"The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate\nwas large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of\ntheir property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so\nrespectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their\nsurrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single\nman, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his\nlife, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her\ndeath, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great\nalteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received\ninto his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal\ninheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to\nbequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their\nchildren, the old Gentleman's days were comfortably spent. His\nattachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and\nMrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from\ninterest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid\ncomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the\nchildren added a relish to his existence.\n\nBy a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present\nlady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was\namply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,\nand half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own\nmarriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his\nwealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not\nso really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent\nof what might arise to them from their father's inheriting that\nproperty, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their\nfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the\nremaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was also secured to her\nchild, and he had only a life-interest in it.\n\nThe old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other\nwill, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so\nunjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;--but\nhe left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the\nbequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife\nand daughters than for himself or his son;--but to his son, and his\nson's son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as\nto leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear\nto him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or\nby any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the\nbenefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and\nmother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by\nsuch attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three\nyears old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his\nown way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh\nall the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received\nfrom his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however,\nand, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a\nthousand pounds a-piece.\n\nMr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was\ncheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years,\nand by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce\nof an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate\nimprovement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was\nhis only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten\nthousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for\nhis widow and daughters.\n\nHis son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr.\nDashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness\ncould command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.\n\nMr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the\nfamily; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at\nsuch a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make\nthem comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,\nand Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might\nprudently be in his power to do for them.\n\nHe was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted\nand rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well\nrespected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of\nhis ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might\nhave been made still more respectable than he was:--he might even have\nbeen made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and\nvery fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature\nof himself;--more narrow-minded and selfish.\n\nWhen he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to\nincrease the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand\npounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The\nprospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income,\nbesides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune, warmed his\nheart, and made him feel capable of generosity.-- \"Yes, he would give\nthem three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would\nbe enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he\ncould spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.\"-- He\nthought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did\nnot repent.\n\nNo sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood,\nwithout sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law,\narrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her\nright to come; the house was her husband's from the moment of his\nfather's decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the\ngreater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with only common\nfeelings, must have been highly unpleasing;--but in HER mind there was\na sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of\nthe kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of\nimmovable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with\nany of her husband's family; but she had had no opportunity, till the\npresent, of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of\nother people she could act when occasion required it.\n\nSo acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so\nearnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the\narrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had\nnot the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the\npropriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children\ndetermined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach\nwith their brother.\n\nElinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual, possessed\na strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified\nher, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and\nenabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all,\nthat eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led\nto imprudence. She had an excellent heart;--her disposition was\naffectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern\nthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which\none of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.\n\nMarianne's abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor's.\nShe was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her\njoys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable,\ninteresting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between\nher and her mother was strikingly great.\n\nElinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility; but\nby Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each\nother now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief\nwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought\nfor, was created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to\ntheir sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that\ncould afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in\nfuture. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could\nstruggle, she could exert herself. She could consult with her brother,\ncould receive her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with\nproper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to similar\nexertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.\n\nMargaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but\nas she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance, without\nhaving much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal\nher sisters at a more advanced period of life.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 2\n\n\nMrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her\nmother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors.\nAs such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by\nher husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody\nbeyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them,\nwith some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no\nplan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she\ncould accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his\ninvitation was accepted.\n\nA continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former\ndelight, was exactly what suited her mind. In seasons of cheerfulness,\nno temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater\ndegree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness\nitself. But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy,\nand as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.\n\nMrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended\nto do for his sisters. To take three thousand pounds from the fortune\nof their dear little boy would be impoverishing him to the most\ndreadful degree. She begged him to think again on the subject. How\ncould he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too,\nof so large a sum? And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods,\nwho were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no\nrelationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount. It\nwas very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist\nbetween the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he\nto ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his\nmoney to his half sisters?\n\n\"It was my father's last request to me,\" replied her husband, \"that I\nshould assist his widow and daughters.\"\n\n\"He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he\nwas light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, he\ncould not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half\nyour fortune from your own child.\"\n\n\"He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only\nrequested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their\nsituation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it\nwould have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could\nhardly suppose I should neglect them. But as he required the promise,\nI could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time.\nThe promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something\nmust be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new\nhome.\"\n\n\"Well, then, LET something be done for them; but THAT something need\nnot be three thousand pounds. Consider,\" she added, \"that when the\nmoney is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will\nmarry, and it will be gone for ever. If, indeed, it could be restored\nto our poor little boy--\"\n\n\"Why, to be sure,\" said her husband, very gravely, \"that would make\ngreat difference. The time may come when Harry will regret that so\nlarge a sum was parted with. If he should have a numerous family, for\ninstance, it would be a very convenient addition.\"\n\n\"To be sure it would.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were\ndiminished one half.--Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious\nincrease to their fortunes!\"\n\n\"Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do half so\nmuch for his sisters, even if REALLY his sisters! And as it is--only\nhalf blood!--But you have such a generous spirit!\"\n\n\"I would not wish to do any thing mean,\" he replied. \"One had rather,\non such occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can\nthink I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly\nexpect more.\"\n\n\"There is no knowing what THEY may expect,\" said the lady, \"but we are\nnot to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can\nafford to do.\"\n\n\"Certainly--and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds\na-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have\nabout three thousand pounds on their mother's death--a very comfortable\nfortune for any young woman.\"\n\n\"To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no\naddition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst\nthem. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do\nnot, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten\nthousand pounds.\"\n\n\"That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the\nwhole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother\nwhile she lives, rather than for them--something of the annuity kind I\nmean.--My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself.\nA hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.\"\n\nHis wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this\nplan.\n\n\"To be sure,\" said she, \"it is better than parting with fifteen hundred\npounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years\nwe shall be completely taken in.\"\n\n\"Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that\npurchase.\"\n\n\"Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when\nthere is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy,\nand hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over\nand over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. You are not\naware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble\nof annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to\nold superannuated servants by my father's will, and it is amazing how\ndisagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be\npaid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then\none of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be\nno such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her\nown, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more\nunkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been\nentirely at my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever. It\nhas given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would\nnot pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world.\"\n\n\"It is certainly an unpleasant thing,\" replied Mr. Dashwood, \"to have\nthose kind of yearly drains on one's income. One's fortune, as your\nmother justly says, is NOT one's own. To be tied down to the regular\npayment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it\ntakes away one's independence.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it. They think\nthemselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises\nno gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be done at\nmy own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow them any\nthing yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a\nhundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses.\"\n\n\"I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should\nbe no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will\nbe of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they\nwould only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger\nincome, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the\nyear. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty\npounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for\nmoney, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father.\"\n\n\"To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within\nmyself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at\nall. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might\nbe reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a\ncomfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things,\nand sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they\nare in season. I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,\nit would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. Do but consider,\nmy dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law\nand her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds,\nbesides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which\nbrings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will\npay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether, they will have\nfive hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want\nfor more than that?--They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will\nbe nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly\nany servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of\nany kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a\nyear! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as\nto your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will\nbe much more able to give YOU something.\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" said Mr. Dashwood, \"I believe you are perfectly right.\nMy father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than\nwhat you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil\nmy engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you\nhave described. When my mother removes into another house my services\nshall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little\npresent of furniture too may be acceptable then.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" returned Mrs. John Dashwood. \"But, however, ONE thing\nmust be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland,\nthough the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and\nlinen was saved, and is now left to your mother. Her house will\ntherefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.\"\n\n\"That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy\nindeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant\naddition to our own stock here.\"\n\n\"Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what\nbelongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for\nany place THEY can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is.\nYour father thought only of THEM. And I must say this: that you owe no\nparticular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very\nwell know that if he could, he would have left almost everything in the\nworld to THEM.\"\n\nThis argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions whatever of\ndecision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be\nabsolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the\nwidow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as\nhis own wife pointed out.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 3\n\n\nMrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any\ndisinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased\nto raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when\nher spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other\nexertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy\nremembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her\ninquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for\nto remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could\nhear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and\nease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier\njudgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which\nher mother would have approved.\n\nMrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on\nthe part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last\nearthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no\nmore than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her\ndaughters' sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was\npersuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in\naffluence. For their brother's sake, too, for the sake of his own\nheart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his\nmerit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive\nbehaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare\nwas dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the\nliberality of his intentions.\n\nThe contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for\nher daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge\nof her character, which half a year's residence in her family afforded;\nand perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal\naffection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it\nimpossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular\ncircumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to\nthe opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters' continuance at Norland.\n\nThis circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and\nthe brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentleman-like and pleasing young\nman, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister's\nestablishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of\nhis time there.\n\nSome mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of\ninterest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died\nvery rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence,\nfor, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the\nwill of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either\nconsideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable,\nthat he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality.\nIt was contrary to every doctrine of hers that difference of fortune\nshould keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of\ndisposition; and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged by\nevery one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.\n\nEdward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any\npeculiar graces of person or address. He was not handsome, and his\nmanners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident\nto do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome,\nhis behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart.\nHis understanding was good, and his education had given it solid\nimprovement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to\nanswer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him\ndistinguished--as--they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a\nfine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to\ninterest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to\nsee him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John\nDashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these\nsuperior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her\nambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for\ngreat men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort\nand the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother\nwho was more promising.\n\nEdward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged\nmuch of Mrs. Dashwood's attention; for she was, at that time, in such\naffliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects. She saw\nonly that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He\ndid not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation.\nShe was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a\nreflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference\nbetween him and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him\nmost forcibly to her mother.\n\n\"It is enough,\" said she; \"to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.\nIt implies everything amiable. I love him already.\"\n\n\"I think you will like him,\" said Elinor, \"when you know more of him.\"\n\n\"Like him!\" replied her mother with a smile. \"I feel no sentiment of\napprobation inferior to love.\"\n\n\"You may esteem him.\"\n\n\"I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him. Her manners\nwere attaching, and soon banished his reserve. She speedily\ncomprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor\nperhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his\nworth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all\nher established ideas of what a young man's address ought to be, was no\nlonger uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper\naffectionate.\n\nNo sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to\nElinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and\nlooked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.\n\n\"In a few months, my dear Marianne.\" said she, \"Elinor will, in all\nprobability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but SHE will be\nhappy.\"\n\n\"Oh! Mama, how shall we do without her?\"\n\n\"My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live within a few\nmiles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives. You will\ngain a brother, a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest\nopinion in the world of Edward's heart. But you look grave, Marianne;\ndo you disapprove your sister's choice?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Marianne, \"I may consider it with some surprise.\nEdward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet--he is not\nthe kind of young man--there is something wanting--his figure is not\nstriking; it has none of that grace which I should expect in the man\nwho could seriously attach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit,\nthat fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides\nall this, I am afraid, Mama, he has no real taste. Music seems\nscarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very\nmuch, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their\nworth. It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while\nshe draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as\na lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be\nunited. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every\npoint coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the\nsame books, the same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how\nspiritless, how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night!\nI felt for my sister most severely. Yet she bore it with so much\ncomposure, she seemed scarcely to notice it. I could hardly keep my\nseat. To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost\ndriven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such\ndreadful indifference!\"\n\n\"He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose.\nI thought so at the time; but you WOULD give him Cowper.\"\n\n\"Nay, Mama, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!--but we must allow\nfor difference of taste. Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she\nmay overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broke MY\nheart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.\nMama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I\nshall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much! He\nmust have all Edward's virtues, and his person and manners must\nornament his goodness with every possible charm.\"\n\n\"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in\nlife to despair of such a happiness. Why should you be less fortunate\nthan your mother? In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your\ndestiny be different from hers!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 4\n\n\n\"What a pity it is, Elinor,\" said Marianne, \"that Edward should have no\ntaste for drawing.\"\n\n\"No taste for drawing!\" replied Elinor, \"why should you think so? He\ndoes not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the\nperformances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means\ndeficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of\nimproving it. Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he\nwould have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such\nmatters so much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any\npicture; but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which\nin general direct him perfectly right.\"\n\nMarianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but\nthe kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the\ndrawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight,\nwhich, in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though\nsmiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that\nblind partiality to Edward which produced it.\n\n\"I hope, Marianne,\" continued Elinor, \"you do not consider him as\ndeficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot,\nfor your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your\nopinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.\"\n\nMarianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of\nher sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was\nimpossible. At length she replied:\n\n\"Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing\nequal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many\nopportunities of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his\ninclinations and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in\nthe world of his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is\nworthy and amiable.\"\n\n\"I am sure,\" replied Elinor, with a smile, \"that his dearest friends\ncould not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not\nperceive how you could express yourself more warmly.\"\n\nMarianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.\n\n\"Of his sense and his goodness,\" continued Elinor, \"no one can, I\nthink, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in\nunreserved conversation. The excellence of his understanding and his\nprinciples can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps\nhim silent. You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.\nBut of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from\npeculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself. He and I\nhave been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been\nwholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother. I\nhave seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments and heard\nhis opinion on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I\nventure to pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books\nexceedingly great, his imagination lively, his observation just and\ncorrect, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every\nrespect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.\nAt first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person\ncan hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which\nare uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is\nperceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really\nhandsome; or at least, almost so. What say you, Marianne?\"\n\n\"I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now. When\nyou tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection\nin his face, than I now do in his heart.\"\n\nElinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she\nhad been betrayed into, in speaking of him. She felt that Edward stood\nvery high in her opinion. She believed the regard to be mutual; but\nshe required greater certainty of it to make Marianne's conviction of\ntheir attachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne and her\nmother conjectured one moment, they believed the next--that with them,\nto wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain\nthe real state of the case to her sister.\n\n\"I do not attempt to deny,\" said she, \"that I think very highly of\nhim--that I greatly esteem, that I like him.\"\n\nMarianne here burst forth with indignation--\n\n\"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than\ncold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I\nwill leave the room this moment.\"\n\nElinor could not help laughing. \"Excuse me,\" said she; \"and be assured\nthat I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my\nown feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared;\nbelieve them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion--the\nhope of his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly.\nBut farther than this you must not believe. I am by no means assured\nof his regard for me. There are moments when the extent of it seems\ndoubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at\nmy wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by\nbelieving or calling it more than it is. In my heart I feel\nlittle--scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other\npoints to be considered besides his inclination. He is very far from\nbeing independent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from\nFanny's occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never\nbeen disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if\nEdward is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in\nhis way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great\nfortune or high rank.\"\n\nMarianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother\nand herself had outstripped the truth.\n\n\"And you really are not engaged to him!\" said she. \"Yet it certainly\nsoon will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay. I\nshall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of\nimproving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be\nso indispensably necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should\nbe so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how\ndelightful it would be!\"\n\nElinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could not\nconsider her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne\nhad believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him\nwhich, if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as\nunpromising. A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not\ngive him more than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce that\ndejection of mind which frequently attended him. A more reasonable\ncause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the\nindulgence of his affection. She knew that his mother neither behaved\nto him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him\nany assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly\nattending to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge\nas this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject. She\nwas far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which\nher mother and sister still considered as certain. Nay, the longer\nthey were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard;\nand sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more\nthan friendship.\n\nBut, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived\nby his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was\nstill more common,) to make her uncivil. She took the first\nopportunity of affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to\nher so expressively of her brother's great expectations, of Mrs.\nFerrars's resolution that both her sons should marry well, and of the\ndanger attending any young woman who attempted to DRAW HIM IN; that\nMrs. Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to\nbe calm. She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and\ninstantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the\ninconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor\nshould not be exposed another week to such insinuations.\n\nIn this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the\npost, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the\noffer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of\nher own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The\nletter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit\nof friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a\ndwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,\nhe assured her that everything should be done to it which she might\nthink necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed\nher, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with\nher daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from\nwhence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses\nwere in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable\nto her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of\nhis letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of\ngiving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was\nsuffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer\nconnections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her\nresolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a\ncounty so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours\nbefore, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every\npossible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first\nrecommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an\nevil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of\nthe misery of continuing her daughter-in-law's guest; and to remove for\never from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or\nvisit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir\nJohn Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance\nof his proposal; and then hastened to shew both letters to her\ndaughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her\nanswer were sent.\n\nElinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle\nat some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present\nacquaintance. On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose\nher mother's intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as\ndescribed by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so\nuncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either\npoint; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm\nto her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland\nbeyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from\nsending a letter of acquiescence.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 5\n\n\nNo sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged herself\nin the pleasure of announcing to her son-in-law and his wife that she\nwas provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer than till\nevery thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her with\nsurprise. Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped\nthat she would not be settled far from Norland. She had great\nsatisfaction in replying that she was going into Devonshire.--Edward\nturned hastily towards her, on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise\nand concern, which required no explanation to her, repeated,\n\"Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to\nwhat part of it?\" She explained the situation. It was within four miles\nnorthward of Exeter.\n\n\"It is but a cottage,\" she continued, \"but I hope to see many of my\nfriends in it. A room or two can easily be added; and if my friends\nfind no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will\nfind none in accommodating them.\"\n\nShe concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood\nto visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater\naffection. Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had\nmade her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than was\nunavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect on her in that\npoint to which it principally tended. To separate Edward and Elinor\nwas as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs.\nJohn Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally\nshe disregarded her disapprobation of the match.\n\nMr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry\nhe was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to\nprevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture. He\nreally felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very\nexertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his\nfather was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.-- The furniture\nwas all sent around by water. It chiefly consisted of household linen,\nplate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's.\nMrs. John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not\nhelp feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's income would be so\ntrifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome\narticle of furniture.\n\nMrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished,\nand she might have immediate possession. No difficulty arose on either\nside in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her\neffects at Norland, and to determine her future household, before she\nset off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the\nperformance of everything that interested her, was soon done.--The\nhorses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his\ndeath, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage,\nshe agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest\ndaughter. For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her\nown wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor\nprevailed. HER wisdom too limited the number of their servants to\nthree; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from\namongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland.\n\nThe man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire,\nto prepare the house for their mistress's arrival; for as Lady\nMiddleton was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going\ndirectly to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she\nrelied so undoubtingly on Sir John's description of the house, as to\nfeel no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own.\nHer eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by\nthe evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her\nremoval; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed\nunder a cold invitation to her to defer her departure. Now was the\ntime when her son-in-law's promise to his father might with particular\npropriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected to do it on first\ncoming to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as\nthe most suitable period for its accomplishment. But Mrs. Dashwood\nbegan shortly to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced,\nfrom the general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended\nno farther than their maintenance for six months at Norland. He so\nfrequently talked of the increasing expenses of housekeeping, and of\nthe perpetual demands upon his purse, which a man of any consequence in\nthe world was beyond calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to\nstand in need of more money himself than to have any design of giving\nmoney away.\n\nIn a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton's\nfirst letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future\nabode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their\njourney.\n\nMany were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so\nmuch beloved. \"Dear, dear Norland!\" said Marianne, as she wandered\nalone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; \"when\nshall I cease to regret you!--when learn to feel a home elsewhere!--Oh!\nhappy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this\nspot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!--And you, ye\nwell-known trees!--but you will continue the same.--No leaf will decay\nbecause we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we\ncan observe you no longer!--No; you will continue the same; unconscious\nof the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any\nchange in those who walk under your shade!--But who will remain to\nenjoy you?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 6\n\n\nThe first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy a\ndisposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant. But as they\ndrew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance of a\ncountry which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view\nof Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness. It was a\npleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture. After winding\nalong it for more than a mile, they reached their own house. A small\ngreen court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket\ngate admitted them into it.\n\nAs a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact;\nbut as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular, the\nroof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were\nthe walls covered with honeysuckles. A narrow passage led directly\nthrough the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance\nwas a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond them were the\noffices and the stairs. Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest\nof the house. It had not been built many years and was in good repair.\nIn comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!--but the tears\nwhich recollection called forth as they entered the house were soon\ndried away. They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their\narrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.\nIt was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first\nseeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received an\nimpression in its favour which was of material service in recommending\nit to their lasting approbation.\n\nThe situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately\nbehind, and at no great distance on each side; some of which were open\ndowns, the others cultivated and woody. The village of Barton was\nchiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the\ncottage windows. The prospect in front was more extensive; it\ncommanded the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond.\nThe hills which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley in that\ndirection; under another name, and in another course, it branched out\nagain between two of the steepest of them.\n\nWith the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon the\nwhole well satisfied; for though her former style of life rendered many\nadditions to the latter indispensable, yet to add and improve was a\ndelight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough to supply\nall that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments. \"As for the\nhouse itself, to be sure,\" said she, \"it is too small for our family,\nbut we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the present, as it\nis too late in the year for improvements. Perhaps in the spring, if I\nhave plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about\nbuilding. These parlors are both too small for such parties of our\nfriends as I hope to see often collected here; and I have some thoughts\nof throwing the passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the\nother, and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance; this,\nwith a new drawing room which may be easily added, and a bed-chamber\nand garret above, will make it a very snug little cottage. I could\nwish the stairs were handsome. But one must not expect every thing;\nthough I suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them. I\nshall see how much I am before-hand with the world in the spring, and\nwe will plan our improvements accordingly.\"\n\nIn the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the\nsavings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman who never saved\nin her life, they were wise enough to be contented with the house as it\nwas; and each of them was busy in arranging their particular concerns,\nand endeavoring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to\nform themselves a home. Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and\nproperly disposed of; and Elinor's drawings were affixed to the walls\nof their sitting room.\n\nIn such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast\nthe next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome\nthem to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own\nhouse and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient. Sir\nJohn Middleton was a good looking man about forty. He had formerly\nvisited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins to\nremember him. His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured; and his\nmanners were as friendly as the style of his letter. Their arrival\nseemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an\nobject of real solicitude to him. He said much of his earnest desire\nof their living in the most sociable terms with his family, and pressed\nthem so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were\nbetter settled at home, that, though his entreaties were carried to a\npoint of perseverance beyond civility, they could not give offence.\nHis kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he\nleft them, a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from\nthe park, which was followed before the end of the day by a present of\ngame. He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and\nfrom the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of\nsending them his newspaper every day.\n\nLady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her\nintention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon as she could be assured\nthat her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this message was\nanswered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced\nto them the next day.\n\nThey were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of\ntheir comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance of her appearance\nwas favourable to their wishes. Lady Middleton was not more than six\nor seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and\nstriking, and her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance\nwhich her husband's wanted. But they would have been improved by some\nshare of his frankness and warmth; and her visit was long enough to\ndetract something from their first admiration, by shewing that, though\nperfectly well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for\nherself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.\n\nConversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty, and\nLady Middleton had taken the wise precaution of bringing with her their\neldest child, a fine little boy about six years old, by which means\nthere was one subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in case of\nextremity, for they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beauty,\nand ask him questions which his mother answered for him, while he hung\nabout her and held down his head, to the great surprise of her\nladyship, who wondered at his being so shy before company, as he could\nmake noise enough at home. On every formal visit a child ought to be\nof the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case\nit took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his\nfather or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of\ncourse every body differed, and every body was astonished at the\nopinion of the others.\n\nAn opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the\nrest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house without\nsecuring their promise of dining at the park the next day.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 7\n\n\nBarton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The ladies had\npassed near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from\ntheir view at home by the projection of a hill. The house was large\nand handsome; and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality\nand elegance. The former was for Sir John's gratification, the latter\nfor that of his lady. They were scarcely ever without some friends\nstaying with them in the house, and they kept more company of every\nkind than any other family in the neighbourhood. It was necessary to\nthe happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward\nbehaviour, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of\ntalent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with\nsuch as society produced, within a very narrow compass. Sir John was a\nsportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she\nhumoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady\nMiddleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the\nyear round, while Sir John's independent employments were in existence\nonly half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however,\nsupplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the\ngood spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his\nwife.\n\nLady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of\nall her domestic arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her\ngreatest enjoyment in any of their parties. But Sir John's\nsatisfaction in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting\nabout him more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier\nthey were the better was he pleased. He was a blessing to all the\njuvenile part of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was for ever\nforming parties to eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, and in winter\nhis private balls were numerous enough for any young lady who was not\nsuffering under the unsatiable appetite of fifteen.\n\nThe arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy\nto him, and in every point of view he was charmed with the inhabitants\nhe had now procured for his cottage at Barton. The Miss Dashwoods were\nyoung, pretty, and unaffected. It was enough to secure his good\nopinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to\nmake her mind as captivating as her person. The friendliness of his\ndisposition made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation\nmight be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate. In\nshowing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction\nof a good heart; and in settling a family of females only in his\ncottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman,\nthough he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is\nnot often desirous of encouraging their taste by admitting them to a\nresidence within his own manor.\n\nMrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house by\nSir John, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity;\nand as he attended them to the drawing room repeated to the young\nladies the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day\nbefore, at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. They\nwould see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a\nparticular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very\nyoung nor very gay. He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of\nthe party, and could assure them it should never happen so again. He\nhad been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some\naddition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full\nof engagements. Luckily Lady Middleton's mother had arrived at Barton\nwithin the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman,\nhe hoped the young ladies would not find it so very dull as they might\nimagine. The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly\nsatisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for\nno more.\n\nMrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good-humoured, merry,\nfat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and\nrather vulgar. She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner\nwas over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and\nhusbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex,\nand pretended to see them blush whether they did or not. Marianne was\nvexed at it for her sister's sake, and turned her eyes towards Elinor\nto see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave\nElinor far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery\nas Mrs. Jennings's.\n\nColonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by\nresemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be\nhis wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton's mother. He was\nsilent and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite\nof his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old\nbachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though\nhis face was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his\naddress was particularly gentlemanlike.\n\nThere was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as\ncompanions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton\nwas so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of\nColonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and his\nmother-in-law was interesting. Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to\nenjoyment only by the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner,\nwho pulled her about, tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of\ndiscourse except what related to themselves.\n\nIn the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was\ninvited to play. The instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to\nbe charmed, and Marianne, who sang very well, at their request went\nthrough the chief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought into\nthe family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since in\nthe same position on the pianoforte, for her ladyship had celebrated\nthat event by giving up music, although by her mother's account, she\nhad played extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it.\n\nMarianne's performance was highly applauded. Sir John was loud in his\nadmiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation\nwith the others while every song lasted. Lady Middleton frequently\ncalled him to order, wondered how any one's attention could be diverted\nfrom music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song\nwhich Marianne had just finished. Colonel Brandon alone, of all the\nparty, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her only the\ncompliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the\noccasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless\nwant of taste. His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that\necstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was\nestimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the\nothers; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and\nthirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every\nexquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every\nallowance for the colonel's advanced state of life which humanity\nrequired.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 8\n\n\nMrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two\ndaughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and\nshe had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the\nworld. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as\nfar as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting\nweddings among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was\nremarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the\nadvantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by\ninsinuations of her power over such a young man; and this kind of\ndiscernment enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to\npronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much in love with Marianne\nDashwood. She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening\nof their being together, from his listening so attentively while she\nsang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons' dining\nat the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.\nIt must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It would be an\nexcellent match, for HE was rich, and SHE was handsome. Mrs. Jennings\nhad been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her\nconnection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; and she\nwas always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.\n\nThe immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for\nit supplied her with endless jokes against them both. At the park she\nlaughed at the colonel, and in the cottage at Marianne. To the former\nher raillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself,\nperfectly indifferent; but to the latter it was at first\nincomprehensible; and when its object was understood, she hardly knew\nwhether most to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence,\nfor she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel's\nadvanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.\n\nMrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than\nherself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of\nher daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of\nwishing to throw ridicule on his age.\n\n\"But at least, Mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation,\nthough you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. Colonel Brandon\nis certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be MY\nfather; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have\nlong outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! When\nis a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not\nprotect him?\"\n\n\"Infirmity!\" said Elinor, \"do you call Colonel Brandon infirm? I can\neasily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my\nmother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of\nhis limbs!\"\n\n\"Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the\ncommonest infirmity of declining life?\"\n\n\"My dearest child,\" said her mother, laughing, \"at this rate you must\nbe in continual terror of MY decay; and it must seem to you a miracle\nthat my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.\"\n\n\"Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that Colonel\nBrandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of\nlosing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer.