And then rising, she went away to +join Marianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room, +leaning, in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire, which, +till Elinor’s entrance, had been her only light. + +“You had better leave me,” was all the notice that her sister received +from her. + +“I will leave you,” said Elinor, “if you will go to bed.” But this, +from the momentary perverseness of impatient suffering, she at first +refused to do. Her sister’s earnest, though gentle persuasion, however, +soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw her lay her aching head +on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet rest before +she left her. + +In the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by +Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of something, in her hand. + +“My dear,” said she, entering, “I have just recollected that I have +some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was +tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister. My poor +husband! how fond he was of it! Whenever he had a touch of his old +colicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the +world. Do take it to your sister.” + +“Dear Ma’am,” replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of the +complaints for which it was recommended, “how good you are! But I have +just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think +nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me +leave, I will drink the wine myself.” + +Mrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not been five minutes +earlier, was satisfied with the compromise; and Elinor, as she +swallowed the chief of it, reflected, that though its effects on a +colicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing +powers, on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself +as on her sister. + +Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, and by his manner +of looking round the room for Marianne, Elinor immediately fancied that +he neither expected nor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he +was already aware of what occasioned her absence. Mrs. Jennings was not +struck by the same thought; for soon after his entrance, she walked +across the room to the tea-table where Elinor presided, and whispered, +“The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see. He knows nothing of it; do +tell him, my dear.” + +He shortly afterwards drew a chair close to hers, and, with a look +which perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired after her +sister. + +“Marianne is not well,” said she. “She has been indisposed all day, and +we have persuaded her to go to bed.” + +“Perhaps, then,” he hesitatingly replied, “what I heard this morning +may be—there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at +first.” + +“What did you hear?” + +“That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think—in short, that a man, +whom I _knew_ to be engaged—but how shall I tell you? If you know it +already, as surely you must, I may be spared.” + +“You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness, “Mr. Willoughby’s +marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we _do_ know it all. This seems to have +been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded +it to us. Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?” + +“In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies +were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other +an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting +concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of +Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my +attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing +was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey—it was +no longer to be a secret—it would take place even within a few weeks, +with many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing, +especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still +more:—as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, +his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!—but it would be impossible +to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry, +for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and +that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey’s +guardian.” + +“It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand +pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.” + +“It may be so; but Willoughby is capable—at least I think”—he stopped a +moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, “And +your sister—how did she—” + +“Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they +may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel +affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; +and even now, perhaps—but _I_ am almost convinced that he never was +really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some +points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.” + +“Ah!” said Colonel Brandon, “there is, indeed! But your sister does +not—I think you said so—she does not consider quite as you do?” + +“You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still +justify him if she could.” + +He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the +tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was +necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure +while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss +Dashwood’s communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel +Brandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of +hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening +more serious and thoughtful than usual. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the +next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had +closed her eyes. + +Elinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and +before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and +again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on +Elinor’s side, the same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on +Marianne’s, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as +unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every +consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. At one moment she +was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at +another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third +could resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she was uniform, +when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the +presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to +endure it. Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs. Jennings’s +entering into her sorrows with any compassion. + +“No, no, no, it cannot be,” she cried; “she cannot feel. Her kindness +is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants +is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it.” + +Elinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice to which her +sister was often led in her opinion of others, by the irritable +refinement of her own mind, and the too great importance placed by her +on the delicacies of a strong sensibility, and the graces of a polished +manner. Like half the rest of the world, if more than half there be +that are clever and good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an +excellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. She expected +from other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she +judged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on +herself. Thus a circumstance occurred, while the sisters were together +in their own room after breakfast, which sunk the heart of Mrs. +Jennings still lower in her estimation; because, through her own +weakness, it chanced to prove a source of fresh pain to herself, though +Mrs. Jennings was governed in it by an impulse of the utmost goodwill. + +With a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling, +from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room, +saying, + +“Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.” + +Marianne heard enough. In one moment her imagination placed before her +a letter from Willoughby, full of tenderness and contrition, +explanatory of all that had passed, satisfactory, convincing; and +instantly followed by Willoughby himself, rushing eagerly into the room +to inforce, at her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances +of his letter. The work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The +hand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, was before her; +and, in the acuteness of the disappointment which followed such an +ecstasy of more than hope, she felt as if, till that instant, she had +never suffered. + +The cruelty of Mrs. Jennings no language, within her reach in her +moments of happiest eloquence, could have expressed; and now she could +reproach her only by the tears which streamed from her eyes with +passionate violence—a reproach, however, so entirely lost on its +object, that after many expressions of pity, she withdrew, still +referring her to the letter of comfort. But the letter, when she was +calm enough to read it, brought little comfort. Willoughby filled every +page. Her mother, still confident of their engagement, and relying as +warmly as ever on his constancy, had only been roused by Elinor’s +application, to intreat from Marianne greater openness towards them +both; and this, with such tenderness towards her, such affection for +Willoughby, and such a conviction of their future happiness in each +other, that she wept with agony through the whole of it. + +All her impatience to be at home again now returned; her mother was +dearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of her mistaken +confidence in Willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone. Elinor, +unable herself to determine whether it were better for Marianne to be +in London or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except of +patience till their mother’s wishes could be known; and at length she +obtained her sister’s consent to wait for that knowledge. + +Mrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could not be easy +till the Middletons and Palmers were able to grieve as much as herself; +and positively refusing Elinor’s offered attendance, went out alone for +the rest of the morning. Elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware of the +pain she was going to communicate, and perceiving, by Marianne’s +letter, how ill she had succeeded in laying any foundation for it, then +sat down to write her mother an account of what had passed, and entreat +her directions for the future; while Marianne, who came into the +drawing-room on Mrs. Jennings’s going away, remained fixed at the table +where Elinor wrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving over +her for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more fondly +over its effect on her mother. + +In this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when +Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was +startled by a rap at the door. + +“Who can this be?” cried Elinor. “So early too! I thought we _had_ been +safe.” + +Marianne moved to the window. + +“It is Colonel Brandon!” said she, with vexation. “We are never safe +from _him_.” + +“He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.” + +“I will not trust to _that_,” retreating to her own room. “A man who +has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion +on that of others.” + +The event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on +injustice and error; for Colonel Brandon _did_ come in; and Elinor, who +was convinced that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who +saw _that_ solicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his +anxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her sister +for esteeming him so lightly. + +“I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,” said he, after the first +salutation, “and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more +easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you +alone, which I was very desirous of doing. My object—my wish—my sole +wish in desiring it—I hope, I believe it is—is to be a means of giving +comfort;—no, I must not say comfort—not present comfort—but conviction, +lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for +yourself, for your mother—will you allow me to prove it, by relating +some circumstances which nothing but a _very_ sincere regard—nothing +but an earnest desire of being useful—I think I am justified—though +where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am +right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?” He stopped. + +“I understand you,” said Elinor. “You have something to tell me of Mr. +Willoughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will +be the greatest act of friendship that can be shown Marianne. _My_ +gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to +that end, and _hers_ must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me +hear it.” + +“You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,—but +this will give you no idea—I must go farther back. You will find me a +very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A +short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it _shall_ +be a short one. On such a subject,” sighing heavily, “can I have little +temptation to be diffuse.” + +He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went +on. + +“You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation—(it is not to be +supposed that it could make any impression on you)—a conversation +between us one evening at Barton Park—it was the evening of a dance—in +which I alluded to a lady I had once known, as resembling, in some +measure, your sister Marianne.” + +“Indeed,” answered Elinor, “I have _not_ forgotten it.” He looked +pleased by this remembrance, and added, + +“If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender +recollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well +in mind as person. The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of +fancy and spirits. This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan +from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our ages +were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were playfellows +and friends. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Eliza; and +my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging from +my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable +of having ever felt. Hers, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the +attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though from a +different cause, no less unfortunate. At seventeen she was lost to me +for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my +brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. +And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who +was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he +did not even love her. I had hoped that her regard for me would support +her under any difficulty, and for some time it did; but at last the +misery of her situation, for she experienced great unkindness, overcame +all her resolution, and though she had promised me that nothing—but how +blindly I relate! I have never told you how this was brought on. We +were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The +treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was +banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no +liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained. I +had depended on her fortitude too far, and the blow was a severe +one—but had her marriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few +months must have reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now +to lament it. This however was not the case. My brother had no regard +for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from +the first he treated her unkindly. The consequence of this, upon a mind +so young, so lively, so inexperienced as Mrs. Brandon’s, was but too +natural. She resigned herself at first to all the misery of her +situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those +regrets which the remembrance of me occasioned. But can we wonder that, +with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to +advise or restrain her (for my father lived only a few months after +their marriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she +should fall? Had I remained in England, perhaps—but I meant to promote +the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that +purpose had procured my exchange. The shock which her marriage had +given me,” he continued, in a voice of great agitation, “was of +trifling weight—was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two +years afterwards, of her divorce. It was _that_ which threw this +gloom,—even now the recollection of what I suffered—” + +He could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about +the room. Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his +distress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took +her hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. A few +minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure. + +“It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned +to England. My first care, when I _did_ arrive, was of course to seek +for her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy. I could +not trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to +fear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of +sin. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor +sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my +brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months +before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, +that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to +dispose of it for some immediate relief. At last, however, and after I +had been six months in England, I _did_ find her. Regard for a former +servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to +visit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and +there, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my +unfortunate sister. So altered—so faded—worn down by acute suffering of +every kind! hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure +before me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, +on whom I had once doted. What I endured in so beholding her—but I have +no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it—I have +pained you too much already. That she was, to all appearance, in the +last stage of a consumption, was—yes, in such a situation it was my +greatest comfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for +a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw her placed in +comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited her every +day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her last +moments.” + +Again he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in +an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate +friend. + +“Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,” said he, “by the resemblance +I have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation. Their fates, +their fortunes, cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet +disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or a happier +marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other +be. But to what does all this lead? I seem to have been distressing you +for nothing. Ah! Miss Dashwood—a subject such as this—untouched for +fourteen years—it is dangerous to handle it at all! I _will_ be more +collected—more concise. She left to my care her only child, a little +girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about +three years old. She loved the child, and had always kept it with her. +It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have +discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education +myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no +family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I +saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, +(which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the +possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford. I +called her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in +general been suspected of a much nearer connection with her. It is now +three years ago (she had just reached her fourteenth year,) that I +removed her from school, to place her under the care of a very +respectable woman, residing in Dorsetshire, who had the charge of four +or five other girls of about the same time of life; and for two years I +had every reason to be pleased with her situation. But last February, +almost a twelvemonth back, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her, +(imprudently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go +to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her father +there for his health. I knew him to be a very good sort of man, and I +thought well of his daughter—better than she deserved, for, with a most +obstinate and ill-judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no +clue, though she certainly knew all. He, her father, a well-meaning, +but not a quick-sighted man, could really, I believe, give no +information; for he had been generally confined to the house, while the +girls were ranging over the town and making what acquaintance they +chose; and he tried to convince me, as thoroughly as he was convinced +himself, of his daughter’s being entirely unconcerned in the business. +In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest, +for eight long months, was left to conjecture. What I thought, what I +feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too.” + +“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “could it be—could Willoughby!”— + +“The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a +letter from herself, last October. It was forwarded to me from +Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party +to Whitwell; and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly, +which I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body, +and which I believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby +imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in +breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom +he had made poor and miserable; but _had_ he known it, what would it +have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles +of your sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who _can_ +feel for another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and +innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with +no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He +had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor +relieved her.” + +“This is beyond every thing!” exclaimed Elinor. + +“His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than +both. Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what I +must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on +being assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt +for all your sakes. When I came to you last week and found you alone, I +came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when it +_was_ known. My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then; but now +you will comprehend it. To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see +your sister—but what could I do? I had no hope of interfering with +success; and sometimes I thought your sister’s influence might yet +reclaim him. But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what +were his designs on her. Whatever they may have been, however, she may +now, and hereafter doubtless _will_ turn with gratitude towards her own +condition, when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she +considers the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and +pictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, still as +strong as her own, and with a mind tormented by self-reproach, which +must attend her through life. Surely this comparison must have its use +with her. She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing. They proceed +from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace. On the contrary, every +friend must be made still more her friend by them. Concern for her +unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, must strengthen +every attachment. Use your own discretion, however, in communicating to +her what I have told you. You must know best what will be its effect; +but had I not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of +service, might lessen her regrets, I would not have suffered myself to +trouble you with this account of my family afflictions, with a recital +which may seem to have been intended to raise myself at the expense of +others.” + +Elinor’s thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness; +attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to +Marianne, from the communication of what had passed. + +“I have been more pained,” said she, “by her endeavors to acquit him +than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most +perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. Now, though at first she +will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier. Have you,” she +continued, after a short silence, “ever seen Mr. Willoughby since you +left him at Barton?” + +“Yes,” he replied gravely, “once I have. One meeting was unavoidable.” + +Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying, + +“What? have you met him to—” + +“I could meet him no other way. Eliza had confessed to me, though most +reluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which +was within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to +defend, I to punish his conduct. We returned unwounded, and the +meeting, therefore, never got abroad.” + +Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a +soldier she presumed not to censure it. + +“Such,” said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, “has been the unhappy +resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter! and so imperfectly +have I discharged my trust!” + +“Is she still in town?” + +“No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I found her near +her delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there +she remains.” + +Recollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor +from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again +the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion +and esteem for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss +Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was +not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne +appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to +it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither +objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and +seemed to show by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But +though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt +_was_ carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the +effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called, +in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of +compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently +irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did +become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the +loss of Willoughby’s character yet more heavily than she had felt the +loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the +misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might +_once_ have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, +that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to +Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to +her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most +frequent confession of them. + +To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and +answering Elinor’s letter would be only to give a repetition of what +her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly +less painful than Marianne’s, and an indignation even greater than +Elinor’s. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived +to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious +solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude +under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne’s +affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and +humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which _she_ could wish +her not to indulge! + +Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had +determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at +that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be +bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by +constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen +him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means +not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which, +though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at +least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of +company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable +there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some +interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the +ideas of both might now be spurned by her. + +From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her +to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his +acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her +friends. Design could never bring them in each other’s way: negligence +could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in +its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of +Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at +Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first +as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one. + +She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where +they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his +wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged +it right that they should sometimes see their brother. + +Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother’s opinion, and she +submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved +perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt +it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by +requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only +possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her +mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent +her ever knowing a moment’s rest. + +But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil +to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other +hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward +entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay +would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better +for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire. + +Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby’s +name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing +it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor +Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her. +Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards +herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day +after day to the indignation of them all. + +Sir John, could not have thought it possible. “A man of whom he had +always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He +did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an +unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart. +He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for +all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert, +and they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of +a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met that +he had offered him one of Folly’s puppies! and this was the end of it!” + +Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. “She was determined to drop +his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had +never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart +Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it +was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she +was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell +everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.” + +The rest of Mrs. Palmer’s sympathy was shown in procuring all the +particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating +them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker’s the new +carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby’s portrait was +drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey’s clothes might be seen. + +The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a +happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed as they often were by the +clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be +sure of exciting no interest in _one_ person at least among their +circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was _one_ who +would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any +anxiety for her sister’s health. + +Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the +moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down +by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to +comfort than good-nature. + +Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, +or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, “It is very +shocking, indeed!” and by the means of this continual though gentle +vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first +without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without +recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the +dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was +wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the +interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather +against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once +be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon +as she married. + +Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome +to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate +discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with +which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with +confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing +past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye +with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her +voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or +could oblige herself to speak to him. _These_ assured him that his +exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and +_these_ gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but +Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the +Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail +on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for +him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of +Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of +a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding +between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the +honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all +be made over to _her;_ and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to +think at all of Mrs. Ferrars. + +Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby’s +letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he +was married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to +herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was +desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from +the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning. + +She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on +it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst +out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less +pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event. + +The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now +hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to +prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow +first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before. + +About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin’s +house in Bartlett’s Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again +before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and +were welcomed by them all with great cordiality. + +Elinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her pain, +and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the +overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her _still_ in town. + +“I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here +_still_,” said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. “But +I always thought I _should_. I was almost sure you would not leave +London yet awhile; though you _told_ me, you know, at Barton, that you +should not stay above a _month_. But I thought, at the time, that you +would most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would +have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and +sister came. And now to be sure you will be in no _hurry_ to be gone. I +am amazingly glad you did not keep to _your word_.” + +Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her +self-command to make it appear that she did _not_. + +“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did you travel?” + +“Not in the stage, I assure you,” replied Miss Steele, with quick +exultation; “we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to +attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we’d join +him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or +twelve shillings more than we did.” + +“Oh, oh!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is +a single man, I warrant you.” + +“There now,” said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, “everybody laughs +at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they +are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never +think about him from one hour’s end to another. ‘Lord! here comes your +beau, Nancy,’ my cousin said t’other day, when she saw him crossing the +street to the house. My beau, indeed! said I—I cannot think who you +mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.” + +“Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won’t do—the Doctor is +the man, I see.” + +“No, indeed!” replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, “and I beg +you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.” + +Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she +certainly would _not_, and Miss Steele was made completely happy. + +“I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss +Dashwood, when they come to town,” said Lucy, returning, after a +cessation of hostile hints, to the charge. + +“No, I do not think we shall.” + +“Oh, yes, I dare say you will.” + +Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition. + +“What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for +so long a time together!” + +“Long a time, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Jennings. “Why, their visit is +but just begun!” + +Lucy was silenced. + +“I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,” said Miss +Steele. “I am sorry she is not well—” for Marianne had left the room on +their arrival. + +“You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the +pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with +nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation.” + +“Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!