\nBut thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Elinor, \"thirty-five and seventeen had better not have\nany thing to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any\nchance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should\nnot think Colonel Brandon's being thirty-five any objection to his\nmarrying HER.\"\n\n\"A woman of seven and twenty,\" said Marianne, after pausing a moment,\n\"can never hope to feel or inspire affection again, and if her home be\nuncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can suppose that she might bring\nherself to submit to the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the\nprovision and security of a wife. In his marrying such a woman\ntherefore there would be nothing unsuitable. It would be a compact of\nconvenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes it would be\nno marriage at all, but that would be nothing. To me it would seem\nonly a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the\nexpense of the other.\"\n\n\"It would be impossible, I know,\" replied Elinor, \"to convince you that\na woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five\nanything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her.\nBut I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the\nconstant confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to\ncomplain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in\none of his shoulders.\"\n\n\"But he talked of flannel waistcoats,\" said Marianne; \"and with me a\nflannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps,\nrheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and\nthe feeble.\"\n\n\"Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have despised him\nhalf so much. Confess, Marianne, is not there something interesting to\nyou in the flushed cheek, hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?\"\n\nSoon after this, upon Elinor's leaving the room, \"Mama,\" said\nMarianne, \"I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot\nconceal from you. I am sure Edward Ferrars is not well. We have now\nbeen here almost a fortnight, and yet he does not come. Nothing but\nreal indisposition could occasion this extraordinary delay. What else\ncan detain him at Norland?\"\n\n\"Had you any idea of his coming so soon?\" said Mrs. Dashwood. \"I had\nnone. On the contrary, if I have felt any anxiety at all on the\nsubject, it has been in recollecting that he sometimes showed a want of\npleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation, when I talked of his\ncoming to Barton. Does Elinor expect him already?\"\n\n\"I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must.\"\n\n\"I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her\nyesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed\nthat there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the\nroom would be wanted for some time.\"\n\n\"How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it! But the whole of\ntheir behaviour to each other has been unaccountable! How cold, how\ncomposed were their last adieus! How languid their conversation the\nlast evening of their being together! In Edward's farewell there was no\ndistinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an\naffectionate brother to both. Twice did I leave them purposely\ntogether in the course of the last morning, and each time did he most\nunaccountably follow me out of the room. And Elinor, in quitting\nNorland and Edward, cried not as I did. Even now her self-command is\ninvariable. When is she dejected or melancholy? When does she try to\navoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfied in it?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 9\n\n\nThe Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to\nthemselves. The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding\nthem, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had\ngiven to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater\nenjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss of their\nfather. Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first\nfortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at\nhome, could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.\n\nTheir visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in\nspite of Sir John's urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the\nneighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at\ntheir service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood's spirit overcame the\nwish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to\nvisit any family beyond the distance of a walk. There were but few who\ncould be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable.\nAbout a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding\nvalley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton, as formerly\ndescribed, the girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered an\nancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding them a little\nof Norland, interested their imagination and made them wish to be\nbetter acquainted with it. But they learnt, on enquiry, that its\npossessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately\ntoo infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home.\n\nThe whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high\ndowns which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to\nseek the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy\nalternative when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior\nbeauties; and towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one\nmemorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine\nof a showery sky, and unable longer to bear the confinement which the\nsettled rain of the two preceding days had occasioned. The weather was\nnot tempting enough to draw the two others from their pencil and their\nbook, in spite of Marianne's declaration that the day would be\nlastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn off\nfrom their hills; and the two girls set off together.\n\nThey gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at\nevery glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the\nanimating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears\nwhich had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such\ndelightful sensations.\n\n\"Is there a felicity in the world,\" said Marianne, \"superior to\nthis?--Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.\"\n\nMargaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, resisting\nit with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer, when suddenly\nthe clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in\ntheir face.-- Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though\nunwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own\nhouse. One consolation however remained for them, to which the\nexigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety; it was that of\nrunning with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which\nled immediately to their garden gate.\n\nThey set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step\nbrought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop\nherself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the\nbottom in safety.\n\nA gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was\npassing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her\naccident happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She\nhad raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in\nher fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered\nhis services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her\nsituation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther\ndelay, and carried her down the hill. Then passing through the garden,\nthe gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly\ninto the house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his\nhold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.\n\nElinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while\nthe eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret\nadmiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for\nhis intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so\ngraceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received\nadditional charms from his voice and expression. Had he been even old,\nugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would\nhave been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the\ninfluence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the\naction which came home to her feelings.\n\nShe thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which\nalways attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he declined,\nas he was dirty and wet. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she\nwas obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present\nhome was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the\nhonour of calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The honour\nwas readily granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more\ninteresting, in the midst of a heavy rain.\n\nHis manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the\ntheme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised\nagainst Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior\nattractions.-- Marianne herself had seen less of his Mama the\nrest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting\nher up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their\nentering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in all the\nadmiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her\npraise. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn\nfor the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the\nhouse with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of\nthought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every\ncircumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his\nresidence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that\nof all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her\nimagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a\nsprained ankle was disregarded.\n\nSir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather\nthat morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne's accident\nbeing related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any\ngentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.\n\n\"Willoughby!\" cried Sir John; \"what, is HE in the country? That is good\nnews however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on\nThursday.\"\n\n\"You know him then,\" said Mrs. Dashwood.\n\n\"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.\"\n\n\"And what sort of a young man is he?\"\n\n\"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent\nshot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.\"\n\n\"And is that all you can say for him?\" cried Marianne, indignantly.\n\"But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his\npursuits, his talents, and genius?\"\n\nSir John was rather puzzled.\n\n\"Upon my soul,\" said he, \"I do not know much about him as to all THAT.\nBut he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the nicest\nlittle black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with him\ntoday?\"\n\nBut Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.\nWilloughby's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his\nmind.\n\n\"But who is he?\" said Elinor. \"Where does he come from? Has he a\nhouse at Allenham?\"\n\nOn this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he\ntold them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the\ncountry; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady\nat Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was\nto inherit; adding, \"Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I can\ntell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of his own in\nSomersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up to my\nyounger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills. Miss\nMarianne must not expect to have all the men to herself. Brandon will\nbe jealous, if she does not take care.\"\n\n\"I do not believe,\" said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile,\n\"that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of MY\ndaughters towards what you call CATCHING him. It is not an employment\nto which they have been brought up. Men are very safe with us, let\nthem be ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what you say,\nthat he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance will not\nbe ineligible.\"\n\n\"He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived,\" repeated\nSir John. \"I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he\ndanced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down.\"\n\n\"Did he indeed?\" cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, \"and with\nelegance, with spirit?\"\n\n\"Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.\"\n\n\"That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever\nbe his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and\nleave him no sense of fatigue.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, I see how it will be,\" said Sir John, \"I see how it will be.\nYou will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor\nBrandon.\"\n\n\"That is an expression, Sir John,\" said Marianne, warmly, \"which I\nparticularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit\nis intended; and 'setting one's cap at a man,' or 'making a conquest,'\nare the most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and\nif their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago\ndestroyed all its ingenuity.\"\n\nSir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as\nheartily as if he did, and then replied,\n\n\"Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other.\nPoor Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth\nsetting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling\nabout and spraining of ankles.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 10\n\n\nMarianne's preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision,\nstyled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make\nhis personal enquiries. He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more\nthan politeness; with a kindness which Sir John's account of him and\nher own gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed during the\nvisit tended to assure him of the sense, elegance, mutual affection,\nand domestic comfort of the family to whom accident had now introduced\nhim. Of their personal charms he had not required a second interview\nto be convinced.\n\nMiss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a\nremarkably pretty figure. Marianne was still handsomer. Her form,\nthough not so correct as her sister's, in having the advantage of\nheight, was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the\ncommon cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less\nviolently outraged than usually happens. Her skin was very brown, but,\nfrom its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her\nfeatures were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her\neyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness,\nwhich could hardily be seen without delight. From Willoughby their\nexpression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which the\nremembrance of his assistance created. But when this passed away, when\nher spirits became collected, when she saw that to the perfect\ngood-breeding of the gentleman, he united frankness and vivacity, and\nabove all, when she heard him declare, that of music and dancing he was\npassionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as secured\nthe largest share of his discourse to herself for the rest of his stay.\n\nIt was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her\nto talk. She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and\nshe had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion. They speedily\ndiscovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and\nthat it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related\nto either. Encouraged by this to a further examination of his\nopinions, she proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her\nfavourite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous\na delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been\ninsensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence\nof such works, however disregarded before. Their taste was strikingly\nalike. The same books, the same passages were idolized by each--or if\nany difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than\ntill the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be\ndisplayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her\nenthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with\nthe familiarity of a long-established acquaintance.\n\n\"Well, Marianne,\" said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, \"for ONE\nmorning I think you have done pretty well. You have already\nascertained Mr. Willoughby's opinion in almost every matter of\nimportance. You know what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are\ncertain of his estimating their beauties as he ought, and you have\nreceived every assurance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper.\nBut how is your acquaintance to be long supported, under such\nextraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse? You will soon\nhave exhausted each favourite topic. Another meeting will suffice to\nexplain his sentiments on picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and\nthen you can have nothing farther to ask.\"--\n\n\"Elinor,\" cried Marianne, \"is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so\nscanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too\nhappy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of\ndecorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been\nreserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful--had I talked only of the\nweather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this\nreproach would have been spared.\"\n\n\"My love,\" said her mother, \"you must not be offended with Elinor--she\nwas only in jest. I should scold her myself, if she were capable of\nwishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new\nfriend.\"-- Marianne was softened in a moment.\n\nWilloughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure in their\nacquaintance, which an evident wish of improving it could offer. He\ncame to them every day. To enquire after Marianne was at first his\nexcuse; but the encouragement of his reception, to which every day gave\ngreater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had ceased\nto be possible, by Marianne's perfect recovery. She was confined for\nsome days to the house; but never had any confinement been less\nirksome. Willoughby was a young man of good abilities, quick\nimagination, lively spirits, and open, affectionate manners. He was\nexactly formed to engage Marianne's heart, for with all this, he joined\nnot only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was\nnow roused and increased by the example of her own, and which\nrecommended him to her affection beyond every thing else.\n\nHis society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment. They read,\nthey talked, they sang together; his musical talents were considerable;\nand he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward had\nunfortunately wanted.\n\nIn Mrs. Dashwood's estimation he was as faultless as in Marianne's; and\nElinor saw nothing to censure in him but a propensity, in which he\nstrongly resembled and peculiarly delighted her sister, of saying too\nmuch what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or\ncircumstances. In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other\npeople, in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoyment of undivided\nattention where his heart was engaged, and in slighting too easily the\nforms of worldly propriety, he displayed a want of caution which Elinor\ncould not approve, in spite of all that he and Marianne could say in\nits support.\n\nMarianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized\nher at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her\nideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable. Willoughby was\nall that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour and in every\nbrighter period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour\ndeclared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his abilities\nwere strong.\n\nHer mother too, in whose mind not one speculative thought of their\nmarriage had been raised, by his prospect of riches, was led before the\nend of a week to hope and expect it; and secretly to congratulate\nherself on having gained two such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby.\n\nColonel Brandon's partiality for Marianne, which had so early been\ndiscovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when\nit ceased to be noticed by them. Their attention and wit were drawn\noff to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had\nincurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings\nbegan really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility.\nElinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments\nwhich Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction, were now\nactually excited by her sister; and that however a general resemblance\nof disposition between the parties might forward the affection of Mr.\nWilloughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no\nhindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon. She saw it with concern;\nfor what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a\nvery lively one of five and twenty? and as she could not even wish him\nsuccessful, she heartily wished him indifferent. She liked him--in\nspite of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of\ninterest. His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve\nappeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits than of any\nnatural gloominess of temper. Sir John had dropped hints of past\ninjuries and disappointments, which justified her belief of his being\nan unfortunate man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion.\n\nPerhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by\nWilloughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither\nlively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits.\n\n\"Brandon is just the kind of man,\" said Willoughby one day, when they\nwere talking of him together, \"whom every body speaks well of, and\nnobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers\nto talk to.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I think of him,\" cried Marianne.\n\n\"Do not boast of it, however,\" said Elinor, \"for it is injustice in\nboth of you. He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and\nI never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him.\"\n\n\"That he is patronised by YOU,\" replied Willoughby, \"is certainly in\nhis favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in\nitself. Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a\nwoman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the\nindifference of any body else?\"\n\n\"But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will\nmake amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother. If their\npraise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more\nundiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust.\"\n\n\"In defence of your protege you can even be saucy.\"\n\n\"My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will always\nhave attractions for me. Yes, Marianne, even in a man between thirty\nand forty. He has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad, has\nread, and has a thinking mind. I have found him capable of giving me\nmuch information on various subjects; and he has always answered my\ninquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good nature.\"\n\n\"That is to say,\" cried Marianne contemptuously, \"he has told you, that\nin the East Indies the climate is hot, and the mosquitoes are\ntroublesome.\"\n\n\"He WOULD have told me so, I doubt not, had I made any such inquiries,\nbut they happened to be points on which I had been previously informed.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Willoughby, \"his observations may have extended to the\nexistence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins.\"\n\n\"I may venture to say that HIS observations have stretched much further\nthan your candour. But why should you dislike him?\"\n\n\"I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a very\nrespectable man, who has every body's good word, and nobody's notice;\nwho, has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to\nemploy, and two new coats every year.\"\n\n\"Add to which,\" cried Marianne, \"that he has neither genius, taste, nor\nspirit. That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no\nardour, and his voice no expression.\"\n\n\"You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass,\" replied Elinor,\n\"and so much on the strength of your own imagination, that the\ncommendation I am able to give of him is comparatively cold and\ninsipid. I can only pronounce him to be a sensible man, well-bred,\nwell-informed, of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable\nheart.\"\n\n\"Miss Dashwood,\" cried Willoughby, \"you are now using me unkindly. You\nare endeavouring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my\nwill. But it will not do. You shall find me as stubborn as you can be\nartful. I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel\nBrandon; he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has\nfound fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him\nto buy my brown mare. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however,\nto be told, that I believe his character to be in other respects\nirreproachable, I am ready to confess it. And in return for an\nacknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the\nprivilege of disliking him as much as ever.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 11\n\n\nLittle had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came\ninto Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their\ntime as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such\nfrequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little\nleisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne\nwas recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir\nJohn had been previously forming, were put into execution. The private\nballs at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and\naccomplished as often as a showery October would allow. In every\nmeeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and\nfamiliarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly\ncalculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the\nDashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of\nMarianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving,\nin her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her\naffection.\n\nElinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only wished\nthat it were less openly shewn; and once or twice did venture to\nsuggest the propriety of some self-command to Marianne. But Marianne\nabhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve;\nand to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves\nillaudable, appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a\ndisgraceful subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions.\nWilloughby thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an\nillustration of their opinions.\n\nWhen he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every thing he\ndid, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their evenings at\nthe park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest\nof the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement\nof the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to\nseparate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and\nscarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of\ncourse most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and\nseemed hardly to provoke them.\n\nMrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left\nher no inclination for checking this excessive display of them. To her\nit was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and\nardent mind.\n\nThis was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was devoted to\nWilloughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with\nher from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it\npossible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her\npresent home.\n\nElinor's happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much at\nease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They afforded\nher no companion that could make amends for what she had left behind,\nnor that could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than\never. Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the\nconversation she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker,\nand from the first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a\nlarge share of her discourse. She had already repeated her own history\nto Elinor three or four times; and had Elinor's memory been equal to\nher means of improvement, she might have known very early in their\nacquaintance all the particulars of Mr. Jennings's last illness, and\nwhat he said to his wife a few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton\nwas more agreeable than her mother only in being more silent. Elinor\nneeded little observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere\ncalmness of manner with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her\nhusband and mother she was the same as to them; and intimacy was\ntherefore neither to be looked for nor desired. She had nothing to say\none day that she had not said the day before. Her insipidity was\ninvariable, for even her spirits were always the same; and though she\ndid not oppose the parties arranged by her husband, provided every\nthing were conducted in style and her two eldest children attended her,\nshe never appeared to receive more enjoyment from them than she might\nhave experienced in sitting at home;--and so little did her presence\nadd to the pleasure of the others, by any share in their conversation,\nthat they were sometimes only reminded of her being amongst them by her\nsolicitude about her troublesome boys.\n\nIn Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find\na person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite\nthe interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion.\nWilloughby was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even\nher sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his\nattentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less agreeable man might\nhave been more generally pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for\nhimself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in\nconversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the\nindifference of her sister.\n\nElinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect\nthat the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him.\nThis suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from\nhim one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by\nmutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on\nMarianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint\nsmile, \"Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second\nattachments.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Elinor, \"her opinions are all romantic.\"\n\n\"Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.\"\n\n\"I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on\nthe character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not.\nA few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of\ncommon sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define\nand to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.\"\n\n\"This will probably be the case,\" he replied; \"and yet there is\nsomething so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is\nsorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.\"\n\n\"I cannot agree with you there,\" said Elinor. \"There are\ninconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the\ncharms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her\nsystems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at\nnought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward\nto as her greatest possible advantage.\"\n\nAfter a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,--\n\n\"Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a\nsecond attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those\nwho have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the\ninconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be\nequally indifferent during the rest of their lives?\"\n\n\"Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles.\nI only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second\nattachment's being pardonable.\"\n\n\"This,\" said he, \"cannot hold; but a change, a total change of\nsentiments--No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements\nof a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they\nsucceeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I\nspeak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind\ngreatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who\nfrom an inforced change--from a series of unfortunate circumstances\"--\nHere he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much,\nand by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not\notherwise have entered Elinor's head. The lady would probably have\npassed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what\nconcerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it required but\na slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender\nrecollection of past regard. Elinor attempted no more. But Marianne,\nin her place, would not have done so little. The whole story would\nhave been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing\nestablished in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 12\n\n\nAs Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the\nlatter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of\nall that she knew before of Marianne's imprudence and want of thought,\nsurprised her by its extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her,\nwith the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one\nthat he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was\nexactly calculated to carry a woman. Without considering that it was\nnot in her mother's plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter\nher resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the\nservant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable\nto receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and\ntold her sister of it in raptures.\n\n\"He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,\"\nshe added, \"and when it arrives we will ride every day. You shall\nshare its use with me. Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the\ndelight of a gallop on some of these downs.\"\n\nMost unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to\ncomprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for\nsome time she refused to submit to them. As to an additional servant,\nthe expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to\nit; and any horse would do for HIM; he might always get one at the\npark; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. Elinor then\nventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a\nman so little, or at least so lately known to her. This was too much.\n\n\"You are mistaken, Elinor,\" said she warmly, \"in supposing I know very\nlittle of Willoughby. I have not known him long indeed, but I am much\nbetter acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the\nworld, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is\nto determine intimacy;--it is disposition alone. Seven years would be\ninsufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven\ndays are more than enough for others. I should hold myself guilty of\ngreater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from\nWilloughby. Of John I know very little, though we have lived together\nfor years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed.\"\n\nElinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more. She knew her\nsister's temper. Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach\nher the more to her own opinion. But by an appeal to her affection for\nher mother, by representing the inconveniences which that indulgent\nmother must draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she\nconsented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was shortly\nsubdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother to such imprudent\nkindness by mentioning the offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw\nhim next, that it must be declined.\n\nShe was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the\ncottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to\nhim in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his\npresent. The reasons for this alteration were at the same time\nrelated, and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side\nimpossible. His concern however was very apparent; and after\nexpressing it with earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,--\"But,\nMarianne, the horse is still yours, though you cannot use it now. I\nshall keep it only till you can claim it. When you leave Barton to\nform your own establishment in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall\nreceive you.\"\n\nThis was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the whole of the\nsentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her\nsister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so\ndecided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between\nthem. From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each\nother; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or\nany of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover\nit by accident.\n\nMargaret related something to her the next day, which placed this\nmatter in a still clearer light. Willoughby had spent the preceding\nevening with them, and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlour\nwith only him and Marianne, had had opportunity for observations,\nwhich, with a most important face, she communicated to her eldest\nsister, when they were next by themselves.\n\n\"Oh, Elinor!\" she cried, \"I have such a secret to tell you about\nMarianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon.\"\n\n\"You have said so,\" replied Elinor, \"almost every day since they first\nmet on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I\nbelieve, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round\nher neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great\nuncle.\"\n\n\"But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they will be\nmarried very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair.\"\n\n\"Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some great uncle of\nHIS.\"\n\n\"But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne's. I am almost sure it is, for I\nsaw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you and mama went out\nof the room, they were whispering and talking together as fast as could\nbe, and he seemed to be begging something of her, and presently he took\nup her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all\ntumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of\nwhite paper; and put it into his pocket-book.\"\n\nFor such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not\nwithhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance\nwas in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself.\n\nMargaret's sagacity was not always displayed in a way so satisfactory\nto her sister. When Mrs. Jennings attacked her one evening at the\npark, to give the name of the young man who was Elinor's particular\nfavourite, which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her,\nMargaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying, \"I must not\ntell, may I, Elinor?\"\n\nThis of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too.\nBut the effort was painful. She was convinced that Margaret had fixed\non a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a\nstanding joke with Mrs. Jennings.\n\nMarianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good\nto the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to\nMargaret,\n\n\"Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to\nrepeat them.\"\n\n\"I never had any conjectures about it,\" replied Margaret; \"it was you\nwho told me of it yourself.\"\n\nThis increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly\npressed to say something more.\n\n\"Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,\" said Mrs.\nJennings. \"What is the gentleman's name?\"\n\n\"I must not tell, ma'am. But I know very well what it is; and I know\nwhere he is too.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be\nsure. He is the curate of the parish I dare say.\"\n\n\"No, THAT he is not. He is of no profession at all.\"\n\n\"Margaret,\" said Marianne with great warmth, \"you know that all this is\nan invention of your own, and that there is no such person in\nexistence.\"\n\n\"Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such\na man once, and his name begins with an F.\"\n\nMost grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for observing, at this\nmoment, \"that it rained very hard,\" though she believed the\ninterruption to proceed less from any attention to her, than from her\nladyship's great dislike of all such inelegant subjects of raillery as\ndelighted her husband and mother. The idea however started by her, was\nimmediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion\nmindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of\nrain by both of them. Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked\nMarianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of\ndifferent people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground. But not so\neasily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.\n\nA party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a\nvery fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a\nbrother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not\nbe seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders\non that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and\nSir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed\nto be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at\nleast, twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a\nnoble piece of water; a sail on which was to a form a great part of the\nmorning's amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages\nonly to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a\ncomplete party of pleasure.\n\nTo some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking,\nconsidering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the\nlast fortnight;--and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was\npersuaded by Elinor to stay at home.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 13\n\n\nTheir intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from\nwhat Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through,\nfatigued, and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for\nthey did not go at all.\n\nBy ten o'clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they\nwere to breakfast. The morning was rather favourable, though it had\nrained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky,\nand the sun frequently appeared. They were all in high spirits and\ngood humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the\ngreatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.\n\nWhile they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the\nrest there was one for Colonel Brandon;--he took it, looked at the\ndirection, changed colour, and immediately left the room.\n\n\"What is the matter with Brandon?\" said Sir John.\n\nNobody could tell.\n\n\"I hope he has had no bad news,\" said Lady Middleton. \"It must be\nsomething extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my\nbreakfast table so suddenly.\"\n\nIn about five minutes he returned.\n\n\"No bad news, Colonel, I hope;\" said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he\nentered the room.\n\n\"None at all, ma'am, I thank you.\"\n\n\"Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is\nworse.\"\n\n\"No, ma'am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business.\"\n\n\"But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a\nletter of business? Come, come, this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear\nthe truth of it.\"\n\n\"My dear madam,\" said Lady Middleton, \"recollect what you are saying.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?\" said\nMrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter's reproof.\n\n\"No, indeed, it is not.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.\"\n\n\"Whom do you mean, ma'am?\" said he, colouring a little.\n\n\"Oh! you know who I mean.\"\n\n\"I am particularly sorry, ma'am,\" said he, addressing Lady Middleton,\n\"that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which\nrequires my immediate attendance in town.\"\n\n\"In town!\" cried Mrs. Jennings. \"What can you have to do in town at\nthis time of year?\"\n\n\"My own loss is great,\" he continued, \"in being obliged to leave so\nagreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence\nis necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell.\"\n\nWhat a blow upon them all was this!\n\n\"But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,\" said\nMarianne, eagerly, \"will it not be sufficient?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"We must go,\" said Sir John.--\"It shall not be put off when we are so\nnear it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.\"\n\n\"I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to\ndelay my journey for one day!\"\n\n\"If you would but let us know what your business is,\" said Mrs.\nJennings, \"we might see whether it could be put off or not.\"\n\n\"You would not be six hours later,\" said Willoughby, \"if you were to\ndefer your journey till our return.\"\n\n\"I cannot afford to lose ONE hour.\"--\n\nElinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, \"There\nare some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of\nthem. He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this\ntrick for getting out of it. I would lay fifty guineas the letter was\nof his own writing.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt of it,\" replied Marianne.\n\n\"There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of\nold,\" said Sir John, \"when once you are determined on anything. But,\nhowever, I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the\ntwo Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked\nup from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his\nusual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell.\"\n\nColonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of\ndisappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be\nunavoidable.\n\n\"Well, then, when will you come back again?\"\n\n\"I hope we shall see you at Barton,\" added her ladyship, \"as soon as\nyou can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to\nWhitwell till you return.\"\n\n\"You are very obliging. But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in\nmy power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all.\"\n\n\"Oh! he must and shall come back,\" cried Sir John. \"If he is not here\nby the end of the week, I shall go after him.\"\n\n\"Ay, so do, Sir John,\" cried Mrs. Jennings, \"and then perhaps you may\nfind out what his business is.\"\n\n\"I do not want to pry into other men's concerns. I suppose it is\nsomething he is ashamed of.\"\n\nColonel Brandon's horses were announced.\n\n\"You do not go to town on horseback, do you?\" added Sir John.\n\n\"No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.\"\n\n\"Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you\nhad better change your mind.\"\n\n\"I assure you it is not in my power.\"\n\nHe then took leave of the whole party.\n\n\"Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this\nwinter, Miss Dashwood?\"\n\n\"I am afraid, none at all.\"\n\n\"Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to\ndo.\"\n\nTo Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.\n\n\"Come Colonel,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"before you go, do let us know what\nyou are going about.\"\n\nHe wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room.\n\nThe complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto\nrestrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and\nagain how provoking it was to be so disappointed.\n\n\"I can guess what his business is, however,\" said Mrs. Jennings\nexultingly.\n\n\"Can you, ma'am?\" said almost every body.\n\n\"Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.\"\n\n\"And who is Miss Williams?\" asked Marianne.\n\n\"What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have\nheard of her before. She is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear; a\nvery near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the\nyoung ladies.\" Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor,\n\"She is his natural daughter.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel\nwill leave her all his fortune.\"\n\nWhen Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret\non so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as\nthey were all got together, they must do something by way of being\nhappy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although\nhappiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a\ntolerable composure of mind by driving about the country. The\ncarriages were then ordered; Willoughby's was first, and Marianne never\nlooked happier than when she got into it. He drove through the park\nvery fast, and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them\nwas seen till their return, which did not happen till after the return\nof all the rest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said\nonly in general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others\nwent on the downs.\n\nIt was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that\nevery body should be extremely merry all day long. Some more of the\nCareys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly\ntwenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment.\nWilloughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.\nMrs. Jennings sat on Elinor's right hand; and they had not been long\nseated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to\nMarianne, loud enough for them both to hear, \"I have found you out in\nspite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning.\"\n\nMarianne coloured, and replied very hastily, \"Where, pray?\"--\n\n\"Did not you know,\" said Willoughby, \"that we had been out in my\ncurricle?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined\nto find out WHERE you had been to.-- I hope you like your house, Miss\nMarianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you,\nI hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when\nI was there six years ago.\"\n\nMarianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed\nheartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they\nhad been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr.\nWilloughby's groom; and that she had by that method been informed that\nthey had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in\nwalking about the garden and going all over the house.\n\nElinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely\nthat Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house\nwhile Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest\nacquaintance.\n\nAs soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it;\nand great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance\nrelated by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true. Marianne was quite angry\nwith her for doubting it.\n\n\"Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we\ndid not see the house? Is not it what you have often wished to do\nyourself?\"\n\n\"Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with\nno other companion than Mr. Willoughby.\"\n\n\"Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to shew\nthat house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to\nhave any other companion. I never spent a pleasanter morning in my\nlife.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" replied Elinor, \"that the pleasantness of an employment\ndoes not always evince its propriety.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if\nthere had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been\nsensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting\nwrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very\nimpertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of\nyour own conduct?\"\n\n\"If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of\nimpropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives.\nI value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation. I\nam not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs.\nSmith's grounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr.\nWilloughby's, and--\"\n\n\"If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be\njustified in what you have done.\"\n\nShe blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her;\nand after a ten minutes' interval of earnest thought, she came to her\nsister again, and said with great good humour, \"Perhaps, Elinor, it WAS\nrather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wanted\nparticularly to shew me the place; and it is a charming house, I assure\nyou.--There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a nice\ncomfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it would\nbe delightful. It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides. On\none side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a\nbeautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church\nand village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so\noften admired. I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be\nmore forlorn than the furniture,--but if it were newly fitted up--a\ncouple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the\npleasantest summer-rooms in England.\"\n\nCould Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others,\nshe would have described every room in the house with equal delight.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 14\n\n\nThe sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's visit at the park, with his\nsteadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the\nwonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great\nwonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all\nthe comings and goings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with\nlittle intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must\nbe some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could\nhave befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape\nthem all.\n\n\"Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure,\" said she.\n\"I could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances\nmay be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two\nthousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do\nthink he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can\nit be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the\ntruth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare\nsay it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be\nshe is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a\nnotion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about\nMiss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his\ncircumstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must\nhave cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be\nhis sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting\noff in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all\nhis trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.\"\n\nSo wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion varying with every\nfresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.\nElinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel\nBrandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away,\nwhich Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that the\ncircumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or\nvariety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of. It was\nengrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on\nthe subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them\nall. As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange\nand more incompatible with the disposition of both. Why they should\nnot openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant\nbehaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not\nimagine.\n\nShe could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in\ntheir power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason\nto believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at about\nsix or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that\nincome could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of\nhis poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by them\nrelative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all,\nshe could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to their\ngeneral opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind\nof their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her\nmaking any inquiry of Marianne.\n\nNothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than\nWilloughby's behaviour. To Marianne it had all the distinguishing\ntenderness which a lover's heart could give, and to the rest of the\nfamily it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother. The\ncottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many more\nof his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general\nengagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him\nout in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest\nof the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his\nfavourite pointer at her feet.\n\nOne evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the\ncountry, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of\nattachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood's happening\nto mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly\nopposed every alteration of a place which affection had established as\nperfect with him.\n\n\"What!\" he exclaimed--\"Improve this dear cottage! No. THAT I will\nnever consent to. Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch\nto its size, if my feelings are regarded.\"\n\n\"Do not be alarmed,\" said Miss Dashwood, \"nothing of the kind will be\ndone; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it.\"\n\n\"I am heartily glad of it,\" he cried. \"May she always be poor, if she\ncan employ her riches no better.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not\nsacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one\nwhom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it\nthat whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in\nthe spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it\nin a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this\nplace as to see no defect in it?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said he. \"To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider it as\nthe only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I\nrich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in\nthe exact plan of this cottage.\"\n\n\"With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,\" said\nElinor.\n\n\"Yes,\" cried he in the same eager tone, \"with all and every thing\nbelonging to it;--in no one convenience or INconvenience about it,\nshould the least variation be perceptible. Then, and then only, under\nsuch a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at\nBarton.\"\n\n\"I flatter myself,\" replied Elinor, \"that even under the disadvantage\nof better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your\nown house as faultless as you now do this.\"\n\n\"There certainly are circumstances,\" said Willoughby, \"which might\ngreatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of\nmy affection, which no other can possibly share.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were\nfixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she\nunderstood him.\n\n\"How often did I wish,\" added he, \"when I was at Allenham this time\ntwelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! I never passed within\nview of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one\nshould live in it. How little did I then think that the very first\nnews I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country,\nwould be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate\nsatisfaction and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of\nprescience of what happiness I should experience from it, can account\nfor. Must it not have been so, Marianne?\" speaking to her in a lowered\nvoice. Then continuing his former tone, he said, \"And yet this house\nyou would spoil, Mrs. Dashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by\nimaginary improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance\nfirst began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by\nus together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance,\nand every body would be eager to pass through the room which has\nhitherto contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort\nthan any other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world\ncould possibly afford.