—I +think she might see _us;_ and I am sure we would not speak a word.” + +Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was +perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore +not able to come to them. + +“Oh, if that’s all,” cried Miss Steele, “we can just as well go and see +_her_.” + +Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she +was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy’s sharp reprimand, which +now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the +manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the +other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister’s entreaties, and +consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an +hour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and +would do no more than accompany them to Gray’s in Sackville Street, +where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few +old-fashioned jewels of her mother. + +When they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was +a lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as +she had no business at Gray’s, it was resolved, that while her young +friends transacted their’s, she should pay her visit and return for +them. + +On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before +them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to +their orders; and they were obliged to wait. All that could be done +was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the +quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is +probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to +a quicker despatch. But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy of +his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. He was giving orders for +a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and ornaments +were determined, all of which, after examining and debating for a +quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally +arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to bestow any +other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised in three or +four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to imprint on +Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural, +sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of fashion. + +Marianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and +resentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on +the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of +the different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining +unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts +within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in +Mr. Gray’s shop, as in her own bedroom. + +At last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the pearls, +all received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last +day on which his existence could be continued without the possession of +the toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and +bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as +seemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a +happy air of real conceit and affected indifference. + +Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point +of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side. +She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise +to be her brother. + +Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very +creditable appearance in Mr. Gray’s shop. John Dashwood was really far +from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them +satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and +attentive. + +Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days. + +“I wished very much to call upon you yesterday,” said he, “but it was +impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at +Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars. +Harry was vastly pleased. _This_ morning I had fully intended to call +on you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always +so much to do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak Fanny +a seal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in +Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings. I +understand she is a woman of very good fortune. And the Middletons too, +you must introduce me to _them_. As my mother-in-law’s relations, I +shall be happy to show them every respect. They are excellent +neighbours to you in the country, I understand.” + +“Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness +in every particular, is more than I can express.” + +“I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed. +But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are +related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to +make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. And so you +are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for +nothing! Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the +most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all +seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a great satisfaction to us +to hear it, I assure you.” + +Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to +be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs. +Jennings’s servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for +them at the door. + +Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings +at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to +call on them the next day, took leave. + +His visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an apology from +their sister-in-law, for not coming too; “but she was so much engaged +with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where.” +Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand +upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she +should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her +sisters to see her. His manners to _them_, though calm, were perfectly +kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel +Brandon’s coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity +which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be +equally civil to _him_. + +After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him +to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton. +The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as +they were out of the house, his enquiries began. + +“Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?” + +“Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.” + +“I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think, +Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable +establishment in life.” + +“Me, brother! what do you mean?” + +“He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is +the amount of his fortune?” + +“I believe about two thousand a year.” + +“Two thousand a-year;” and then working himself up to a pitch of +enthusiastic generosity, he added, “Elinor, I wish with all my heart it +were _twice_ as much, for your sake.” + +“Indeed I believe you,” replied Elinor; “but I am very sure that +Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying _me_.” + +“You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little +trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be +undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his +friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little +attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix +him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not +try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your +side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite +out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too +much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no +civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and +your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In +short, it is a kind of thing that”—lowering his voice to an important +whisper—“will be exceedingly welcome to _all parties_.” Recollecting +himself, however, he added, “That is, I mean to say—your friends are +all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she +has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too, +Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her +great pleasure; she said as much the other day.” + +Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer. + +“It would be something remarkable, now,” he continued, “something +droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the +same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.” + +“Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going to be +married?” + +“It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation. He +has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, +will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match +takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the +late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable +connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in +time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to +make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you +another instance of her liberality:—The other day, as soon as we came +to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now, +she put bank-notes into Fanny’s hands to the amount of two hundred +pounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great +expense while we are here.” + +He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say, + +“Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable; +but your income is a large one.” + +“Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to +complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will +in time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is +a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within +this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where +old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every +respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my +duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it +fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it +_has_ cost me a vast deal of money.” + +“More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.” + +“Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for +more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have +been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, +that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker’s +hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.” + +Elinor could only smile. + +“Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to +Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the +Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were) +to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an +undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in +consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of +linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may +guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being +rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars’s kindness is.” + +“Certainly,” said Elinor; “and assisted by her liberality, I hope you +may yet live to be in easy circumstances.” + +“Another year or two may do much towards it,” he gravely replied; “but +however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone +laid of Fanny’s green-house, and nothing but the plan of the +flower-garden marked out.” + +“Where is the green-house to be?” + +“Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come +down to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many parts +of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and +be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns that +grew in patches over the brow.” + +Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very +thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation. + +Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the +necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his +next visit at Gray’s, his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he +began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings. + +“She seems a most valuable woman indeed. Her house, her style of +living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance +that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may +prove materially advantageous. Her inviting you to town is certainly a +vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a +regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be +forgotten. She must have a great deal to leave.” + +“Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her +jointure, which will descend to her children.” + +“But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few +people of common prudence will do _that_ and whatever she saves, she +will be able to dispose of.” + +“And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her +daughters, than to us?” + +“Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I +cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas, +in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in +this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future +consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. Nothing +can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this, +without being aware of the expectation it raises.” + +“But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your +anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.” + +“Why, to be sure,” said he, seeming to recollect himself, “people have +little, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is +the matter with Marianne?—she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, +and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?” + +“She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several +weeks.” + +“I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness +destroys the bloom for ever! Hers has been a very short one! She was as +handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to attract +the man. There was something in her style of beauty, to please them +particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner +and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of _you_, +but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, however. I +question whether Marianne _now_, will marry a man worth more than five +or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if +_you_ do not do better. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire; +but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it; +and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the +earliest and best pleased of your visitors.” + +Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no +likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation +of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really +resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the +marriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough +for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly +anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from +Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means +of atoning for his own neglect. + +They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John +came in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on all +sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did +not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very +good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his +appearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood +went away delighted with both. + +“I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,” said he, as he +walked back with his sister. “Lady Middleton is really a most elegant +woman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know. And Mrs. +Jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant +as her daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of visiting +_her_, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and very +naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man +who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were +both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters were +such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now I can +carry her a most satisfactory account of both.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +Mrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband’s judgment, +that she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her +daughter; and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former, +even the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy +her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most +charming women in the world! + +Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a kind +of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted +them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of +demeanor, and a general want of understanding. + +The same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the +good opinion of Lady Middleton did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings, +and to _her_ she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking +woman of uncordial address, who met her husband’s sisters without any +affection, and almost without having anything to say to them; for of +the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley Street, she sat at least +seven minutes and a half in silence. + +Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask, +whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny +voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that +his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband’s +expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed +them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be +too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The +intelligence however, which _she_ would not give, soon flowed from +another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on +being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and +Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for fear of +detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be +told, they could do nothing at present but write. + +Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short +time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on +the table, when they returned from their morning’s engagements. Elinor +was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had +missed him. + +The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that, +though not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to +give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited +them to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house +for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited +likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who, +always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager +civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to +meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to +be of the party. The expectation of seeing _her_, however, was enough +to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet +Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to +attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect +indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in +company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was +as lively as ever. + +The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon +afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing +that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it. + +So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable +had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly +not so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as +Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it +happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as +the Dashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should begin a +few days before the party took place. + +Their claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the +gentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not +have done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but +as Lady Middleton’s guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long +wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of +their characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity +of endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life, +than she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood’s card. + +On Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to +determine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his +mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the +first time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly +knew how she could bear it! + +These apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and +certainly not at all on truth. They were relieved however, not by her +own recollection, but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to +be inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward +certainly would not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped to +be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that he was kept +away by the extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal +when they were together. + +The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies +to this formidable mother-in-law. + +“Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!” said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs +together—for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings, +that they all followed the servant at the same time:—“there is nobody +here but you, that can feel for me. I declare I can hardly stand. Good +gracious! In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness +depends on—that is to be my mother!” + +Elinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the +possibility of its being Miss Morton’s mother, rather than her own, +whom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured +her, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her—to the utter +amazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at +least to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor. + +Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in +her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect. Her +complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and +naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had +rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it +the strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of +many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the +number of her ideas; and of the few syllables that did escape her, not +one fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited +determination of disliking her at all events. + +Elinor could not _now_ be made unhappy by this behaviour. A few months +ago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars’ +power to distress her by it now; and the difference of her manners to +the Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble +her more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the +graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person—for +Lucy was particularly distinguished—whom of all others, had they known +as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while +she herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat +pointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so +misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which +it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss +Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all +four. + +Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss +Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy. + +The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing +bespoke the Mistress’s inclination for show, and the Master’s ability +to support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which were +making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once +been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a +loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to +infer from it;—no poverty of any kind, except of conversation, +appeared—but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood had +not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had +still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was very +much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all laboured +under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable—Want +of sense, either natural or improved—want of elegance—want of +spirits—or want of temper. + +When the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty +was particularly evident, for the gentlemen _had_ supplied the +discourse with some variety—the variety of politics, inclosing land, +and breaking horses—but then it was all over; and one subject only +engaged the ladies till coffee came in, which was the comparative +heights of Harry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton’s second son William, who +were nearly of the same age. + +Had both the children been there, the affair might have been determined +too easily by measuring them at once; but as Harry only was present, it +was all conjectural assertion on both sides; and every body had a right +to be equally positive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over +again as often as they liked. + +The parties stood thus: + +The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the +tallest, politely decided in favour of the other. + +The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity, +were equally earnest in support of their own descendant. + +Lucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other, +thought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not +conceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world +between them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as +fast as she could, in favour of each. + +Elinor, having once delivered her opinion on William’s side, by which +she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the +necessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when +called on for hers, offended them all, by declaring that she had no +opinion to give, as she had never thought about it. + +Before her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair +of screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and +brought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens, +catching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen +into the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for +his admiration. + +“These are done by my eldest sister,” said he; “and you, as a man of +taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether +you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she +is in general reckoned to draw extremely well.” + +The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship, +warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by +Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course +excited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars, +not aware of their being Elinor’s work, particularly requested to look +at them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady +Middletons’s approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother, +considerately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by +Miss Dashwood. + +“Hum”—said Mrs. Ferrars—“very pretty,”—and without regarding them at +all, returned them to her daughter. + +Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude +enough,—for, colouring a little, she immediately said, + +“They are very pretty, ma’am—an’t they?” But then again, the dread of +having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her, +for she presently added, + +“Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s style of +painting, Ma’am?—_She does_ paint most delightfully!—How beautifully +her last landscape is done!” + +“Beautifully indeed! But _she_ does every thing well.” + +Marianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly displeased with +Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor’s +expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by +it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth, + +“This is admiration of a very particular kind!—what is Miss Morton to +us?—who knows, or who cares, for her?—it is Elinor of whom _we_ think +and speak.” + +And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law’s hands, +to admire them herself as they ought to be admired. + +Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more +stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, “Miss +Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.” + +Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his +sister’s audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne’s warmth than +she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon’s eyes, as they +were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable +in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister +slighted in the smallest point. + +Marianne’s feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs. +Ferrars’s general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell +such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart +taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of +affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister’s +chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers, +said in a low, but eager, voice, + +“Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make _you_ +unhappy.” + +She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her +face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body’s attention +was called, and almost every body was concerned.—Colonel Brandon rose +up and went to them without knowing what he did.—Mrs. Jennings, with a +very intelligent “Ah! poor dear,” immediately gave her her salts; and +Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous +distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy +Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole +shocking affair. + +In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end +to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained +the impression of what had passed, the whole evening. + +“Poor Marianne!” said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice, +as soon as he could secure his attention: “She has not such good health +as her sister,—she is very nervous,—she has not Elinor’s +constitution;—and one must allow that there is something very trying to +a young woman who _has been_ a beauty in the loss of her personal +attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne _was_ +remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. Now +you see it is all gone.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +Elinor’s curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied. She had found in +her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between +the families undesirable. She had seen enough of her pride, her +meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend +all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and +retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise +free; and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her _own_ sake, +that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other +of Mrs. Ferrars’s creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her +caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she +did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward’s being fettered to +Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she _ought_ to +have rejoiced. + +She wondered that Lucy’s spirits could be so very much elevated by the +civility of Mrs. Ferrars;—that her interest and her vanity should so +very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her +because she was _not Elinor_, appear a compliment to herself—or to +allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, +because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not +only been declared by Lucy’s eyes at the time, but was declared over +again the next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady +Middleton set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing +Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was. + +The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon +after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away. + +“My dear friend,” cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, “I +come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering as +Mrs. Ferrars’s way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable as +she was! You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her; but the +very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her +behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to +me. Now was not it so? You saw it all; and was not you quite struck +with it?” + +“She was certainly very civil to you.” + +“Civil!—Did you see nothing but only civility?—I saw a vast deal more. +Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!—No pride, no +hauteur, and your sister just the same—all sweetness and affability!” + +Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to +own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go +on. + +“Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,” said she, “nothing +could be more flattering than their treatment of you;—but as that was +not the case—” + +“I guessed you would say so,”—replied Lucy quickly—“but there was no +reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did +not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan’t talk me out of my +satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no +difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a +charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women, +indeed!—I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs. +Dashwood was!” + +To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any. + +“Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don’t speak;—sure you +an’t well.” + +“I never was in better health.” + +“I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I +should be sorry to have _you_ ill; you, that have been the greatest +comfort to me in the world!—Heaven knows what I should have done +without your friendship.” + +Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success. +But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied, + +“Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to +Edward’s love, it is the greatest comfort I have. Poor Edward! But now +there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty +often, for Lady Middleton’s delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall +be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his +time with his sister—besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will +visit now;—and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say +more than once, they should always be glad to see me. They are such +charming women!—I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of +her, you cannot speak too high.” + +But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she +_should_ tell her sister. Lucy continued. + +“I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took +a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for +instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of +me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I +had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave it +all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she _does_ +dislike, I know it is most violent.” + +Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by +the door’s being thrown open, the servant’s announcing Mr. Ferrars, and +Edward’s immediately walking in. + +It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each showed that +it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to +have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to +advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest +form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen +on them.—They were not only all three together, but were together +without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves +first. It was not Lucy’s business to put herself forward, and the +appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could therefore only +_look_ her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more. + +But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her +own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment’s +recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost +easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still +improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the +consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from +saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much +regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street. +She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as +a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of +Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her. + +Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough +to sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in +a proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might +make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy’s, nor +could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor’s. + +Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no +contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word; +and almost every thing that _was_ said, proceeded from Elinor, who was +obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother’s health, +their coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about, +but never did. + +Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself +so heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching +Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and +_that_ in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes +on the landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she +went to her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for +the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne’s joy hurried her into +the drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every +other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met +him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the +affection of a sister. + +“Dear Edward!” she cried, “this is a moment of great happiness!