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should\nbe attempted.\n\n\"You are a good woman,\" he warmly replied. \"Your promise makes me\neasy. Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy. Tell me\nthat not only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever\nfind you and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will\nalways consider me with the kindness which has made everything\nbelonging to you so dear to me.\"\n\nThe promise was readily given, and Willoughby's behaviour during the\nwhole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.\n\n\"Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?\" said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was\nleaving them. \"I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must\nwalk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton.\"\n\nHe engaged to be with them by four o'clock.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 15\n\n\nMrs. Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and\ntwo of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from\nbeing of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her\nmother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the\nnight before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly\nsatisfied with her remaining at home.\n\nOn their return from the park they found Willoughby's curricle and\nservant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that\nher conjecture had been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen;\nbut on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her\nto expect. They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came\nhastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her\nhandkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.\nSurprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had\njust quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against\nthe mantel-piece with his back towards them. He turned round on their\ncoming in, and his countenance shewed that he strongly partook of the\nemotion which over-powered Marianne.\n\n\"Is anything the matter with her?\" cried Mrs. Dashwood as she\nentered--\"is she ill?\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced\nsmile presently added, \"It is I who may rather expect to be ill--for I\nam now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!\"\n\n\"Disappointment?\"\n\n\"Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. Mrs. Smith has\nthis morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent\ncousin, by sending me on business to London. I have just received my\ndispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of\nexhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you.\"\n\n\"To London!--and are you going this morning?\"\n\n\"Almost this moment.\"\n\n\"This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;--and her\nbusiness will not detain you from us long I hope.\"\n\nHe coloured as he replied, \"You are very kind, but I have no idea of\nreturning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are\nnever repeated within the twelvemonth.\"\n\n\"And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the\nneighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can\nyou wait for an invitation here?\"\n\nHis colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only\nreplied, \"You are too good.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal\namazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood\nfirst spoke.\n\n\"I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you\nwill always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here\nimmediately, because you only can judge how far THAT might be pleasing\nto Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question\nyour judgment than to doubt your inclination.\"\n\n\"My engagements at present,\" replied Willoughby, confusedly, \"are of\nsuch a nature--that--I dare not flatter myself\"--\n\nHe stopt. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another\npause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint\nsmile, \"It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment\nmyself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is\nimpossible for me now to enjoy.\"\n\nHe then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him\nstep into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.\n\nMrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the\nparlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this\nsudden departure occasioned.\n\nElinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's. She thought of\nwhat had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby's behaviour\nin taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of\ncheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother's\ninvitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself,\ngreatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design\nhad ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate\nquarrel had taken place between him and her sister;--the distress in\nwhich Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could\nmost reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne's\nlove for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.\n\nBut whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister's\naffliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest\ncompassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability\nnot merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a\nduty.\n\nIn about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were\nred, her countenance was not uncheerful.\n\n\"Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,\" said she,\nas she sat down to work, \"and with how heavy a heart does he travel?\"\n\n\"It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work\nof a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so\naffectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice--Gone too without\nintending to return!--Something more than what he owned to us must have\nhappened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. YOU must\nhave seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have\nquarrelled? Why else should he have shewn such unwillingness to accept\nyour invitation here?\"--\n\n\"It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see\nTHAT. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all\nover I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at\nfirst seemed strange to me as well as to you.\"\n\n\"Can you, indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;--but\nyou, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can--it will not satisfy YOU,\nI know; but you shall not talk ME out of my trust in it. I am\npersuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves\nof it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that\naccount is eager to get him away;--and that the business which she\nsends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him.\nThis is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that\nshe DOES disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present\nconfess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself\nobliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and\nabsent himself from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know,\nthat this may or may NOT have happened; but I will listen to no cavil,\nunless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair\nas satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?\"\n\n\"Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.\"\n\n\"Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened.\nOh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather\ntake evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery\nfor Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the\nlatter. You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave\nof us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shewn. And is\nno allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by\nrecent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely\nbecause they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we\nhave all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill\nof? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though\nunavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect\nhim of?\"\n\n\"I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is\nthe inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed\nin him. There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of\nthe allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be\ncandid in my judgment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have\nvery sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.\nBut it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at\nonce. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at\nits being practiced by him.\"\n\n\"Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the\ndeviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I\nhave said in his defence?--I am happy--and he is acquitted.\"\n\n\"Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they\nARE engaged) from Mrs. Smith--and if that is the case, it must be\nhighly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at\npresent. But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.\"\n\n\"Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and\nMarianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have\nbeen reproaching them every day for incautiousness.\"\n\n\"I want no proof of their affection,\" said Elinor; \"but of their\nengagement I do.\"\n\n\"I am perfectly satisfied of both.\"\n\n\"Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of\nthem.\"\n\n\"I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has\nnot his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last\nfortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future\nwife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation?\nHave we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been\ndaily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate\nrespect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How\ncould such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that\nWilloughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister's love, should leave\nher, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his\naffection;--that they should part without a mutual exchange of\nconfidence?\"\n\n\"I confess,\" replied Elinor, \"that every circumstance except ONE is in\nfavour of their engagement; but that ONE is the total silence of both\non the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.\"\n\n\"How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby,\nif, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the\nnature of the terms on which they are together. Has he been acting a\npart in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him\nreally indifferent to her?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.\"\n\n\"But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such\nindifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to him.\"\n\n\"You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this\nmatter as certain. I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are\nfainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away. If we\nfind they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed.\"\n\n\"A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at the altar, you\nwould suppose they were going to be married. Ungracious girl! But I\nrequire no such proof. Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to\njustify doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly\nopen and unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister's wishes. It must\nbe Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why? Is he not a man of\nhonour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to\ncreate alarm? can he be deceitful?\"\n\n\"I hope not, I believe not,\" cried Elinor. \"I love Willoughby,\nsincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more\npainful to yourself than to me. It has been involuntary, and I will\nnot encourage it. I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his\nmanners this morning;--he did not speak like himself, and did not\nreturn your kindness with any cordiality. But all this may be\nexplained by such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed. He\nhad just parted from my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest\naffliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs.\nSmith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yet aware\nthat by declining your invitation, by saying that he was going away for\nsome time, he should seem to act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by\nour family, he might well be embarrassed and disturbed. In such a\ncase, a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more\nto his honour I think, as well as more consistent with his general\ncharacter;--but I will not raise objections against any one's conduct\non so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgment from myself,\nor a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.\"\n\n\"You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be\nsuspected. Though WE have not known him long, he is no stranger in\nthis part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage?\nHad he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately,\nit might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging\neverything to me at once: but this is not the case. It is an\nengagement in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage\nmust be at a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it\ncan be observed, may now be very advisable.\"\n\nThey were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and Elinor was then\nat liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to\nacknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all.\n\nThey saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the\nroom and took her place at the table without saying a word. Her eyes\nwere red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then\nrestrained with difficulty. She avoided the looks of them all, could\nneither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother's silently\npressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude\nwas quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.\n\nThis violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening. She\nwas without any power, because she was without any desire of command\nover herself. The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughby\noverpowered her in an instant; and though her family were most\nanxiously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, if they\nspoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her feelings\nconnected with him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 16\n\n\nMarianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able\nto sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She\nwould have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next\nmorning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than\nwhen she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a\ndisgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the\nwhole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with a\nheadache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment;\ngiving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all\nattempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough!\n\nWhen breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and wandered about\nthe village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment\nand crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning.\n\nThe evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling. She played\nover every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby,\nevery air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at\nthe instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out\nfor her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be\ngained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She spent\nwhole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and crying; her voice\noften totally suspended by her tears. In books too, as well as in\nmusic, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and\npresent was certain of giving. She read nothing but what they had been\nused to read together.\n\nSuch violence of affliction indeed could not be supported for ever; it\nsunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; but these employments,\nto which she daily recurred, her solitary walks and silent meditations,\nstill produced occasional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever.\n\nNo letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed expected by Marianne.\nHer mother was surprised, and Elinor again became uneasy. But Mrs.\nDashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at\nleast satisfied herself.\n\n\"Remember, Elinor,\" said she, \"how very often Sir John fetches our\nletters himself from the post, and carries them to it. We have already\nagreed that secrecy may be necessary, and we must acknowledge that it\ncould not be maintained if their correspondence were to pass through\nSir John's hands.\"\n\nElinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to find in it a\nmotive sufficient for their silence. But there was one method so\ndirect, so simple, and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real\nstate of the affair, and of instantly removing all mystery, that she\ncould not help suggesting it to her mother.\n\n\"Why do you not ask Marianne at once,\" said she, \"whether she is or she\nis not engaged to Willoughby? From you, her mother, and so kind, so\nindulgent a mother, the question could not give offence. It would be\nthe natural result of your affection for her. She used to be all\nunreserve, and to you more especially.\"\n\n\"I would not ask such a question for the world. Supposing it possible\nthat they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry\ninflict! At any rate it would be most ungenerous. I should never\ndeserve her confidence again, after forcing from her a confession of\nwhat is meant at present to be unacknowledged to any one. I know\nMarianne's heart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not\nbe the last to whom the affair is made known, when circumstances make\nthe revealment of it eligible. I would not attempt to force the\nconfidence of any one; of a child much less; because a sense of duty\nwould prevent the denial which her wishes might direct.\"\n\nElinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister's\nyouth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, common\ncare, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood's romantic\ndelicacy.\n\nIt was several days before Willoughby's name was mentioned before\nMarianne by any of her family; Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, indeed, were\nnot so nice; their witticisms added pain to many a painful hour;--but\none evening, Mrs. Dashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of\nShakespeare, exclaimed,\n\n\"We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away\nbefore we could get through it. We will put it by, that when he comes\nagain...But it may be months, perhaps, before THAT happens.\"\n\n\"Months!\" cried Marianne, with strong surprise. \"No--nor many weeks.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor\npleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of\nconfidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions.\n\nOne morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was\nprevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of\nwandering away by herself. Hitherto she had carefully avoided every\ncompanion in her rambles. If her sisters intended to walk on the\ndowns, she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of the\nvalley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be\nfound when the others set off. But at length she was secured by the\nexertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion.\nThey walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence,\nfor Marianne's MIND could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied with\ngaining one point, would not then attempt more. Beyond the entrance of\nthe valley, where the country, though still rich, was less wild and\nmore open, a long stretch of the road which they had travelled on first\ncoming to Barton, lay before them; and on reaching that point, they\nstopped to look around them, and examine a prospect which formed the\ndistance of their view from the cottage, from a spot which they had\nnever happened to reach in any of their walks before.\n\nAmongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated one;\nit was a man on horseback riding towards them. In a few minutes they\ncould distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment afterwards\nMarianne rapturously exclaimed,\n\n\"It is he; it is indeed;--I know it is!\"--and was hastening to meet\nhim, when Elinor cried out,\n\n\"Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby.\nThe person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air.\"\n\n\"He has, he has,\" cried Marianne, \"I am sure he has. His air, his\ncoat, his horse. I knew how soon he would come.\"\n\nShe walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne from\nparticularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being Willoughby,\nquickened her pace and kept up with her. They were soon within thirty\nyards of the gentleman. Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within\nher; and abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back, when the voices\nof both her sisters were raised to detain her; a third, almost as well\nknown as Willoughby's, joined them in begging her to stop, and she\nturned round with surprise to see and welcome Edward Ferrars.\n\nHe was the only person in the world who could at that moment be\nforgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained a\nsmile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on HIM, and in her\nsister's happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment.\n\nHe dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with\nthem to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them.\n\nHe was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by\nMarianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than\neven Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward\nand her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness\nwhich she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour. On\nEdward's side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a\nlover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was confused,\nseemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither\nrapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by\nquestions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne\nsaw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a\ndislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by\ncarrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a\ncontrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect.\n\nAfter a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries\nof meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No,\nhe had been in Devonshire a fortnight.\n\n\"A fortnight!\" she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same\ncounty with Elinor without seeing her before.\n\nHe looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with\nsome friends near Plymouth.\n\n\"Have you been lately in Sussex?\" said Elinor.\n\n\"I was at Norland about a month ago.\"\n\n\"And how does dear, dear Norland look?\" cried Marianne.\n\n\"Dear, dear Norland,\" said Elinor, \"probably looks much as it always\ndoes at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered\nwith dead leaves.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Marianne, \"with what transporting sensation have I formerly\nseen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven\nin showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season,\nthe air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They\nare seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as\npossible from the sight.\"\n\n\"It is not every one,\" said Elinor, \"who has your passion for dead\nleaves.\"\n\n\"No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But\nSOMETIMES they are.\"--As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a\nfew moments;--but rousing herself again, \"Now, Edward,\" said she,\ncalling his attention to the prospect, \"here is Barton valley. Look up\nto it, and be tranquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever\nsee their equals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and\nplantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, beneath\nthat farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.\"\n\n\"It is a beautiful country,\" he replied; \"but these bottoms must be\ndirty in winter.\"\n\n\"How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?\"\n\n\"Because,\" replied he, smiling, \"among the rest of the objects before\nme, I see a very dirty lane.\"\n\n\"How strange!\" said Marianne to herself as she walked on.\n\n\"Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the Middletons pleasant\npeople?\"\n\n\"No, not all,\" answered Marianne; \"we could not be more unfortunately\nsituated.\"\n\n\"Marianne,\" cried her sister, \"how can you say so? How can you be so\nunjust? They are a very respectable family, Mr. Ferrars; and towards\nus have behaved in the friendliest manner. Have you forgot, Marianne,\nhow many pleasant days we have owed to them?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Marianne, in a low voice, \"nor how many painful moments.\"\n\nElinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention to their\nvisitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse with him, by\ntalking of their present residence, its conveniences, &c. extorting\nfrom him occasional questions and remarks. His coldness and reserve\nmortified her severely; she was vexed and half angry; but resolving to\nregulate her behaviour to him by the past rather than the present, she\navoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, and treated him\nas she thought he ought to be treated from the family connection.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 17\n\n\nMrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at seeing him; for his\ncoming to Barton was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural.\nHer joy and expression of regard long outlived her wonder. He received\nthe kindest welcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not\nstand against such a reception. They had begun to fail him before he\nentered the house, and they were quite overcome by the captivating\nmanners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a man could not very well be in love\nwith either of her daughters, without extending the passion to her; and\nElinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become more like\nhimself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and his\ninterest in their welfare again became perceptible. He was not in\nspirits, however; he praised their house, admired its prospect, was\nattentive, and kind; but still he was not in spirits. The whole family\nperceived it, and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of\nliberality in his mother, sat down to table indignant against all\nselfish parents.\n\n\"What are Mrs. Ferrars's views for you at present, Edward?\" said she,\nwhen dinner was over and they had drawn round the fire; \"are you still\nto be a great orator in spite of yourself?\"\n\n\"No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no more talents than\ninclination for a public life!\"\n\n\"But how is your fame to be established? for famous you must be to\nsatisfy all your family; and with no inclination for expense, no\naffection for strangers, no profession, and no assurance, you may find\nit a difficult matter.\"\n\n\"I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to be distinguished; and have\nevery reason to hope I never shall. Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced\ninto genius and eloquence.\"\n\n\"You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishes are all moderate.\"\n\n\"As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe. I wish as\nwell as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, like every body\nelse it must be in my own way. Greatness will not make me so.\"\n\n\"Strange that it would!\" cried Marianne. \"What have wealth or grandeur\nto do with happiness?\"\n\n\"Grandeur has but little,\" said Elinor, \"but wealth has much to do with\nit.\"\n\n\"Elinor, for shame!\" said Marianne, \"money can only give happiness\nwhere there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence, it can\nafford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is concerned.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Elinor, smiling, \"we may come to the same point. YOUR\ncompetence and MY wealth are very much alike, I dare say; and without\nthem, as the world goes now, we shall both agree that every kind of\nexternal comfort must be wanting. Your ideas are only more noble than\nmine. Come, what is your competence?\"\n\n\"About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than THAT.\"\n\nElinor laughed. \"TWO thousand a year! ONE is my wealth! I guessed how\nit would end.\"\n\n\"And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income,\" said Marianne.\n\"A family cannot well be maintained on a smaller. I am sure I am not\nextravagant in my demands. A proper establishment of servants, a\ncarriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less.\"\n\nElinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so accurately their\nfuture expenses at Combe Magna.\n\n\"Hunters!\" repeated Edward--\"but why must you have hunters? Every body\ndoes not hunt.\"\n\nMarianne coloured as she replied, \"But most people do.\"\n\n\"I wish,\" said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, \"that somebody\nwould give us all a large fortune apiece!\"\n\n\"Oh that they would!\" cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with\nanimation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary\nhappiness.\n\n\"We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,\" said Elinor, \"in spite\nof the insufficiency of wealth.\"\n\n\"Oh dear!\" cried Margaret, \"how happy I should be! I wonder what I\nshould do with it!\"\n\nMarianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point.\n\n\"I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,\" said Mrs.\nDashwood, \"if my children were all to be rich without my help.\"\n\n\"You must begin your improvements on this house,\" observed Elinor, \"and\nyour difficulties will soon vanish.\"\n\n\"What magnificent orders would travel from this family to London,\" said\nEdward, \"in such an event! What a happy day for booksellers,\nmusic-sellers, and print-shops! You, Miss Dashwood, would give a\ngeneral commission for every new print of merit to be sent you--and as\nfor Marianne, I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music\nenough in London to content her. And books!--Thomson, Cowper,\nScott--she would buy them all over and over again: she would buy up\nevery copy, I believe, to prevent their falling into unworthy hands;\nand she would have every book that tells her how to admire an old\ntwisted tree. Should not you, Marianne? Forgive me, if I am very\nsaucy. But I was willing to shew you that I had not forgot our old\ndisputes.\"\n\n\"I love to be reminded of the past, Edward--whether it be melancholy or\ngay, I love to recall it--and you will never offend me by talking of\nformer times. You are very right in supposing how my money would be\nspent--some of it, at least--my loose cash would certainly be employed\nin improving my collection of music and books.\"\n\n\"And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annuities on the\nauthors or their heirs.\"\n\n\"No, Edward, I should have something else to do with it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on that person who\nwrote the ablest defence of your favourite maxim, that no one can ever\nbe in love more than once in their life--your opinion on that point is\nunchanged, I presume?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed. It is\nnot likely that I should now see or hear any thing to change them.\"\n\n\"Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see,\" said Elinor, \"she is not\nat all altered.\"\n\n\"She is only grown a little more grave than she was.\"\n\n\"Nay, Edward,\" said Marianne, \"you need not reproach me. You are not\nvery gay yourself.\"\n\n\"Why should you think so!\" replied he, with a sigh. \"But gaiety never\nwas a part of MY character.\"\n\n\"Nor do I think it a part of Marianne's,\" said Elinor; \"I should hardly\ncall her a lively girl--she is very earnest, very eager in all she\ndoes--sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation--but she\nis not often really merry.\"\n\n\"I believe you are right,\" he replied, \"and yet I have always set her\ndown as a lively girl.\"\n\n\"I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes,\" said\nElinor, \"in a total misapprehension of character in some point or\nother: fancying people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or\nstupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why or in what the\ndeception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what they say of\nthemselves, and very frequently by what other people say of them,\nwithout giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.\"\n\n\"But I thought it was right, Elinor,\" said Marianne, \"to be guided\nwholly by the opinion of other people. I thought our judgments were\ngiven us merely to be subservient to those of neighbours. This has\nalways been your doctrine, I am sure.\"\n\n\"No, Marianne, never. My doctrine has never aimed at the subjection of\nthe understanding. All I have ever attempted to influence has been the\nbehaviour. You must not confound my meaning. I am guilty, I confess,\nof having often wished you to treat our acquaintance in general with\ngreater attention; but when have I advised you to adopt their\nsentiments or to conform to their judgment in serious matters?\"\n\n\"You have not been able to bring your sister over to your plan of\ngeneral civility,\" said Edward to Elinor. \"Do you gain no ground?\"\n\n\"Quite the contrary,\" replied Elinor, looking expressively at Marianne.\n\n\"My judgment,\" he returned, \"is all on your side of the question; but I\nam afraid my practice is much more on your sister's. I never wish to\noffend, but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent, when I\nam only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have frequently thought\nthat I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I\nam so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!\"\n\n\"Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of hers,\" said\nElinor.\n\n\"She knows her own worth too well for false shame,\" replied Edward.\n\"Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or\nother. If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy\nand graceful, I should not be shy.\"\n\n\"But you would still be reserved,\" said Marianne, \"and that is worse.\"\n\nEdward started--\"Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?\"\n\n\"Yes, very.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" replied he, colouring. \"Reserved!--how, in\nwhat manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?\"\n\nElinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to laugh off the\nsubject, she said to him, \"Do not you know my sister well enough to\nunderstand what she means? Do not you know she calls every one\nreserved who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as\nrapturously as herself?\"\n\nEdward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him\nin their fullest extent--and he sat for some time silent and dull.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 18\n\n\nElinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend. His\nvisit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own\nenjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was\nunhappy; she wished it were equally evident that he still distinguished\nher by the same affection which once she had felt no doubt of\ninspiring; but hitherto the continuance of his preference seemed very\nuncertain; and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted\none moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one.\n\nHe joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-room the next morning\nbefore the others were down; and Marianne, who was always eager to\npromote their happiness as far as she could, soon left them to\nthemselves. But before she was half way upstairs she heard the parlour\ndoor open, and, turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself\ncome out.\n\n\"I am going into the village to see my horses,\" said he, \"as you are\nnot yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again presently.\"\n\n ***\n\nEdward returned to them with fresh admiration of the surrounding\ncountry; in his walk to the village, he had seen many parts of the\nvalley to advantage; and the village itself, in a much higher situation\nthan the cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which had\nexceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensured Marianne's\nattention, and she was beginning to describe her own admiration of\nthese scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects that had\nparticularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, \"You\nmust not enquire too far, Marianne--remember I have no knowledge in the\npicturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste\nif we come to particulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be\nbold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and\nrugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be\nindistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere. You must be\nsatisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give. I call it a\nvery fine country--the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine\ntimber, and the valley looks comfortable and snug--with rich meadows\nand several neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly\nanswers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty with\nutility--and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, because you admire\nit; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey\nmoss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me. I know nothing of\nthe picturesque.\"\n\n\"I am afraid it is but too true,\" said Marianne; \"but why should you\nboast of it?\"\n\n\"I suspect,\" said Elinor, \"that to avoid one kind of affectation,\nEdward here falls into another. Because he believes many people\npretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really\nfeel, and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater\nindifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he\npossesses. He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.\"\n\n\"It is very true,\" said Marianne, \"that admiration of landscape scenery\nis become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to\ndescribe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what\npicturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I\nhave kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to\ndescribe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and\nmeaning.\"\n\n\"I am convinced,\" said Edward, \"that you really feel all the delight in\na fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister\nmust allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect,\nbut not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted,\nblasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and\nflourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond\nof nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a\nsnug farm-house than a watch-tower--and a troop of tidy, happy villages\nplease me better than the finest banditti in the world.\"\n\nMarianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her\nsister. Elinor only laughed.\n\nThe subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained\nthoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention.\nShe was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood,\nhis hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait\nof hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.\n\n\"I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,\" she cried. \"Is that\nFanny's hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should\nhave thought her hair had been darker.\"\n\nMarianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt--but when she saw\nhow much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought\ncould not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a\nmomentary glance at Elinor, replied, \"Yes; it is my sister's hair. The\nsetting always casts a different shade on it, you know.\"\n\nElinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair\nwas her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne;\nthe only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne\nconsidered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must\nhave been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself.\nShe was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and\naffecting to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of\nsomething else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every\nopportunity of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all\ndoubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own.\n\nEdward's embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of\nmind still more settled. He was particularly grave the whole morning.\nMarianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own\nforgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little\noffence it had given her sister.\n\nBefore the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs.\nJennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the\ncottage, came to take a survey of the guest. With the assistance of\nhis mother-in-law, Sir John was not long in discovering that the name\nof Ferrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery\nagainst the devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their\nacquaintance with Edward could have prevented from being immediately\nsprung. But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant\nlooks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret's instructions,\nextended.\n\nSir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to\ndine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening.\nOn the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor,\ntowards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished\nto engage them for both.\n\n\"You MUST drink tea with us to night,\" said he, \"for we shall be quite\nalone--and tomorrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall be a\nlarge party.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. \"And who knows but you may raise\na dance,\" said she. \"And that will tempt YOU, Miss Marianne.\"\n\n\"A dance!\" cried Marianne. \"Impossible! Who is to dance?\"\n\n\"Who! why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure.--What!\nyou thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be\nnameless is gone!\"\n\n\"I wish with all my soul,\" cried Sir John, \"that Willoughby were among\nus again.\"\n\nThis, and Marianne's blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward. \"And who\nis Willoughby?\" said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he\nwas sitting.\n\nShe gave him a brief reply. Marianne's countenance was more\ncommunicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning\nof others, but such of Marianne's expressions as had puzzled him\nbefore; and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round\nher, and said, in a whisper, \"I have been guessing. Shall I tell you\nmy guess?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Shall I tell you.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.\"\n\nMarianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not help smiling at\nthe quiet archness of his manner, and after a moment's silence, said,\n\n\"Oh, Edward! How can you?--But the time will come I hope...I am sure\nyou will like him.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt it,\" replied he, rather astonished at her earnestness\nand warmth; for had he not imagined it to be a joke for the good of her\nacquaintance in general, founded only on a something or a nothing\nbetween Mr. Willoughby and herself, he would not have ventured to\nmention it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 19\n\n\nEdward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly pressed by Mrs.\nDashwood to stay longer; but, as if he were bent only on\nself-mortification, he seemed resolved to be gone when his enjoyment\namong his friends was at the height. His spirits, during the last two\nor three days, though still very unequal, were greatly improved--he\ngrew more and more partial to the house and environs--never spoke of\ngoing away without a sigh--declared his time to be wholly\ndisengaged--even doubted to what place he should go when he left\nthem--but still, go he must. Never had any week passed so quickly--he\ncould hardly believe it to be gone. He said so repeatedly; other\nthings he said too, which marked the turn of his feelings and gave the\nlie to his actions. He had no pleasure at Norland; he detested being\nin town; but either to Norland or London, he must go. He valued their\nkindness beyond any thing, and his greatest happiness was in being with\nthem. Yet, he must leave them at the end of a week, in spite of their\nwishes and his own, and without any restraint on his time.\n\nElinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to his\nmother's account; and it was happy for her that he had a mother whose\ncharacter was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the general excuse\nfor every thing strange on the part of her son. Disappointed, however,\nand vexed as she was, and sometimes displeased with his uncertain\nbehaviour to herself, she was very well disposed on the whole to regard\nhis actions with all the candid allowances and generous qualifications,\nwhich had been rather more painfully extorted from her, for\nWilloughby's service, by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness,\nand of consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of\nindependence, and his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars's disposition\nand designs. The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose\nin leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same\ninevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother. The old\nwell-established grievance of duty against will, parent against child,\nwas the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when these\ndifficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,--when Mrs.\nFerrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. But\nfrom such vain wishes she was forced to turn for comfort to the renewal\nof her confidence in Edward's affection, to the remembrance of every\nmark of regard in look or word which fell from him while at Barton, and\nabove all to that flattering proof of it which he constantly wore round\nhis finger.\n\n\"I think, Edward,\" said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at breakfast the\nlast morning, \"you would be a happier man if you had any profession to\nengage your time and give an interest to your plans and actions. Some\ninconvenience to your friends, indeed, might result from it--you would\nnot be able to give them so much of your time. But (with a smile) you\nwould be materially benefited in one particular at least--you would\nknow where to go when you left them.\"\n\n\"I do assure you,\" he replied, \"that I have long thought on this point,\nas you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will always be a\nheavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage\nme, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like\nindependence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my\nfriends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being. We never\ncould agree in our choice of a profession. I always preferred the\nchurch, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family.\nThey recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me.\nThe law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had\nchambers in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first\ncircles, and drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no\ninclination for the law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which\nmy family approved. As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I\nwas too old when the subject was first started to enter it--and, at\nlength, as there was no necessity for my having any profession at all,\nas I might be as dashing and expensive without a red coat on my back as\nwith one, idleness was pronounced on the whole to be most advantageous\nand honourable, and a young man of eighteen is not in general so\nearnestly bent on being busy as to resist the solicitations of his\nfriends to do nothing. I was therefore entered at Oxford and have been\nproperly idle ever since.\"\n\n\"The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,\" said Mrs. Dashwood,\n\"since leisure has not promoted your own happiness, that your sons will\nbe brought up to as many pursuits, employments, professions, and trades\nas Columella's.\"\n\n\"They will be brought up,\" said he, in a serious accent, \"to be as\nunlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in\nevery thing.\"\n\n\"Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits,\nEdward. You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one unlike\nyourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from\nfriends will be felt by every body at times, whatever be their\neducation or state. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but\npatience--or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. Your\nmother will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so\nanxious for; it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long become her\nhappiness to prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent.\nHow much may not a few months do?\"\n\n\"I think,\" replied Edward, \"that I may defy many months to produce any\ngood to me.\"\n\nThis desponding turn of mind, though it could not be communicated to\nMrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to them all in the parting, which\nshortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Elinor's\nfeelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue.\nBut as it was her determination to subdue it, and to prevent herself\nfrom appearing to suffer more than what all her family suffered on his\ngoing away, she did not adopt the method so judiciously employed by\nMarianne, on a similar occasion, to augment and fix her sorrow, by\nseeking silence, solitude and idleness. Their means were as different\nas their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.\n\nElinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was out of the\nhouse, busily employed herself the whole day, neither sought nor\navoided the mention of his name, appeared to interest herself almost as\nmuch as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this\nconduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented\nfrom unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisters were spared much\nsolicitude on her account.\n\nSuch behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, appeared no\nmore meritorious to Marianne, than her own had seemed faulty to her.\nThe business of self-command she settled very easily;--with strong\naffections it was impossible, with calm ones it could have no merit.\nThat her sister's affections WERE calm, she dared not deny, though she\nblushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave a\nvery striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in\nspite of this mortifying conviction.\n\nWithout shutting herself up from her family, or leaving the house in\ndetermined solitude to avoid them, or lying awake the whole night to\nindulge meditation, Elinor found every day afforded her leisure enough\nto think of Edward, and of Edward's behaviour, in every possible\nvariety which the different state of her spirits at different times\ncould produce,--with tenderness, pity, approbation, censure, and doubt.\nThere were moments in abundance, when, if not by the absence of her\nmother and sisters, at least by the nature of their employments,\nconversation was forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was\nproduced. Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not\nbe chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so\ninteresting, must be before her, must force her attention, and engross\nher memory, her reflection, and her fancy.\n\nFrom a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-table, she was\nroused one morning, soon after Edward's leaving them, by the arrival of\ncompany. She happened to be quite alone. The closing of the little\ngate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the house, drew\nher eyes to the window, and she saw a large party walking up to the\ndoor. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings,\nbut there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown\nto her. She was sitting near the window, and as soon as Sir John\nperceived her, he left the rest of the party to the ceremony of\nknocking at the door, and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open\nthe casement to speak to him, though the space was so short between the\ndoor and the window, as to make it hardly possible to speak at one\nwithout being heard at the other.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"we have brought you some strangers. How do you like\nthem?\"\n\n\"Hush! they will hear you.\"\n\n\"Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte is very\npretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look this way.\"\n\nAs Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without\ntaking that liberty, she begged to be excused.\n\n\"Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I see her\ninstrument is open.\"\n\n\"She is walking, I believe.\"\n\nThey were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to\nwait till the door was opened before she told HER story. She came\nhallooing to the window, \"How do you do, my dear? How does Mrs.\nDashwood do? And where are your sisters? What! all alone! you will be\nglad of a little company to sit with you. I have brought my other son\nand daughter to see you. Only think of their coming so suddenly! I\nthought I heard a carriage last night, while we were drinking our tea,\nbut it never entered my head that it could be them. I thought of\nnothing but whether it might not be Colonel Brandon come back again; so\nI said to Sir John, I do think I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel\nBrandon come back again\"--\n\nElinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her story, to\nreceive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton introduced the two\nstrangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret came down stairs at the same\ntime, and they all sat down to look at one another, while Mrs. Jennings\ncontinued her story as she walked through the passage into the parlour,\nattended by Sir John.\n\nMrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton, and totally\nunlike her in every respect. She was short and plump, had a very\npretty face, and the finest expression of good humour in it that could\npossibly be. Her manners were by no means so elegant as her sister's,\nbut they were much more prepossessing. She came in with a smile,\nsmiled all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, and smiled\nwhen she went away. Her husband was a grave looking young man of five\nor six and twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense than his wife,\nbut of less willingness to please or be pleased. He entered the room\nwith a look of self-consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without\nspeaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and their\napartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read\nit as long as he staid.\n\nMrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by nature with a\nturn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly seated before her\nadmiration of the parlour and every thing in it burst forth.\n\n\"Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw anything so\ncharming! Only think, Mama, how it is improved since I was here last!\nI always thought it such a sweet place, ma'am! (turning to Mrs.\nDashwood) but you have made it so charming! Only look, sister, how\ndelightful every thing is! How I should like such a house for myself!\nShould not you, Mr. Palmer?\"\n\nMr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the\nnewspaper.\n\n\"Mr. Palmer does not hear me,\" said she, laughing; \"he never does\nsometimes. It is so ridiculous!\"\n\nThis was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never been used to\nfind wit in the inattention of any one, and could not help looking with\nsurprise at them both.\n\nMrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as she could, and\ncontinued her account of their surprise, the evening before, on seeing\ntheir friends, without ceasing till every thing was told. Mrs. Palmer\nlaughed heartily at the recollection of their astonishment, and every\nbody agreed, two or three times over, that it had been quite an\nagreeable surprise.\n\n\"You may believe how glad we all were to see them,\" added Mrs.\nJennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speaking in a low voice\nas if she meant to be heard by no one else, though they were seated on\ndifferent sides of the room; \"but, however, I can't help wishing they\nhad not travelled quite so fast, nor made such a long journey of it,\nfor they came all round by London upon account of some business, for\nyou know (nodding significantly and pointing to her daughter) it was\nwrong in her situation. I wanted her to stay at home and rest this\nmorning, but she would come with us; she longed so much to see you all!\"\n\nMrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm.\n\n\"She expects to be confined in February,\" continued Mrs. Jennings.\n\nLady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation, and\ntherefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in\nthe paper.\n\n\"No, none at all,\" he replied, and read on.\n\n\"Here comes Marianne,\" cried Sir John. \"Now, Palmer, you shall see a\nmonstrous pretty girl.\"\n\nHe immediately went into the passage, opened the front door, and\nushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as she\nappeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer laughed so\nheartily at the question, as to show she understood it. Mr. Palmer\nlooked up on her entering the room, stared at her some minutes, and\nthen returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer's eye was now caught by\nthe drawings which hung round the room. She got up to examine them.\n\n\"Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delightful! Do but\nlook, mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite charming; I could look\nat them for ever.\" And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot\nthat there were any such things in the room.\n\nWhen Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down\nthe newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around.\n\n\"My love, have you been asleep?\" said his wife, laughing.\n\nHe made her no answer; and only observed, after again examining the\nroom, that it was very low pitched, and that the ceiling was crooked.\nHe then made his bow, and departed with the rest.\n\nSir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at\nthe park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener\nthan they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account;\nher daughters might do as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to\nsee how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of\npleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, therefore,\nlikewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not\nlikely to be good. But Sir John would not be satisfied--the carriage\nshould be sent for them and they must come. Lady Middleton too, though\nshe did not press their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs.\nPalmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a\nfamily party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield.\n\n\"Why should they ask us?\" said Marianne, as soon as they were gone.\n\"The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very\nhard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying\neither with them, or with us.\"\n\n\"They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,\" said Elinor, \"by\nthese frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a\nfew weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their parties are\ngrown tedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 20\n\n\nAs the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the park the next\nday, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as\ngood humoured and merry as before. She took them all most\naffectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them\nagain.\n\n\"I am so glad to see you!\" said she, seating herself between Elinor and\nMarianne, \"for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come,\nwhich would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow. We must\ngo, for the Westons come to us next week you know. It was quite a\nsudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the\ncarriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I\nwould go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells me any\nthing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again\nin town very soon, I hope.\"\n\nThey were obliged to put an end to such an expectation.\n\n\"Not go to town!\" cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, \"I shall be quite\ndisappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest house in the world for\nyou, next door to ours, in Hanover-square. You must come, indeed. I\nam sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am\nconfined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public.\"\n\nThey thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties.\n\n\"Oh, my love,\" cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who just then entered\nthe room--\"you must help me to persuade the Miss Dashwoods to go to\ntown this winter.\"\n\nHer love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began\ncomplaining of the weather.\n\n\"How horrid all this is!\" said he. \"Such weather makes every thing and\nevery body disgusting. Dullness is as much produced within doors as\nwithout, by rain. It makes one detest all one's acquaintance. What\nthe devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his\nhouse? How few people know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as\nthe weather.\"\n\nThe rest of the company soon dropt in.\n\n\"I am afraid, Miss Marianne,\" said Sir John, \"you have not been able to\ntake your usual walk to Allenham today.\"\n\nMarianne looked very grave and said nothing.\n\n\"Oh, don't be so sly before us,\" said Mrs. Palmer; \"for we know all\nabout it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very much, for I think\nhe is extremely handsome. We do not live a great way from him in the\ncountry, you know. Not above ten miles, I dare say.\"\n\n\"Much nearer thirty,\" said her husband.\n\n\"Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his house; but\nthey say it is a sweet pretty place.\"\n\n\"As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,\" said Mr. Palmer.\n\nMarianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her\ninterest in what was said.\n\n\"Is it very ugly?\" continued Mrs. Palmer--\"then it must be some other\nplace that is so pretty I suppose.\"\n\nWhen they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret\nthat they were only eight all together.\n\n\"My dear,\" said he to his lady, \"it is very provoking that we should be\nso few. Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come to us today?\"\n\n\"Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about it before,\nthat it could not be done? They dined with us last.\"\n\n\"You and I, Sir John,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"should not stand upon such\nceremony.\"\n\n\"Then you would be very ill-bred,\" cried Mr. Palmer.\n\n\"My love you contradict every body,\" said his wife with her usual\nlaugh. \"Do you know that you are quite rude?\"\n\n\"I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother\nill-bred.\"\n\n\"Ay, you may abuse me as you please,\" said the good-natured old lady,\n\"you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and cannot give her back again.\nSo there I have the whip hand of you.\"\n\nCharlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband could not get rid\nof her; and exultingly said, she did not care how cross he was to her,\nas they must live together. It was impossible for any one to be more\nthoroughly good-natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs.\nPalmer. The studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her\nhusband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused her, she was\nhighly diverted.\n\n\"Mr. Palmer is so droll!\" said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. \"He is\nalways out of humour.\"\n\nElinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give him credit\nfor being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill-natured or ill-bred as he\nwished to appear. His temper might perhaps be a little soured by\nfinding, like many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable\nbias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly\nwoman,--but she knew that this kind of blunder was too common for any\nsensible man to be lastingly hurt by it.-- It was rather a wish of\ndistinction, she believed, which produced his contemptuous treatment of\nevery body, and his general abuse of every thing before him. It was\nthe desire of appearing superior to other people. The motive was too\ncommon to be wondered at; but the means, however they might succeed by\nestablishing his superiority in ill-breeding, were not likely to attach\nany one to him except his wife.\n\n\"Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood,\" said Mrs. Palmer soon afterwards, \"I have\ngot such a favour to ask of you and your sister. Will you come and\nspend some time at Cleveland this Christmas? Now, pray do,--and come\nwhile the Westons are with us. You cannot think how happy I shall be!\nIt will be quite delightful!--My love,\" applying to her husband, \"don't\nyou long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to Cleveland?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied, with a sneer--\"I came into Devonshire with no\nother view.\"\n\n\"There now,\"--said his lady, \"you see Mr. Palmer expects you; so you\ncannot refuse to come.\"\n\nThey both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation.\n\n\"But indeed you must and shall come. I am sure you will like it of all\nthings. The Westons will be with us, and it will be quite delightful.\nYou cannot think what a sweet place Cleveland is; and we are so gay\nnow, for Mr. Palmer is always going about the country canvassing\nagainst the election; and so many people came to dine with us that I\nnever saw before, it is quite charming! But, poor fellow! it is very\nfatiguing to him! for he is forced to make every body like him.\"\n\nElinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the\nhardship of such an obligation.\n\n\"How charming it will be,\" said Charlotte, \"when he is in\nParliament!--won't it? How I shall laugh! It will be so ridiculous to\nsee all his letters directed to him with an M.P.--But do you know, he\nsays, he will never frank for me? He declares he won't. Don't you,\nMr. Palmer?\"\n\nMr. Palmer took no notice of her.\n\n\"He cannot bear writing, you know,\" she continued--\"he says it is quite\nshocking.\"\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"I never said any thing so irrational. Don't palm all\nyour abuses of languages upon me.\"\n\n\"There now; you see how droll he is. This is always the way with him!\nSometimes he won't speak to me for half a day together, and then he\ncomes out with something so droll--all about any thing in the world.\"\n\nShe surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing-room,\nby asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively.\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Elinor; \"he seems very agreeable.\"\n\n\"Well--I am so glad you do. I thought you would, he is so pleasant;\nand Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you and your sisters I can\ntell you, and you can't think how disappointed he will be if you don't\ncome to Cleveland.--I can't imagine why you should object to it.\"\n\nElinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and by changing the\nsubject, put a stop to her entreaties. She thought it probable that as\nthey lived in the same county, Mrs. Palmer might be able to give some\nmore particular account of Willoughby's general character, than could\nbe gathered from the Middletons' partial acquaintance with him; and she\nwas eager to gain from any one, such a confirmation of his merits as\nmight remove the possibility of fear from Marianne. She began by\ninquiring if they saw much of Mr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether\nthey were intimately acquainted with him.\n\n\"Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well,\" replied Mrs. Palmer;--\"Not\nthat I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have seen him for ever in town.\nSomehow or other I never happened to be staying at Barton while he was\nat Allenham. Mama saw him here once before;--but I was with my uncle\nat Weymouth. However, I dare say we should have seen a great deal of\nhim in Somersetshire, if it had not happened very unluckily that we\nshould never have been in the country together. He is very little at\nCombe, I believe; but if he were ever so much there, I do not think Mr.\nPalmer would visit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and\nbesides it is such a way off. I know why you inquire about him, very\nwell; your sister is to marry him. I am monstrous glad of it, for then\nI shall have her for a neighbour you know.\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" replied Elinor, \"you know much more of the matter than\nI do, if you have any reason to expect such a match.\"\n\n\"Don't pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks\nof. I assure you I heard of it in my way through town.\"\n\n\"My dear Mrs. Palmer!\"\n\n\"Upon my honour I did.--I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in\nBond-street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly.\"\n\n\"You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you of it! Surely\nyou must be mistaken. To give such intelligence to a person who could\nnot be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should\nexpect Colonel Brandon to do.\"\n\n\"But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how\nit happened. When we met him, he turned back and walked with us; and\nso we began talking of my brother and sister, and one thing and\nanother, and I said to him, 'So, Colonel, there is a new family come to\nBarton cottage, I hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty,\nand that one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby of Combe\nMagna. Is it true, pray? for of course you must know, as you have been\nin Devonshire so lately.'\"\n\n\"And what did the Colonel say?\"\n\n\"Oh--he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so\nfrom that moment I set it down as certain. It will be quite\ndelightful, I declare! When is it to take place?\"\n\n\"Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but\nsay fine things of you.\"\n\n\"I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I\nthink him uncommonly pleasing.\"\n\n\"So do I.--He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should\nbe so grave and so dull. Mama says HE was in love with your sister\ntoo.-- I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly\never falls in love with any body.\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?\" said\nElinor.\n\n\"Oh! yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many people are\nacquainted with him, because Combe Magna is so far off; but they all\nthink him extremely agreeable I assure you. Nobody is more liked than\nMr. Willoughby wherever he goes, and so you may tell your sister. She\nis a monstrous lucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he\nis much more lucky in getting her, because she is so very handsome and\nagreeable, that nothing can be good enough for her. However, I don't\nthink her hardly at all handsomer than you, I assure you; for I think\nyou both excessively pretty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure,\nthough we could not get him to own it last night.\"\n\nMrs. Palmer's information respecting Willoughby was not very material;\nbut any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her.\n\n\"I am so glad we are got acquainted at last,\" continued\nCharlotte.--\"And now I hope we shall always be great friends. You\ncan't think how much I longed to see you! It is so delightful that you\nshould live at the cottage! Nothing can be like it, to be sure! And I\nam so glad your sister is going to be well married! I hope you will be\na great deal at Combe Magna. It is a sweet place, by all accounts.\"\n\n\"You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?\"\n\n\"Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married.-- He was a\nparticular friend of Sir John's. I believe,\" she added in a low voice,\n\"he would have been very glad to have had me, if he could. Sir John\nand Lady Middleton wished it very much. But mama did not think the\nmatch good enough for me, otherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to\nthe Colonel, and we should have been married immediately.\"\n\n\"Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John's proposal to your mother\nbefore it was made? Had he never owned his affection to yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say he would have\nliked it of all things. He had not seen me then above twice, for it\nwas before I left school. However, I am much happier as I am. Mr.\nPalmer is the kind of man I like.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 21\n\n\nThe Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the two families at\nBarton were again left to entertain each other. But this did not last\nlong; Elinor had hardly got their last visitors out of her head, had\nhardly done wondering at Charlotte's being so happy without a cause, at\nMr. Palmer's acting so simply, with good abilities, and at the strange\nunsuitableness which often existed between husband and wife, before Sir\nJohn's and Mrs. Jennings's active zeal in the cause of society,\nprocured her some other new acquaintance to see and observe.\n\nIn a morning's excursion to Exeter, they had met with two young ladies,\nwhom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction of discovering to be her\nrelations, and this was enough for Sir John to invite them directly to\nthe park, as soon as their present engagements at Exeter were over.\nTheir engagements at Exeter instantly gave way before such an\ninvitation, and Lady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the\nreturn of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive a\nvisit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, and of whose\nelegance,--whose tolerable gentility even, she could have no proof; for\nthe assurances of her husband and mother on that subject went for\nnothing at all. Their being her relations too made it so much the\nworse; and Mrs. Jennings's attempts at consolation were therefore\nunfortunately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care about\ntheir being so fashionable; because they were all cousins and must put\nup with one another. As it was impossible, however, now to prevent\ntheir coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with\nall the philosophy of a well-bred woman, contenting herself with merely\ngiving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times\nevery day.\n\nThe young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or\nunfashionable. Their dress was very smart, their manners very civil,\nthey were delighted with the house, and in raptures with the furniture,\nand they happened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady\nMiddleton's good opinion was engaged in their favour before they had\nbeen an hour at the Park. She declared them to be very agreeable girls\nindeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration. Sir John's\nconfidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he\nset off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss\nSteeles' arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls\nin the world. From such commendation as this, however, there was not\nmuch to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the\nworld were to be met with in every part of England, under every\npossible variation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John\nwanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his\nguests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was painful to him even to\nkeep a third cousin to himself.\n\n\"Do come now,\" said he--\"pray come--you must come--I declare you shall\ncome--You can't think how you will like them. Lucy is monstrous\npretty, and so good humoured and agreeable! The children are all\nhanging about her already, as if she was an old acquaintance. And they\nboth long to see you of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that\nyou are the most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told them\nit is all very true, and a great deal more. You will be delighted with\nthem I am sure. They have brought the whole coach full of playthings\nfor the children. How can you be so cross as not to come? Why they\nare your cousins, you know, after a fashion. YOU are my cousins, and\nthey are my wife's, so you must be related.\"\n\nBut Sir John could not prevail. He could only obtain a promise of\ntheir calling at the Park within a day or two, and then left them in\namazement at their indifference, to walk home and boast anew of their\nattractions to the Miss Steeles, as he had been already boasting of the\nMiss Steeles to them.\n\nWhen their promised visit to the Park and consequent introduction to\nthese young ladies took place, they found in the appearance of the\neldest, who was nearly thirty, with a very plain and not a sensible\nface, nothing to admire; but in the other, who was not more than two or\nthree and twenty, they acknowledged considerable beauty; her features\nwere pretty, and she had a sharp quick eye, and a smartness of air,\nwhich though it did not give actual elegance or grace, gave distinction\nto her person.-- Their manners were particularly civil, and Elinor soon\nallowed them credit for some kind of sense, when she saw with what\nconstant and judicious attention they were making themselves agreeable\nto Lady Middleton. With her children they were in continual raptures,\nextolling their beauty, courting their notice, and humouring their\nwhims; and such of their time as could be spared from the importunate\ndemands which this politeness made on it, was spent in admiration of\nwhatever her ladyship was doing, if she happened to be doing any thing,\nor in taking patterns of some elegant new dress, in which her\nappearance the day before had thrown them into unceasing delight.\nFortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond\nmother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most\nrapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands\nare exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing; and the excessive\naffection and endurance of the Miss Steeles towards her offspring were\nviewed therefore by Lady Middleton without the smallest surprise or\ndistrust. She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent\nencroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted.\nShe saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their\nwork-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt\nno doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other\nsurprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by,\nwithout claiming a share in what was passing.\n\n\"John is in such spirits today!\" said she, on his taking Miss Steeles's\npocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window--\"He is full of\nmonkey tricks.\"\n\nAnd soon afterwards, on the second boy's violently pinching one of the\nsame lady's fingers, she fondly observed, \"How playful William is!\"\n\n\"And here is my sweet little Annamaria,\" she added, tenderly caressing\na little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last\ntwo minutes; \"And she is always so gentle and quiet--Never was there\nsuch a quiet little thing!\"\n\nBut unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship's\nhead dress slightly scratching the child's neck, produced from this\npattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone\nby any creature professedly noisy. The mother's consternation was\nexcessive; but it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and\nevery thing was done by all three, in so critical an emergency, which\naffection could suggest as likely to assuage the agonies of the little\nsufferer. She was seated in her mother's lap, covered with kisses, her\nwound bathed with lavender-water, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was\non her knees to attend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by\nthe other. With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to\ncease crying. She still screamed and sobbed lustily, kicked her two\nbrothers for offering to touch her, and all their united soothings were\nineffectual till Lady Middleton luckily remembering that in a scene of\nsimilar distress last week, some apricot marmalade had been\nsuccessfully applied for a bruised temple, the same remedy was eagerly\nproposed for this unfortunate scratch, and a slight intermission of\nscreams in the young lady on hearing it, gave them reason to hope that\nit would not be rejected.-- She was carried out of the room therefore\nin her mother's arms, in quest of this medicine, and as the two boys\nchose to follow, though earnestly entreated by their mother to stay\nbehind, the four young ladies were left in a quietness which the room\nhad not known for many hours.\n\n\"Poor little creatures!\" said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone.\n\"It might have been a very sad accident.\"\n\n\"Yet I hardly know how,\" cried Marianne, \"unless it had been under\ntotally different circumstances. But this is the usual way of\nheightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality.\"\n\n\"What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!\" said Lucy Steele.\n\nMarianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not\nfeel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole\ntask of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell. She did\nher best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more\nwarmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.\n\n\"And Sir John too,\" cried the elder sister, \"what a charming man he is!\"\n\nHere too, Miss Dashwood's commendation, being only simple and just,\ncame in without any eclat. She merely observed that he was perfectly\ngood humoured and friendly.\n\n\"And what a charming little family they have! I never saw such fine\nchildren in my life.--I declare I quite doat upon them already, and\nindeed I am always distractedly fond of children.\"\n\n\"I should guess so,\" said Elinor, with a smile, \"from what I have\nwitnessed this morning.\"\n\n\"I have a notion,\" said Lucy, \"you think the little Middletons rather\ntoo much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is\nso natural in Lady Middleton; and for my part, I love to see children\nfull of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and\nquiet.\"\n\n\"I confess,\" replied Elinor, \"that while I am at Barton Park, I never\nthink of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.\"\n\nA short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss\nSteele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now\nsaid rather abruptly, \"And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood?\nI suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.\"\n\nIn some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of\nthe manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.\n\n\"Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?\" added Miss Steele.\n\n\"We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,\" said Lucy, who seemed\nto think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister.\n\n\"I think every one MUST admire it,\" replied Elinor, \"who ever saw the\nplace; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its\nbeauties as we do.\"\n\n\"And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so\nmany in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast\naddition always.\"\n\n\"But why should you think,\" said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister,\n\"that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear, I'm sure I don't pretend to say that there an't. I'm\nsure there's a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could\nI tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only\nafraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not\nso many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not\ncare about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them.\nFor my part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress\nsmart and behave civil. But I can't bear to see them dirty and nasty.\nNow there's Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a\nbeau, clerk to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of\na morning, he is not fit to be seen.-- I suppose your brother was quite\na beau, Miss Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" replied Elinor, \"I cannot tell you, for I do not\nperfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that\nif he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is\nnot the smallest alteration in him.\"\n\n\"Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men's being beaux--they have\nsomething else to do.\"\n\n\"Lord! Anne,\" cried her sister, \"you can talk of nothing but\nbeaux;--you will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else.\"\nAnd then to turn the discourse, she began admiring the house and the\nfurniture.\n\nThis specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough. The vulgar freedom and\nfolly of the eldest left her no recommendation, and as Elinor was not\nblinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the youngest, to her want\nof real elegance and artlessness, she left the house without any wish\nof knowing them better.\n\nNot so the Miss Steeles.--They came from Exeter, well provided with\nadmiration for the use of Sir John Middleton, his family, and all his\nrelations, and no niggardly proportion was now dealt out to his fair\ncousins, whom they declared to be the most beautiful, elegant,\naccomplished, and agreeable girls they had ever beheld, and with whom\nthey were particularly anxious to be better acquainted.-- And to be\nbetter acquainted therefore, Elinor soon found was their inevitable\nlot, for as Sir John was entirely on the side of the Miss Steeles,\ntheir party would be too strong for opposition, and that kind of\nintimacy must be submitted to, which consists of sitting an hour or two\ntogether in the same room almost every day. Sir John could do no more;\nbut he did not know that any more was required: to be together was, in\nhis opinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for their\nmeeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their being established\nfriends.\n\nTo do him justice, he did every thing in his power to promote their\nunreserve, by making the Miss Steeles acquainted with whatever he knew\nor supposed of his cousins' situations in the most delicate\nparticulars,--and Elinor had not seen them more than twice, before the\neldest of them wished her joy on her sister's having been so lucky as\nto make a conquest of a very smart beau since she came to Barton.\n\n\"'Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be sure,\" said\nshe, \"and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious handsome. And I\nhope you may have as good luck yourself soon,--but perhaps you may have\na friend in the corner already.\"\n\nElinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more nice in\nproclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, than he had been\nwith respect to Marianne; indeed it was rather his favourite joke of\nthe two, as being somewhat newer and more conjectural; and since\nEdward's visit, they had never dined together without his drinking to\nher best affections with so much significancy and so many nods and\nwinks, as to excite general attention. The letter F--had been likewise\ninvariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless\njokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had\nbeen long established with Elinor.\n\nThe Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these\njokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the\nname of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently\nexpressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness\ninto the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long\nwith the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as\nmuch pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it.\n\n\"His name is Ferrars,\" said he, in a very audible whisper; \"but pray do\nnot tell it, for it's a great secret.\"\n\n\"Ferrars!\" repeated Miss Steele; \"Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he?\nWhat! your sister-in-law's brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable\nyoung man to be sure; I know him very well.\"\n\n\"How can you say so, Anne?\" cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment\nto all her sister's assertions. \"Though we have seen him once or twice\nat my uncle's, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.\"\n\nElinor heard all this with attention and surprise. \"And who was this\nuncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?\" She wished very\nmuch to have the subject continued, though she did not chuse to join in\nit herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in\nher life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after\npetty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner\nin which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for\nit struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion\nof that lady's knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his\ndisadvantage.--But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice\nwas taken of Mr. Ferrars's name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even\nopenly mentioned by Sir John.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 22\n\n\nMarianne, who had never much toleration for any thing like\nimpertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or even difference of\ntaste from herself, was at this time particularly ill-disposed, from\nthe state of her spirits, to be pleased with the Miss Steeles, or to\nencourage their advances; and to the invariable coldness of her\nbehaviour towards them, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on\ntheir side, Elinor principally attributed that preference of herself\nwhich soon became evident in the manners of both, but especially of\nLucy, who missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation, or of\nstriving to improve their acquaintance by an easy and frank\ncommunication of her sentiments.\n\nLucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and\nas a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable;\nbut her powers had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and\nilliterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of\ninformation in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from\nMiss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to\nadvantage. Elinor saw, and pitied her for, the neglect of abilities\nwhich education might have rendered so respectable; but she saw, with\nless tenderness of feeling, the thorough want of delicacy, of\nrectitude, and integrity of mind, which her attentions, her\nassiduities, her flatteries at the Park betrayed; and she could have no\nlasting satisfaction in the company of a person who joined insincerity\nwith ignorance; whose want of instruction prevented their meeting in\nconversation on terms of equality, and whose conduct toward others made\nevery shew of attention and deference towards herself perfectly\nvalueless.\n\n\"You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,\" said Lucy to her\none day, as they were walking together from the park to the\ncottage--\"but pray, are you personally acquainted with your\nsister-in-law's mother, Mrs. Ferrars?\"\n\nElinor DID think the question a very odd one, and her countenance\nexpressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars.\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied Lucy; \"I wonder at that, for I thought you must have\nseen her at Norland sometimes. Then, perhaps, you cannot tell me what\nsort of a woman she is?\"\n\n\"No,\" returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward's\nmother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent\ncuriosity-- \"I know nothing of her.\"\n\n\"I am sure you think me very strange, for enquiring about her in such a\nway,\" said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she spoke; \"but perhaps\nthere may be reasons--I wish I might venture; but however I hope you\nwill do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be\nimpertinent.\"\n\nElinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a few minutes in\nsilence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by\nsaying, with some hesitation,\n\n\"I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious. I am sure I\nwould rather do any thing in the world than be thought so by a person\nwhose good opinion is so well worth having as yours. And I am sure I\nshould not have the smallest fear of trusting YOU; indeed, I should be\nvery glad of your advice how to manage in such an uncomfortable\nsituation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to trouble YOU.\nI am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. Ferrars.\"\n\n\"I am sorry I do NOT,\" said Elinor, in great astonishment, \"if it could\nbe of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. But really I never\nunderstood that you were at all connected with that family, and\ntherefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry\ninto her character.\"\n\n\"I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But\nif I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs.\nFerrars is certainly nothing to me at present--but the time MAY\ncome--how soon it will come must depend upon herself--when we may be\nvery intimately connected.\"\n\nShe looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side\nglance at her companion to observe its effect on her.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Elinor, \"what do you mean? Are you acquainted\nwith Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?\" And she did not feel much\ndelighted with the idea of such a sister-in-law.\n\n\"No,\" replied Lucy, \"not to Mr. ROBERT Ferrars--I never saw him in my\nlife; but,\" fixing her eyes upon Elinor, \"to his eldest brother.\"\n\nWhat felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as\npainful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the\nassertion attended it. She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement,\nunable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though\nher complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no\ndanger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon.\n\n\"You may well be surprised,\" continued Lucy; \"for to be sure you could\nhave had no idea of it before; for I dare say he never dropped the\nsmallest hint of it to you or any of your family; because it was always\nmeant to be a great secret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so\nby me to this hour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but\nAnne, and I never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt\nthe greatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I really\nthought my behaviour in asking so many questions about Mrs. Ferrars\nmust seem so odd, that it ought to be explained. And I do not think\nMr. Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you,\nbecause I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your\nfamily, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as\nhis own sisters.\"--She paused.\n\nElinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonishment at what she\nheard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself\nto speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner,\nwhich tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude-- \"May I ask\nif your engagement is of long standing?\"\n\n\"We have been engaged these four years.\"\n\n\"Four years!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nElinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it.\n\n\"I did not know,\" said she, \"that you were even acquainted till the\nother day.\"\n\n\"Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my\nuncle's care, you know, a considerable while.\"\n\n\"Your uncle!\"\n\n\"Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?\"\n\n\"I think I have,\" replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which\nincreased with her increase of emotion.\n\n\"He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near\nPlymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me\nwas often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was\nformed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he\nwas almost always with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter\ninto it, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and approbation of\nhis mother; but I was too young, and loved him too well, to be so\nprudent as I ought to have been.-- Though you do not know him so well\nas me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible\nhe is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered Elinor, without knowing what she said; but after\na moment's reflection, she added, with revived security of Edward's\nhonour and love, and her companion's falsehood--\"Engaged to Mr. Edward\nFerrars!--I confess myself so totally surprised at what you tell me,\nthat really--I beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake\nof person or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.\"\n\n\"We can mean no other,\" cried Lucy, smiling. \"Mr. Edward Ferrars, the\neldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your\nsister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow\nthat I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who\nall my happiness depends.\"\n\n\"It is strange,\" replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, \"that I\nshould never have heard him even mention your name.\"\n\n\"No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our first care has\nbeen to keep the matter secret.-- You knew nothing of me, or my family,\nand, therefore, there could be no OCCASION for ever mentioning my name\nto you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister's\nsuspecting any thing, THAT was reason enough for his not mentioning it.\"\n\nShe was silent.--Elinor's security sunk; but her self-command did not\nsink with it.\n\n\"Four years you have been engaged,\" said she with a firm voice.\n\n\"Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have to wait. Poor\nEdward! It puts him quite out of heart.\" Then taking a small miniature\nfrom her pocket, she added, \"To prevent the possibility of mistake, be\nso good as to look at this face. It does not do him justice, to be\nsure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was\ndrew for.--I have had it above these three years.\"\n\nShe put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the\npainting, whatever other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or\nher wish of detecting falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she\ncould have none of its being Edward's face. She returned it almost\ninstantly, acknowledging the likeness.\n\n\"I have never been able,\" continued Lucy, \"to give him my picture in\nreturn, which I am very much vexed at, for he has been always so\nanxious to get it! But I am determined to set for it the very first\nopportunity.\"\n\n\"You are quite in the right,\" replied Elinor calmly. They then\nproceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first.\n\n\"I am sure,\" said she, \"I have no doubt in the world of your faithfully\nkeeping this secret, because you must know of what importance it is to\nus, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of it,\nI dare say. I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding\nproud woman.\"\n\n\"I certainly did not seek your confidence,\" said Elinor; \"but you do me\nno more than justice in imagining that I may be depended on. Your\nsecret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so\nunnecessary a communication. You must at least have felt that my being\nacquainted with it could not add to its safety.\"\n\nAs she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover\nsomething in her countenance; perhaps the falsehood of the greatest\npart of what she had been saying; but Lucy's countenance suffered no\nchange.\n\n\"I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you,\"\nsaid she, \"in telling you all this. I have not known you long to be\nsure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by\ndescription a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as\nif you was an old acquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really\nthought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular\ninquiries about Edward's mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have\nnot a creature whose advice I can ask. Anne is the only person that\nknows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a\ngreat deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her\nbetraying me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must\nperceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world\nt'other day, when Edward's name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she\nshould out with it all. You can't think how much I go through in my\nmind from it altogether. I only wonder that I am alive after what I\nhave suffered for Edward's sake these last four years. Every thing in\nsuch suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom--we can hardly\nmeet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite\nbroke.\"\n\nHere she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very\ncompassionate.\n\n\"Sometimes.\" continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, \"I think whether it\nwould not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely.\" As\nshe said this, she looked directly at her companion. \"But then at\nother times I have not resolution enough for it.-- I cannot bear the\nthoughts of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such\na thing would do. And on my own account too--so dear as he is to me--I\ndon't think I could be equal to it. What would you advise me to do in\nsuch a case, Miss Dashwood? What would you do yourself?\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" replied Elinor, startled by the question; \"but I can give\nyou no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct\nyou.\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both\nsides, \"his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor\nEdward is so cast down by it! Did you not think him dreadful\nlow-spirited when he was at Barton? He was so miserable when he left\nus at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him\nquite ill.\"\n\n\"Did he come from your uncle's, then, when he visited us?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he\ncame directly from town?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh\ncircumstance in favour of Lucy's veracity; \"I remember he told us, that\nhe had been staying a fortnight with some friends near Plymouth.\" She\nremembered too, her own surprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing\nfarther of those friends, at his total silence with respect even to\ntheir names.\n\n\"Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?\" repeated Lucy.\n\n\"We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.\"\n\n\"I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect what was the\nmatter; but it made him so melancholy, not being able to stay more than\na fortnight with us, and seeing me so much affected.-- Poor fellow!--I\nam afraid it is just the same with him now; for he writes in wretched\nspirits. I heard from him just before I left Exeter;\" taking a letter\nfrom her pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor. \"You\nknow his hand, I dare say, a charming one it is; but that is not\nwritten so well as usual.--He was tired, I dare say, for he had just\nfilled the sheet to me as full as possible.\"\n\nElinor saw that it WAS his hand, and she could doubt no longer. This\npicture, she had allowed herself to believe, might have been\naccidentally obtained; it might not have been Edward's gift; but a\ncorrespondence between them by letter, could subsist only under a\npositive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else; for a few\nmoments, she was almost overcome--her heart sunk within her, and she\ncould hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary; and she\nstruggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that\nher success was speedy, and for the time complete.\n\n\"Writing to each other,\" said Lucy, returning the letter into her\npocket, \"is the only comfort we have in such long separations. Yes, I\nhave one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even\nTHAT. If he had but my picture, he says he should be easy. I gave him\na lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and\nthat was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture.\nPerhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?\"\n\n\"I did,\" said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was\nconcealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt\nbefore. She was mortified, shocked, confounded.\n\nFortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the\nconversation could be continued no farther. After sitting with them a\nfew minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was then\nat liberty to think and be wretched.\n\n\n\n\n\n[At this point in the first and second editions, Volume 1 ends.]\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 23\n\n\nHowever small Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be,\nit was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the\npresent case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of\ninventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to\nbe true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported\nas it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and\ncontradicted by nothing but her own wishes. Their opportunity of\nacquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest,\nat once indisputable and alarming; and Edward's visit near Plymouth,\nhis melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects,\nhis uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the\nMiss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had\noften surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed\naltogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of\ncondemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality\ncould set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.--Her resentment of such\nbehaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time\nmade her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations,\nsoon arose. Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had he\nfeigned a regard for her which he did not feel? Was his engagement to\nLucy an engagement of the heart? No; whatever it might once have been,\nshe could not believe it such at present. His affection was all her\nown. She could not be deceived in that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny,\nall had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an\nillusion of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener\nof the heart was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to\nforgive! He had been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at\nNorland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it\nought to be. In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured\nher, how much more had he injured himself; if her case were pitiable,\nhis was hopeless. His imprudence had made her miserable for a while;\nbut it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being\notherwise. She might in time regain tranquillity; but HE, what had he\nto look forward to? Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele;\ncould he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his\nintegrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a\nwife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?\n\nThe youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every\nthing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding\nyears--years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the\nunderstanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education,\nwhile the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society\nand more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity\nwhich might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.\n\nIf in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties\nfrom his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely\nto be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in\nconnections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself. These\ndifficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not\npress very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the\nperson by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness,\ncould be felt as a relief!\n\nAs these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept\nfor him, more than for herself. Supported by the conviction of having\ndone nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the\nbelief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought\nshe could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command\nherself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother\nand sisters. And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,\nthat when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first\nsuffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have\nsupposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning\nin secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object\nof her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the\nperfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly\npossessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove\nnear their house.\n\nThe necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been\nentrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing\nexertion, was no aggravation of Elinor's distress. On the contrary it\nwas a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give\nsuch affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that\ncondemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of\ntheir partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt\nequal to support.\n\nFrom their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive\nno assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress,\nwhile her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their\nexample nor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own\ngood sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken,\nher appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so\npoignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.\n\nMuch as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the\nsubject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for\nmore reasons than one. She wanted to hear many particulars of their\nengagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what\nLucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her\ndeclaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to\nconvince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her\ncalmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in\nit than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary\nagitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least\ndoubtful. That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very\nprobable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her\npraise, not merely from Lucy's assertion, but from her venturing to\ntrust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so\nconfessedly and evidently important. And even Sir John's joking\nintelligence must have had some weight. But indeed, while Elinor\nremained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by\nEdward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it\nnatural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very\nconfidence was a proof. What other reason for the disclosure of the\naffair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of\nLucy's superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?\nShe had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival's\nintentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every\nprinciple of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection\nfor Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny\nherself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was\nunwounded. And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on\nthe subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own\nability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.\n\nBut it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be\ncommanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take\nadvantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine\nenough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most\neasily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at\nleast every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at\nthe former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of\nconversation. Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady\nMiddleton's head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for\na general chat, and none at all for particular discourse. They met for\nthe sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,\nor consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.\n\nOne or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording\nElinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at\nthe cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they\nwould all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to\nattend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone,\nexcept her mother and the two Miss Steeles. Elinor, who foresaw a\nfairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this\nwas likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil\nand well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united\nthem together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the\ninvitation; Margaret, with her mother's permission, was equally\ncompliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their\nparties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her\nseclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.\n\nThe young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from\nthe frightful solitude which had threatened her. The insipidity of the\nmeeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one\nnovelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting\nthan the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and\ndrawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while\nthey remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of\nengaging Lucy's attention to attempt it. They quitted it only with the\nremoval of the tea-things. The card-table was then placed, and Elinor\nbegan to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of\nfinding time for conversation at the park. They all rose up in\npreparation for a round game.\n\n\"I am glad,\" said Lady Middleton to Lucy, \"you are not going to finish\npoor little Annamaria's basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt\nyour eyes to work filigree by candlelight. And we will make the dear\nlittle love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I\nhope she will not much mind it.\"\n\nThis hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied,\n\"Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting\nto know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have\nbeen at my filigree already. I would not disappoint the little angel\nfor all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am\nresolved to finish the basket after supper.\"\n\n\"You are very good, I hope it won't hurt your eyes--will you ring the\nbell for some working candles? My poor little girl would be sadly\ndisappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for\nthough I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon\nhaving it done.\"\n\nLucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an\nalacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no\ngreater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.\n\nLady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others. No one made\nany objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms\nof general civility, exclaimed, \"Your Ladyship will have the goodness\nto excuse ME--you know I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte;\nI have not touched it since it was tuned.\" And without farther\nceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.\n\nLady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that SHE had never made\nso rude a speech.\n\n\"Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma'am,\"\nsaid Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; \"and I do not\nmuch wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever\nheard.\"\n\nThe remaining five were now to draw their cards.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" continued Elinor, \"if I should happen to cut out, I may be\nof some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and\nthere is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be\nimpossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening. I\nshould like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it.\"\n\n\"Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help,\" cried Lucy,\n\"for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was;\nand it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after\nall.\"\n\n\"Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,\" said Miss Steele-- \"Dear little\nsoul, how I do love her!\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" said Lady Middleton to Elinor; \"and as you really\nlike the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till\nanother rubber, or will you take your chance now?\"\n\nElinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a\nlittle of that address which Marianne could never condescend to\npractise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same\ntime. Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair\nrivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the\nutmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work. The pianoforte at\nwhich Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had\nby this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself,\nwas luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might\nsafely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting\nsubject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 24\n\n\nIn a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.\n\n\"I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with,\nif I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its\nsubject. I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" cried Lucy warmly, \"for breaking the ice; you have set my\nheart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended\nyou by what I told you that Monday.\"\n\n\"Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,\" and Elinor spoke\nit with the truest sincerity, \"nothing could be farther from my\nintention than to give you such an idea. Could you have a motive for\nthe trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?\"\n\n\"And yet I do assure you,\" replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of\nmeaning, \"there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your\nmanner that made me quite uncomfortable. I felt sure that you was\nangry with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for\nhaving took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I am\nvery glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not\nblame me. If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my\nheart speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of\nmy life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am\nsure.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you,\nto acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall\nnever have reason to repent it. Your case is a very unfortunate one;\nyou seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have\nneed of all your mutual affection to support you under them. Mr.\nFerrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother.\"\n\n\"He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to\nmarry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect\nof more without a sigh. I have been always used to a very small\nincome, and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too\nwell to be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his\nmother might give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it\nmay be for many years. With almost every other man in the world, it\nwould be an alarming prospect; but Edward's affection and constancy\nnothing can deprive me of I know.\"\n\n\"That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly\nsupported by the same trust in your's. If the strength of your\nreciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under\nmany circumstances it naturally would during a four years' engagement,\nyour situation would have been pitiable, indeed.\"\n\nLucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance\nfrom every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.\n\n\"Edward's love for me,\" said Lucy, \"has been pretty well put to the\ntest, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and\nit has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt\nit now. I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment's alarm\non that account from the first.\"\n\nElinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.