—This +would almost make amends for every thing!” + +Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such +witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat +down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was +looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and +sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other +should be checked by Lucy’s unwelcome presence. Edward was the first to +speak, and it was to notice Marianne’s altered looks, and express his +fear of her not finding London agree with her. + +“Oh, don’t think of me!” she replied with spirited earnestness, though +her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, “don’t think of _my_ +health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both.” + +This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor +to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no +very benignant expression. + +“Do you like London?” said Edward, willing to say any thing that might +introduce another subject. + +“Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The +sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank +Heaven! you are what you always were!” + +She paused—no one spoke. + +“I think, Elinor,” she presently added, “we must employ Edward to take +care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we +shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to +accept the charge.” + +Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even +himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it +to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and +soon talked of something else. + +“We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so +wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you on that head, which +cannot be said now.” + +And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her +finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her +being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in +private. + +“But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?” + +“I was engaged elsewhere.” + +“Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?” + +“Perhaps, Miss Marianne,” cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on +her, “you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no +mind to keep them, little as well as great.” + +Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the +sting; for she calmly replied, + +“Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that +conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he +_has_ the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in +performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make +against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving +pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish, +of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What! are +you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you must be no friend of mine; +for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open +commendation.” + +The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened +to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her +auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon +got up to go away. + +“Going so soon!” said Marianne; “my dear Edward, this must not be.” + +And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy +could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he +would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted +two hours, soon afterwards went away. + +“What can bring her here so often?” said Marianne, on her leaving them. +“Could not she see that we wanted her gone!—how teazing to Edward!” + +“Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known +to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well +as ourselves.” + +Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, “You know, Elinor, that this +is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your +assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to +recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot +descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted.” + +She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more, +for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give +no information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the +consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was +obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward would +not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s +mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain +that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to +expect. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the +world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a +son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least +to all those intimate connections who knew it before. + +This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness, produced a +temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a +like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to +be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning +as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the +evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the +Middletons, spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their +own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the +morning, in Mrs. Jennings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged +against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over +to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in +fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought. + +They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and +by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on +_their_ ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to +monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s +behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. +Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not +believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she +fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to +be satirical; but _that_ did not signify. It was censure in common use, +and easily given. + +Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the +idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was +ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was +proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would +despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the +three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to +it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute +account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she +would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best +place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But +this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out +expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt +a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was +produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in +the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their +friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so +little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige her, +that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without +hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind +enough to bestow on herself. + +All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally +unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing +for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young +friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old +woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at +her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent +spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte’s well +doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail +of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire. +One thing _did_ disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint. +Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, +of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at +different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and +every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his +father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like +every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to +acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the +world. + +I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time +befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters +with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another +of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not +apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of +other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our +conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s happiness +must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present +instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun +truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss +Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she +immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this +misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of +invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small +musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs. +John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great +inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what +was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing +to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not +expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing +them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for +when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be +wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from +them. + +Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of +going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to +her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically +for every evening’s engagement, though without expecting the smallest +amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last +moment, where it was to take her. + +To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as +not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her +toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of +their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped _her_ +minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and +asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part +of Marianne’s dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns +altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not +without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing +cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself. +The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally +concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was +considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after +undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the +colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost +sure of being told that upon “her word she looked vastly smart, and she +dared to say she would make a great many conquests.” + +With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present +occasion, to her brother’s carriage; which they were ready to enter +five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very +agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of +her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part +that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman. + +The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like +other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real +taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all; +and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation, +and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in +England. + +As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no +scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it +suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and +violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the +room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of +young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases +at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and +speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out +his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr. +Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars. + +He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow +which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was +exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy +had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his +own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his +brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the +ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she +wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that +the emptiness and conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with +the modesty and worth of the other. Why they _were_ different, Robert +explained to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s +conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme +_gaucherie_ which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper +society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any +natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education; +while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material +superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school, +was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man. + +“Upon my soul,” he added, “I believe it is nothing more; and so I often +tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam,’ I +always say to her, ‘you must make yourself easy. The evil is now +irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be +persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place +Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life? If +you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of +sending him to Mr. Pratt’s, all this would have been prevented.’ This +is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is +perfectly convinced of her error.” + +Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her +general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not +think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family, with any satisfaction. + +“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next observation, “in a +cottage near Dawlish.” + +Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather +surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living +near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their +species of house. + +“For my own part,” said he, “I am excessively fond of a cottage; there +is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest, +if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one +myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself +down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I +advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend +Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice, +and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide +on the best of them. ‘My dear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing +them all into the fire, ‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means +build a cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it. + +“Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a +cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend +Elliott’s, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how +can it be done?’ said she; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be +managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple, +and where can the supper be?’ _I_ immediately saw that there could be +no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady Elliott, do not be +uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease; +card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open +for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the +saloon.’ Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the +dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the +affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see, +if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well +enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.” + +Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the +compliment of rational opposition. + +As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister, +his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought +struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for +her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs. +Dennison’s mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had +suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such, +while Mrs. Jennings’s engagements kept her from home. The expense would +be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an +attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be +requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his +father. Fanny was startled at the proposal. + +“I do not see how it can be done,” said she, “without affronting Lady +Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be +exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any +attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shows. But +they are Lady Middleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?” + +Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her +objection. “They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit +Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the +same number of days to such near relations.” + +Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said, + +“My love, I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power. +But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a +few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I +think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by +Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss +Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them; +indeed, you _do_ like them, you know, very much already, and so does my +mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!” + +Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss +Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution +of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly +suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by +bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as +_their_ visitor. + +Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had +procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and +her sister’s, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady +Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and +reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her, +herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an +opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things, +the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most +gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too +gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to +Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was +instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days’ +time. + +When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after +its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the +expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed +on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will +towards her arose from something more than merely malice against +herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing +that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady +Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John +Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of +greater. + +The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor +of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event. +Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts +of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs. +Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her +life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made +by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know +whether she should ever be able to part with them. + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt +it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and, +contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from +that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the +Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share. + +About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in +Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to +Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by +herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to +hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea, +began directly to justify it, by saying, + +“Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?” + +“No, ma’am. What is it?” + +“Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr. +Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was +sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples. +So I looked at it directly, and, ‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is +nothing in the world, but the red gum;’ and nurse said just the same. +But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for; +and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he +stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, he said +just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and +then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it +came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of +it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon +that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know +something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, ‘For fear any +unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to +their sister’s indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I +believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will +do very well.’” + +“What! is Fanny ill?” + +“That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is Mrs. +Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long and the short of +the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars, +the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it +turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr. +Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my +cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a +syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a +thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another; +but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody +suspect it! _That_ is strange! I never happened to see them together, +or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was +kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your +brother or sister suspected a word of the matter: till this very +morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no +conjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they are all +so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;’ and +so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her +carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been +saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to +make a match between Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget +who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride. +She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as +reached your brother’s ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room +down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the +country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for +Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on. +Poor soul! I pity _her_. And I must say, I think she was used very +hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into +a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and +your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what +to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in +the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon _his_ knees too, +to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes. +_Then_ she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he +would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this +uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins +away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such +a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost +as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope, +with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her. Lord! what a +taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it! To have his love +used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well +he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest +passion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had a great +deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is gone back +again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs. Ferrars is +told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins left the +house, for your sister was sure _she_ would be in hysterics too; and so +she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I have no +notion of people’s making such a to-do about money and greatness. There +is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry; for I +am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though +Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than any body how to +make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only +allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance +with it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug they might +live in such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two +maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for +my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly.” + +Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect +her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such +observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce. +Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest +in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the +case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy +above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able +to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment, +as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one +concerned in it. + +She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really +was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being +possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and +Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a +doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to +know how Edward would conduct himself. For _him_ she felt much +compassion;—for Lucy very little—and it cost her some pains to procure +that little;—for the rest of the party none at all. + +As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the +necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be +lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth, +and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others, +without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any +resentment against Edward. + +Elinor’s office was a painful one.—She was going to remove what she +really believed to be her sister’s chief consolation,—to give such +particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good +opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations, +which to _her_ fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment +over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to +be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it. + +She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to +represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the +self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward’s +engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne. +Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given +without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor +impetuous grief. _That_ belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne +listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the +comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and +all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure +of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but +of imprudence, was readily offered. + +But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed +a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she _had_ +loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy +Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely +incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded +at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of +Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and +Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only +could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind. + +Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact +of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed.—Marianne’s +feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of +detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her +distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first +question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,— + +“How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?” + +“I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park +last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement.” + +At these words, Marianne’s eyes expressed the astonishment which her +lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed— + +“Four months!—Have you known of this four months?” + +Elinor confirmed it. + +“What! while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your +heart? And I have reproached you for being happy!” + +“It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!” + +“Four months!” cried Marianne again. “So calm! so cheerful! How have +you been supported?” + +“By feeling that I was doing my duty.—My promise to Lucy, obliged me to +be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the +truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a +solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy.” + +Marianne seemed much struck. + +“I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,” added +Elinor; “and once or twice I have attempted it;—but without betraying +my trust, I never could have convinced you.” + +“Four months! and yet you loved him!” + +“Yes. But I did not love only him; and while the comfort of others was +dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now, +I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you +suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially +myself. I have many things to support me. I am not conscious of having +provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne +it as much as possible without spreading it farther. I acquit Edward of +essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his +always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in +the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense, and that is the +foundation on which every thing good may be built. And after all, +Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and +constant attachment, and all that can be said of one’s happiness +depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant—it is not +fit—it is not possible that it should be so. Edward will marry Lucy; he +will marry a woman superior in person and understanding to half her +sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he ever thought +another superior to _her_.” + +“If such is your way of thinking,” said Marianne, “if the loss of what +is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your +resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be +wondered at.—They are brought more within my comprehension.” + +“I understand you. You do not suppose that I have ever felt much. For +four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without +being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it +would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to +you, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least. It was told me,—it +was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose prior +engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought, with +triumph. This person’s suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by +endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply +interested; and it has not been only once; I have had her hopes and +exultation to listen to again and again. I have known myself to be +divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one circumstance that +could make me less desire the connection. Nothing has proved him +unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to me. I have had +to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of +his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without +enjoying its advantages. And all this has been going on at a time, +when, as you know too well, it has not been my only unhappiness. If you +can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that I +have suffered _now_. The composure of mind with which I have brought +myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have +been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful +exertion; they did not spring up of themselves; they did not occur to +relieve my spirits at first. No, Marianne. _Then_, if I had not been +bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—not even +what I owed to my dearest friends—from openly showing that I was _very_ +unhappy.” + +Marianne was quite subdued. + +“Oh! Elinor,” she cried, “you have made me hate myself for ever.—How +barbarous have I been to you!—you, who have been my only comfort, who +have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only +suffering for me!—Is this my gratitude?—Is this the only return I can +make you?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying +to do it away.” + +The tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of +mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her +whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged +never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of +bitterness; to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of +dislike to her; and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring +them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality. These +were great concessions; but where Marianne felt that she had injured, +no reparation could be too much for her to make. + +She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.—She +attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an +unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard +three times to say, “Yes, ma’am.”—She listened to her praise of Lucy +with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings +talked of Edward’s affection, it cost her only a spasm in her +throat.—Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel +equal to any thing herself. + +The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their +brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful +affair, and bring them news of his wife. + +“You have heard, I suppose,” said he with great solemnity, as soon as +he was seated, “of the very shocking discovery that took place under +our roof yesterday.” + +They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech. + +“Your sister,” he continued, “has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. Ferrars +too—in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress—but I +will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us +quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday. But I +would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially +to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution +equal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an +angel! She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one +cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!—meeting with such +ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shown, so much confidence +had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that +she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she +thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved +girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished +very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your +kind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so +rewarded! ‘I wish, with all my heart,’ says poor Fanny in her +affectionate way, ‘that we had asked your sisters instead of them.’” + +Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on. + +“What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is +not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been +planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that +he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!—such a +suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected _any_ +prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in _that_ quarter. ‘_There_, +to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought myself safe.’ She was +quite in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be +done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am +sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make +him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose +by my arguments, and Fanny’s entreaties, was of no avail. Duty, +affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward so +stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal +designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle +on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good +thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to make it +twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still persisted in +this low connection, represented to him the certain penury that must +attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she protested should be +his all; she would never see him again; and so far would she be from +affording him the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into +any profession with a view of better support, she would do all in her +power to prevent him advancing in it.” + +Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands +together, and cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!” + +“Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the obstinacy +which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very +natural.” + +Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and +forbore. + +“All this, however,” he continued, “was urged in vain. Edward said very +little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing +should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it, +cost him what it might.” + +“Then,” cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be +silent, “he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr. +Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a +rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as +yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a +better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good +husband.” + +John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open +to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially +anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment, + +“I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours, +madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman, +but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible. +And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her +uncle’s care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune +as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In +short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom +you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy; +and Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every +conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It has +been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it +will be a bad one.” + +Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor’s heart wrung +for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother’s threats, for a +woman who could not reward him. + +“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did it end?” + +“I am sorry to say, ma’am, in a most unhappy rupture:—Edward is +dismissed for ever from his mother’s notice. He left her house +yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do +not know; for _we_ of course can make no inquiry.” + +“Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?” + +“What, indeed, ma’am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the +prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more +deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds—how can a man live on +it?