\n\nLucy went on. \"I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from\nour different situations in life, from his being so much more in the\nworld than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for\nsuspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had been\nthe slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or any\nlowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had talked\nmore of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less happy at\nLongstaple than he used to be. I do not mean to say that I am\nparticularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case\nI am sure I could not be deceived.\"\n\n\"All this,\" thought Elinor, \"is very pretty; but it can impose upon\nneither of us.\"\n\n\"But what,\" said she after a short silence, \"are your views? or have\nyou none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars's death, which is a\nmelancholy and shocking extremity?--Is her son determined to submit to\nthis, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in which\nit may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a\nwhile by owning the truth?\"\n\n\"If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! But Mrs.\nFerrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger\nupon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and\nthe idea of that, for Edward's sake, frightens away all my inclination\nfor hasty measures.\"\n\n\"And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness\nbeyond reason.\"\n\nLucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.\n\n\"Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?\" asked Elinor.\n\n\"Not at all--I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his\nbrother--silly and a great coxcomb.\"\n\n\"A great coxcomb!\" repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those\nwords by a sudden pause in Marianne's music.-- \"Oh, they are talking of\ntheir favourite beaux, I dare say.\"\n\n\"No sister,\" cried Lucy, \"you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux\nare NOT great coxcombs.\"\n\n\"I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood's is not,\" said Mrs. Jennings,\nlaughing heartily; \"for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved\nyoung men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little\ncreature, there is no finding out who SHE likes.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, \"I dare\nsay Lucy's beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss\nDashwood's.\"\n\nElinor blushed in spite of herself. Lucy bit her lip, and looked\nangrily at her sister. A mutual silence took place for some time.\nLucy first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne\nwas then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent\nconcerto--\n\n\"I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my\nhead, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into\nthe secret, for you are a party concerned. I dare say you have seen\nenough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other\nprofession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he\ncan, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind\nenough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard\nto me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living;\nwhich I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not\nlikely to live a great while. That would be enough for us to marry\nupon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest.\"\n\n\"I should always be happy,\" replied Elinor, \"to show any mark of my\nesteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my\ninterest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary? He is\nbrother to Mrs. John Dashwood--THAT must be recommendation enough to\nher husband.\"\n\n\"But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into\norders.\"\n\n\"Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little.\"\n\nThey were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy exclaimed with\na deep sigh,\n\n\"I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at\nonce by dissolving the engagement. We seem so beset with difficulties\non every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we\nshould be happier perhaps in the end. But you will not give me your\nadvice, Miss Dashwood?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated\nfeelings, \"on such a subject I certainly will not. You know very well\nthat my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the\nside of your wishes.\"\n\n\"Indeed you wrong me,\" replied Lucy, with great solemnity; \"I know\nnobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do\nreally believe, that if you was to say to me, 'I advise you by all\nmeans to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be\nmore for the happiness of both of you,' I should resolve upon doing it\nimmediately.\"\n\nElinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward's future wife, and\nreplied, \"This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any\nopinion on the subject had I formed one. It raises my influence much\ntoo high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too\nmuch for an indifferent person.\"\n\n\"'Tis because you are an indifferent person,\" said Lucy, with some\npique, and laying a particular stress on those words, \"that your\njudgment might justly have such weight with me. If you could be\nsupposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion\nwould not be worth having.\"\n\nElinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might\nprovoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and\nwas even partly determined never to mention the subject again. Another\npause therefore of many minutes' duration, succeeded this speech, and\nLucy was still the first to end it.\n\n\"Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?\" said she with all\nher accustomary complacency.\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"I am sorry for that,\" returned the other, while her eyes brightened at\nthe information, \"it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you\nthere! But I dare say you will go for all that. To be sure, your\nbrother and sister will ask you to come to them.\"\n\n\"It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do.\"\n\n\"How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there.\nAnne and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who\nhave been wanting us to visit them these several years! But I only go\nfor the sake of seeing Edward. He will be there in February, otherwise\nLondon would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it.\"\n\nElinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first\nrubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore\nat an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for\nnothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other\nless than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table\nwith the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without\naffection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not\neven the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere\naffection on HER side would have given, for self-interest alone could\ninduce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so\nthoroughly aware that he was weary.\n\nFrom this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when\nentered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it,\nand was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness\nwhenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the\nformer with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility\nwould allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which\nLucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself.\n\nThe visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond\nwhat the first invitation implied. Their favour increased; they could\nnot be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of\ntheir numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the\nabsolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was\nin full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay\nnearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of\nthat festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private\nballs and large dinners to proclaim its importance.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 25\n\n\nThough Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of\nthe year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without\na settled habitation of her own. Since the death of her husband, who\nhad traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had\nresided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman\nSquare. Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to\nturn her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very\nunexpectedly by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her.\nElinor, without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the\nanimated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave\na grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself\nto be speaking their united inclinations. The reason alleged was their\ndetermined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the\nyear. Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and\nrepeated her invitation immediately.\n\n\"Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I DO beg\nyou will favour me with your company, for I've quite set my heart upon\nit. Don't fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I shan't\nput myself at all out of my way for you. It will only be sending Betty\nby the coach, and I hope I can afford THAT. We three shall be able to\ngo very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do not like\nto go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one of my\ndaughters. I am sure your mother will not object to it; for I have had\nsuch good luck in getting my own children off my hands that she will\nthink me a very fit person to have the charge of you; and if I don't\nget one of you at least well married before I have done with you, it\nshall not be my fault. I shall speak a good word for you to all the\nyoung men, you may depend upon it.\"\n\n\"I have a notion,\" said Sir John, \"that Miss Marianne would not object\nto such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it. It is very\nhard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss\nDashwood does not wish it. So I would advise you two, to set off for\ntown, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss\nDashwood about it.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried Mrs. Jennings, \"I am sure I shall be monstrous glad of\nMiss Marianne's company, whether Miss Dashwood will go or not, only the\nmore the merrier say I, and I thought it would be more comfortable for\nthem to be together; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk\nto one another, and laugh at my old ways behind my back. But one or\nthe other, if not both of them, I must have. Lord bless me! how do you\nthink I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till\nthis winter to have Charlotte with me. Come, Miss Marianne, let us\nstrike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her\nmind by and bye, why so much the better.\"\n\n\"I thank you, ma'am, sincerely thank you,\" said Marianne, with warmth:\n\"your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give\nme such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of,\nto be able to accept it. But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,--I\nfeel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made\nless happy, less comfortable by our absence--Oh! no, nothing should\ntempt me to leave her. It should not, must not be a struggle.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare\nthem perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw\nto what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her\neagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct\nopposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother's\ndecision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any\nsupport in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not\napprove of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had\nparticular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her\nmother would be eager to promote--she could not expect to influence the\nlatter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had\nnever been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain\nthe motive of her own disinclination for going to London. That\nMarianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs.\nJennings' manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook\nevery inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be\nmost wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object,\nwas such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object\nto her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to\nwitness.\n\nOn being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such\nan excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her\ndaughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to\nherself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of\ntheir declining the offer upon HER account; insisted on their both\naccepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual\ncheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all,\nfrom this separation.\n\n\"I am delighted with the plan,\" she cried, \"it is exactly what I could\nwish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves.\nWhen you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and\nhappily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret\nso improved when you come back again! I have a little plan of\nalteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without\nany inconvenience to any one. It is very right that you SHOULD go to\ntown; I would have every young woman of your condition in life\nacquainted with the manners and amusements of London. You will be\nunder the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to\nyou I can have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your\nbrother, and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife,\nwhen I consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly\nestranged from each other.\"\n\n\"Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,\" said Elinor, \"you\nhave been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which\noccurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion,\ncannot be so easily removed.\"\n\nMarianne's countenance sunk.\n\n\"And what,\" said Mrs. Dashwood, \"is my dear prudent Elinor going to\nsuggest? What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward? Do let\nme hear a word about the expense of it.\"\n\n\"My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings's\nheart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or\nwhose protection will give us consequence.\"\n\n\"That is very true,\" replied her mother, \"but of her society,\nseparately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing\nat all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady\nMiddleton.\"\n\n\"If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings,\" said\nMarianne, \"at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation. I\nhave no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every\nunpleasantness of that kind with very little effort.\"\n\nElinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards\nthe manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in\npersuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved\nwithin herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go\nlikewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left\nto the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should\nbe abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her\ndomestic hours. To this determination she was the more easily\nreconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy's account, was\nnot to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any\nunreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished.\n\n\"I will have you BOTH go,\" said Mrs. Dashwood; \"these objections are\nnonsensical. You will have much pleasure in being in London, and\nespecially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to\nanticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of\nsources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her\nacquaintance with her sister-in-law's family.\"\n\nElinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her\nmother's dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the\nshock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this\nattack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin\nher design by saying, as calmly as she could, \"I like Edward Ferrars\nvery much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of\nthe family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am\never known to them or not.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lifted up her eyes in\nastonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held\nher tongue.\n\nAfter very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the\ninvitation should be fully accepted. Mrs. Jennings received the\ninformation with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness\nand care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her. Sir John was\ndelighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of\nbeing alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in\nLondon, was something. Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being\ndelighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for\nthe Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in\ntheir lives as this intelligence made them.\n\nElinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with\nless reluctance than she had expected to feel. With regard to herself,\nit was now a matter of unconcern whether she went to town or not, and\nwhen she saw her mother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her\nsister exhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all\nher usual animation, and elevated to more than her usual gaiety, she\ncould not be dissatisfied with the cause, and would hardly allow\nherself to distrust the consequence.\n\nMarianne's joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the\nperturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone. Her\nunwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness;\nand at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive.\nHer mother's affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of\nthe three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of\neternal.\n\nTheir departure took place in the first week in January. The\nMiddletons were to follow in about a week. The Miss Steeles kept their\nstation at the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the\nfamily.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 26\n\n\nElinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. Jennings, and\nbeginning a journey to London under her protection, and as her guest,\nwithout wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance\nwith that lady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and\ndisposition, and so many had been her objections against such a measure\nonly a few days before! But these objections had all, with that happy\nardour of youth which Marianne and her mother equally shared, been\novercome or overlooked; and Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt\nof Willoughby's constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful\nexpectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of\nMarianne, without feeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless\nher own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would\nengage in the solicitude of Marianne's situation to have the same\nanimating object in view, the same possibility of hope. A short, a\nvery short time however must now decide what Willoughby's intentions\nwere; in all probability he was already in town. Marianne's eagerness\nto be gone declared her dependence on finding him there; and Elinor was\nresolved not only upon gaining every new light as to his character\nwhich her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her,\nbut likewise upon watching his behaviour to her sister with such\nzealous attention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant,\nbefore many meetings had taken place. Should the result of her\nobservations be unfavourable, she was determined at all events to open\nthe eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, her exertions would be\nof a different nature--she must then learn to avoid every selfish\ncomparison, and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction\nin the happiness of Marianne.\n\nThey were three days on their journey, and Marianne's behaviour as they\ntravelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and\ncompanionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be. She sat in\nsilence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely\never voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty\nwithin their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively\naddressed to her sister. To atone for this conduct therefore, Elinor\ntook immediate possession of the post of civility which she had\nassigned herself, behaved with the greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings,\ntalked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever she\ncould; and Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all\npossible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and\nenjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make them choose their\nown dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferring\nsalmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets. They reached town by\nthree o'clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey,\nfrom the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury\nof a good fire.\n\nThe house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies\nwere immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. It\nhad formerly been Charlotte's, and over the mantelpiece still hung a\nlandscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having\nspent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.\n\nAs dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their\narrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her\nmother, and sat down for that purpose. In a few moments Marianne did\nthe same. \"I am writing home, Marianne,\" said Elinor; \"had not you\nbetter defer your letter for a day or two?\"\n\n\"I am NOT going to write to my mother,\" replied Marianne, hastily, and\nas if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Elinor said no more; it\nimmediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and\nthe conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however\nmysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be\nengaged. This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her\npleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity.\nMarianne's was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no\nmore than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with\neager rapidity. Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the\ndirection; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the\nbell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed\nfor her to the two-penny post. This decided the matter at once.\n\nHer spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them\nwhich prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this\nagitation increased as the evening drew on. She could scarcely eat any\ndinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed\nanxiously listening to the sound of every carriage.\n\nIt was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much\nengaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing. The tea\nthings were brought in, and already had Marianne been disappointed more\nthan once by a rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was suddenly\nheard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, Elinor\nfelt secure of its announcing Willoughby's approach, and Marianne,\nstarting up, moved towards the door. Every thing was silent; this\ncould not be borne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few\nsteps towards the stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned\ninto the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard\nhim would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that\ninstant she could not help exclaiming, \"Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby,\nindeed it is!\" and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms,\nwhen Colonel Brandon appeared.\n\nIt was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately\nleft the room. Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her\nregard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt\nparticularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive\nthat she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing\nhim. She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even\nobserved Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and\nconcern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded\ntowards herself.\n\n\"Is your sister ill?\" said he.\n\nElinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of\nhead-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which\nshe could decently attribute her sister's behaviour.\n\nHe heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect\nhimself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of\nhis pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about\ntheir journey, and the friends they had left behind.\n\nIn this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side,\nthey continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts\nof both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very much to ask whether\nWilloughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by\nany enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something,\nshe asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last.\n\"Yes,\" he replied, with some embarrassment, \"almost ever since; I have\nbeen once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in\nmy power to return to Barton.\"\n\nThis, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to\nher remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with\nthe uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she\nwas fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the\nsubject than she had ever felt.\n\nMrs. Jennings soon came in. \"Oh! Colonel,\" said she, with her usual\nnoisy cheerfulness, \"I am monstrous glad to see you--sorry I could not\ncome before--beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a\nlittle, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been\nat home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do\nafter one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to\nsettle with-- Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner!\nBut pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town\ntoday?\"\n\n\"I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer's, where I have been\ndining.\"\n\n\"Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? How does\nCharlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by this time.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you,\nthat you will certainly see her to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have brought two\nyoung ladies with me, you see--that is, you see but one of them now,\nbut there is another somewhere. Your friend, Miss Marianne, too--which\nyou will not be sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr.\nWilloughby will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be\nyoung and handsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very\nhandsome--worse luck for me. However, I got a very good husband, and I\ndon't know what the greatest beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has\nbeen dead these eight years and better. But Colonel, where have you\nbeen to since we parted? And how does your business go on? Come,\ncome, let's have no secrets among friends.\"\n\nHe replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but\nwithout satisfying her in any. Elinor now began to make the tea, and\nMarianne was obliged to appear again.\n\nAfter her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent\nthan he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to\nstay long. No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were\nunanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.\n\nMarianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks.\nThe disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the\nexpectation of what was to happen that day. They had not long finished\ntheir breakfast before Mrs. Palmer's barouche stopped at the door, and\nin a few minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to see\nthem all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure\nfrom meeting her mother or the Miss Dashwoods again. So surprised at\ntheir coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all\nalong; so angry at their accepting her mother's invitation after having\ndeclined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven\nthem if they had not come!\n\n\"Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,\" said she; \"What do you think\nhe said when he heard of your coming with Mama? I forget what it was\nnow, but it was something so droll!\"\n\nAfter an hour or two spent in what her mother called comfortable chat,\nor in other words, in every variety of inquiry concerning all their\nacquaintance on Mrs. Jennings's side, and in laughter without cause on\nMrs. Palmer's, it was proposed by the latter that they should all\naccompany her to some shops where she had business that morning, to\nwhich Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having likewise\nsome purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, though declining it at\nfirst was induced to go likewise.\n\nWherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch. In Bond\nStreet especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in\nconstant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind\nwas equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all\nthat interested and occupied the others. Restless and dissatisfied\nevery where, her sister could never obtain her opinion of any article\nof purchase, however it might equally concern them both: she received\nno pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and\ncould with difficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs.\nPalmer, whose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new;\nwho was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her\ntime in rapture and indecision.\n\nIt was late in the morning before they returned home; and no sooner had\nthey entered the house than Marianne flew eagerly up stairs, and when\nElinor followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful\ncountenance, which declared that no Willoughby had been there.\n\n\"Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?\" said she to\nthe footman who then entered with the parcels. She was answered in the\nnegative. \"Are you quite sure of it?\" she replied. \"Are you certain\nthat no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?\"\n\nThe man replied that none had.\n\n\"How very odd!\" said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she\nturned away to the window.\n\n\"How odd, indeed!\" repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister\nwith uneasiness. \"If she had not known him to be in town she would not\nhave written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna;\nand if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write!\nOh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement\nbetween a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in\nso doubtful, so mysterious a manner! I long to inquire; and how will\nMY interference be borne.\"\n\nShe determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued\nmany days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in\nthe strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious\nenquiry into the affair.\n\nMrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings's intimate\nacquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with\nthem. The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening\nengagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table\nfor the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she\nwould never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her\nown disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure\nto her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of\nexpectation and the pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured\nfor a few minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she\nreturned to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and\nforwards across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the\nwindow, in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 27\n\n\n\"If this open weather holds much longer,\" said Mrs. Jennings, when they\nmet at breakfast the following morning, \"Sir John will not like leaving\nBarton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's\npleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to\ntake it so much to heart.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the\nwindow as she spoke, to examine the day. \"I had not thought of that.\nThis weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.\"\n\nIt was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it.\n\"It is charming weather for THEM indeed,\" she continued, as she sat\ndown to the breakfast table with a happy countenance. \"How much they\nmust enjoy it! But\" (with a little return of anxiety) \"it cannot be\nexpected to last long. At this time of the year, and after such a\nseries of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts\nwill soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day\nor two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer--nay,\nperhaps it may freeze tonight!\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from\nseeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, \"I dare say we\nshall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week.\"\n\n\"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.\"\n\n\"And now,\" silently conjectured Elinor, \"she will write to Combe by\nthis day's post.\"\n\nBut if she DID, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy\nwhich eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. Whatever the\ntruth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough\ncontentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could\nnot be very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy\nin the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of\na frost.\n\nThe morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs.\nJennings's acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and\nMarianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind,\nwatching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the\nair.\n\n\"Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There\nseems to me a very decided difference. I can hardly keep my hands warm\neven in my muff. It was not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem\nparting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear\nafternoon.\"\n\nElinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered,\nand saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in\nthe appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching\nfrost.\n\nThe Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs.\nJennings's style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her\nbehaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. Every thing in her\nhousehold arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and\nexcepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton's regret, she\nhad never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at\nall discompose the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find\nherself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had\nexpected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real\nenjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or\nabroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.\n\nColonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with\nthem almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor,\nwho often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from\nany other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much\nconcern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was a\nstrengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which\nhe often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than\nwhen at Barton.\n\nAbout a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was\nalso arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the\nmorning's drive.\n\n\"Good God!\" cried Marianne, \"he has been here while we were out.\"\nElinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to\nsay, \"Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.\" But Marianne\nseemed hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings's entrance, escaped with\nthe precious card.\n\nThis event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of\nher sister all, and more than all, their former agitation. From this\nmoment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every\nhour of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted on being\nleft behind, the next morning, when the others went out.\n\nElinor's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street\nduring their absence; but a moment's glance at her sister when they\nreturned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second\nvisit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.\n\n\"For me!\" cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.\n\n\"No, ma'am, for my mistress.\"\n\nBut Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.\n\n\"It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!\"\n\n\"You are expecting a letter, then?\" said Elinor, unable to be longer\nsilent.\n\n\"Yes, a little--not much.\"\n\nAfter a short pause. \"You have no confidence in me, Marianne.\"\n\n\"Nay, Elinor, this reproach from YOU--you who have confidence in no\none!\"\n\n\"Me!\" returned Elinor in some confusion; \"indeed, Marianne, I have\nnothing to tell.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" answered Marianne with energy, \"our situations then are alike.\nWe have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not\ncommunicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.\"\n\nElinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was\nnot at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to\npress for greater openness in Marianne.\n\nMrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it\naloud. It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit\nStreet the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and\ncousins the following evening. Business on Sir John's part, and a\nviolent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street.\nThe invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew\nnear, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that\nthey should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty\nin persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of\nWilloughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad,\nthan unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.\n\nElinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not\nmaterially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled\nin town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty\nyoung people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair,\nhowever, of which Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an\nunpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the\nreputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it\nwas risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it\nknown that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine\ncouple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former, whom they had\nnot seen before since their arrival in town, as he was careful to avoid\nthe appearance of any attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore\nnever came near her, they received no mark of recognition on their\nentrance. He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they\nwere, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the\nroom. Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it\nwas enough--HE was not there--and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to\nreceive or communicate pleasure. After they had been assembled about\nan hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his\nsurprise on seeing them in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first\ninformed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said\nsomething very droll on hearing that they were to come.\n\n\"I thought you were both in Devonshire,\" said he.\n\n\"Did you?\" replied Elinor.\n\n\"When do you go back again?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\" And thus ended their discourse.\n\nNever had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was\nthat evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise. She\ncomplained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.\n\n\"Aye, aye,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"we know the reason of all that very\nwell; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you\nwould not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very\npretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited.\"\n\n\"Invited!\" cried Marianne.\n\n\"So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him\nsomewhere in the street this morning.\" Marianne said no more, but\nlooked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this situation to be doing\nsomething that might lead to her sister's relief, Elinor resolved to\nwrite the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears\nfor the health of Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been\nso long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by\nperceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne was again\nwriting to Willoughby, for she could not suppose it to be to any other\nperson.\n\nAbout the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on\nbusiness, and Elinor began her letter directly, while Marianne, too\nrestless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one\nwindow to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.\nElinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all\nthat had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby's inconstancy, urging her\nby every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account\nof her real situation with respect to him.\n\nHer letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and\nColonel Brandon was announced. Marianne, who had seen him from the\nwindow, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he\nentered it. He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing\nsatisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in\nparticular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.\nElinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her\nsister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening. It was not the\nfirst time of her feeling the same kind of conviction; for, more than\nonce before, beginning with the observation of \"your sister looks\nunwell to-day,\" or \"your sister seems out of spirits,\" he had appeared\non the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something\nparticular about her. After a pause of several minutes, their silence\nwas broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was\nto congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Elinor was not\nprepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged\nto adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He\ntried to smile as he replied, \"your sister's engagement to Mr.\nWilloughby is very generally known.\"\n\n\"It cannot be generally known,\" returned Elinor, \"for her own family do\nnot know it.\"\n\nHe looked surprised and said, \"I beg your pardon, I am afraid my\ninquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy\nintended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally\ntalked of.\"\n\n\"How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?\"\n\n\"By many--by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are\nmost intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons. But\nstill I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps\nrather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to\nsupport its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today,\naccidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in\nyour sister's writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I\ncould ask the question. Is every thing finally settled? Is it\nimpossible to-? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of\nsucceeding. Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong in\nsaying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I\nhave the strongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely\nresolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if\nconcealment be possible, is all that remains.\"\n\nThese words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for\nher sister, affected her very much. She was not immediately able to\nsay anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for\na short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give. The real\nstate of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known\nto herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable\nto say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced that\nMarianne's affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel\nBrandon's success, whatever the event of that affection might be, and\nat the same time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought\nit most prudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than\nshe really knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though\nshe had never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they\nstood with each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and\nof their correspondence she was not astonished to hear.\n\nHe listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak,\nrose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion,\n\"to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he\nmay endeavour to deserve her,\"--took leave, and went away.\n\nElinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation, to\nlessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left, on the\ncontrary, with a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon's\nunhappiness, and was prevented even from wishing it removed, by her\nanxiety for the very event that must confirm it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 28\n\n\nNothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor\nregret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby\nneither came nor wrote. They were engaged about the end of that time\nto attend Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept\naway by the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party,\nMarianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, and seeming\nequally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one\nlook of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the\ndrawing-room fire after tea, till the moment of Lady Middleton's\narrival, without once stirring from her seat, or altering her attitude,\nlost in her own thoughts, and insensible of her sister's presence; and\nwhen at last they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the\ndoor, she started as if she had forgotten that any one was expected.\n\nThey arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as\nthe string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the\nstairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another\nin an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full\nof company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of\npoliteness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted\nto mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and\ninconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some\ntime spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to\nCassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and\nElinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great\ndistance from the table.\n\nThey had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived\nWilloughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest\nconversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon\ncaught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to\nspeak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her;\nand then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned\ninvoluntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by\nher. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance\nglowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him\ninstantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" she exclaimed, \"he is there--he is there--Oh! why does\nhe not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?\"\n\n\"Pray, pray be composed,\" cried Elinor, \"and do not betray what you\nfeel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.\"\n\nThis however was more than she could believe herself; and to be\ncomposed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it\nwas beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected\nevery feature.\n\nAt last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up,\nand pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to\nhim. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than\nMarianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe\nher attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and\nasked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all\npresence of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But\nthe feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was\ncrimsoned over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion,\n\"Good God! Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not\nreceived my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?\"\n\nHe could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he\nheld her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently\nstruggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its\nexpression becoming more tranquil. After a moment's pause, he spoke\nwith calmness.\n\n\"I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday,\nand very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find\nyourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.\"\n\n\"But have you not received my notes?\" cried Marianne in the wildest\nanxiety. \"Here is some mistake I am sure--some dreadful mistake. What\ncan be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven's sake tell\nme, what is the matter?\"\n\nHe made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment\nreturned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he\nhad been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion,\nhe recovered himself again, and after saying, \"Yes, I had the pleasure\nof receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so\ngood as to send me,\" turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined\nhis friend.\n\nMarianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into\nher chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried\nto screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with\nlavender water.\n\n\"Go to him, Elinor,\" she cried, as soon as she could speak, \"and force\nhim to come to me. Tell him I must see him again--must speak to him\ninstantly.-- I cannot rest--I shall not have a moment's peace till this\nis explained--some dreadful misapprehension or other.-- Oh go to him\nthis moment.\"\n\n\"How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is\nnot the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.\"\n\nWith difficulty however could she prevent her from following him\nherself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least,\nwith the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more\nprivacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued\nincessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings,\nby exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby\nquit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne\nthat he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that\nevening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged\nher sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was\ntoo miserable to stay a minute longer.\n\nLady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed\nthat Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her\nwish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they\ndeparted as soon the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was\nspoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a\nsilent agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings\nwas luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room,\nwhere hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon\nundressed and in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her\nsister then left her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings,\nhad leisure enough for thinking over the past.\n\nThat some kind of engagement had subsisted between Willoughby and\nMarianne she could not doubt, and that Willoughby was weary of it,\nseemed equally clear; for however Marianne might still feed her own\nwishes, SHE could not attribute such behaviour to mistake or\nmisapprehension of any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of\nsentiment could account for it. Her indignation would have been still\nstronger than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrassment which\nseemed to speak a consciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented\nher from believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting with\nthe affections of her sister from the first, without any design that\nwould bear investigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, and\nconvenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a\nregard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt.\n\nAs for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already\nhave given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in\nits probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest\nconcern. Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she\ncould ESTEEM Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in\nfuture, her mind might be always supported. But every circumstance\nthat could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery\nof Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby--in an immediate and\nirreconcilable rupture with him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 29\n\n\nBefore the house-maid had lit their fire the next day, or the sun\ngained any power over a cold, gloomy morning in January, Marianne, only\nhalf dressed, was kneeling against one of the window-seats for the sake\nof all the little light she could command from it, and writing as fast\nas a continual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation,\nElinor, roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived\nher; and after observing her for a few moments with silent anxiety,\nsaid, in a tone of the most considerate gentleness,\n\n\"Marianne, may I ask-?\"\n\n\"No, Elinor,\" she replied, \"ask nothing; you will soon know all.\"\n\nThe sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, lasted no\nlonger than while she spoke, and was immediately followed by a return\nof the same excessive affliction. It was some minutes before she could\ngo on with her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still\nobliged her, at intervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of\nher feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing for the\nlast time to Willoughby.\n\nElinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power; and\nshe would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her still more, had not\nMarianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous\nirritability, not to speak to her for the world. In such\ncircumstances, it was better for both that they should not be long\ntogether; and the restless state of Marianne's mind not only prevented\nher from remaining in the room a moment after she was dressed, but\nrequiring at once solitude and continual change of place, made her\nwander about the house till breakfast time, avoiding the sight of every\nbody.\n\nAt breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any thing; and\nElinor's attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in\npitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to\nengage Mrs. Jennings's notice entirely to herself.\n\nAs this was a favourite meal with Mrs. Jennings, it lasted a\nconsiderable time, and they were just setting themselves, after it,\nround the common working table, when a letter was delivered to\nMarianne, which she eagerly caught from the servant, and, turning of a\ndeath-like paleness, instantly ran out of the room. Elinor, who saw as\nplainly by this, as if she had seen the direction, that it must come\nfrom Willoughby, felt immediately such a sickness at heart as made her\nhardly able to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour as\nmade her fear it impossible to escape Mrs. Jennings's notice. That good\nlady, however, saw only that Marianne had received a letter from\nWilloughby, which appeared to her a very good joke, and which she\ntreated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, that she would find it to\nher liking. Of Elinor's distress, she was too busily employed in\nmeasuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; and\ncalmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disappeared, she said,\n\n\"Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my\nlife! MY girls were nothing to her, and yet they used to be foolish\nenough; but as for Miss Marianne, she is quite an altered creature. I\nhope, from the bottom of my heart, he won't keep her waiting much\nlonger, for it is quite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn.\nPray, when are they to be married?\"\n\nElinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that moment,\nobliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and, therefore,\ntrying to smile, replied, \"And have you really, Ma'am, talked yourself\ninto a persuasion of my sister's being engaged to Mr. Willoughby? I\nthought it had been only a joke, but so serious a question seems to\nimply more; and I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive\nyourself any longer. I do assure you that nothing would surprise me\nmore than to hear of their being going to be married.\"\n\n\"For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood! how can you talk so? Don't we\nall know that it must be a match, that they were over head and ears in\nlove with each other from the first moment they met? Did not I see\nthem together in Devonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I\nknow that your sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wedding\nclothes? Come, come, this won't do. Because you are so sly about it\nyourself, you think nobody else has any senses; but it is no such\nthing, I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so\nlong. I tell every body of it and so does Charlotte.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Ma'am,\" said Elinor, very seriously, \"you are mistaken.\nIndeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report, and\nyou will find that you have though you will not believe me now.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits to say more,\nand eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written, hurried\naway to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw Marianne\nstretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand,\nand two or three others laying by her. Elinor drew near, but without\nsaying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed\nher affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of\ntears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne's. The\nlatter, though unable to speak, seemed to feel all the tenderness of\nthis behaviour, and after some time thus spent in joint affliction, she\nput all the letters into Elinor's hands; and then covering her face\nwith her handkerchief, almost screamed with agony. Elinor, who knew\nthat such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its\ncourse, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent\nitself, and then turning eagerly to Willoughby's letter, read as\nfollows:\n\n \"Bond Street, January.\n \"MY DEAR MADAM,\n\n \"I have just had the honour of receiving your\n letter, for which I beg to return my sincere\n acknowledgments. I am much concerned to find there\n was anything in my behaviour last night that did\n not meet your approbation; and though I am quite at\n a loss to discover in what point I could be so\n unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat your\n forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been\n perfectly unintentional. I shall never reflect on\n my former acquaintance with your family in Devonshire\n without the most grateful pleasure, and flatter\n myself it will not be broken by any mistake or\n misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your\n whole family is very sincere; but if I have been so\n unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than\n I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach myself\n for not having been more guarded in my professions\n of that esteem. That I should ever have meant more\n you will allow to be impossible, when you understand\n that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere,\n and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before\n this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great\n regret that I obey your commands in returning the\n letters with which I have been honoured from you,\n and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed\n on me.