—and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for +his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two +thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand +pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must +all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our +power to assist him.” + +“Poor young man!” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure he should be very +welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I +could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own +charge now, at lodgings and taverns.” + +Elinor’s heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she +could not forbear smiling at the form of it. + +“If he would only have done as well by himself,” said John Dashwood, +“as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been +in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it +is, it must be out of anybody’s power to assist him. And there is one +thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his +mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle +_that_ estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward’s, +on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking +over the business.” + +“Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is _her_ revenge. Everybody has a way +of their own. But I don’t think mine would be, to make one son +independent, because another had plagued me.” + +Marianne got up and walked about the room. + +“Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,” continued John, +“than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might +have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.” + +A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his +visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really +believed there was no material danger in Fanny’s indisposition, and +that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away; +leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present +occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the +Dashwoods’, and Edward’s. + +Marianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and +as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in +Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the +party. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only +Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. _They_ only knew how +little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the +consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain +to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his +integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his +punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public +discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which +either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon +principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the too +warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward’s +continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and +Marianne’s courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic +which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the +comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor’s conduct and her +own. + +She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had +hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of +continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never +exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence, +without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she +still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only +dispirited her more. + +Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs +in Harley Street, or Bartlett’s Buildings. But though so much of the +matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had +enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after +more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and +inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the +hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them +within that time. + +The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so +fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens, +though it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor +were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were +again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather +to stay at home, than venture into so public a place. + +An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they +entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing +with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings’s conversation, she was +herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys, +nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by +any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last she +found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who, though +looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting them, and +on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of Mrs. +Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their’s. Mrs. +Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor, + +“Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you +ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.” + +It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s too, +that she would tell any thing _without_ being asked; for nothing would +otherwise have been learnt. + +“I am so glad to meet you;” said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by +the arm—“for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.” And then +lowering her voice, “I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is +she angry?” + +“Not at all, I believe, with you.” + +“That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is _she_ angry?” + +“I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.” + +“I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of +it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she +would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me +again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are +as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put +in the feather last night. There now, _you_ are going to laugh at me +too. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it _is_ +the Doctor’s favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never +have known he _did_ like it better than any other colour, if he had not +happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare +sometimes I do not know which way to look before them.” + +She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say, +and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to +the first. + +“Well, but Miss Dashwood,” speaking triumphantly, “people may say what +they chuse about Mr. Ferrars’s declaring he would not have Lucy, for it +is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such +ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think +about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set +it down for certain.” + +“I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,” +said Elinor. + +“Oh, did not you? But it _was_ said, I know, very well, and by more +than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses +could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with +thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing +at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my +cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was +afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us +for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in +my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your +brother’s Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, +Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once +Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. +However this morning he came just as we came home from church; and then +it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, +and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had +declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but +Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that +as soon as he had went away from his mother’s house, he had got upon +his horse, and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he +had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get +the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he +said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at +all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because +it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, +and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he +had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they +to live upon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no better, +and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to +the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say +all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for _her_ +sake, and upon _her_ account, that he said a word about being off, and +not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of +being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing +like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of +talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and +love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can’t repeat such kind of +things you know)—she told him directly, she had not the least mind in +the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how +little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, +you know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and +talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he +should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he +got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin +called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and +would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into +the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but +she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a +pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons.” + +“I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,” said Elinor; +“you were all in the same room together, were not you?” + +“No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love +when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—To be sure you must know +better than that. (Laughing affectedly.)—No, no; they were shut up in +the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the +door.” + +“How!” cried Elinor; “have you been repeating to me what you only +learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it +before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me +particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known +yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?” + +“Oh, la! there is nothing in _that_. I only stood at the door, and +heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by +me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many +secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or +behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.” + +Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be +kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind. + +“Edward talks of going to Oxford soon,” said she; “but now he is +lodging at No.—, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is, +an’t she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I +shan’t say anything against them to _you;_ and to be sure they did send +us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And for +my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us for +the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however, nothing +was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight. Edward +have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a +time; and after _that_, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will +be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get! Good gracious! (giggling +as she spoke) I’d lay my life I know what my cousins will say, when +they hear of it. They will tell me I should write to the Doctor, to get +Edward the curacy of his new living. I know they will; but I am sure I +would not do such a thing for all the world. ‘La!’ I shall say +directly, ‘I wonder how you could think of such a thing? _I_ write to +the Doctor, indeed!’” + +“Well,” said Elinor, “it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst. +You have got your answer ready.” + +Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of +her own party made another more necessary. + +“Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to +you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you +they are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and +they keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings +about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not +in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything +should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings +should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay +with her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton +won’t ask us any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was +not here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your +spotted muslin on!—I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn.” + +Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay +her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was +claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of +knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though +she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and +foreplanned in her own mind. Edward’s marriage with Lucy was as firmly +determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely +uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;—every thing depended, +exactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of +which, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance. + +As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for +information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible +intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she +confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as +she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would +choose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the +means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her +communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following +natural remark. + +“Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how _that_ will +end:—they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it, +will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest +of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr. +Pratt can give her. Then they will have a child every year! and Lord +help ’em! how poor they will be! I must see what I can give them +towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed! as I +talked of t’ other day. No, no, they must get a stout girl of all +works. Betty’s sister would never do for them _now_.” + +The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from +Lucy herself. It was as follows: + +“Bartlett’s Building, March. + + +“I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing +to her; but I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear +such a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after all the +troubles we have went through lately, therefore will make no more +apologies, but proceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered +dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always +be in one another’s love. We have had great trials, and great +persecutions, but however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge +many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness I +shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have told +of it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs. +Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he +would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my +duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, and would have parted +for ever on the spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should +never be, he did not regard his mother’s anger, while he could have my +affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must +wait, and hope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should it +ever be in your power to recommend him to any body that has a living to +bestow, am very sure you will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings +too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or Mr. +Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.—Poor Anne was much +to blame for what she did, but she did it for the best, so I say +nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won’t think it too much trouble to give us +a call, should she come this way any morning, ’twould be a great +kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know her.—My paper reminds +me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and respectfully +remembered to her, and to Sir John, and Lady Middleton, and the dear +children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne, + + +“I am, &c.” + + +As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to +be its writer’s real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs. +Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and +praise. + +“Very well indeed!—how prettily she writes!—aye, that was quite proper +to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor soul! I +wish I _could_ get him a living, with all my heart. She calls me dear +Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived. Very +well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, yes, I +will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to think of +every body!—Thank you, my dear, for showing it me. It is as pretty a +letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy’s head and heart great credit.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town, +and Marianne’s impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed +for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if +any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly +less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent +on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the +difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought +to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts +towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to +their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her +good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from +home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more +eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about +the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both +her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with +them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy +of Miss Dashwood;—but it was inforced with so much real politeness by +Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his +manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy, +induced her to accept it with pleasure. + +When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was +not very auspicious. + +“Cleveland!”—she cried, with great agitation. “No, I cannot go to +Cleveland.” + +“You forget,” said Elinor gently, “that its situation is not—that it is +not in the neighbourhood of—” + +“But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somersetshire.—There, +where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to +go there.” + +Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such +feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on +others;—represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the +time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to +see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan +could do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which +was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not +beyond one day, though a long day’s journey; and their mother’s servant +might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no +occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be +at home in little more than three weeks’ time. As Marianne’s affection +for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty, +over the imaginary evils she had started. + +Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guests, that she +pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland. +Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her +design; and their mother’s concurrence being readily gained, every +thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;—and +Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that +were yet to divide her from Barton. + +“Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss +Dashwoods;”—was Mrs. Jennings’s address to him when he first called on +her, after their leaving her was settled—“for they are quite resolved +upon going home from the Palmers;—and how forlorn we shall be, when I +come back!—Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two +cats.” + +Perhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their +future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give +himself an escape from it; and if so, she had soon afterwards good +reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor’s moving to the +window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she +was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of +particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes. +The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her +observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even +changed her seat, on purpose that she might _not_ hear, to one close by +the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep +herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with +agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment. +Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of +Marianne’s turning from one lesson to another, some words of the +Colonel’s inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be +apologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a +doubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but +supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she +could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she +did not think _that_ any material objection; and Mrs. Jennings +commended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for +a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another +lucky stop in Marianne’s performance brought her these words in the +Colonel’s calm voice,— + +“I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.” + +Astonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost +ready to cry out, “Lord! what should hinder it?”—but checking her +desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation. + +“This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be older.” + +This delay on the Colonel’s side, however, did not seem to offend or +mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the +conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings +very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which showed her to +feel what she said, + +“I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.” + +Mrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that +after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave +of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost _sang-froid_, and go +away without making her any reply! She had not thought her old friend +could have made so indifferent a suitor. + +What had really passed between them was to this effect. + +“I have heard,” said he, with great compassion, “of the injustice your +friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand +the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering +in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been +rightly informed? Is it so?;” + +Elinor told him that it was. + +“The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,” he replied, with great feeling, +“of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached +to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be +doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or +three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a +young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, +but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as +a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends +to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of +Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his, +if he think it worth his acceptance; but _that_, perhaps, so +unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear +to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a +small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200£ +per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear, +not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such +as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting it to him, will be very +great. Pray assure him of it.” + +Elinor’s astonishment at this commission could hardly have been +greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand. +The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as +hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry; and +_she_, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it! Her +emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different +cause; but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have +a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and +her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted +Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed. +She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward’s principles +and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and +promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really +his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another. But at the same +time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it +as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwilling to give +Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from _her_, she would have +been very glad to be spared herself; but Colonel Brandon, on motives of +equal delicacy, declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its +being given through her means, that she would not on any account make +farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and +fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could +undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day. +After this had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own +advantage in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and +_then_ it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house was small +and indifferent; an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed +her to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size. + +“The smallness of the house,” said she, “I cannot imagine any +inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and +income.” + +By which the Colonel was surprised to find that _she_ was considering +Mr. Ferrars’s marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; +for he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply +such an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle +on, and he said so. + +“This little rectory _can_ do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable +as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that my +patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive. If, +however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him +farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do, if I +am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I could be +at present. What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it +can advance him so little towards what must be his principal, his only +object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant good; at +least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.” + +Such was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the +delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what +really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at +the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may +perhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less +properly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +“Well, Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon +as the gentleman had withdrawn, “I do not ask you what the Colonel has +been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I _tried_ to keep out +of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his +business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I +wish you joy of it with all my heart.” + +“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elinor. “It _is_ a matter of great joy to me; +and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not +many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so +compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.” + +“Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an’t the least astonished at it +in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more +likely to happen.” + +“You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel’s general benevolence; +but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very +soon occur.” + +“Opportunity!” repeated Mrs. Jennings—“Oh! as to that, when a man has +once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon +find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and +again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I +shall soon know where to look for them.” + +“You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,” said Elinor, with a +faint smile. + +“Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, +I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as +ever I saw.” + +“He spoke of its being out of repair.” + +“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who should do +it but himself?” + +They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the +carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to +go, said,— + +“Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But, +however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite +alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too +full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to +tell your sister all about it.” + +Marianne had left the room before the conversation began. + +“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention +it at present to any body else.” + +“Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you +would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as +Holborn to-day.” + +“No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be +very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought +not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do _that_ directly. It is +of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of +course have much to do relative to his ordination.” + +This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars +was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not +immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a +very happy idea, and she exclaimed;— + +“Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much +the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; +and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my +dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write +himself?—sure, he is the proper person.” + +Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s +speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore +only replied to its conclusion. + +“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to +announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.” + +“And so _you_ are forced to do it. Well _that_ is an odd kind of +delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to +write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not +heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to +bed.” + +And away she went; but returning again in a moment, + +“I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very +glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a +lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and +works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at +your leisure.” + +“Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, +and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject. + +How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to +Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between +them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have +been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too +much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen +in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself. + +He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he +came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not +returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss +Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular +business. + +Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her +perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself +properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the +information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her +upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were +very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before +since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing +her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she +had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel +particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much +distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of +embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on +first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to +be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could +say any thing, after taking a chair. + +“Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at +least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on +you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been +extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; +especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that +I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford +tomorrow.” + +“You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself, +and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as +possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been +able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she +said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on +the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable +office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel +Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that +understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in +offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it +were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so +respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the +living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and +such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary +accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your +views of happiness.” + +What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected +that any one else should say for him. He _looked_ all the astonishment +which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of +exciting; but he said only these two words,— + +“Colonel Brandon!” + +“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the +worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern +for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the +unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I +am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and +likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and +his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.” + +“Colonel Brandon give _me_ a living!—Can it be possible?” + +“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find +friendship any where.” + +“No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in _you;_ +for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I +feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no +orator.” + +“You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, +at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s +discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till +I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever +occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a +friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he _has_, +still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe +nothing to my solicitation.” + +Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but +she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of +Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably +contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently +entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had +ceased to speak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said, + +“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have +always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him +highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly +the gentleman.” + +“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther +acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be +such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost +close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he +_should_ be all this.” + +Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her +a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he +might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the +mansion-house much greater. + +“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, soon +afterwards, rising from his chair. + +Elinor told him the number of the house. + +“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not +allow me to give _you;_ to assure him that he has made me a very—an +exceedingly happy man.” + +Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very +earnest assurance on _her_ side of her unceasing good wishes for his +happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on _his_, +with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of +expressing it. + +“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him +out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.” + +And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the +past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of +Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent. + +When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people +whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a +great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important +secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to +it again as soon as Elinor appeared. + +“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do +right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him +very unwilling to accept your proposal?” + +“No, ma’am; _that_ was not very likely.” + +“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon +that.” + +“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I +can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation +necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his +ordination.” + +“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly +you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord +bless me!