\n\n \"I am, dear Madam,\n \"Your most obedient\n \"humble servant,\n \"JOHN WILLOUGHBY.\"\n\n\nWith what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss\nDashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it\nmust bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their\nseparation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be\nsuffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable\nof departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and\ndelicate feeling--so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to\nsend a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing\nwith his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no\nbreach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever--a letter of\nwhich every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be\ndeep in hardened villainy.\n\nShe paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read\nit again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her\nabhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him,\nthat she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound\nMarianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to\nher of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most\nirremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled\nman, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.\n\nIn her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the\ndepravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the\nvery different mind of a very different person, who had no other\nconnection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with\nevery thing that passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her\nsister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so\nentirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing\na carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who\ncould be coming so unreasonably early, she was all astonishment to\nperceive Mrs. Jennings's chariot, which she knew had not been ordered\ntill one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of\ncontributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse\nherself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being\nindisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thoroughly good-humoured concern for\nits cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing\nher safe off, returned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise\nfrom the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from\nfalling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest\nand food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many\nnights since she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer\nsupported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was\nfelt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous\nfaintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly,\nmade her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some\nsense of her kindness, by saying,\n\n\"Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!\"\n\n\"I only wish,\" replied her sister, \"there were any thing I COULD do,\nwhich might be of comfort to you.\"\n\nThis, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne,\nwho could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, \"Oh! Elinor, I am\nmiserable, indeed,\" before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.\n\nElinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in\nsilence.\n\n\"Exert yourself, dear Marianne,\" she cried, \"if you would not kill\nyourself and all who love you. Think of your mother; think of her\nmisery while YOU suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.\"\n\n\"I cannot, I cannot,\" cried Marianne; \"leave me, leave me, if I\ndistress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so.\nOh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of\nexertion! Happy, happy Elinor, YOU cannot have an idea of what I\nsuffer.\"\n\n\"Do you call ME happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!--And can you believe\nme to be so, while I see you so wretched!\"\n\n\"Forgive me, forgive me,\" throwing her arms round her sister's neck; \"I\nknow you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you\nare--you must be happy; Edward loves you--what, oh what, can do away\nsuch happiness as that?\"\n\n\"Many, many circumstances,\" said Elinor, solemnly.\n\n\"No, no, no,\" cried Marianne wildly, \"he loves you, and only you. You\nCAN have no grief.\"\n\n\"I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.\"\n\n\"And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing\ncan do away.\"\n\n\"You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? no friends? Is\nyour loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? Much as you\nsuffer now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of\nhis character had been delayed to a later period--if your engagement\nhad been carried on for months and months, as it might have been,\nbefore he chose to put an end to it. Every additional day of unhappy\nconfidence, on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful.\"\n\n\"Engagement!\" cried Marianne, \"there has been no engagement.\"\n\n\"No engagement!\"\n\n\"No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith\nwith me.\"\n\n\"But he told you that he loved you.\"\n\n\"Yes--no--never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never\nprofessedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been--but it never\nwas.\"\n\n\"Yet you wrote to him?\"--\n\n\"Yes--could that be wrong after all that had passed?-- But I cannot\ntalk.\"\n\nElinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now\nraised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the\ncontents of all. The first, which was what her sister had sent him on\ntheir arrival in town, was to this effect.\n\n Berkeley Street, January.\n\n \"How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on\n receiving this; and I think you will feel something\n more than surprise, when you know that I am in town.\n An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs.\n Jennings, was a temptation we could not resist.\n I wish you may receive this in time to come here\n to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any rate\n I shall expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.\n\n \"M.D.\"\n\nHer second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance\nat the Middletons', was in these words:--\n\n \"I cannot express my disappointment in having\n missed you the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment\n at not having received any answer to a note which\n I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting\n to hear from you, and still more to see you, every\n hour of the day. Pray call again as soon as possible,\n and explain the reason of my having expected this\n in vain. You had better come earlier another time,\n because we are generally out by one. We were last\n night at Lady Middleton's, where there was a dance.\n I have been told that you were asked to be of the\n party. But could it be so? You must be very much\n altered indeed since we parted, if that could be\n the case, and you not there. But I will not suppose\n this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your\n personal assurance of its being otherwise.\n\n \"M.D.\"\n\nThe contents of her last note to him were these:--\n\n \"What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your\n behaviour last night? Again I demand an explanation\n of it. I was prepared to meet you with the pleasure\n which our separation naturally produced, with the\n familiarity which our intimacy at Barton appeared\n to me to justify. I was repulsed indeed! I have\n passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse\n a conduct which can scarcely be called less than\n insulting; but though I have not yet been able to\n form any reasonable apology for your behaviour,\n I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of\n it. You have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely\n deceived, in something concerning me, which may have\n lowered me in your opinion. Tell me what it is,\n explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall\n be satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It\n would grieve me indeed to be obliged to think ill\n of you; but if I am to do it, if I am to learn that\n you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that\n your regard for us all was insincere, that your\n behaviour to me was intended only to deceive, let\n it be told as soon as possible. My feelings are at\n present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish\n to acquit you, but certainty on either side will be\n ease to what I now suffer. If your sentiments are\n no longer what they were, you will return my notes,\n and the lock of my hair which is in your possession.\n\n \"M.D.\"\n\nThat such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been\nso answered, Elinor, for Willoughby's sake, would have been unwilling\nto believe. But her condemnation of him did not blind her to the\nimpropriety of their having been written at all; and she was silently\ngrieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs\nof tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, and most severely\ncondemned by the event, when Marianne, perceiving that she had finished\nthe letters, observed to her that they contained nothing but what any\none would have written in the same situation.\n\n\"I felt myself,\" she added, \"to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if\nthe strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other.\"\n\n\"I can believe it,\" said Elinor; \"but unfortunately he did not feel the\nsame.\"\n\n\"He DID feel the same, Elinor--for weeks and weeks he felt it. I know\nhe did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the\nblackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear\nto him as my own soul could wish. This lock of hair, which now he can\nso readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest\nsupplication. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his\nvoice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being\ntogether at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When he told me\nthat it might be many weeks before we met again--his distress--can I\never forget his distress?\"\n\nFor a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had\npassed away, she added, in a firmer tone,\n\n\"Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby.\"\n\n\"Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been\ninstigated?\"\n\n\"By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather\nbelieve every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me\nin his opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This\nwoman of whom he writes--whoever she be--or any one, in short, but your\nown dear self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me.\nBeyond you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not\nrather suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?\"\n\nElinor would not contend, and only replied, \"Whoever may have been so\ndetestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph,\nmy dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own\ninnocence and good intentions supports your spirits. It is a\nreasonable and laudable pride which resists such malevolence.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Marianne, \"misery such as mine has no pride. I care\nnot who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be\nopen to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be\nproud and independent as they like--may resist insult, or return\nmortification--but I cannot. I must feel--I must be wretched--and they\nare welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.\"\n\n\"But for my mother's sake and mine--\"\n\n\"I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so\nmiserable--Oh! who can require it?\"\n\nAgain they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking\nthoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire,\nwithout knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning\nobjects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed,\nwith her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up\nWilloughby's letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence,\nexclaimed--\n\n\"It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!\nCruel, cruel--nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever\nhe might have heard against me--ought he not to have suspended his\nbelief? ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power\nof clearing myself? 'The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,)\nwhich you so obligingly bestowed on me'--That is unpardonable.\nWilloughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words? Oh,\nbarbarously insolent!--Elinor, can he be justified?\"\n\n\"No, Marianne, in no possible way.\"\n\n\"And yet this woman--who knows what her art may have been?--how long it\nmay have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!--Who is\nshe?--Who can she be?--Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and\nattractive among his female acquaintance?--Oh! no one, no one--he\ntalked to me only of myself.\"\n\nAnother pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus.\n\n\"Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be\ngone to-morrow?\"\n\n\"To-morrow, Marianne!\"\n\n\"Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby's sake--and\nnow who cares for me? Who regards me?\"\n\n\"It would be impossible to go to-morrow. We owe Mrs. Jennings much more\nthan civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a\nhasty removal as that.\"\n\n\"Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I\ncannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people.\nThe Middletons and Palmers--how am I to bear their pity? The pity of\nsuch a woman as Lady Middleton! Oh, what would HE say to that!\"\n\nElinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment she did so; but\nno attitude could give her ease; and in restless pain of mind and body\nshe moved from one posture to another, till growing more and more\nhysterical, her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at\nall, and for some time was fearful of being constrained to call for\nassistance. Some lavender drops, however, which she was at length\npersuaded to take, were of use; and from that time till Mrs. Jennings\nreturned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 30\n\n\nMrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return, and without\nwaiting to have her request of admittance answered, opened the door and\nwalked in with a look of real concern.\n\n\"How do you do my dear?\"--said she in a voice of great compassion to\nMarianne, who turned away her face without attempting to answer.\n\n\"How is she, Miss Dashwood?--Poor thing! she looks very bad.-- No\nwonder. Ay, it is but too true. He is to be married very soon--a\ngood-for-nothing fellow! I have no patience with him. Mrs. Taylor\ntold me of it half an hour ago, and she was told it by a particular\nfriend of Miss Grey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed\nit; and I was almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I, all I can\nsay is, that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my\nacquaintance abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may\nplague his heart out. And so I shall always say, my dear, you may\ndepend on it. I have no notion of men's going on in this way; and if\never I meet him again, I will give him such a dressing as he has not\nhad this many a day. But there is one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne;\nhe is not the only young man in the world worth having; and with your\npretty face you will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won't\ndisturb her any longer, for she had better have her cry out at once and\nhave done with. The Parrys and Sandersons luckily are coming tonight\nyou know, and that will amuse her.\"\n\nShe then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, as if she\nsupposed her young friend's affliction could be increased by noise.\n\nMarianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on dining with\nthem. Elinor even advised her against it. But \"no, she would go down;\nshe could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less.\"\nElinor, pleased to have her governed for a moment by such a motive,\nthough believing it hardly possible that she could sit out the dinner,\nsaid no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could,\nwhile Marianne still remained on the bed, was ready to assist her into\nthe dining room as soon as they were summoned to it.\n\nWhen there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate more and was calmer\nthan her sister had expected. Had she tried to speak, or had she been\nconscious of half Mrs. Jennings's well-meant but ill-judged attentions\nto her, this calmness could not have been maintained; but not a\nsyllable escaped her lips; and the abstraction of her thoughts\npreserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing before her.\n\nElinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings's kindness, though its\neffusions were often distressing, and sometimes almost ridiculous, made\nher those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her\nsister could not make or return for herself. Their good friend saw\nthat Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her\nwhich might make her at all less so. She treated her therefore, with\nall the indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the\nlast day of its holidays. Marianne was to have the best place by the\nfire, was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to\nbe amused by the relation of all the news of the day. Had not Elinor,\nin the sad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she\ncould have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings's endeavours to cure a\ndisappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a\ngood fire. As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this was\nforced by continual repetition on Marianne, she could stay no longer.\nWith a hasty exclamation of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to\nfollow her, she directly got up and hurried out of the room.\n\n\"Poor soul!\" cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, \"how it\ngrieves me to see her! And I declare if she is not gone away without\nfinishing her wine! And the dried cherries too! Lord! nothing seems\nto do her any good. I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I\nwould send all over the town for it. Well, it is the oddest thing to\nme, that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill! But when there is\nplenty of money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord bless\nyou! they care no more about such things!--\"\n\n\"The lady then--Miss Grey I think you called her--is very rich?\"\n\n\"Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart,\nstylish girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very\nwell, Biddy Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family\nare all rich together. Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it\nwon't come before it's wanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No\nwonder! dashing about with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don't\nsignify talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes\nlove to a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly\noff from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is\nready to have him. Why don't he, in such a case, sell his horses, let\nhis house, turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once? I\nwarrant you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters\ncame round. But that won't do now-a-days; nothing in the way of\npleasure can ever be given up by the young men of this age.\"\n\n\"Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be\namiable?\"\n\n\"I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever heard her\nmentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this morning, that one day\nMiss Walker hinted to her, that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would\nnot be sorry to have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could\nnever agree.\"--\n\n\"And who are the Ellisons?\"\n\n\"Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may choose for\nherself; and a pretty choice she has made!--What now,\" after pausing a\nmoment--\"your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan\nby herself. Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear,\nit seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall\nhave a few friends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we\nplay at? She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares\nfor?\"\n\n\"Dear ma'am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Marianne, I dare say,\nwill not leave her room again this evening. I shall persuade her if I\ncan to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.\"\n\n\"Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her name her own\nsupper, and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she has been looking so bad and\nso cast down this last week or two, for this matter I suppose has been\nhanging over her head as long as that. And so the letter that came\ntoday finished it! Poor soul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it,\nI would not have joked her about it for all my money. But then you\nknow, how should I guess such a thing? I made sure of its being\nnothing but a common love letter, and you know young people like to be\nlaughed at about them. Lord! how concerned Sir John and my daughters\nwill be when they hear it! If I had my senses about me I might have\ncalled in Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it. But I\nshall see them tomorrow.\"\n\n\"It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution Mrs. Palmer and\nSir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby, or making the slightest\nallusion to what has passed, before my sister. Their own good-nature\nmust point out to them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing\nabout it when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to\nmyself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, as you my\ndear madam will easily believe.\"\n\n\"Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terrible for you to hear\nit talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I would not mention a\nword about it to her for the world. You saw I did not all dinner time.\nNo more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they are all very\nthoughtful and considerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I\ncertainly will. For my part, I think the less that is said about such\nthings, the better, the sooner 'tis blown over and forgot. And what\ndoes talking ever do you know?\"\n\n\"In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than in many cases\nof a similar kind, for it has been attended by circumstances which, for\nthe sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit to become the\npublic conversation. I must do THIS justice to Mr. Willoughby--he has\nbroken no positive engagement with my sister.\"\n\n\"Law, my dear! Don't pretend to defend him. No positive engagement\nindeed! after taking her all over Allenham House, and fixing on the\nvery rooms they were to live in hereafter!\"\n\nElinor, for her sister's sake, could not press the subject farther, and\nshe hoped it was not required of her for Willoughby's; since, though\nMarianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcement\nof the real truth. After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings,\nwith all her natural hilarity, burst forth again.\n\n\"Well, my dear, 'tis a true saying about an ill-wind, for it will be\nall the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her at last; aye,\nthat he will. Mind me, now, if they an't married by Mid-summer. Lord!\nhow he'll chuckle over this news! I hope he will come tonight. It\nwill be all to one a better match for your sister. Two thousand a year\nwithout debt or drawback--except the little love-child, indeed; aye, I\nhad forgot her; but she may be 'prenticed out at a small cost, and then\nwhat does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you;\nexactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and\nconveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered\nwith the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in\none corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were\nthere! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a\nvery pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for;\nand, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile\nfrom the turnpike-road, so 'tis never dull, for if you only go and sit\nup in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages\nthat pass along. Oh! 'tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the\nvillage, and the parsonage-house within a stone's throw. To my fancy,\na thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to\nsend three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than\nyour mother. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can.\nOne shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down. If we CAN but\nput Willoughby out of her head!\"\n\n\"Ay, if we can do THAT, Ma'am,\" said Elinor, \"we shall do very well\nwith or without Colonel Brandon.\" And then rising, she went away to\njoin Marianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room,\nleaning, in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire, which,\ntill Elinor's entrance, had been her only light.\n\n\"You had better leave me,\" was all the notice that her sister received\nfrom her.\n\n\"I will leave you,\" said Elinor, \"if you will go to bed.\" But this,\nfrom the momentary perverseness of impatient suffering, she at first\nrefused to do. Her sister's earnest, though gentle persuasion,\nhowever, soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw her lay her\naching head on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet\nrest before she left her.\n\nIn the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by\nMrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of something, in her hand.\n\n\"My dear,\" said she, entering, \"I have just recollected that I have\nsome of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was\ntasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister. My poor\nhusband! how fond he was of it! Whenever he had a touch of his old\ncolicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the\nworld. Do take it to your sister.\"\n\n\"Dear Ma'am,\" replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of the\ncomplaints for which it was recommended, \"how good you are! But I have\njust left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think\nnothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me\nleave, I will drink the wine myself.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not been five minutes\nearlier, was satisfied with the compromise; and Elinor, as she\nswallowed the chief of it, reflected, that though its effects on a\ncolicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing\npowers, on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself\nas on her sister.\n\nColonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, and by his manner\nof looking round the room for Marianne, Elinor immediately fancied that\nhe neither expected nor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he\nwas already aware of what occasioned her absence. Mrs. Jennings was\nnot struck by the same thought; for soon after his entrance, she walked\nacross the room to the tea-table where Elinor presided, and whispered--\n\"The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see. He knows nothing of it;\ndo tell him, my dear.\"\n\nHe shortly afterwards drew a chair close to hers, and, with a look\nwhich perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired after her\nsister.\n\n\"Marianne is not well,\" said she. \"She has been indisposed all day,\nand we have persuaded her to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then,\" he hesitatingly replied, \"what I heard this morning\nmay be--there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at\nfirst.\"\n\n\"What did you hear?\"\n\n\"That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think--in short, that a man,\nwhom I KNEW to be engaged--but how shall I tell you? If you know it\nalready, as surely you must, I may be spared.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" answered Elinor, with forced calmness, \"Mr. Willoughby's\nmarriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we DO know it all. This seems to have\nbeen a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded\nit to us. Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?\"\n\n\"In a stationer's shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies\nwere waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other\nan account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting\nconcealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name\nof Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my\nattention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing\nwas now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey--it was\nno longer to be a secret--it would take place even within a few weeks,\nwith many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing,\nespecially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still\nmore:--as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe\nMagna, his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!--but it would be\nimpossible to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt,\non inquiry, for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs.\nEllison, and that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss\nGrey's guardian.\"\n\n\"It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand\npounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.\"\n\n\"It may be so; but Willoughby is capable--at least I think\"--he stopped\na moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, \"And\nyour sister--how did she--\"\n\n\"Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they\nmay be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel\naffliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard;\nand even now, perhaps--but I am almost convinced that he never was\nreally attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some\npoints, there seems a hardness of heart about him.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Colonel Brandon, \"there is, indeed! But your sister does\nnot--I think you said so--she does not consider quite as you do?\"\n\n\"You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still\njustify him if she could.\"\n\nHe made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the\ntea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was\nnecessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure\nwhile they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss\nDashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel\nBrandon's side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of\nhope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening\nmore serious and thoughtful than usual.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 31\n\n\nFrom a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the\nnext morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had\nclosed her eyes.\n\nElinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and\nbefore breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and\nagain; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on\nElinor's side, the same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on\nMarianne's, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as\nunfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every\nconsolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. At one moment she\nwas absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at\nanother she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third\ncould resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she was uniform,\nwhen it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the\npresence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to\nendure it. Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs.\nJennings's entering into her sorrows with any compassion.\n\n\"No, no, no, it cannot be,\" she cried; \"she cannot feel. Her kindness\nis not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants\nis gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it.\"\n\nElinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice to which her\nsister was often led in her opinion of others, by the irritable\nrefinement of her own mind, and the too great importance placed by her\non the delicacies of a strong sensibility, and the graces of a polished\nmanner. Like half the rest of the world, if more than half there be\nthat are clever and good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an\nexcellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. She expected\nfrom other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she\njudged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on\nherself. Thus a circumstance occurred, while the sisters were together\nin their own room after breakfast, which sunk the heart of Mrs.\nJennings still lower in her estimation; because, through her own\nweakness, it chanced to prove a source of fresh pain to herself, though\nMrs. Jennings was governed in it by an impulse of the utmost goodwill.\n\nWith a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling,\nfrom the persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room, saying,\n\n\"Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.\"\n\nMarianne heard enough. In one moment her imagination placed before her\na letter from Willoughby, full of tenderness and contrition,\nexplanatory of all that had passed, satisfactory, convincing; and\ninstantly followed by Willoughby himself, rushing eagerly into the room\nto inforce, at her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances\nof his letter. The work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The\nhand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, was before her;\nand, in the acuteness of the disappointment which followed such an\necstasy of more than hope, she felt as if, till that instant, she had\nnever suffered.\n\nThe cruelty of Mrs. Jennings no language, within her reach in her\nmoments of happiest eloquence, could have expressed; and now she could\nreproach her only by the tears which streamed from her eyes with\npassionate violence--a reproach, however, so entirely lost on its\nobject, that after many expressions of pity, she withdrew, still\nreferring her to the letter of comfort. But the letter, when she was\ncalm enough to read it, brought little comfort. Willoughby filled\nevery page. Her mother, still confident of their engagement, and\nrelying as warmly as ever on his constancy, had only been roused by\nElinor's application, to intreat from Marianne greater openness towards\nthem both; and this, with such tenderness towards her, such affection\nfor Willoughby, and such a conviction of their future happiness in each\nother, that she wept with agony through the whole of it.\n\nAll her impatience to be at home again now returned; her mother was\ndearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of her mistaken\nconfidence in Willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone.\nElinor, unable herself to determine whether it were better for Marianne\nto be in London or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except of\npatience till their mother's wishes could be known; and at length she\nobtained her sister's consent to wait for that knowledge.\n\nMrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could not be easy\ntill the Middletons and Palmers were able to grieve as much as herself;\nand positively refusing Elinor's offered attendance, went out alone for\nthe rest of the morning. Elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware of the\npain she was going to communicate, and perceiving, by Marianne's\nletter, how ill she had succeeded in laying any foundation for it, then\nsat down to write her mother an account of what had passed, and entreat\nher directions for the future; while Marianne, who came into the\ndrawing-room on Mrs. Jennings's going away, remained fixed at the table\nwhere Elinor wrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving over\nher for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more fondly\nover its effect on her mother.\n\nIn this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when\nMarianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was\nstartled by a rap at the door.\n\n\"Who can this be?\" cried Elinor. \"So early too! I thought we HAD been\nsafe.\"\n\nMarianne moved to the window--\n\n\"It is Colonel Brandon!\" said she, with vexation. \"We are never safe\nfrom HIM.\"\n\n\"He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.\"\n\n\"I will not trust to THAT,\" retreating to her own room. \"A man who has\nnothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on\nthat of others.\"\n\nThe event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on\ninjustice and error; for Colonel Brandon DID come in; and Elinor, who\nwas convinced that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who\nsaw THAT solicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his\nanxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her sister\nfor esteeming him so lightly.\n\n\"I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,\" said he, after the first\nsalutation, \"and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more\neasily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you\nalone, which I was very desirous of doing. My object--my wish--my sole\nwish in desiring it--I hope, I believe it is--is to be a means of\ngiving comfort;--no, I must not say comfort--not present comfort--but\nconviction, lasting conviction to your sister's mind. My regard for\nher, for yourself, for your mother--will you allow me to prove it, by\nrelating some circumstances which nothing but a VERY sincere\nregard--nothing but an earnest desire of being useful--I think I am\njustified--though where so many hours have been spent in convincing\nmyself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be\nwrong?\" He stopped.\n\n\"I understand you,\" said Elinor. \"You have something to tell me of Mr.\nWilloughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will\nbe the greatest act of friendship that can be shewn Marianne. MY\ngratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to\nthat end, and HERS must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me\nhear it.\"\n\n\"You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,--but\nthis will give you no idea--I must go farther back. You will find me a\nvery awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A\nshort account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it SHALL be\na short one. On such a subject,\" sighing heavily, \"can I have little\ntemptation to be diffuse.\"\n\nHe stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went\non.\n\n\"You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation--(it is not to be\nsupposed that it could make any impression on you)--a conversation\nbetween us one evening at Barton Park--it was the evening of a\ndance--in which I alluded to a lady I had once known, as resembling, in\nsome measure, your sister Marianne.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" answered Elinor, \"I have NOT forgotten it.\" He looked pleased\nby this remembrance, and added,\n\n\"If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender\nrecollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well\nin mind as person. The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of\nfancy and spirits. This lady was one of my nearest relations, an\norphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our\nages were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were\nplayfellows and friends. I cannot remember the time when I did not\nlove Eliza; and my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as\nperhaps, judging from my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you\nmight think me incapable of having ever felt. Hers, for me, was, I\nbelieve, fervent as the attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and\nit was, though from a different cause, no less unfortunate. At\nseventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married--married\nagainst her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our\nfamily estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be\nsaid for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian.\nMy brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her. I had hoped\nthat her regard for me would support her under any difficulty, and for\nsome time it did; but at last the misery of her situation, for she\nexperienced great unkindness, overcame all her resolution, and though\nshe had promised me that nothing--but how blindly I relate! I have\nnever told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of\neloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my\ncousin's maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation\nfar distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement,\ntill my father's point was gained. I had depended on her fortitude too\nfar, and the blow was a severe one--but had her marriage been happy, so\nyoung as I then was, a few months must have reconciled me to it, or at\nleast I should not have now to lament it. This however was not the\ncase. My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what\nthey ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.\nThe consequence of this, upon a mind so young, so lively, so\ninexperienced as Mrs. Brandon's, was but too natural. She resigned\nherself at first to all the misery of her situation; and happy had it\nbeen if she had not lived to overcome those regrets which the\nremembrance of me occasioned. But can we wonder that, with such a\nhusband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to advise or\nrestrain her (for my father lived only a few months after their\nmarriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she should\nfall? Had I remained in England, perhaps--but I meant to promote the\nhappiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that purpose\nhad procured my exchange. The shock which her marriage had given me,\"\nhe continued, in a voice of great agitation, \"was of trifling\nweight--was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two years\nafterwards, of her divorce. It was THAT which threw this gloom,--even\nnow the recollection of what I suffered--\"\n\nHe could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about\nthe room. Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his\ndistress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took\nher hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. A few\nminutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure.\n\n\"It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned\nto England. My first care, when I DID arrive, was of course to seek\nfor her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy. I could\nnot trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to\nfear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of\nsin. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor\nsufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my\nbrother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months\nbefore to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it,\nthat her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to\ndispose of it for some immediate relief. At last, however, and after I\nhad been six months in England, I DID find her. Regard for a former\nservant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to\nvisit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and\nthere, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my unfortunate\nsister. So altered--so faded--worn down by acute suffering of every\nkind! hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure before\nme, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, on whom\nI had once doted. What I endured in so beholding her--but I have no\nright to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it--I have\npained you too much already. That she was, to all appearance, in the\nlast stage of a consumption, was--yes, in such a situation it was my\ngreatest comfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time\nfor a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw her\nplaced in comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited\nher every day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her\nlast moments.\"\n\nAgain he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in\nan exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate friend.\n\n\"Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,\" said he, \"by the resemblance\nI have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation. Their\nfates, their fortunes, cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet\ndisposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or a happier\nmarriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other\nbe. But to what does all this lead? I seem to have been distressing\nyou for nothing. Ah! Miss Dashwood--a subject such as this--untouched\nfor fourteen years--it is dangerous to handle it at all! I WILL be\nmore collected--more concise. She left to my care her only child, a\nlittle girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then\nabout three years old. She loved the child, and had always kept it\nwith her. It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I\nhave discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her\neducation myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I\nhad no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at\nschool. I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my\nbrother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the\npossession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford. I\ncalled her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in\ngeneral been suspected of a much nearer connection with her. It is now\nthree years ago (she had just reached her fourteenth year,) that I\nremoved her from school, to place her under the care of a very\nrespectable woman, residing in Dorsetshire, who had the charge of four\nor five other girls of about the same time of life; and for two years I\nhad every reason to be pleased with her situation. But last February,\nalmost a twelvemonth back, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed\nher, (imprudently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire,\nto go to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her\nfather there for his health. I knew him to be a very good sort of man,\nand I thought well of his daughter--better than she deserved, for, with\na most obstinate and ill-judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would\ngive no clue, though she certainly knew all. He, her father, a\nwell-meaning, but not a quick-sighted man, could really, I believe,\ngive no information; for he had been generally confined to the house,\nwhile the girls were ranging over the town and making what acquaintance\nthey chose; and he tried to convince me, as thoroughly as he was\nconvinced himself, of his daughter's being entirely unconcerned in the\nbusiness. In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all\nthe rest, for eight long months, was left to conjecture. What I\nthought, what I feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Elinor, \"could it be--could Willoughby!\"--\n\n\"The first news that reached me of her,\" he continued, \"came in a\nletter from herself, last October. It was forwarded to me from\nDelaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party\nto Whitwell; and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly,\nwhich I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body,\nand which I believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby\nimagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in\nbreaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom\nhe had made poor and miserable; but HAD he known it, what would it have\navailed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles of\nyour sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who CAN feel\nfor another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and innocence\nhe had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no\ncreditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He had\nleft her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor\nrelieved her.\"\n\n\"This is beyond every thing!\" exclaimed Elinor.\n\n\"His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than\nboth. Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what\nI must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on\nbeing assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt\nfor all your sakes. When I came to you last week and found you alone,\nI came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when\nit WAS known. My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then; but\nnow you will comprehend it. To suffer you all to be so deceived; to\nsee your sister--but what could I do? I had no hope of interfering\nwith success; and sometimes I thought your sister's influence might yet\nreclaim him. But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what\nwere his designs on her. Whatever they may have been, however, she may\nnow, and hereafter doubtless WILL turn with gratitude towards her own\ncondition, when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she\nconsiders the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and\npictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, still as\nstrong as her own, and with a mind tormented by self-reproach, which\nmust attend her through life. Surely this comparison must have its use\nwith her. She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing. They\nproceed from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace. On the\ncontrary, every friend must be made still more her friend by them.\nConcern for her unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it,\nmust strengthen every attachment. Use your own discretion, however, in\ncommunicating to her what I have told you. You must know best what\nwill be its effect; but had I not seriously, and from my heart believed\nit might be of service, might lessen her regrets, I would not have\nsuffered myself to trouble you with this account of my family\nafflictions, with a recital which may seem to have been intended to\nraise myself at the expense of others.\"\n\nElinor's thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness;\nattended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to\nMarianne, from the communication of what had passed.\n\n\"I have been more pained,\" said she, \"by her endeavors to acquit him\nthan by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most\nperfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. Now, though at first\nshe will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier. Have\nyou,\" she continued, after a short silence, \"ever seen Mr. Willoughby\nsince you left him at Barton?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied gravely, \"once I have. One meeting was unavoidable.\"\n\nElinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying,\n\n\"What? have you met him to--\"\n\n\"I could meet him no other way. Eliza had confessed to me, though most\nreluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which\nwas within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to\ndefend, I to punish his conduct. We returned unwounded, and the\nmeeting, therefore, never got abroad.\"\n\nElinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a\nsoldier she presumed not to censure it.\n\n\"Such,\" said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, \"has been the unhappy\nresemblance between the fate of mother and daughter! and so imperfectly\nhave I discharged my trust!\"\n\n\"Is she still in town?\"\n\n\"No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I found her near\nher delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there\nshe remains.\"\n\nRecollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor\nfrom her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again\nthe same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion\nand esteem for him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 32\n\n\nWhen the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss\nDashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was\nnot entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne\nappeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to\nit all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither\nobjection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and\nseemed to shew by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But\nthough this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt\nWAS carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the\neffect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called,\nin her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of\ncompassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently\nirritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did\nbecome settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the\nloss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the\nloss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the\nmisery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might ONCE\nhave been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, that\nshe could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor;\nand, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister\nthan could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent\nconfession of them.\n\nTo give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and\nanswering Elinor's letter would be only to give a repetition of what\nher daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly\nless painful than Marianne's, and an indignation even greater than\nElinor's. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other,\narrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her\nanxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with\nfortitude under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of\nMarianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude!\nmortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which\nSHE could wish her not to indulge!\n\nAgainst the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had\ndetermined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at\nthat time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be\nbringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by\nconstantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen\nhim there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all\nmeans not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which,\nthough never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at\nleast five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of\ncompany, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable\nthere, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some\ninterest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the\nideas of both might now be spurned by her.\n\nFrom all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her\nto be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his\nacquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her\nfriends. Design could never bring them in each other's way: negligence\ncould never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in\nits favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of\nBarton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at\nAllenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first\nas a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.\n\nShe had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where\nthey were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his\nwife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged\nit right that they should sometimes see their brother.\n\nMarianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion, and she\nsubmitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved\nperfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt\nit to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by\nrequiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only\npossible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her\nmother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent\nher ever knowing a moment's rest.\n\nBut it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil\nto herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other\nhand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward\nentirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay\nwould therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better\nfor Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.\n\nHer carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby's\nname mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing\nit herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor\nSir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.\nElinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards\nherself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day\nafter day to the indignation of them all.\n\nSir John, could not have thought it possible. \"A man of whom he had\nalways had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He\ndid not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an\nunaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart.\nHe would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for\nall the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert,\nand they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel\nof a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met\nthat he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and this was the end of\nit!\"\n\nMrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. \"She was determined to\ndrop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she\nhad never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her\nheart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify,\nfor it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much\nthat she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should\ntell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.\"\n\nThe rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shewn in procuring all the\nparticulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating\nthem to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker's the new\ncarriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was\ndrawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.\n\nThe calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a\nhappy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were by the\nclamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be\nsure of exciting no interest in ONE person at least among their circle\nof friends: a great comfort to know that there was ONE who would meet\nher without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for\nher sister's health.\n\nEvery qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the\nmoment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down\nby officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to\ncomfort than good-nature.\n\nLady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day,\nor twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, \"It is very\nshocking, indeed!\" and by the means of this continual though gentle\nvent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first\nwithout the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without\nrecollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the\ndignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was\nwrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the\ninterest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather\nagainst the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once\nbe a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon\nas she married.\n\nColonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome\nto Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate\ndiscussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with\nwhich he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with\nconfidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing\npast sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye\nwith which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her\nvoice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or\ncould oblige herself to speak to him. THESE assured him that his\nexertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and\nTHESE gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but\nMrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the\nColonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail\non him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for\nhim, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of\nMidsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of\na week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding\nbetween the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the\nhonours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all\nbe made over to HER; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to\nthink at all of Mrs. Ferrars.\n\nEarly in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby's\nletter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he\nwas married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to\nherself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was\ndesirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from\nthe public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.\n\nShe received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on\nit, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst\nout, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less\npitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.\n\nThe Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now\nhoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to\nprevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow\nfirst fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.\n\nAbout this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin's\nhouse in Bartlett's Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again\nbefore their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and\nwere welcomed by them all with great cordiality.\n\nElinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her\npain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the\noverpowering delight of Lucy in finding her STILL in town.\n\n\"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here\nSTILL,\" said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. \"But\nI always thought I SHOULD. I was almost sure you would not leave\nLondon yet awhile; though you TOLD me, you know, at Barton, that you\nshould not stay above a MONTH. But I thought, at the time, that you\nwould most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would\nhave been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and\nsister came. And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone. I\nam amazingly glad you did not keep to YOUR WORD.\"\n\nElinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her\nself-command to make it appear that she did NOT.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"and how did you travel?\"\n\n\"Not in the stage, I assure you,\" replied Miss Steele, with quick\nexultation; \"we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to\nattend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd join\nhim in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or\ntwelve shillings more than we did.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried Mrs. Jennings; \"very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is\na single man, I warrant you.\"\n\n\"There now,\" said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, \"everybody laughs\nat me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they\nare sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never\nthink about him from one hour's end to another. 'Lord! here comes your\nbeau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the\nstreet to the house. My beau, indeed! said I--I cannot think who you\nmean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is\nthe man, I see.\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, \"and I beg\nyou will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she\ncertainly would NOT, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.\n\n\"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss\nDashwood, when they come to town,\" said Lucy, returning, after a\ncessation of hostile hints, to the charge.\n\n\"No, I do not think we shall.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I dare say you will.\"\n\nElinor would not humour her by farther opposition.\n\n\"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for\nso long a time together!\"\n\n\"Long a time, indeed!\" interposed Mrs. Jennings. \"Why, their visit is\nbut just begun!\"\n\nLucy was silenced.\n\n\"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,\" said Miss\nSteele. \"I am sorry she is not well--\" for Marianne had left the room\non their arrival.\n\n\"You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the\npleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with\nnervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and\nme!--I think she might see US; and I am sure we would not speak a word.\"\n\nElinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was\nperhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore\nnot able to come to them.\n\n\"Oh, if that's all,\" cried Miss Steele, \"we can just as well go and see\nHER.\"\n\nElinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she\nwas saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which\nnow, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the\nmanners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the other.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 33\n\n\nAfter some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister's entreaties, and\nconsented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an\nhour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and\nwould do no more than accompany them to Gray's in Sackville Street,\nwhere Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few\nold-fashioned jewels of her mother.\n\nWhen they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was\na lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as\nshe had no business at Gray's, it was resolved, that while her young\nfriends transacted their's, she should pay her visit and return for\nthem.\n\nOn ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before\nthem in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to\ntheir orders; and they were obliged to wait. All that could be done\nwas, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the\nquickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is\nprobable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to\na quicker despatch. But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy\nof his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. He was giving orders\nfor a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and\nornaments were determined, all of which, after examining and debating\nfor a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were\nfinally arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to\nbestow any other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised\nin three or four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to\nimprint on Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong,\nnatural, sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of\nfashion.\n\nMarianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and\nresentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on\nthe puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of\nthe different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining\nunconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts\nwithin herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in\nMr. Gray's shop, as in her own bedroom.\n\nAt last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the pearls,\nall received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last\nday on which his existence could be continued without the possession of\nthe toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and\nbestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as\nseemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a\nhappy air of real conceit and affected indifference.\n\nElinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point\nof concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side.\nShe turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise\nto be her brother.\n\nTheir affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very\ncreditable appearance in Mr. Gray's shop. John Dashwood was really far\nfrom being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them\nsatisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and\nattentive.\n\nElinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.\n\n\"I wished very much to call upon you yesterday,\" said he, \"but it was\nimpossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at\nExeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars.\nHarry was vastly pleased. THIS morning I had fully intended to call on\nyou, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always so\nmuch to do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak Fanny a\nseal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in\nBerkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings. I\nunderstand she is a woman of very good fortune. And the Middletons\ntoo, you must introduce me to THEM. As my mother-in-law's relations, I\nshall be happy to show them every respect. They are excellent\nneighbours to you in the country, I understand.\"\n\n\"Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness\nin every particular, is more than I can express.\"\n\n\"I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed.\nBut so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are\nrelated to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to\nmake your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. And so you\nare most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for\nnothing! Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the\nmost complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all\nseemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a great satisfaction to us\nto hear it, I assure you.\"\n\nElinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to\nbe spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs.\nJennings's servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for\nthem at the door.\n\nMr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings\nat the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to\ncall on them the next day, took leave.\n\nHis visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an apology from\ntheir sister-in-law, for not coming too; \"but she was so much engaged\nwith her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where.\"\nMrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand\nupon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she\nshould certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her\nsisters to see her. His manners to THEM, though calm, were perfectly\nkind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel\nBrandon's coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity\nwhich seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be\nequally civil to HIM.\n\nAfter staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him\nto Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton.\nThe weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as\nthey were out of the house, his enquiries began.\n\n\"Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?\"\n\n\"Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.\"\n\n\"I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think,\nElinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable\nestablishment in life.\"\n\n\"Me, brother! what do you mean?\"\n\n\"He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What\nis the amount of his fortune?\"\n\n\"I believe about two thousand a year.\"\n\n\"Two thousand a-year;\" and then working himself up to a pitch of\nenthusiastic generosity, he added, \"Elinor, I wish with all my heart it\nwere TWICE as much, for your sake.\"\n\n\"Indeed I believe you,\" replied Elinor; \"but I am very sure that\nColonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying ME.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little\ntrouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be\nundecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his\nfriends may all advise him against it. But some of those little\nattentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix\nhim, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should\nnot try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on\nyour side--in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is\nquite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable--you have\ntoo much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man;\nand no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with\nyou and your family. It is a match that must give universal\nsatisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that\"--lowering his\nvoice to an important whisper--\"will be exceedingly welcome to ALL\nPARTIES.\" Recollecting himself, however, he added, \"That is, I mean to\nsay--your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny\nparticularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure\nyou. And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am\nsure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day.\"\n\nElinor would not vouchsafe any answer.\n\n\"It would be something remarkable, now,\" he continued, \"something\ndroll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the\nsame time. And yet it is not very unlikely.\"\n\n\"Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,\" said Elinor, with resolution, \"going to be\nmarried?\"\n\n\"It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation.\nHe has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost\nliberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if\nthe match takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter\nof the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable\nconnection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in\ntime. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to\nmake over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you\nanother instance of her liberality:--The other day, as soon as we came\nto town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now,\nshe put bank-notes into Fanny's hands to the amount of two hundred\npounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great\nexpense while we are here.\"\n\nHe paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,\n\n\"Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable;\nbut your income is a large one.\"\n\n\"Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to\ncomplain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will\nin time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on,\nis a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within\nthis half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where\nold Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in\nevery respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it\nmy duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to\nlet it fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience;\nand it HAS cost me a vast deal of money.\"\n\n\"More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.\"\n\n\"Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for\nmore than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have\nbeen very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low,\nthat if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker's\nhands, I must have sold out to very great loss.\"\n\nElinor could only smile.\n\n\"Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to\nNorland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the\nStanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were)\nto your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an\nundoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in\nconsequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of\nlinen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may\nguess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being\nrich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars's kindness is.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Elinor; \"and assisted by her liberality, I hope you\nmay yet live to be in easy circumstances.\"\n\n\"Another year or two may do much towards it,\" he gravely replied; \"but\nhowever there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone\nlaid of Fanny's green-house, and nothing but the plan of the\nflower-garden marked out.\"\n\n\"Where is the green-house to be?\"\n\n\"Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come\ndown to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many\nparts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before\nit, and be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns\nthat grew in patches over the brow.\"\n\nElinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very\nthankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.\n\nHaving now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the\nnecessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his\nnext visit at Gray's his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began\nto congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.\n\n\"She seems a most valuable woman indeed--Her house, her style of\nliving, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance\nthat has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may\nprove materially advantageous.--Her inviting you to town is certainly a\nvast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a\nregard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be\nforgotten.-- She must have a great deal to leave.\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her\njointure, which will descend to her children.\"\n\n\"But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few\npeople of common prudence will do THAT; and whatever she saves, she\nwill be able to dispose of.\"\n\n\"And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her\ndaughters, than to us?\"\n\n\"Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I\ncannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther.\nWhereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and\ntreating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on\nher future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not\ndisregard. Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can\nhardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises.\"\n\n\"But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your\nanxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.\"\n\n\"Why, to be sure,\" said he, seeming to recollect himself, \"people have\nlittle, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is\nthe matter with Marianne?-- she looks very unwell, has lost her colour,\nand is grown quite thin. Is she ill?\"\n\n\"She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several\nweeks.\"\n\n\"I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness\ndestroys the bloom for ever! Hers has been a very short one! She was\nas handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to\nattract the man. There was something in her style of beauty, to please\nthem particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry\nsooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of\nYOU, but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, however.\nI question whether Marianne NOW, will marry a man worth more than five\nor six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if\nYOU do not do better. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire;\nbut, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it;\nand I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the\nearliest and best pleased of your visitors.\"\n\nElinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no\nlikelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation\nof too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really\nresolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the\nmarriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough\nfor having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly\nanxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from\nColonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means\nof atoning for his own neglect.\n\nThey were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John\ncame in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on\nall sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood\ndid not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very\ngood-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his\nappearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood\nwent away delighted with both.\n\n\"I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,\" said he, as he\nwalked back with his sister. \"Lady Middleton is really a most elegant\nwoman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know. And Mrs.\nJennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant\nas her daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of\nvisiting HER, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and\nvery naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a\nman who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars\nwere both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters\nwere such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now\nI can carry her a most satisfactory account of both.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 34\n\n\nMrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband's judgment,\nthat she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her\ndaughter; and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former,\neven the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy\nher notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most\ncharming women in the world!\n\nLady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a\nkind of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually\nattracted them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid\npropriety of demeanor, and a general want of understanding.\n\nThe same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the\ngood opinion of Lady Middleton did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings,\nand to HER she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking woman\nof uncordial address, who met her husband's sisters without any\naffection, and almost without having anything to say to them; for of\nthe quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley Street, she sat at least\nseven minutes and a half in silence.\n\nElinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask,\nwhether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny\nvoluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that\nhis marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband's\nexpectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed\nthem still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be\ntoo sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The\nintelligence however, which SHE would not give, soon flowed from\nanother quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor's compassion\non being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr.\nand Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett's Buildings for fear\nof detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be\ntold, they could do nothing at present but write.\n\nEdward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short\ntime, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on\nthe table, when they returned from their morning's engagements. Elinor\nwas pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had\nmissed him.\n\nThe Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that,\nthough not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to\ngive them--a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited\nthem to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house\nfor three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited\nlikewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who,\nalways glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager\ncivilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to\nmeet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to\nbe of the party. The expectation of seeing HER, however, was enough to\nmake her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet\nEdward's mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to\nattend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect\nindifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in\ncompany with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was\nas lively as ever.\n\nThe interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon\nafterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing\nthat the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.\n\nSo well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable\nhad their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly\nnot so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as\nSir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it\nhappened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as\nthe Dashwoods' invitation was known, that their visit should begin a\nfew days before the party took place.\n\nTheir claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the\ngentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not\nhave done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but\nas Lady Middleton's guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long\nwanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of\ntheir characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity\nof endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life,\nthan she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood's card.\n\nOn Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to\ndetermine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his\nmother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the\nfirst time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!--she hardly\nknew how she could bear it!\n\nThese apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and\ncertainly not at all on truth. They were relieved however, not by her\nown recollection, but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to\nbe inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward\ncertainly would not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped to\nbe carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that he was kept\naway by the extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal\nwhen they were together.\n\nThe important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies\nto this formidable mother-in-law.\n\n\"Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!\" said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs\ntogether--for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings,\nthat they all followed the servant at the same time--\"There is nobody\nhere but you, that can feel for me.--I declare I can hardly stand.\nGood gracious!--In a moment I shall see the person that all my\nhappiness depends on--that is to be my mother!\"--\n\nElinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the\npossibility of its being Miss Morton's mother, rather than her own,\nwhom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured\nher, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her--to the utter\namazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at\nleast to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor.\n\nMrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in\nher figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect. Her\ncomplexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and\nnaturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had\nrescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it\nthe strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of\nmany words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the\nnumber of her ideas; and of the few syllables that did escape her, not\none fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited\ndetermination of disliking her at all events.\n\nElinor could not NOW be made unhappy by this behaviour.-- A few months\nago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars'\npower to distress her by it now;--and the difference of her manners to\nthe Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble\nher more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the\ngraciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person-- for\nLucy was particularly distinguished--whom of all others, had they known\nas much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while\nshe herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat\npointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so\nmisapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which\nit sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss\nSteeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all\nfour.\n\nLucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss\nSteele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.\n\nThe dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing\nbespoke the Mistress's inclination for show, and the Master's ability\nto support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which were\nmaking to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once\nbeen within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a\nloss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to\ninfer from it;--no poverty of any kind, except of conversation,\nappeared--but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood\nhad not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife\nhad still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was\nvery much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all\nlaboured under one or other of these disqualifications for being\nagreeable--Want of sense, either natural or improved--want of\nelegance--want of spirits--or want of temper.\n\nWhen the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty\nwas particularly evident, for the gentlemen HAD supplied the discourse\nwith some variety--the variety of politics, inclosing land, and\nbreaking horses--but then it was all over; and one subject only engaged\nthe ladies till coffee came in, which was the comparative heights of\nHarry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton's second son William, who were\nnearly of the same age.\n\nHad both the children been there, the affair might have been determined\ntoo easily by measuring them at once; but as Harry only was present, it\nwas all conjectural assertion on both sides; and every body had a right\nto be equally positive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over\nagain as often as they liked.\n\nThe parties stood thus:\n\nThe two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the\ntallest, politely decided in favour of the other.\n\nThe two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity,\nwere equally earnest in support of their own descendant.\n\nLucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other,\nthought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not\nconceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world\nbetween them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as\nfast as she could, in favour of each.\n\nElinor, having once delivered her opinion on William's side, by which\nshe offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the\nnecessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when\ncalled on for hers, offended them all, by declaring that she had no\nopinion to give, as she had never thought about it.\n\nBefore her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair\nof screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and\nbrought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens,\ncatching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen\ninto the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for\nhis admiration.\n\n\"These are done by my eldest sister,\" said he; \"and you, as a man of\ntaste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether\nyou have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she\nis in general reckoned to draw extremely well.\"\n\nThe Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship,\nwarmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by\nMiss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course\nexcited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars,\nnot aware of their being Elinor's work, particularly requested to look\nat them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady\nMiddletons's approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother,\nconsiderately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by\nMiss Dashwood.\n\n\"Hum\"--said Mrs. Ferrars--\"very pretty,\"--and without regarding them at\nall, returned them to her daughter.\n\nPerhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude\nenough,--for, colouring a little, she immediately said,\n\n\"They are very pretty, ma'am--an't they?\" But then again, the dread of\nhaving been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her,\nfor she presently added,\n\n\"Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton's style of\npainting, Ma'am?--She DOES paint most delightfully!--How beautifully\nher last landscape is done!\"\n\n\"Beautifully indeed! But SHE does every thing well.\"\n\nMarianne could not bear this.--She was already greatly displeased with\nMrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor's\nexpense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by\nit, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,\n\n\"This is admiration of a very particular kind!--what is Miss Morton to\nus?--who knows, or who cares, for her?--it is Elinor of whom WE think\nand speak.\"\n\nAnd so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law's hands,\nto admire them herself as they ought to be admired.\n\nMrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more\nstiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, \"Miss\nMorton is Lord Morton's daughter.\"\n\nFanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his\nsister's audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne's warmth than\nshe had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon's eyes, as they\nwere fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable\nin it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister\nslighted in the smallest point.\n\nMarianne's feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs.\nFerrars's general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell\nsuch difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart\ntaught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of\naffectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister's\nchair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers,\nsaid in a low, but eager, voice,\n\n\"Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them. Don't let them make YOU unhappy.\"\n\nShe could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her\nface on Elinor's shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body's\nattention was called, and almost every body was concerned.--Colonel\nBrandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did.--Mrs.\nJennings, with a very intelligent \"Ah! poor dear,\" immediately gave her\nher salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author\nof this nervous distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one\nclose by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of\nthe whole shocking affair.\n\nIn a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end\nto the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained\nthe impression of what had passed, the whole evening.\n\n\"Poor Marianne!\" said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice,\nas soon as he could secure his attention,-- \"She has not such good\nhealth as her sister,--she is very nervous,--she has not Elinor's\nconstitution;--and one must allow that there is something very trying\nto a young woman who HAS BEEN a beauty in the loss of her personal\nattractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne WAS\nremarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor.--\nNow you see it is all gone.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 35\n\n\nElinor's curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied.-- She had found\nin her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between\nthe families undesirable.-- She had seen enough of her pride, her\nmeanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend\nall the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and\nretarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise\nfree;--and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her OWN sake,\nthat one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other\nof Mrs. Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her\ncaprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she\ndid not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered to\nLucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she OUGHT to\nhave rejoiced.\n\nShe wondered that Lucy's spirits could be so very much elevated by the\ncivility of Mrs. Ferrars;--that her interest and her vanity should so\nvery much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her\nbecause she was NOT ELINOR, appear a compliment to herself--or to allow\nher to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, because\nher real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not only been\ndeclared by Lucy's eyes at the time, but was declared over again the\nnext morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady Middleton\nset her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing Elinor alone,\nto tell her how happy she was.\n\nThe chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon\nafter she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, \"I\ncome to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering\nas Mrs. Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable\nas she was!--You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;--but\nthe very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her\nbehaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to\nme. Now was not it so?-- You saw it all; and was not you quite struck\nwith it?\"\n\n\"She was certainly very civil to you.\"\n\n\"Civil!--Did you see nothing but only civility?-- I saw a vast deal\nmore. Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!--No pride,\nno hauteur, and your sister just the same--all sweetness and\naffability!\"\n\nElinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to\nown that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go\non.--\n\n\"Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,\" said she, \"nothing\ncould be more flattering than their treatment of you;--but as that was\nnot the case\"--\n\n\"I guessed you would say so,\"--replied Lucy quickly--\"but there was no\nreason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did\nnot, and her liking me is every thing. You shan't talk me out of my\nsatisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no\ndifficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a\ncharming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women,\nindeed!--I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs.\nDashwood was!\"\n\nTo this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.\n\n\"Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?--you seem low--you don't speak;--sure you\nan't well.\"\n\n\"I never was in better health.\"\n\n\"I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I\nshould be sorry to have YOU ill; you, that have been the greatest\ncomfort to me in the world!--Heaven knows what I should have done\nwithout your friendship.\"--\n\nElinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success.\nBut it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,\n\n\"Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to\nEdward's love, it is the greatest comfort I have.--Poor Edward!--But\nnow there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty\noften, for Lady Middleton's delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall\nbe a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his\ntime with his sister--besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will\nvisit now;--and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say\nmore than once, they should always be glad to see me.-- They are such\ncharming women!--I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of\nher, you cannot speak too high.\"\n\nBut Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she SHOULD\ntell her sister. Lucy continued.\n\n\"I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took\na dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for\ninstance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of\nme, and never looked at me in a pleasant way--you know what I mean--if\nI had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave\nit all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she DOES\ndislike, I know it is most violent.\"\n\nElinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by\nthe door's being thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr. Ferrars, and\nEdward's immediately walking in.\n\nIt was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each shewed that\nit was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to\nhave as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to\nadvance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest\nform, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen\non them.--They were not only all three together, but were together\nwithout the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered\nthemselves first. It was not Lucy's business to put herself forward,\nand the appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could\ntherefore only LOOK her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him,\nsaid no more.\n\nBut Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her\nown, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment's\nrecollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost\neasy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still\nimproved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the\nconsciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from\nsaying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much\nregretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.\nShe would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as\na friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of\nLucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.\n\nHer manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough\nto sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in\na proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might\nmake it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy's, nor\ncould his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor's.\n\nLucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no\ncontribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word;\nand almost every thing that WAS said, proceeded from Elinor, who was\nobliged to volunteer all the information about her mother's health,\ntheir coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about,\nbut never did.\n\nHer exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself\nso heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching\nMarianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and\nTHAT in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes on\nthe landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she went\nto her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for the\nraptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne's joy hurried her into the\ndrawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every\nother of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met\nhim with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the\naffection of a sister.\n\n\"Dear Edward!\" she cried, \"this is a moment of great happiness!--This\nwould almost make amends for every thing!\"\n\nEdward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such\nwitnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all\nsat down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was\nlooking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and\nsometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other\nshould be checked by Lucy's unwelcome presence. Edward was the first\nto speak, and it was to notice Marianne's altered looks, and express\nhis fear of her not finding London agree with her.\n\n\"Oh, don't think of me!\" she replied with spirited earnestness, though\nher eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, \"don't think of MY\nhealth. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both.\"\n\nThis remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor\nto conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no\nvery benignant expression.\n\n\"Do you like London?\" said Edward, willing to say any thing that might\nintroduce another subject.\n\n\"Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none.\nThe sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and\nthank Heaven! you are what you always were!\"\n\nShe paused--no one spoke.\n\n\"I think, Elinor,\" she presently added, \"we must employ Edward to take\ncare of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we\nshall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to\naccept the charge.\"\n\nPoor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even\nhimself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace\nit to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and\nsoon talked of something else.\n\n\"We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so\nwretchedly dull!--But I have much to say to you on that head, which\ncannot be said now.\"\n\nAnd with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her\nfinding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her\nbeing particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in\nprivate.\n\n\"But why were you not there, Edward?--Why did you not come?\"\n\n\"I was engaged elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, Miss Marianne,\" cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on\nher, \"you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no\nmind to keep them, little as well as great.\"\n\nElinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the\nsting; for she calmly replied,\n\n\"Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that\nconscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe\nhe HAS the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous\nin performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make\nagainst his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving\npain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish,\nof any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What!\nare you never to hear yourself praised!--Then you must be no friend of\nmine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to\nmy open commendation.\"\n\nThe nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened\nto be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her\nauditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon\ngot up to go away.\n\n\"Going so soon!\" said Marianne; \"my dear Edward, this must not be.\"\n\nAnd drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy\ncould not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he\nwould go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted\ntwo hours, soon afterwards went away.\n\n\"What can bring her here so often?\" said Marianne, on her leaving them.\n\"Could not she see that we wanted her gone!--how teazing to Edward!\"\n\n\"Why so?--we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known\nto him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as\nwell as ourselves.\"\n\nMarianne looked at her steadily, and said, \"You know, Elinor, that this\nis a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have\nyour assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you\nought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I\ncannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really\nwanted.\"\n\nShe then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more,\nfor bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give\nno information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the\nconsequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was\nobliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward\nwould not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing\nMarianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of\nthe pain that had attended their recent meeting--and this she had every\nreason to expect.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 36\n\n\nWithin a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the\nworld, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a\nson and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least\nto all those intimate connections who knew it before.\n\nThis event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness, produced a\ntemporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a\nlike degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to\nbe as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as\nsoon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the evening;\nand the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the Middletons,\nspent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their own comfort\nthey would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs.\nJennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes\nof everybody. Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and\nthe two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in fact was as little\nvalued, as it was professedly sought.\n\nThey had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and\nby the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on\nTHEIR ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize.\nThough nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to\nElinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they\nneither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them\ngood-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them\nsatirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical;\nbut THAT did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily\ngiven.\n\nTheir presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the\nidleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was\nashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was\nproud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would\ndespise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the\nthree, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to\nit entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and\nminute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby,\nshe would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the\nbest place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned.\nBut this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out\nexpressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt\na reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was\nproduced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in\nthe latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their\nfriend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so\nlittle were they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, that\nif Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without\nhearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind\nenough to bestow on herself.\n\nAll these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally\nunsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing\nfor the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young\nfriends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old\nwoman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John's, sometimes at\nher own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent\nspirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte's well\ndoing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail\nof her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.\nOne thing DID disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.\nMr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex,\nof all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at\ndifferent times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and\nevery one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his\nfather of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like\nevery other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to\nacknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the\nworld.\n\nI come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time\nbefell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters\nwith Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another\nof her acquaintance had dropt in--a circumstance in itself not\napparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations\nof other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our\nconduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness\nmust in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present\ninstance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun\ntruth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss\nDashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood's sisters, she\nimmediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this\nmisconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of\ninvitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small\nmusical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.\nJohn Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great\ninconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what\nwas still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing\nto treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not\nexpect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing\nthem, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for\nwhen people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be\nwrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from\nthem.\n\nMarianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of\ngoing out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to\nher, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically\nfor every evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest\namusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last\nmoment, where it was to take her.\n\nTo her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as\nnot to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her\ntoilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of\ntheir being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped HER minute\nobservation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and asked every\nthing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part of\nMarianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether\nwith better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not without hopes\nof finding out before they parted, how much her washing cost per week,\nand how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The\nimpertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally\nconcluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was\nconsidered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after\nundergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the\ncolour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost\nsure of being told that upon \"her word she looked vastly smart, and she\ndared to say she would make a great many conquests.\"\n\nWith such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present\noccasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter\nfive minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very\nagreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of\nher acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part\nthat might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.\n\nThe events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like\nother musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real\ntaste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all;\nand the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation,\nand that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in\nEngland.\n\nAs Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no\nscruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it\nsuited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and\nvioloncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the\nroom. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of\nyoung men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases\nat Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and\nspeaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out\nhis name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr.\nDashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.\n\nHe addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow\nwhich assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was\nexactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy\nhad it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his\nown merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his\nbrother's bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the\nill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she\nwondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that\nthe emptiness of conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with\nthe modesty and worth of the other. Why they WERE different, Robert\nexclaimed to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour's\nconversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme\nGAUCHERIE which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper\nsociety, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any\nnatural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;\nwhile he himself, though probably without any particular, any material\nsuperiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,\nwas as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.\n\n\"Upon my soul,\" he added, \"I believe it is nothing more; and so I often\ntell my mother, when she is grieving about it. 'My dear Madam,' I\nalways say to her, 'you must make yourself easy. The evil is now\nirremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you\nbe persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to\nplace Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his\nlife? If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself,\ninstead of sending him to Mr. Pratt's, all this would have been\nprevented.' This is the way in which I always consider the matter, and\nmy mother is perfectly convinced of her error.\"\n\nElinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her\ngeneral estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not\nthink of Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any satisfaction.\n\n\"You reside in Devonshire, I think,\"--was his next observation, \"in a\ncottage near Dawlish.\"\n\nElinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather\nsurprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living\nnear Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their\nspecies of house.\n\n\"For my own part,\" said he, \"I am excessively fond of a cottage; there\nis always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest,\nif I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one\nmyself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself\ndown at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I\nadvise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend\nLord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,\nand laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's. I was to decide\non the best of them. 'My dear Courtland,' said I, immediately throwing\nthem all into the fire, 'do not adopt either of them, but by all means\nbuild a cottage.' And that I fancy, will be the end of it.\n\n\"Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a\ncottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend\nElliott's, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. 'But\nhow can it be done?' said she; 'my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is\nto be managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten\ncouple, and where can the supper be?' I immediately saw that there\ncould be no difficulty in it, so I said, 'My dear Lady Elliott, do not\nbe uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;\ncard-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open\nfor tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the\nsaloon.' Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the\ndining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the\naffair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you\nsee, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as\nwell enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.\"\n\nElinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the\ncompliment of rational opposition.\n\nAs John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,\nhis mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought\nstruck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for\nher approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.\nDennison's mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had\nsuggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,\nwhile Mrs. Jennings's engagements kept her from home. The expense would\nbe nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an\nattention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be\nrequisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his\nfather. Fanny was startled at the proposal.\n\n\"I do not see how it can be done,\" said she, \"without affronting Lady\nMiddleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be\nexceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any\nattention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shews. But\nthey are Lady Middleton's visitors. How can I ask them away from her?\"\n\nHer husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her\nobjection. \"They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit\nStreet, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the\nsame number of days to such near relations.