—I am sure it would put _me_ quite out of patience!—And though +one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think +it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure +somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in +orders already.” + +“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why, +Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.” + +“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the +Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr. +Ferrars!” + +The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation +immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for +the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs. +Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still +without forfeiting her expectation of the first. + +“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first +ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely +_may_ be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, +for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the +ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen +beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It +seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to +do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, +before Lucy goes to it.” + +“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s +being enough to allow them to marry.” + +“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year +himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for +it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford +Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t +there.” + +Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not +waiting for any thing more. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with +his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he +reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs. +Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her +congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in +her life. + +Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and +she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their +being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas. +So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor +that credit which Edward _would_ give her, that she spoke of her +friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to +own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion +for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would +ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in +the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was +not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly +anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns; +anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly +resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could, +of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry. + +It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley +Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his +wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel +it necessary to pay her a visit.—This was an obligation, however, which +not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance +of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with +absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her +sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was +always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, +that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late +discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s +part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The +consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for +which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of +a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much +reason to dislike. + +Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the +house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure +in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in +Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see +her, invited her to come in. + +They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there. + +“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: “I will go to her +presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the +world to seeing _you_. Very far from it, indeed. _Now_ especially there +cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites. +Why would not Marianne come?” + +Elinor made what excuse she could for her. + +“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal +to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—can it be true?—has he +really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was +coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.” + +“It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford +to Edward.” + +“Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection +between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the +value of this?” + +“About two hundred a year.” + +“Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that +value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and +likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred +pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this +person’s death? _Now_, indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a +man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in +a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced +that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human +character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may +probably be _this_. Edward is only to hold the living till the person +to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to +take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.” + +Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that +she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel +Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which +it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority. + +“It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she said—“what +could be the Colonel’s motive?” + +“A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.” + +“Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky +man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I +have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like +to hear it much talked of.” + +Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she +thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth +to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly +impoverished. + +“Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so +important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present, and I believe +it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may +be. When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.” + +“But why should such precaution be used? Though it is not to be +supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in +knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, for _that_ must be +quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she +supposed to feel at all? She has done with her son,—she cast him off +for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast +him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable +to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account: she cannot be +interested in any thing that befalls him. She would not be so weak as +to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a +parent!” + +“Ah! Elinor,” said John, “your reasoning is very good, but it is +founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s unhappy match takes +place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never +discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate +that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible. +Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son.” + +“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory +by _this_ time.” + +“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most +affectionate mothers in the world.” + +Elinor was silent. + +“We think _now_,”—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, “of +_Robert’s_ marrying Miss Morton.” + +Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother’s +tone, calmly replied,— + +“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.” + +“Choice!—how do you mean?” + +“I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be +the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert.” + +“Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all +intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;—and as to any +thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that +one is superior to the other.” + +Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His +reflections ended thus. + +“Of _one_ thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and speaking +in an awful whisper, “I may assure you;—and I _will_ do it, because I +know it must gratify you. I have good reason to think—indeed I have it +from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it +would be very wrong to say any thing about it,—but I have it from the +very best authority,—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say +it herself—but her daughter _did_, and I have it from her,—that in +short, whatever objections there might be against a certain—a certain +connection, you understand me,—it would have been far preferable to +her,—it would not have given her half the vexation that _this_ does. I +was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that +light; a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. ‘It would +have been beyond comparison,’ she said, ‘the least evil of the two, and +she would be glad to compound _now_ for nothing worse.’ But however, +all that is quite out of the question,—not to be thought of or +mentioned—as to any attachment you know, it never could be: all that is +gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I knew +how much it must please you. Not that you have any reason to regret, my +dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly well,—quite as +well, or better, perhaps, all things considered. Has Colonel Brandon +been with you lately?” + +Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her +self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;—and she was +therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply +herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her +brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments’ +chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her +sister’s being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was +left to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay +unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so +unfair a division of his mother’s love and liberality, to the prejudice +of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of +life, and that brother’s integrity, was confirming her most +unfavourable opinion of his head and heart. + +They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to +speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very +inquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as +she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very +different, was not less striking than it had been on _him_. He laughed +most immoderately. The idea of Edward’s being a clergyman, and living +in a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;—and when to +that was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a +white surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith +and Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous. + +Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the +conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed +on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a +look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings, +and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom, +not by any reproof of hers, but by his own sensibility. + +“We may treat it as a joke,” said he, at last, recovering from the +affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety +of the moment; “but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business. Poor +Edward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it; for I know +him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow +perhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, Miss Dashwood, +from _your_ slight acquaintance. Poor Edward! His manners are certainly +not the happiest in nature. But we are not all born, you know, with the +same powers,—the same address. Poor fellow! to see him in a circle of +strangers! To be sure it was pitiable enough; but upon my soul, I +believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom; and I declare and +protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as when it all burst +forth. I could not believe it. My mother was the first person who told +me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act with resolution, +immediately said to her, ‘My dear madam, I do not know what you may +intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must say, that if +Edward does marry this young woman, _I_ never will see him again.’ That +was what I said immediately. I was most uncommonly shocked, indeed! +Poor Edward! he has done for himself completely,—shut himself out for +ever from all decent society! But, as I directly said to my mother, I +am not in the least surprised at it; from his style of education, it +was always to be expected. My poor mother was half frantic.” + +“Have you ever seen the lady?” + +“Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in +for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest awkward +country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty. I +remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely +to captivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my mother +related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade him from +the match; but it was too late _then_, I found, to do any thing, for +unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it till +after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you know, to +interfere. But had I been informed of it a few hours earlier, I think +it is most probable that something might have been hit on. I certainly +should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light. ‘My dear +fellow,’ I should have said, ‘consider what you are doing. You are +making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your family are +unanimous in disapproving.’ I cannot help thinking, in short, that +means might have been found. But now it is all too late. He must be +starved, you know, that is certain; absolutely starved.” + +He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance +of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though _she_ never +spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on +her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she +entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself. She +even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her +sister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of +them;—an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the room, +and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing +that was most affectionate and graceful. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +One other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor received her +brother’s congratulations on their travelling so far towards Barton +without any expense, and on Colonel Brandon’s being to follow them to +Cleveland in a day or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and +sisters in town;—and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come to Norland +whenever it should happen to be in their way, which of all things was +the most unlikely to occur, with a more warm, though less public, +assurance, from John to Elinor, of the promptitude with which he should +come to see her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the +country. + +It amused her to observe that all her friends seemed determined to send +her to Delaford;—a place, in which, of all others, she would now least +chuse to visit, or wish to reside; for not only was it considered as +her future home by her brother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when +they parted, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there. + +Very early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties +from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective +homes, to meet, by appointment, on the road. For the convenience of +Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their +journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel +Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival. + +Marianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in London, and eager as +she had long been to quit it, could not, when it came to the point, bid +adieu to the house in which she had for the last time enjoyed those +hopes, and that confidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished +for ever, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in which +Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which +_she_ could have no share, without shedding many tears. + +Elinor’s satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive. She +had no such object for her lingering thoughts to fix on, she left no +creature behind, from whom it would give her a moment’s regret to be +divided for ever, she was pleased to be free herself from the +persecution of Lucy’s friendship, she was grateful for bringing her +sister away unseen by Willoughby since his marriage, and she looked +forward with hope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might +do towards restoring Marianne’s peace of mind, and confirming her own. + +Their journey was safely performed. The second day brought them into +the cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was +it dwelt on by turns in Marianne’s imagination; and in the forenoon of +the third they drove up to Cleveland. + +Cleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated on a sloping +lawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds were tolerably +extensive; and like every other place of the same degree of importance, +it had its open shrubbery, and closer wood walk, a road of smooth +gravel winding round a plantation, led to the front, the lawn was +dotted over with timber, the house itself was under the guardianship of +the fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them +altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, shut out the +offices. + +Marianne entered the house with a heart swelling with emotion from the +consciousness of being only eighty miles from Barton, and not thirty +from Combe Magna; and before she had been five minutes within its +walls, while the others were busily helping Charlotte to show her child +to the housekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the +winding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, to gain a +distant eminence; where, from its Grecian temple, her eye, wandering +over a wide tract of country to the south-east, could fondly rest on +the farthest ridge of hills in the horizon, and fancy that from their +summits Combe Magna might be seen. + +In such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears +of agony to be at Cleveland; and as she returned by a different circuit +to the house, feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty, of +wandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude, she +resolved to spend almost every hour of every day while she remained +with the Palmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles. + +She returned just in time to join the others as they quitted the house, +on an excursion through its more immediate premises; and the rest of +the morning was easily whiled away, in lounging round the kitchen +garden, examining the bloom upon its walls, and listening to the +gardener’s lamentations upon blights, in dawdling through the +green-house, where the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed, +and nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of +Charlotte,—and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the disappointed +hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking their nests, or being stolen +by a fox, or in the rapid decrease of a promising young brood, she +found fresh sources of merriment. + +The morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment +abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay +at Cleveland. With great surprise therefore, did she find herself +prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had +depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over +the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred +her from it; but a heavy and settled rain even _she_ could not fancy +dry or pleasant weather for walking. + +Their party was small, and the hours passed quietly away. Mrs. Palmer +had her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet-work; they talked of the +friends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton’s engagements, +and wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther +than Reading that night. Elinor, however little concerned in it, joined +in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding her way +in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by the +family in general, soon procured herself a book. + +Nothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer’s side that constant and friendly +good humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome. The +openness and heartiness of her manner more than atoned for that want of +recollection and elegance which made her often deficient in the forms +of politeness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was +engaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, because it was +not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven every thing but her +laugh. + +The two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording +a pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to +their conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had +reduced very low. + +Elinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so +much variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew +not what to expect to find him in his own family. She found him, +however, perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors, +and only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him +very capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from +being so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much +superior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs. +Jennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they +were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all +unusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating, +uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight +it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been +devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much +better than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she +could like him no more;—not sorry to be driven by the observation of +his Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with +complacency on the remembrance of Edward’s generous temper, simple +taste, and diffident feelings. + +Of Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now received +intelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been into Dorsetshire +lately; and who, treating her at once as the disinterested friend of +Mr. Ferrars, and the kind confidante of himself, talked to her a great +deal of the parsonage at Delaford, described its deficiencies, and told +her what he meant to do himself towards removing them.—His behaviour to +her in this, as well as in every other particular, his open pleasure in +meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his readiness to +converse with her, and his deference for her opinion, might very well +justify Mrs. Jennings’s persuasion of his attachment, and would have +been enough, perhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the first, believed +Marianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it herself. But as it +was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her head, except by Mrs. +Jennings’s suggestion; and she could not help believing herself the +nicest observer of the two;—she watched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings +thought only of his behaviour;—and while his looks of anxious +solicitude on Marianne’s feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning +of a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words, entirely escaped the +latter lady’s observation;—_she_ could discover in them the quick +feelings, and needless alarm of a lover. + +Two delightful twilight walks on the third and fourth evenings of her +being there, not merely on the dry gravel of the shrubbery, but all +over the grounds, and especially in the most distant parts of them, +where there was something more of wildness than in the rest, where the +trees were the oldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest, +had—assisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet +shoes and stockings—given Marianne a cold so violent as, though for a +day or two trifled with or denied, would force itself by increasing +ailments on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself. +Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all +declined. Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a +cough, and a sore throat, a good night’s rest was to cure her entirely; +and it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went +to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry +replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging +in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering +over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or +in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of +her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more +indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister’s +composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against +Marianne’s inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night, +trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and +felt no real alarm. + +A very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the +expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising, +confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her +bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings’s advice, of sending +for the Palmers’ apothecary. + +He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to +expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by +pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the +word “infection” to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer, +on her baby’s account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the +first to think Marianne’s complaint more serious than Elinor, now +looked very grave on Mr. Harris’s report, and confirming Charlotte’s +fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with +her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as +idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be +withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour +after Mr. Harris’s arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his +nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer’s, who lived a +few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at +her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was +almost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings, +however, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her, +declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as +Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care, +to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and +Elinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate, +desirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better +experience in nursing, of material use. + +Poor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and +feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow +would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have +produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for +on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended +the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their +mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was +all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to +raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she _then_ really believed +herself, that it would be a very short one. + +The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the +patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no +amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced; +for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity +and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away +by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his +promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel +Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going +likewise.—Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most +acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much +uneasiness on her sister’s account, would be to deprive them both, she +thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his +stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to +play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her +sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was +gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not +long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings’s entreaty was +warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself, +in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss +Dashwood in any emergence. + +Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements. +She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of +Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It +gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it +gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name. + +Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer’s departure, and her +situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who +attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and +Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others +was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in +the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon, +who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings’s forebodings, was +not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He tried to reason +himself out of fears, which the different judgment of the apothecary +seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he was +left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the admission of every +melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his mind the persuasion +that he should see Marianne no more. + +On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of +both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared +his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every +symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed +in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her +letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her +friend’s, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them +at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able +to travel. + +But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began. Towards the +evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and +uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was +willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of +having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the +cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a +slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her +sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a +considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she +resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing +nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her +maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in +the housekeeper’s room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne. + +The repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her +sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of +posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint +which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful +a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in +the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,— + +“Is mama coming?” + +“Not yet,” cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting +Marianne to lie down again, “but she will be here, I hope, before it is +long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton.” + +“But she must not go round by London,” cried Marianne, in the same +hurried manner. “I shall never see her, if she goes by London.” + +Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while +attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and +quicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her +alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly +for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother. +To consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the +latter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its +performance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by +her sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he +was generally to be found at a much later hour than the present. + +It was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were +immediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to +attempt the removal of:—he listened to them in silent despondence;—but +her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that +seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind, +he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood. +Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him +with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off +his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses +directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother. + +The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon—or such +a companion for her mother,—how gratefully was it felt!—a companion +whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose +friendship might soothe her!—as far as the shock of such a summons +_could_ be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, +would lessen it. + +_He_, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of +a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost +despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might +look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The +horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon +only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken +too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about +twelve o’clock, and she returned to her sister’s apartment to wait for +the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the +night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after +hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne’s side, and +in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor’s, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her +apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former +security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow +Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what +her mistress had always thought. + +Marianne’s ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her +mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the +heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with +so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief, +fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had +been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother +arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational. + +She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if _he_ could +not come, for some other advice, when the former—but not till after +five o’clock—arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends for +his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant +alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to be +material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment must +procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was communicated +to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of three or four +hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more +composed than he had found them. + +With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to +their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed. +Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no +doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her +conviction of her sister’s danger would not allow her to offer the +comfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the +early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck +a less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings’s compassion +she had other claims. She had been for three months her companion, was +still under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured, +and long unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a +favourite, was before her;—and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings +considered that Marianne might probably be to _her_ what Charlotte was +to herself, her sympathy in _her_ sufferings was very sincere. + +Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;—but he came to be +disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His medicines +had failed;—the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more quiet—not +more herself—remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching all, and more +than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further advice. +But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something more to try, some +more fresh application, of whose success he was as confident as the +last, and his visit concluded with encouraging assurances which reached +the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss Dashwood. She was calm, +except when she thought of her mother; but she was almost hopeless; and +in this state she continued till noon, scarcely stirring from her +sister’s bed, her thoughts wandering from one image of grief, one +suffering friend to another, and her spirits oppressed to the utmost by +the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the +severity and danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous +indisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought on. Elinor +felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave fresh misery to +her reflections. + +About noon, however, she began—but with a caution—a dread of +disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her +friend—to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her +sister’s pulse;—she waited, watched, and examined it again and +again;—and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under +exterior calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to +communicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to +acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from +indulging a thought of its continuance;—and Elinor, conning over every +injunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was +too late. Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious +flutter, she bent over her sister to watch—she hardly knew for what. +Half an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her. +Others even arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all +flattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes +on her with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now +oppressed her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity +till the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o’clock;—when his assurances, +his felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his +expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy. + +Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her +entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the +partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their +late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted, +with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the +probability of an entire recovery. + +Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led +to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health, +friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with +sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent +gratitude;—but it led to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no +smiles. All within Elinor’s breast was satisfaction, silent and strong. + +She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the +whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her +enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every +look and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course, in +some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was—but when she saw, +on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of recovery +continued, and saw Marianne at six o’clock sink into a quiet, steady, +and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every doubt. + +The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected +back. At ten o’clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her +mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must +now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!—perhaps scarcely less +an object of pity!—Oh!—how slow was the progress of time which yet kept +them in ignorance! + +At seven o’clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined +Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been +kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating +much;—and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of +content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings +would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before +her mother’s arrival, and allow _her_ to take her place by Marianne; +but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that +moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an +unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs +into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right, +left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her +own room to write letters and sleep. + +The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the +rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within, +regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the +travellers—they had a rich reward in store, for every present +inconvenience. + +The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been +convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the +house; and so strong was the persuasion that she _did_, in spite of the +_almost_ impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into +the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be +satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not +deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view. +By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn +by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother’s +alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity. + +Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at +that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the +carriage stopt at the door—of her doubt—her dread—perhaps her +despair!—and of what _she_ had to tell!—with such knowledge it was +impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy; +and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings’s maid +with her sister, she hurried down stairs. + +The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby, +assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the +drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw only Willoughby. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + +Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed +the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room, +and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by +his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than +supplication, + +“Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat you to +stay.” + +“No, sir,” she replied with firmness, “I shall _not_ stay. Your +business cannot be with _me_. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell +you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.” + +“Had they told me,” he cried with vehemence, “that Mr. Palmer and all +his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the +door. My business is with you, and only you.” + +“With me!”—in the utmost amazement—“well, sir,—be quick—and if you +can—less violent.” + +“Sit down, and I will be both.” + +She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel +Brandon’s arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had +promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was +engaged. After a moment’s recollection, therefore, concluding that +prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best +promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He +took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by +either. + +“Pray be quick, sir,”—said Elinor, impatiently;—“I have no time to +spare.” + +He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to +hear her. + +“Your sister,” said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards—“is out of +danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!—But is it true? is +it really true?” + +Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater +eagerness. + +“For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?” + +“We hope she is.” + +He rose up, and walked across the room. + +“Had I known as much half an hour ago;—but since I _am_ here,” speaking +with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat,—“what does it +signify? For once, Miss Dashwood—it will be the last time, perhaps—let +us be cheerful together. I am in a fine mood for gaiety. Tell me +honestly” a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks, “do you think me most +a knave or a fool?” + +Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to +think that he must be in liquor;—the strangeness of such a visit, and +of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this +impression she immediately rose, saying, + +“Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe. I am not +at leisure to remain with you longer. Whatever your business may be +with me, it will be better recollected and explained to-morrow.” + +“I understand you,” he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice +perfectly calm; “yes, I am very drunk. A pint of porter with my cold +beef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me.” + +“At Marlborough!”—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand +what he would be at. + +“Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o’clock, and the only ten +minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a +nuncheon at Marlborough.” + +The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he +spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might +bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she +said, after a moment’s recollection, + +“Mr. Willoughby, you _ought_ to feel, and I certainly _do_, that after +what has passed, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself +upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse. What is it, that you +mean by it?” + +“I mean,” said he, with serious energy, “if I can, to make you hate me +one degree less than you do _now_. I mean to offer some kind of +explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart +to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a +blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like +forgiveness from Ma— from your sister.” + +“Is this the real reason of your coming?” + +“Upon my soul it is,”—was his answer, with a warmth which brought all +the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made +her think him sincere. + +“If that is all, you may be satisfied already; for Marianne _does_, she +has _long_ forgiven you.” + +“Has she?” he cried, in the same eager tone. “Then she has forgiven me +before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and +on more reasonable grounds. _Now_ will you listen to me?” + +Elinor bowed her assent. + +“I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and +thoughtfulness on his own, “how _you_ may have accounted for my +behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have +imputed to me. Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is +worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first +became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view +in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged +to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before. +Your sister’s lovely person and interesting manners could not but +please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a +kind—it is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what _she_ +was, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must +confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness, +thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had +always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every +means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design +of returning her affection.” + +Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most +angry contempt, stopped him, by saying, + +“It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me +to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by +any thing. Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the +subject.” + +“I insist on you hearing the whole of it,” he replied, “My fortune was +never large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of +associating with people of better income than myself. Every year since +my coming of age, or even before, I believe, had added to my debts; and +though the death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; yet +that event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it had been for +some time my intention to re-establish my circumstances by marrying a +woman of fortune. To attach myself to your sister, therefore, was not a +thing to be thought of; and with a meanness, selfishness, cruelty, +which no indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss Dashwood, +can ever reprobate too much,—I was acting in this manner, trying to +engage her regard, without a thought of returning it. But one thing may +be said for me: even in that horrid state of selfish vanity, I did not +know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I did not _then_ +know what it was to love. But have I ever known it? Well may it be +doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings +to vanity, to avarice? or, what is more, could I have sacrificed hers? +But I have done it. To avoid a comparative poverty, which her affection +and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by +raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a +blessing.” + +“You did then,” said Elinor, a little softened, “believe yourself at +one time attached to her?” + +“To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness! +Is there a man on earth who could have done it? Yes, I found myself, by +insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my +life were what I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strictly +honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even _then_, however, when fully +determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most +improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an +unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were +so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here—nor will I stop for +_you_ to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of +scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound. The +event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great +circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible +and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I +had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the +attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an +affection which I had already taken such pains to display. But in the +interim—in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before +I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private—a +circumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all my +resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took place,”—here +he hesitated and looked down. “Mrs. Smith had somehow or other been +informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest it was to +deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection—but I need not +explain myself farther,” he added, looking at her with an heightened +colour and an enquiring eye,—“your particular intimacy—you have +probably heard the whole story long ago.” + +“I have,” returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart +anew against any compassion for him, “I have heard it all. And how you +will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I +confess is beyond my comprehension.” + +“Remember,” cried Willoughby, “from whom you received the account. +Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her +character ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify +myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have +nothing to urge—that because she was injured she was irreproachable, +and because _I_ was a libertine, _she_ must be a saint. If the violence +of her passions, the weakness of her understanding—I do not mean, +however, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better +treatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness +which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I +wish—I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than +herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me (may I say it?) +was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind—Oh! how infinitely +superior!” + +“Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl—I must say +it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well +be—your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do +not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of +understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. +You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in +Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was +reduced to the extremest indigence.” + +“But, upon my soul, I did _not_ know it,” he warmly replied; “I did not +recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense +might have told her how to find it out.” + +“Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?” + +“She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be +guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her +ignorance of the world—every thing was against me. The matter itself I +could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was +previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in +general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention, +the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my +present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I +might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman! she +offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could not +be—and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house. The +night following this affair—I was to go the next morning—was spent by +me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The struggle +was great—but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne, my thorough +conviction of her attachment to me—it was all insufficient to outweigh +that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the +necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and +expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure +of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself +to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do. A +heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire;—I was +engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore +necessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I should write +this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate. To +see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I +could see her again, and keep to my resolution. In that point, however, +I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I +saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable—and left her +hoping never to see her again.” + +“Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?” said Elinor, reproachfully; “a note +would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to call?” + +“It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the +country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the +neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between +Mrs. Smith and myself—and I resolved therefore on calling at the +cottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however, +was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone. +You were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening +before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A +few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how +happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to +Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in +this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense +of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her sorrow, +her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged +to leave Devonshire so immediately—I never shall forget it—united too +with such reliance, such confidence in me!—Oh, God!—what a hard-hearted +rascal I was!” + +They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke. + +“Did you tell her that you should soon return?” + +“I do not know what I told her,” he replied, impatiently; “less than +was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more +than was justified by the future. I cannot think of it.—It won’t +do.—Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her +kindness and confidence. Thank Heaven! it _did_ torture me. I was +miserable. Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it +gives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a grudge to myself +for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past +sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now. Well, I +went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was +only indifferent. My journey to town—travelling with my own horses, and +therefore so tediously—no creature to speak to—my own reflections so +cheerful—when I looked forward every thing so inviting!—when I looked +back at Barton, the picture so soothing!—oh, it was a blessed journey!” + +He stopped. + +“Well, sir,” said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for +his departure, “and this is all?” + +“All!—no:—have you forgot what passed in town? That infamous letter? +Did she show it you?” + +“Yes, I saw every note that passed.” + +“When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in +town the whole time,) what I felt is—in the common phrase, not to be +expressed; in a more simple one—perhaps too simple to raise any +emotion—my feelings were very, very painful.—Every line, every word +was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, +would forbid—a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town +was—in the same language—a thunderbolt.—Thunderbolts and daggers!—what +a reproof would she have given me!—her taste, her opinions—I believe +they are better known to me than my own,—and I am sure they are +dearer.” + +Elinor’s heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this +extraordinary conversation, was now softened again;—yet she felt it her +duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last. + +“This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you are married. +Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to +hear.” + +“Marianne’s note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in +former days,—that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been +separated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of +faith in the constancy of mine as ever,—awakened all my remorse. I say +awakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in +some measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened +villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing to fancy that +she too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our +past attachment as a mere idle, trifling business, shrugging up my +shoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach, +overcoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, ‘I shall be +heartily glad to hear she is well married.’ But this note made me know +myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any +other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But +every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat +was impossible. All that I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent no +answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her +farther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in +Berkeley Street;—but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a +cool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely +out of the house one morning, and left my name.” + +“Watched us out of the house!” + +“Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how +often I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a +shop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did in +Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse +of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness +on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your +sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the Middletons as +much as possible, as well as everybody else who was likely to prove an +acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in town, however, I +blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the +day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings’s. He asked me to a party, a +dance at his house in the evening. Had he _not_ told me as an +inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have +felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him. The next morning +brought another short note from Marianne—still affectionate, open, +artless, confiding—everything that could make _my_ conduct most +hateful. I could not answer it. I tried—but could not frame a sentence. +But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you _can_ +pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was _then_. With my +head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy +lover to another woman! Those three or four weeks were worse than all. +Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on me; and what +a sweet figure I cut! what an evening of agony it was! Marianne, +beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby in such a +tone! Oh, God! holding out her hand to me, asking me for an +explanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking +solicitude on my face! and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other +hand, looking all that was—Well, it does not signify; it is over now. +Such an evening! I ran away from you all as soon as I could; but not +before I had seen Marianne’s sweet face as white as death. _That_ was +the last, last look I ever had of her; the last manner in which she +appeared to me. It was a horrid sight! yet when I thought of her to-day +as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew +exactly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this world. +She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same +look and hue.” + +A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first +rousing himself, broke it thus: + +“Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better, +certainly out of danger?” + +“We are assured of it.” + +“Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.” + +“But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to +say about that?” + +“Yes, yes, _that_ in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you +know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting +at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with some others, was brought to me +there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia’s eye before it +caught mine—and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing +altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had +reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, +and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had +marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever. +Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a +woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents. +She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched. +Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all +events it must be appeased. And, in short—what do you think of my +wife’s style of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it +not?” + +“Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.” + +“Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as +I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own—her own +happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!—we were +engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am +talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was +necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done +to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my +character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language +my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business +was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a +bluster was of little importance. ‘I am ruined for ever in their +opinion,’ said I to myself: ‘I am shut out for ever from their society, +they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only +make them think me a blackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a +sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted +with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes,—unluckily they were +all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and +hoarded them for ever,—I was forced to put them up, and could not even +kiss them. And the lock of hair—that too I had always carried about me +in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most +ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock,—all, every memento was torn from +me.” + +“You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,” said Elinor, while +her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion; +“you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my +sister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your +wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She +must be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat +her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to +Marianne—nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience.” + +“Do not talk to me of my wife,” said he with a heavy sigh; “she does +not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we +married. Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be +happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay. And now do you pity +me, Miss Dashwood? Or have I said all this to no purpose? Am I,—be it +only one degree,—am I less guilty in your opinion than I was before? My +intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any part of my +guilt?” + +“Yes, you have certainly removed something—a little. You have proved +yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have +proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly know—the +misery that you have inflicted—I hardly know what could have made it +worse.” + +“Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been +telling you?—Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as +in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be able +to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present +feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more +gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my +penitence—tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if +you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever.” + +“I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be +called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the +particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her +illness.” + +“Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and +when he saw who I was, for the first time these two months, he spoke to +me. That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without +surprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid +soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister, +could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to, +though probably he did not think it _would_, vex me horridly. As +bluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne +Dashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland—a letter that morning +received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most imminent—the +Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c. I was too much shocked to be +able to pass myself off as insensible even to the undiscerning Sir +John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his +ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the +hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy. What +I felt on hearing that your sister was dying, and dying too, believing +me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest +moments—for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been +imputed? _One_ person I was sure would represent me as capable of +anything—What I felt was dreadful! My resolution was soon made, and at +eight o’clock this morning I was in my carriage. Now you know all.” + +Elinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the +irreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent +habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the +character, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person +and talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a +feeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and +vain—Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish. +Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another, +had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least +its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty +propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment. +The attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against +every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no +longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the +sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery, +was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more +incurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the +end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie +at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and +said— + +“There is no use in staying here; I must be off.” + +“Are you going back to town?” + +“No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day +or two. Good bye.” + +He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;—he pressed +it with affection. + +“And you _do_ think something better of me than you did?” said he, +letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting +he was to go. + +Elinor assured him that she did;—that she forgave, pitied, wished him +well—was even interested in his happiness—and added some gentle counsel +as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very +encouraging. + +“As to that,” said he, “I must rub through the world as well as I can. +Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to +think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it +may be the means—it may put me on my guard—at least, it may be +something to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were +I even by any blessed chance at liberty again—” + +Elinor stopped him with a reproof. + +“Well,”—he replied—“once more good bye. I shall now go away and live in +dread of one event.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Your sister’s marriage.” + +“You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is +now.” + +“But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some one should +be the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear—but I will not +stay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by showing that +where I have most injured I can least forgive. Good bye,—God bless +you!” + +And with these words, he almost ran out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the +sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a +crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness +was the general result, to think even of her sister. + +Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the most +worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited a +degree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which made +her think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with a +tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged +within herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that his +influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not +in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that +open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess; +and by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even +innocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before she +could feel his influence less. + +When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her +just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of +her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The past, the present, the future, +Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s safety, and her mother’s expected +arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept +off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying +herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear +could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby’s leaving +the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another +carriage.—Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment’s +horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the +outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it. + +Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced +almost the conviction of Marianne’s being no more, had no voice to +inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but _she_, waiting neither +for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; and her +mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much +overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was +supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend; +and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak, +embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press +Colonel Brandon’s hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude, +and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the +moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own. + +As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her +first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, +rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger. +Elinor’s delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only +checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep: +but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life +of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother +was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, +submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse +around her. Mrs. Dashwood _would_ sit up with her all night; and +Elinor, in compliance with her mother’s entreaty, went to bed. But the +rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most +wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of +spirits. Willoughby, “poor Willoughby,” as she now allowed herself to +call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard +his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself +for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it +to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of +it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after +such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a +moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, +reproved herself, felt that to _his_ sufferings and _his_ constancy far +more than to his rival’s, the reward of her sister was due, and wished +any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby’s death. + +The shock of Colonel Brandon’s errand at Barton had been much softened +to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her +uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out +for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further +intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival, +that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away, +as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection. + +Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of +Mrs. Dashwood’s looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly +declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor could +not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes +wondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs. +Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment +which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to +think only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to her from +a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment +in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had +contributed to place her;—and in her recovery she had yet another +source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as +soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred. + +“At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness. +Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself.” + +Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and +not surprised, was all silent attention. + +“You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your +composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my +family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon’s marrying one of you as +the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most +happy with him of the two.” + +Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because +satisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age, +characters, or feelings, could be given;—but her mother must always be +carried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, and +therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile. + +“He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came out +quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could talk +of nothing but my child;—he could not conceal his distress; I saw that +it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as +the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy—or rather, not +thinking at all, I suppose—giving way to irresistible feelings, made me +acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne. +He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing +her.” + +Here, however, Elinor perceived,—not the language, not the professions +of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother’s +active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it +chose. + +“His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby +ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or +constant—which ever we are to call it—has subsisted through all the +knowledge of dear Marianne’s unhappy prepossession for that worthless +young man!—and without selfishness—without encouraging a hope!—could he +have seen her happy with another—Such a noble mind!—such openness, such +sincerity!—no one can be deceived in _him_.” + +“Colonel Brandon’s character,” said Elinor, “as an excellent man, is +well established.” + +“I know it is,”—replied her mother seriously, “or after such a warning, +_I_ should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be +pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such +ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men.” + +“His character, however,” answered Elinor, “does not rest on _one_ act +of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of +the case, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, +he has been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect +him; and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very +considerable; and so highly do _I_ value and esteem him, that if +Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to +think our connection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What +answer did you give him?—Did you allow him to hope?” + +“Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself. +Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or +encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible +effusion to a soothing friend, not an application to a parent. Yet +after a time I _did_ say, for at first I was quite overcome, that if +she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in +promoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful +security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every +encouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will +do everything; Marianne’s heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a +man as Willoughby. His own merits must soon secure it.” + +“To judge from the Colonel’s spirits, however, you have not yet made +him equally sanguine.” + +“No. He thinks Marianne’s affection too deeply rooted for any change in +it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again +free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a +difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There, +however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as +to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed; and +his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make +your sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his +favour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so +handsome as Willoughby; but at the same time, there is something much +more pleasing in his countenance. There was always a something, if you +remember, in Willoughby’s eyes at times, which I did not like.” + +Elinor could _not_ remember it; but her mother, without waiting for her +assent, continued, + +“And his manners, the Colonel’s manners are not only more pleasing to +me than Willoughby’s ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to +be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine +attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much +more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness, often +artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself, +that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved +himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with +_him_ as she will be with Colonel Brandon.” + +She paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her +dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence. + +“At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,” added Mrs. +Dashwood, “even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability,—for I +hear it is a large village,—indeed there certainly _must_ be some small +house or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our +present situation.” + +Poor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!—but her +spirit was stubborn. + +“His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, everybody cares +about _that;_—and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it +really is, I am sure it must be a good one.” + +Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and +Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her +friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +Marianne’s illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long +enough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and +her mother’s presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her +to remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs. +Palmer’s dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for +she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her +mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her. + +His emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in +receiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was +such, as, in Elinor’s conjecture, must arise from something more than +his affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to +others; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying +complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many +past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance +between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened +by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness, +and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation. + +Mrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but +with a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very +different effect, saw nothing in the Colonel’s behaviour but what arose +from the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions +and words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something +more than gratitude already dawned. + +At the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger +every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her +daughter’s wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On _her_ +measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not +quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods’ stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon +brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as +equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs. +Jennings’s united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to +accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better +accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint +invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature +made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself, +engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the +course of a few weeks. + +The day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking +so particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly +grateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own +heart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding +Colonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully +assisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she +should engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed, +and the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and +feel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise +to take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young +companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his +solitary way to Delaford. + +The Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey +on both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous +affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable, +was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward +in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the +observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen +her week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of +heart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to +conceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an +apparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted +of serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and +cheerfulness. + +As they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every +field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection, +she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their +notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor could +neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne +from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion +too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in +its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent +manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable +exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sitting-room, +than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of resolute +firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the sight of +every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be +connected.—She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness, +and though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without +the atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte. +She went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an +opera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their +favourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his +hand-writing.—That would not do.—She shook her head, put the music +aside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of +feebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring +however with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice +much. + +The next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the +contrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked +and spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of +Margaret’s return, and talking of the dear family party which would +then be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the +only happiness worth a wish. + +“When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength,” said +she, “we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the +farm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will +walk to Sir John’s new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland; +and we will often go to the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace +its foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we +shall be happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never +to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall +divide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan, +and am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own +library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond +mere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the +Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can +borrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall +gain in the course of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which +I now feel myself to want.” + +Elinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this; +though smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her +to the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work +in introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and +virtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she +remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared +she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of +Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy +tranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to +wait till her sister’s health were more secure, before she appointed +it. But the resolution was made only to be broken. + +Marianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was +fine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out. But at last a +soft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter’s +wishes and the mother’s confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor’s +arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in +the lane before the house. + +The sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in an +exercise hitherto untried since her illness required; and they had +advanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the +hill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned +towards it, Marianne calmly said,— + +“There, exactly there,”—pointing with one hand, “on that projecting +mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby.” + +Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added, + +“I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot! +shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?” hesitatingly it was said. +“Or will it be wrong? I _can_ talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to +do.” + +Elinor tenderly invited her to be open. + +“As for regret,” said Marianne, “I have done with that, as far as _he_ +is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have +been for him, but what they are _now_. At present, if I could be +satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not +_always_ acting a part, not _always_ deceiving me; but above all, if I +could be assured that he never was so _very_ wicked as my fears have +sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl—” + +She stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered, + +“If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy.” + +“Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it +horrible to suspect a person, who has been what _he_ has been to _me_, +of such designs, but what must it make me appear to myself? What in a +situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could +expose me to—” + +“How then,” asked her sister, “would you account for his behaviour?” + +“I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle, +very, very fickle.” + +Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the eligibility +of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in +stronger health;—and they crept on for a few minutes in silence. + +“I am not wishing him too much good,” said Marianne at last with a +sigh, “when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant +than my own. He will suffer enough in them.” + +“Do you compare your conduct with his?” + +“No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with +yours.” + +“Our situations have borne little resemblance.” + +“They have borne more than our conduct. Do not, my dearest Elinor, let +your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My illness +has made me think. It has given me leisure and calmness for serious +recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was +perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own +behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last +autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of +kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my +sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me +to the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by +myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the +time to be wrong. Had I died, it would have been self-destruction. I +did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such +feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,—wonder +that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for +atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I +died, in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my +friend, my sister! You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my +latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart! How should I +have lived in _your_ remembrance! My mother too! How could you have +consoled her! I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I +looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing +indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing +kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To +the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common +acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart +hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very +attention. To John, to Fanny, yes, even to them, little as they +deserve, I had given less than their due. But you, you above all, above +my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and +its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?—not to any compassion +that could benefit you or myself.—Your example was before me; but to +what avail? Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I +imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part +in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which +you had hitherto been left to discharge alone? No; not less when I knew +you to be unhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn +away from every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing +sorrow to exist but with me, regretting only _that_ heart which had +deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an +unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake.” + +Here ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor, +impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly +that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well +deserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,— + +“You are very good.—The future must be my proof. I have laid down my +plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it—my feelings shall be +governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor +torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother, +and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my +affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I shall never +again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix in other +society, it will be only to show that my spirit is humbled, my heart +amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of +life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby—to say that I +shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. His +remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions. +But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason, +by constant employment.” + +She paused—and added in a low voice, “If I could but know _his_ heart, +everything would become easy.” + +Elinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or +impropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all +nearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as +reflection did nothing, resolution must do all, soon found herself +leading to the fact. + +She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her +anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief +points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his +repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard. +Marianne said not a word.—She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the +ground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A +thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge +one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand, +unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister’s, and tears covered +her cheeks. + +Elinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they +reached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity +must be though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing +but Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully +minute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could +be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a +kiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her +tears, “Tell mama,” withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up +stairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as +what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its +result, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne +fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting +injunction. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +Mrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former +favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his +imputed guilt;—she was sorry for him;—she wished him happy. But the +feelings of the past could not be recalled.—Nothing could restore him +with a faith unbroken—a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing +could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his +means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could +replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests +of Colonel Brandon. + +Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby’s story from +himself—had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of +his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion +would have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor’s power, nor in +her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed +explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection +had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of +Willoughby’s deserts;—she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple +truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character, +without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray. + +In the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began +voluntarily to speak of him again;—but that it was not without an +effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for +some time previously sitting—her rising colour, as she spoke,—and her +unsteady voice, plainly showed. + +“I wish to assure you both,” said she, “that I see every thing—as you +can desire me to do.” + +Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing +tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister’s +unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne +slowly continued,— + +“It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now +heard exactly what I wished to hear.”—For some moments her voice was +lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than +before—“I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never +could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I +must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem. +Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.” + +“I know it—I know it,” cried her mother. “Happy with a man of libertine +practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our +friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made +happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would +have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.” + +Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.” + +“You consider the matter,” said Elinor, “exactly as a good mind and a +sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as +well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, +reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you +in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have +been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. +Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is +acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that +self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your +inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought +on distresses which would not be the _less_ grievous to you, from +having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. _Your_ sense of +honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your +situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you +possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on +your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but +beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management +do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? Beyond +_that_, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge _his_ +enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on +feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own +influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had +involved him in such difficulties?” + +Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word “Selfish?” in a +tone that implied—“do you really think him selfish?” + +“The whole of his behaviour,” replied Elinor, “from the beginning to +the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was +selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which +afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of +it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or +his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.” + +“It is very true. _My_ happiness never was his object.” + +“At present,” continued Elinor, “he regrets what he has done. And why +does he regret it?—Because he finds it has not answered towards +himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now +unembarrassed—he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only +that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But +does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?—The +inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered +under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now +reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could +make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always +poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable +comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, +even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.” + +“I have not a doubt of it,” said Marianne; “and I have nothing to +regret—nothing but my own folly.” + +“Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,” said Mrs. Dashwood; +“_she_ must be answerable.” + +Marianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, satisfied that each +felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might +weaken her sister’s spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first +subject, immediately continued, + +“_One_ observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the +story—that all Willoughby’s difficulties have arisen from the first +offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime +has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present +discontents.” + +Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led +by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon’s injuries and merits, warm +as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not +look, however, as if much of it were heard by her. + +Elinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following +days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done; +but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear +cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time +upon her health. + +Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each +other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their +usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to +Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future. + +Elinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard nothing +of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing +certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed between her +and her brother, in consequence of Marianne’s illness; and in the first +of John’s, there had been this sentence:—“We know nothing of our +unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so prohibited a +subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;” which was all the +intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence, for his name +was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters. She was not +doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures. + +Their man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and +when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his +mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary +communication,— + +“I suppose you know, ma’am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.” + +Marianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her +turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood, +whose eyes, as she answered the servant’s inquiry, had intuitively +taken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor’s +countenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards, +alike distressed by Marianne’s situation, knew not on which child to +bestow her principal attention. + +The servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense +enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood’s assistance, +supported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather +better, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the +maid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far +recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an +inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood +immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the +benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it. + +“Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?” + +“I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma’am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady +too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of +the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the +Park to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up +as I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss +Steele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and +inquired after you, ma’am, and the young ladies, especially Miss +Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars’s, +their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not +time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go +forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but +howsever, when they come back, they’d make sure to come and see you.” + +“But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?” + +“Yes, ma’am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since +she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken +young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.” + +“Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?” + +“Yes, ma’am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look +up;—he never was a gentleman much for talking.” + +Elinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting himself +forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation. + +“Was there no one else in the carriage?” + +“No, ma’am, only they two.” + +“Do you know where they came from?” + +“They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy—Mrs. Ferrars told me.” + +“And are they going farther westward?” + +“Yes, ma’am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and +then they’d be sure and call here.” + +Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than +to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and +was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed +in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to +Mr. Pratt’s, near Plymouth. + +Thomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to +hear more. + +“Did you see them off, before you came away?” + +“No, ma’am—the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any +longer; I was afraid of being late.” + +“Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?” + +“Yes, ma’am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was +always a very handsome young lady—and she seemed vastly contented.” + +Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the +tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed. +Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more. +Mrs. Dashwood’s and Elinor’s appetites were equally lost, and Margaret +might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both +her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often +had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go +without her dinner before. + +When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and +Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a +similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to +hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found +that she had erred in relying on Elinor’s representation of herself; +and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at +the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as +she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled +by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the +attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in +reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved +to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust, +inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor;—that Marianne’s +affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had +too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in +Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly +with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an +unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, +and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had +always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something +would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his +own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of +establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all. +But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking +flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence. + +That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in +orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the +living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it +was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him, +should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were married, +married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle’s. What had Edward +felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother’s +servant, on hearing Lucy’s message! + +They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.—Delaford,—that +place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she +wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in +an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active, +contriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with +the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her +economical practices;—pursuing her own interest in every thought, +courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every +wealthy friend. In Edward—she knew not what she saw, nor what she +wished to see;—happy or unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away +her head from every sketch of him. + +Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London +would write to them to announce the event, and give farther +particulars,—but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no +tidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault +with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent. + +“When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?” was an inquiry which +sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on. + +“I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to +hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should +not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day.” + +This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel +Brandon _must_ have some information to give. + +Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on +horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt at their gate. It was a +gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more; and +she trembled in expectation of it. But it was _not_ Colonel Brandon; +neither his air, nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must +be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted: she could not be +mistaken,—it _was_ Edward. She moved away and sat down. “He comes from +Mr. Pratt’s purposely to see us. I _will_ be calm; I _will_ be mistress +of myself.” + +In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the +mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look +at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have +given the world to be able to speak—and to make them understand that +she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to +him;—but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their +own discretion. + +Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the +appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel +path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before +them. + +His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for +Elinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if +fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one. +Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of +that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be +guided in every thing, met him with a look of forced complacency, gave +him her hand, and wished him joy. + +He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor’s lips +had moved with her mother’s, and, when the moment of action was over, +she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too +late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and +talked of the weather. + +Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her +distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of +the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore +took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict +silence. + +When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very +awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt +obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried +manner, he replied in the affirmative. + +Another pause. + +Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own +voice, now said, + +“Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?” + +“At Longstaple!” he replied, with an air of surprise. “No, my mother is +in town.” + +“I meant,” said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, “to enquire +for Mrs. _Edward_ Ferrars.” + +She dared not look up;—but her mother and Marianne both turned their +eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, +after some hesitation, said,— + +“Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. _Robert_ Ferrars.” + +“Mrs. Robert Ferrars!” was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an +accent of the utmost amazement; and though Elinor could not speak, even +_her_ eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose +from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing +what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while +spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as +he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,— + +“Perhaps you do not know: you may not have heard that my brother is +lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss Lucy Steele.” + +His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor, +who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such +agitation as made her hardly know where she was. + +“Yes,” said he, “they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish.” + +Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as +soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first +she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any +where, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even +heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, +which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. +Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted +the room, and walked out towards the village—leaving the others in the +greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so +wonderful and so sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of +lessening but by their own conjectures. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might +appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to +what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined +by all;—for after experiencing the blessings of _one_ imprudent +engagement, contracted without his mother’s consent, as he had already +done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in +the failure of _that_, than the immediate contraction of another. + +His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask +Elinor to marry him;—and considering that he was not altogether +inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should +feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in +need of encouragement and fresh air. + +How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how +soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he +expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly +told. This only need be said;—that when they all sat down to table at +four o’clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his +lady, engaged her mother’s consent, and was not only in the rapturous +profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one +of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly +joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell +his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any reproach +to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his misery, from +a woman whom he had long ceased to love;—and elevated at once to that +security with another, which he must have thought of almost with +despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with desire. He was +brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;—and +the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful +cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in him before. + +His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors +confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the +philosophic dignity of twenty-four. + +“It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,” said he, “the +consequence of ignorance of the world, and want of employment. Had my +mother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen +from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think, nay, I am sure, it would never +have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the +time, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had +any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance +from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied +attachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I +must have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of +having any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any +myself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first +twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which +belonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered +at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to +do, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home +in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my +brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to +be very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and +was always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part +of my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything +that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least I thought so +_then;_ and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no +comparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I +hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every +way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable +piece of folly.” + +The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness +of the Dashwoods, was such—so great—as promised them all, the +satisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be +comfortable, knew not how to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how +to be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy, +nor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation +together, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight and society of both. + +Marianne could speak _her_ happiness only by tears. Comparisons would +occur—regrets would arise; and her joy, though sincere as her love for +her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language. + +But Elinor—how are _her_ feelings to be described? From the moment of +learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the +moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she +was every thing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had +passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared +her situation with what so lately it had been,—saw him honourably +released from his former engagement,—saw him instantly profiting by the +release, to address herself and declare an affection as tender, as +constant as she had ever supposed it to be,—she was oppressed, she was +overcome by her own felicity; and happily disposed as is the human mind +to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it required +several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree of +tranquillity to her heart. + +Edward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;—for whatever +other claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a +week should be given up to the enjoyment of Elinor’s company, or +suffice to say half that was to be said of the past, the present, and +the future;—for though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of +incessant talking will despatch more subjects than can really be in +common between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is +different. Between _them_ no subject is finished, no communication is +even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over. + +Lucy’s marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all, +formed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers;—and +Elinor’s particular knowledge of each party made it appear to her in +every view, as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable +circumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together, +and by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of +whose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration,—a +girl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that +brother had been thrown off by his family—it was beyond her +comprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful affair, +to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her +judgment, it was completely a puzzle. + +Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps, +at first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked +on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest. +Elinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his +opinion of what his own mediation in his brother’s affairs might have +done, if applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward. + +“_That_ was exactly like Robert,” was his immediate observation. “And +_that_,” he presently added, “might perhaps be in _his_ head when the +acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might +think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs +might afterward arise.” + +How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally +at a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had +remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means +of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last +were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the +smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for +what followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy +herself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between +the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the +letter into Elinor’s hands. + +“DEAR SIR, + “Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought + myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of + being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with + you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another’s. + Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my + fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship + now makes proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am + sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices. Your + brother has gained my affections entirely, and as we could not live + without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are + now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear + brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first + trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain, + + +“Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister, +“LUCY FERRARS. + + +“I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first +opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the ring with my hair you +are very welcome to keep.” + +Elinor read and returned it without any comment. + +“I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,” said Edward.—“For +worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by _you_ in former +days.—In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!—how I have blushed +over the pages of her writing!—and I believe I may say that since the +first half year of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever +received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the +defect of the style.” + +“However it may have come about,” said Elinor, after a pause,—“they are +certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most +appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through +resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice; +and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a-year, to do +the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do. She +will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert’s marrying Lucy, than +she would have been by your marrying her.” + +“She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.—She +will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him +much sooner.” + +In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew +not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted +by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy’s +letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road +to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which +that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do +nothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his +rapidity in seeking _that_ fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the +jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of +the modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness +with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect +a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he +_did_, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a +twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and +wives. + +That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of +malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to +Elinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her +character, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost +meanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened, +even before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a +want of liberality in some of her opinions—they had been equally +imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter +reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed, +good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such +a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement, +which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother’s +anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him. + +“I thought it my duty,” said he, “independent of my feelings, to give +her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was +renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in +the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed +nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how +could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted on sharing +my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but the most +disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I cannot +comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could +be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest +regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could +not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living.” + +“No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour; +that your own family might in time relent. And at any rate, she lost +nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it +fettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was +certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration +among her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would +be better for her to marry _you_ than be single.” + +Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have +been more natural than Lucy’s conduct, nor more self-evident than the +motive of it. + +Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which +compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at +Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy. + +“Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,” said she; “because—to say +nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to +fancy and expect _what_, as you were _then_ situated, could never be.” + +He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken +confidence in the force of his engagement. + +“I was simple enough to think, that because my _faith_ was plighted to +another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the +consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred +as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only +friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and +Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I _was_ +wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I +reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than +these:—The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but +myself.” + +Elinor smiled, and shook her head. + +Edward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon’s being expected at the +Cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him, +but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented +his giving him the living of Delaford—“Which, at present,” said he, +“after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion, +he must think I have never forgiven him for offering.” + +_Now_ he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the +place. But so little interest had he taken in the matter, that he owed +all his knowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the +parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor +herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it +with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject. + +One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one +difficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by +mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends; +their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness +certain—and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two +thousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all +that they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs. +Dashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite +enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year +would supply them with the comforts of life. + +Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his +mother towards him; and on _that_ he rested for the residue of their +income. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would still +be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spoken +of in Mrs. Ferrars’s flattering language as only a lesser evil than his +chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert’s offence would serve no +other purpose than to enrich Fanny. + +About four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to +complete Mrs. Dashwood’s satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of +having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company +with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the +privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every +night to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned +in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers’ first tête-à-tête +before breakfast. + +A three weeks’ residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at +least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between +thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind +which needed all the improvement in Marianne’s looks, all the kindness +of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother’s language, to +make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he +did revive. No rumour of Lucy’s marriage had yet reached him:—he knew +nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were +consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was +explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice +in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the +interest of Elinor. + +It would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good +opinion of each other, as they advanced in each other’s acquaintance, +for it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles and +good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably have +been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other +attraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two sisters +fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate, +which might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment. + +The letters from town, which a few days before would have made every +nerve in Elinor’s body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read +with less emotion than mirth. Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful +tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour +forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was sure, had +quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all accounts, +almost broken-hearted, at Oxford. “I do think,” she continued, “nothing +was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days before Lucy called +and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the +matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the day +after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as not +knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems borrowed all her +money before she went off to be married, on purpose we suppose to make +a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world; so I +was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter, +where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in +hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I must say +that Lucy’s crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is +worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but +you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort +him.” + +Mr. Dashwood’s strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most +unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility—and +he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful +wonder. Robert’s offence was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinitely +worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars; +and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his +wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to +appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been +carried on between them, was rationally treated as enormously +heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred to the +others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage; +and he called on Elinor to join with him in regretting that Lucy’s +engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, than that she +should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family. He +thus continued:— + +“Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, which does not +surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been +received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent +by his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a +line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper +submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shown to +her mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of +Mrs. Ferrars’s heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be +on good terms with her children.” + +This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of +Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not +exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister. + +“A letter of proper submission!” repeated he; “would they have me beg +my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to _her_, and breach of +honour to _me?_ I can make no submission. I am grown neither humble nor +penitent by what has passed. I am grown very happy; but that would not +interest. I know of no submission that _is_ proper for me to make.” + +“You may certainly ask to be forgiven,” said Elinor, “because you have +offended;—and I should think you might _now_ venture so far as to +profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew +on you your mother’s anger.” + +He agreed that he might. + +“And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be +convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent +in _her_ eyes as the first.” + +He had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a +letter of proper submission; and therefore, to make it easier to him, +as he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by +word of mouth than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing +to Fanny, he should go to London, and personally intreat her good +offices in his favour. “And if they really _do_ interest themselves,” +said Marianne, in her new character of candour, “in bringing about a +reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely +without merit.” + +After a visit on Colonel Brandon’s side of only three or four days, the +two gentlemen quitted Barton together. They were to go immediately to +Delaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future +home, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements +were needed to it; and from thence, after staying there a couple of +nights, he was to proceed on his journey to town. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent +and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always +seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward +was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son. + +Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of +her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward +a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of +Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the +resuscitation of Edward, she had one again. + +In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not +feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his +present engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he +feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off +as rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was +revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars +at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss +Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told him, that in Miss Morton +he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;—and enforced +the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a +nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the +daughter of a private gentleman with no more than _three;_ but when she +found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation, +he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest, +from the experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after such an +ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to +prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of consent +to the marriage of Edward and Elinor. + +What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to +be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now +her only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was +inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest +objection was made against Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two +hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for +the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had +been given with Fanny. + +It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by +Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses, +seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more. + +With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them, +they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the +living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with +an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making +considerable improvements; and after waiting some time for their +completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments +and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor, +as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying +till every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton +church early in the autumn. + +The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the +Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the +Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;—could +chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s +prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for +she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by +Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really +believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact +nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, +and rather better pasturage for their cows. + +They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations +and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was +almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the +expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour. + +“I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,” said John, as +they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford +House, “_that_ would be saying too much, for certainly you have been +one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I +confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon +brother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in +such respectable and excellent condition! And his woods,—I have not +seen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in +Delaford Hanger! And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the +person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for +you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel +Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen; +for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody +else,—and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage, +and so forth. In short, you may as well give her a chance: you +understand me.” + +But though Mrs. Ferrars _did_ come to see them, and always treated them +with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by +her real favour and preference. _That_ was due to the folly of Robert, +and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many +months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had +at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of +his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous +attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was +given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and +re-established him completely in her favour. + +The whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which +crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance +of what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however +its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every +advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and +conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately +visited her in Bartlett’s Buildings, it was only with the view imputed +to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the +engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection +of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle +the matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred; for though +Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in +_time_, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to +produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when +they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour’s +discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and +the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came +gradually to talk only of Robert,—a subject on which he had always more +to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest +even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to +both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his +conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying +privately without his mother’s consent. What immediately followed is +known. They passed some months in great happiness at Dawlish; for she +had many relations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several +plans for magnificent cottages;—and from thence returning to town, +procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of +asking it, which, at Lucy’s instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness, +at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and +Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have +transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But +perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation +for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated +with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its +graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest +state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs. +Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never +cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor, +though superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an +intruder, _she_ was in every thing considered, and always openly +acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town, received +very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms +imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and +ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which their +husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent domestic +disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed +the harmony in which they all lived together. + +What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have +puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to +it, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however, +justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever +appeared in Robert’s style of living or of talking to give a suspicion +of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his +brother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if Edward might +be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every particular, +from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the +regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less +contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange. + +Elinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family as could well +be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless, +for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with +her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure +in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing +Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though +rather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her +darling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she +desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her +valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was +equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and +their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the +reward of all. + +With such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge so intimate of his +goodness—with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at +last, though long after it was observable to everybody else—burst on +her—what could she do? + +Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to +discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her +conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an +affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment +superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give +her hand to another!—and _that_ other, a man who had suffered no less +than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years +before, she had considered too old to be married,—and who still sought +the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat! + +But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible +passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with +expecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and +finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in +her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found +herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new +duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the +patroness of a village. + +Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him, +believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne he was consoled for every past +affliction;—her regard and her society restored his mind to animation, +and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own +happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of +each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her +whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had +once been to Willoughby. + +Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his +punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of +Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as +the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he +behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy +and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own +punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought +of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he +was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an +habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be +depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to +enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home +always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in +sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic +felicity. + +For Marianne, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her +loss, he always retained that decided regard which interested him in +every thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of +perfection in woman; and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him +in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon. + +Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without +attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs. +Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an +age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being +supposed to have a lover. + +Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication +which strong family affection would naturally dictate; and among the +merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked +as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost +within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement +between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands. + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENSE AND SENSIBILITY *** + +***** This file should be named 161-0.txt or 161-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/161/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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