\"\n\nFanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,\n\n\"My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.\nBut I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a\nfew days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and\nI think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well\nby Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the\nMiss Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like\nthem; indeed, you DO like them, you know, very much already, and so\ndoes my mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!\"\n\nMr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss\nSteeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution\nof inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly\nsuspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by\nbringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon's wife, and Marianne as\nTHEIR visitor.\n\nFanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had\nprocured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and\nher sister's, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady\nMiddleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and\nreasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her,\nherself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such\nan opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all\nthings, the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the\nmost gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be\ntoo gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the\nvisit to Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits,\nwas instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days'\ntime.\n\nWhen the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after\nits arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the\nexpectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed\non so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will\ntowards her arose from something more than merely malice against\nherself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing\nthat Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady\nMiddleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John\nDashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of\ngreater.\n\nThe Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor\nof their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.\nSir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts\nof the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.\nDashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her\nlife, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made\nby some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know\nwhether she should ever be able to part with them.\n\n\n\n\n\n[At this point in the first and second editions, Volume II ended.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 37\n\n\nMrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt\nit no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,\ncontenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from\nthat period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the\nMiss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.\n\nAbout the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in\nBerkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to\nMrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by\nherself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to\nhear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,\nbegan directly to justify it, by saying,\n\n\"Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am. What is it?\"\n\n\"Something so strange! But you shall hear it all.-- When I got to Mr.\nPalmer's, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was\nsure it was very ill--it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.\nSo I looked at it directly, and, 'Lord! my dear,' says I, 'it is\nnothing in the world, but the red gum--' and nurse said just the same.\nBut Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for;\nand luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he\nstepped over directly, and as soon as ever Mama, he said\njust as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and\nthen Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it\ncame into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of\nit, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon\nthat, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know\nsomething or other, and at last he said in a whisper, 'For fear any\nunpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to\ntheir sister's indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I\nbelieve there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will\ndo very well.'\"\n\n\"What! is Fanny ill?\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I said, my dear. 'Lord!' says I, 'is Mrs.\nDashwood ill?' So then it all came out; and the long and the short of\nthe matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars,\nthe very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it\nturns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr.\nEdward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my\ncousin Lucy!--There's for you, my dear!--And not a creature knowing a\nsyllable of the matter, except Nancy!--Could you have believed such a\nthing possible?-- There is no great wonder in their liking one another;\nbut that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody\nsuspect it!--THAT is strange!--I never happened to see them together,\nor I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this\nwas kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor\nyour brother or sister suspected a word of the matter;--till this very\nmorning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no\nconjurer, popt it all out. 'Lord!' thinks she to herself, 'they are\nall so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;'\nand so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her\ncarpet-work, little suspecting what was to come--for she had just been\nsaying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to\nmake a match between Edward and some Lord's daughter or other, I forget\nwho. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.\nShe fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as\nreached your brother's ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room\ndown stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the\ncountry. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for\nLucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.\nPoor soul! I pity HER. And I must say, I think she was used very\nhardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into\na fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly;\nand your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know\nwhat to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute\nlonger in the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon HIS\nknees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up\ntheir clothes. THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he was so\nfrightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found\nthe house in all this uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to\ntake my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came\noff; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and\nNancy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your\nsister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of\nher. Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of\nit! To have his love used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous\nfond of her, as well he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in\nthe greatest passion!--and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I\nhad a great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is\ngone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs.\nFerrars is told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins\nleft the house, for your sister was sure SHE would be in hysterics too;\nand so she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I\nhave no notion of people's making such a to-do about money and\ngreatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should\nnot marry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her\nson, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than\nany body how to make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs.\nFerrars would only allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as\ngood an appearance with it as any body else would with eight. Lord!\nhow snug they might live in such another cottage as yours--or a little\nbigger--with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to\na housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit\nthem exactly.\"\n\nHere Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect\nher thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such\nobservations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.\nHappy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest\nin it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the\ncase) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy\nabove all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able\nto speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment,\nas she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one\nconcerned in it.\n\nShe could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really\nwas; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being\npossible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and\nLucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a\ndoubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to\nknow how Edward would conduct himself. For HIM she felt much\ncompassion;--for Lucy very little--and it cost her some pains to\nprocure that little;--for the rest of the party none at all.\n\nAs Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the\nnecessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be\nlost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth,\nand in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others,\nwithout betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any\nresentment against Edward.\n\nElinor's office was a painful one.--She was going to remove what she\nreally believed to be her sister's chief consolation,--to give such\nparticulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good\nopinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations,\nwhich to HER fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment\nover again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to\nbe done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.\n\nShe was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to\nrepresent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the\nself-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward's\nengagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne.\nHer narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given\nwithout emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor\nimpetuous grief.--THAT belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne\nlistened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the\ncomforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and\nall the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure\nof mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but\nof imprudence, was readily offered.\n\nBut Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed\na second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she HAD\nloved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for\nLucy Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely\nincapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded\nat first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of\nEdward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and\nElinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only\ncould convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.\n\nHer first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact\nof the engagement, and the length of time it had existed.--Marianne's\nfeelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of\ndetail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her\ndistress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first\nquestion on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,--\n\n\"How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?\"\n\n\"I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton\nPark last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement.\"\n\nAt these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her\nlips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed--\n\n\"Four months!--Have you known of this four months?\"\n\nElinor confirmed it.\n\n\"What!--while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your\nheart?--And I have reproached you for being happy!\"--\n\n\"It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!\"\n\n\"Four months!\"--cried Marianne again.--\"So calm!--so cheerful!--how\nhave you been supported?\"--\n\n\"By feeling that I was doing my duty.--My promise to Lucy, obliged me\nto be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of\nthe truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in\nthem a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to\nsatisfy.\"\n\nMarianne seemed much struck.\n\n\"I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,\" added\nElinor; \"and once or twice I have attempted it;--but without betraying\nmy trust, I never could have convinced you.\"\n\n\"Four months!--and yet you loved him!\"--\n\n\"Yes. But I did not love only him;--and while the comfort of others was\ndear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt.\nNow, I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have\nyou suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer\nmaterially myself. I have many things to support me. I am not\nconscious of having provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my\nown, I have borne it as much as possible without spreading it farther.\nI acquit Edward of essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I\nam so sure of his always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour\nsome regret, in the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense,\nand that is the foundation on which every thing good may be built.--And\nafter all, Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a\nsingle and constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's\nhappiness depending entirely on any particular person, it is not\nmeant--it is not fit--it is not possible that it should be so.-- Edward\nwill marry Lucy; he will marry a woman superior in person and\nunderstanding to half her sex; and time and habit will teach him to\nforget that he ever thought another superior to HER.\"--\n\n\"If such is your way of thinking,\" said Marianne, \"if the loss of what\nis most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your\nresolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be\nwondered at.--They are brought more within my comprehension.\"\n\n\"I understand you.--You do not suppose that I have ever felt much.--For\nfour months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without\nbeing at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it\nwould make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to\nyou, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least.-- It was told\nme,--it was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose\nprior engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought,\nwith triumph.-- This person's suspicions, therefore, I have had to\noppose, by endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most\ndeeply interested;--and it has not been only once;--I have had her\nhopes and exultation to listen to again and again.-- I have known\nmyself to be divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one\ncircumstance that could make me less desire the connection.--Nothing\nhas proved him unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to\nme.-- I have had to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and\nthe insolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an\nattachment, without enjoying its advantages.-- And all this has been\ngoing on at a time, when, as you know too well, it has not been my only\nunhappiness.-- If you can think me capable of ever feeling--surely you\nmay suppose that I have suffered NOW. The composure of mind with which\nI have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the\nconsolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of\nconstant and painful exertion;--they did not spring up of\nthemselves;--they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.-- No,\nMarianne.--THEN, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing\ncould have kept me entirely--not even what I owed to my dearest\nfriends--from openly shewing that I was VERY unhappy.\"--\n\nMarianne was quite subdued.--\n\n\"Oh! Elinor,\" she cried, \"you have made me hate myself for ever.--How\nbarbarous have I been to you!--you, who have been my only comfort, who\nhave borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only\nsuffering for me!--Is this my gratitude?--Is this the only return I can\nmake you?--Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying\nto do it away.\"\n\nThe tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of\nmind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her\nwhatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged\nnever to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of\nbitterness;--to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of\ndislike to her;--and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring\nthem together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality.-- These\nwere great concessions;--but where Marianne felt that she had injured,\nno reparation could be too much for her to make.\n\nShe performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.--She\nattended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an\nunchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard\nthree times to say, \"Yes, ma'am.\"--She listened to her praise of Lucy\nwith only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings\ntalked of Edward's affection, it cost her only a spasm in her\nthroat.--Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel\nequal to any thing herself.\n\nThe next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their\nbrother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful\naffair, and bring them news of his wife.\n\n\"You have heard, I suppose,\" said he with great solemnity, as soon as\nhe was seated, \"of the very shocking discovery that took place under\nour roof yesterday.\"\n\nThey all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.\n\n\"Your sister,\" he continued, \"has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. Ferrars\ntoo--in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress--but I\nwill hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us\nquite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday. But I\nwould not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially\nto be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution\nequal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an\nangel! She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one\ncannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!--meeting with such\ningratitude, where so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence\nhad been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart,\nthat she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she\nthought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved\ngirls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished\nvery much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your\nkind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so\nrewarded! 'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor Fanny in her\naffectionate way, 'that we had asked your sisters instead of them.'\"\n\nHere he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.\n\n\"What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is\nnot to be described. While she with the truest affection had been\nplanning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that\nhe could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!--such a\nsuspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected ANY\nprepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter. 'THERE, to\nbe sure,' said she, 'I might have thought myself safe.' She was quite\nin an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be\ndone, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I\nam sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to\nmake him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well\nsuppose by my arguments, and Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail.\nDuty, affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward\nso stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her\nliberal designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she\nwould settle on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax,\nbrings in a good thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew\ndesperate, to make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he\nstill persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain\npenury that must attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she\nprotested should be his all; she would never see him again; and so far\nwould she be from affording him the smallest assistance, that if he\nwere to enter into any profession with a view of better support, she\nwould do all in her power to prevent him advancing in it.\"\n\nHere Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands\ntogether, and cried, \"Gracious God! can this be possible!\"\n\n\"Well may you wonder, Marianne,\" replied her brother, \"at the obstinacy\nwhich could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very\nnatural.\"\n\nMarianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and\nforbore.\n\n\"All this, however,\" he continued, \"was urged in vain. Edward said\nvery little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner.\nNothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would\nstand to it, cost him what it might.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be\nsilent, \"he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr.\nDashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a\nrascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as\nyourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a\nbetter kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good\nhusband.\"\n\nJohn Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open\nto provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially\nanybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment,\n\n\"I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours,\nmadam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman,\nbut in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible.\nAnd to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her\nuncle's care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune\nas Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In\nshort, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom\nyou have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy;\nand Mrs. Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every\nconscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It has\nbeen dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear\nit will be a bad one.\"\n\nMarianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung\nfor the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's threats, for a\nwoman who could not reward him.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"and how did it end?\"\n\n\"I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture:-- Edward is\ndismissed for ever from his mother's notice. He left her house\nyesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do\nnot know; for WE of course can make no inquiry.\"\n\n\"Poor young man!--and what is to become of him?\"\n\n\"What, indeed, ma'am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the\nprospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more\ndeplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds--how can a man live on\nit?--and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for\nhis own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two\nthousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand\npounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must\nall feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our\npower to assist him.\"\n\n\"Poor young man!\" cried Mrs. Jennings, \"I am sure he should be very\nwelcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I\ncould see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own\ncharge now, at lodgings and taverns.\"\n\nElinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she\ncould not forbear smiling at the form of it.\n\n\"If he would only have done as well by himself,\" said John Dashwood,\n\"as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been\nin his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it\nis, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him. And there is one\nthing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all--his\nmother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle\nTHAT estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward's, on\nproper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking\nover the business.\"\n\n\"Well!\" said Mrs. Jennings, \"that is HER revenge. Everybody has a way\nof their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son\nindependent, because another had plagued me.\"\n\nMarianne got up and walked about the room.\n\n\"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,\" continued John,\n\"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might\nhave been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.\"\n\nA few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his\nvisit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really\nbelieved there was no material danger in Fanny's indisposition, and\nthat they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away;\nleaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present\noccasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the\nDashwoods', and Edward's.\n\nMarianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and\nas her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in\nMrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the\nparty.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 38\n\n\nMrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but only\nElinor and Marianne understood its true merit. THEY only knew how\nlittle he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the\nconsolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain\nto him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his\nintegrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his\npunishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public\ndiscovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which\neither of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it\nupon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the\ntoo warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward's\ncontinued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and\nMarianne's courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic\nwhich always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the\ncomparison it necessarily produced between Elinor's conduct and her own.\n\nShe felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had\nhoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of\ncontinual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never\nexerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,\nwithout the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she\nstill fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only\ndispirited her more.\n\nNothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs\nin Harley Street, or Bartlett's Buildings. But though so much of the\nmatter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had\nenough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after\nmore, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and\ninquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the\nhindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them\nwithin that time.\n\nThe third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so\nfine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens,\nthough it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor\nwere of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were\nagain in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather\nto stay at home, than venture into so public a place.\n\nAn intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they\nentered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing\nwith them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was\nherself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,\nnothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by\nany chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last\nshe found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who,\nthough looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting\nthem, and on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of\nMrs. Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their's.\nMrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,\n\n\"Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you\nask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.\"\n\nIt was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too,\nthat she would tell any thing WITHOUT being asked; for nothing would\notherwise have been learnt.\n\n\"I am so glad to meet you;\" said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by\nthe arm--\"for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.\" And\nthen lowering her voice, \"I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about\nit. Is she angry?\"\n\n\"Not at all, I believe, with you.\"\n\n\"That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is SHE angry?\"\n\n\"I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.\"\n\n\"I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of\nit! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first\nshe would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me\nagain, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are\nas good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put\nin the feather last night. There now, YOU are going to laugh at me\ntoo. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it IS\nthe Doctor's favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never\nhave known he DID like it better than any other colour, if he had not\nhappened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare\nsometimes I do not know which way to look before them.\"\n\nShe had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say,\nand therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to\nthe first.\n\n\"Well, but Miss Dashwood,\" speaking triumphantly, \"people may say what\nthey chuse about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy, for it\nis no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such\nill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think\nabout it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set\nit down for certain.\"\n\n\"I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,\"\nsaid Elinor.\n\n\"Oh, did not you? But it WAS said, I know, very well, and by more than\none; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could\nexpect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty\nthousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at\nall; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my cousin\nRichard said himself, that when it came to the point he was afraid Mr.\nFerrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us for three\ndays, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in my heart\nLucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother's\nWednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, and\nSaturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once Lucy thought\nto write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. However this\nmorning he came just as we came home from church; and then it all came\nout, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been\ntalked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared before\nthem all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy would he\nhave. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that as soon as\nhe had went away from his mother's house, he had got upon his horse,\nand rid into the country, some where or other; and how he had stayed\nabout at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the better\nof it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he said, it\nseemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at all, it\nwould be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because it must\nbe for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, and no\nhope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he had some\nthoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they to live\nupon that?--He could not bear to think of her doing no better, and so\nhe begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the\nmatter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say all\nthis as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for HER sake,\nand upon HER account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon\nhis own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired\nof her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it. But,\nto be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking; so she\ntold him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know,\nand all that--Oh, la! one can't repeat such kind of things you\nknow)--she told him directly, she had not the least mind in the world\nto be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little so\never he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, you know,\nor something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and talked\non some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should take\norders directly, and they must wait to be married till he got a living.\nAnd just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin called from\nbelow to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and would take\none of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into the room\nand interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but she did\nnot care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a pair of\nsilk stockings and came off with the Richardsons.\"\n\n\"I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,\" said Elinor;\n\"you were all in the same room together, were not you?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love\nwhen any body else is by? Oh, for shame!--To be sure you must know\nbetter than that. (Laughing affectedly.)--No, no; they were shut up in\nthe drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the\ndoor.\"\n\n\"How!\" cried Elinor; \"have you been repeating to me what you only\nlearnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it\nbefore; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me\nparticulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known\nyourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?\"\n\n\"Oh, la! there is nothing in THAT. I only stood at the door, and heard\nwhat I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me;\nfor a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets\ntogether, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a\nchimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.\"\n\nElinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be\nkept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.\n\n\"Edward talks of going to Oxford soon,\" said she; \"but now he is\nlodging at No. --, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is,\nan't she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I\nshan't say anything against them to YOU; and to be sure they did send\nus home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And\nfor my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us\nfor the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however,\nnothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight.\nEdward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there\nfor a time; and after THAT, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he\nwill be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get!--Good gracious!\n(giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my cousins will\nsay, when they hear of it. They will tell me I should write to the\nDoctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living. I know they will;\nbut I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the world.-- 'La!' I\nshall say directly, 'I wonder how you could think of such a thing? I\nwrite to the Doctor, indeed!'\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Elinor, \"it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.\nYou have got your answer ready.\"\n\nMiss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of\nher own party made another more necessary.\n\n\"Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to\nyou, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you\nthey are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and\nthey keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings\nabout it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not\nin anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything\nshould happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings\nshould want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay\nwith her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton\nwon't ask us any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was\nnot here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your\nspotted muslin on!--I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn.\"\n\nSuch was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay\nher farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was\nclaimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of\nknowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though\nshe had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and\nforeplanned in her own mind. Edward's marriage with Lucy was as firmly\ndetermined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely\nuncertain, as she had concluded it would be;--every thing depended,\nexactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of\nwhich, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance.\n\nAs soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for\ninformation; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible\nintelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she\nconfined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as\nshe felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would\nchoose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the\nmeans that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her\ncommunication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following\nnatural remark.\n\n\"Wait for his having a living!--ay, we all know how THAT will\nend:--they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it,\nwill set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest\nof his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr.\nPratt can give her.--Then they will have a child every year! and Lord\nhelp 'em! how poor they will be!--I must see what I can give them\ntowards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed!--as I\ntalked of t'other day.--No, no, they must get a stout girl of all\nworks.-- Betty's sister would never do for them NOW.\"\n\nThe next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from\nLucy herself. It was as follows:\n\n \"Bartlett's Building, March.\n\n \"I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the\n liberty I take of writing to her; but I know your\n friendship for me will make you pleased to hear such\n a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after\n all the troubles we have went through lately,\n therefore will make no more apologies, but proceed\n to say that, thank God! though we have suffered\n dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy\n as we must always be in one another's love. We have\n had great trials, and great persecutions, but\n however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge\n many friends, yourself not the least among them,\n whose great kindness I shall always thankfully\n remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of\n it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise\n dear Mrs. Jennings, I spent two happy hours with\n him yesterday afternoon, he would not hear of our\n parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my\n duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake,\n and would have parted for ever on the spot, would\n he consent to it; but he said it should never be,\n he did not regard his mother's anger, while he could\n have my affections; our prospects are not very\n bright, to be sure, but we must wait, and hope for\n the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should\n it ever be in your power to recommend him to any\n body that has a living to bestow, am very sure you\n will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings too,\n trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John,\n or Mr. Palmer, or any friend that may be able to\n assist us.--Poor Anne was much to blame for what\n she did, but she did it for the best, so I say\n nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won't think it too much\n trouble to give us a call, should she come this way\n any morning, 'twould be a great kindness, and my\n cousins would be proud to know her.--My paper reminds\n me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully\n and respectfully remembered to her, and to Sir John,\n and Lady Middleton, and the dear children, when you\n chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,\n\n \"I am, &c.\"\n\nAs soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to\nbe its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs.\nJennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and\npraise.\n\n\"Very well indeed!--how prettily she writes!--aye, that was quite\nproper to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy.--Poor\nsoul! I wish I COULD get him a living, with all my heart.--She calls me\ndear Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever\nlived.--Very well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned.\nYes, yes, I will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to\nthink of every body!--Thank you, my dear, for shewing it me. It is as\npretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great\ncredit.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 39\n\n\nThe Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town,\nand Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed\nfor the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if\nany place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly\nless anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent\non its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the\ndifficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought\nto acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts\ntowards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to\ntheir kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her\ngood-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from\nhome yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more\neligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about\nthe end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both\nher friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with\nthem. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy\nof Miss Dashwood;--but it was inforced with so much real politeness by\nMr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his\nmanners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy,\ninduced her to accept it with pleasure.\n\nWhen she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was\nnot very auspicious.\n\n\"Cleveland!\"--she cried, with great agitation. \"No, I cannot go to\nCleveland.\"--\n\n\"You forget,\" said Elinor gently, \"that its situation is not...that it\nis not in the neighbourhood of...\"\n\n\"But it is in Somersetshire.--I cannot go into Somersetshire.--There,\nwhere I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to\ngo there.\"\n\nElinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such\nfeelings;--she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on\nothers;--represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the\ntime of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to\nsee, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan\ncould do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which\nwas within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not\nbeyond one day, though a long day's journey; and their mother's servant\nmight easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no\noccasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be\nat home in little more than three weeks' time. As Marianne's affection\nfor her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty,\nover the imaginary evils she had started.\n\nMrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guests, that she\npressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland.\nElinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her\ndesign; and their mother's concurrence being readily gained, every\nthing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;--and\nMarianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that\nwere yet to divide her from Barton.\n\n\"Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss\nDashwoods;\"--was Mrs. Jennings's address to him when he first called on\nher, after their leaving her was settled--\"for they are quite resolved\nupon going home from the Palmers;--and how forlorn we shall be, when I\ncome back!--Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two\ncats.\"\n\nPerhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their\nfuture ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give\nhimself an escape from it;--and if so, she had soon afterwards good\nreason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor's moving to the\nwindow to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she\nwas going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of\nparticular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes.\nThe effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her\nobservation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even\nchanged her seat, on purpose that she might NOT hear, to one close by\nthe piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep\nherself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with\nagitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her\nemployment.-- Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the\ninterval of Marianne's turning from one lesson to another, some words\nof the Colonel's inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be\napologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a\ndoubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so;\nbut supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply\nshe could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that\nshe did not think THAT any material objection;--and Mrs. Jennings\ncommended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on\nfor a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another\nlucky stop in Marianne's performance brought her these words in the\nColonel's calm voice,--\n\n\"I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.\"\n\nAstonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost\nready to cry out, \"Lord! what should hinder it?\"--but checking her\ndesire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.\n\n\"This is very strange!--sure he need not wait to be older.\"\n\nThis delay on the Colonel's side, however, did not seem to offend or\nmortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the\nconference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings\nvery plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which shewed her to\nfeel what she said,\n\n\"I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.\"\n\nMrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that\nafter hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave\nof them, as he immediately did, with the utmost sang-froid, and go away\nwithout making her any reply!--She had not thought her old friend could\nhave made so indifferent a suitor.\n\nWhat had really passed between them was to this effect.\n\n\"I have heard,\" said he, with great compassion, \"of the injustice your\nfriend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand\nthe matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering\nin his engagement with a very deserving young woman.-- Have I been\nrightly informed?--Is it so?--\"\n\nElinor told him that it was.\n\n\"The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,\"--he replied, with great\nfeeling,--\"of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long\nattached to each other, is terrible.-- Mrs. Ferrars does not know what\nshe may be doing--what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr.\nFerrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with\nhim. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted\nin a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his\nown sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand\nthat he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him\nthat the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this\nday's post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance--but THAT,\nperhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be\nnonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable.-- It\nis a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not\nmake more than 200 L per annum, and though it is certainly capable of\nimprovement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very\ncomfortable income. Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting\nit to him, will be very great. Pray assure him of it.\"\n\nElinor's astonishment at this commission could hardly have been\ngreater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand.\nThe preferment, which only two days before she had considered as\nhopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry;--and\nSHE, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it!--Her\nemotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different\ncause;--but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might\nhave a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence,\nand her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together\nprompted Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly\nexpressed. She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of\nEdward's principles and disposition with that praise which she knew\nthem to deserve; and promised to undertake the commission with\npleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so agreeable an office\nto another. But at the same time, she could not help thinking that no\none could so well perform it as himself. It was an office in short,\nfrom which, unwilling to give Edward the pain of receiving an\nobligation from HER, she would have been very glad to be spared\nherself;-- but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy, declining\nit likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being given through her\nmeans, that she would not on any account make farther opposition.\nEdward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately she had heard\nhis address from Miss Steele. She could undertake therefore to inform\nhim of it, in the course of the day. After this had been settled,\nColonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage in securing so\nrespectable and agreeable a neighbour, and THEN it was that he\nmentioned with regret, that the house was small and indifferent;--an\nevil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed her to do, made very\nlight of, at least as far as regarded its size.\n\n\"The smallness of the house,\" said she, \"I cannot imagine any\ninconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and\nincome.\"\n\nBy which the Colonel was surprised to find that SHE was considering Mr.\nFerrars's marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; for\nhe did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply such\nan income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle\non--and he said so.\n\n\"This little rectory CAN do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable\nas a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that\nmy patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive.\nIf, however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve\nhim farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do,\nif I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I\ncould be at present. What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all,\nsince it can advance him so little towards what must be his principal,\nhis only object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant\ngood;--at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.--\"\n\nSuch was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the\ndelicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what\nreally passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at\nthe window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may\nperhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less\nproperly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 40\n\n\n\"Well, Miss Dashwood,\" said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon\nas the gentleman had withdrawn, \"I do not ask you what the Colonel has\nbeen saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I TRIED to keep out of\nhearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his business.\nAnd I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I wish you\njoy of it with all my heart.\"\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" said Elinor. \"It is a matter of great joy to me;\nand I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are\nnot many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so\ncompassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.\"\n\n\"Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an't the least astonished at it\nin the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more\nlikely to happen.\"\n\n\"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence;\nbut at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very\nsoon occur.\"\n\n\"Opportunity!\" repeated Mrs. Jennings--\"Oh! as to that, when a man has\nonce made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon\nfind an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and\nagain; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I\nshall soon know where to look for them.\"\n\n\"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,\" said Elinor, with a\nfaint smile.\n\n\"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one,\nI do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as\never I saw.\"\n\n\"He spoke of its being out of repair.\"\n\n\"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it?--who should do\nit but himself?\"\n\nThey were interrupted by the servant's coming in to announce the\ncarriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to\ngo, said,--\n\n\"Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out.\nBut, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be\nquite alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind\nis too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must\nlong to tell your sister all about it.\"\n\nMarianne had left the room before the conversation began.\n\n\"Certainly, ma'am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention\nit at present to any body else.\"\n\n\"Oh! very well,\" said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. \"Then you\nwould not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as\nHolborn to-day.\"\n\n\"No, ma'am, not even Lucy if you please. One day's delay will not be\nvery material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought\nnot to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do THAT directly. It is\nof importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of\ncourse have much to do relative to his ordination.\"\n\nThis speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr.\nFerrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could\nnot immediately comprehend. A few moments' reflection, however,\nproduced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed;--\n\n\"Oh, ho!--I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so\nmuch the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in\nreadiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between\nyou. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not\nthe Colonel write himself?--sure, he is the proper person.\"\n\nElinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's\nspeech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore\nonly replied to its conclusion.\n\n\"Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to\nannounce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.\"\n\n\"And so YOU are forced to do it. Well THAT is an odd kind of delicacy!\nHowever, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.) You\nknow your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not heard of\nany thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed.\"\n\nAnd away she went; but returning again in a moment,\n\n\"I have just been thinking of Betty's sister, my dear. I should be\nvery glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for\na lady's maid, I am sure I can't tell. She is an excellent housemaid,\nand works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that\nat your leisure.\"\n\n\"Certainly, ma'am,\" replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said,\nand more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.\n\nHow she should begin--how she should express herself in her note to\nEdward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between\nthem made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have\nbeen the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too\nmuch or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen\nin her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.\n\nHe had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he\ncame to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not\nreturning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss\nDashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular\nbusiness.\n\nElinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her\nperplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself\nproperly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the\ninformation by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her\nupon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion\nwere very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him\nbefore since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his\nknowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of\nwhat she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her\nfeel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much\ndistressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of\nembarrassment.--Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on\nfirst coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to\nbe on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could\nsay any thing, after taking a chair.\n\n\"Mrs. Jennings told me,\" said he, \"that you wished to speak with me, at\nleast I understood her so--or I certainly should not have intruded on\nyou in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been\nextremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister;\nespecially as it will most likely be some time--it is not probable that\nI should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford\ntomorrow.\"\n\n\"You would not have gone, however,\" said Elinor, recovering herself,\nand determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as\npossible, \"without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been\nable to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she\nsaid. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on\nthe point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most\nagreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.)\nColonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to\nsay, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure\nin offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes\nit were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so\nrespectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the\nliving--it is about two hundred a-year--were much more considerable,\nand such as might better enable you to--as might be more than a\ntemporary accommodation to yourself--such, in short, as might establish\nall your views of happiness.\"\n\nWhat Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected\nthat any one else should say for him. He LOOKED all the astonishment\nwhich such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of\nexciting; but he said only these two words,\n\n\"Colonel Brandon!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the\nworst was over, \"Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern\nfor what has lately passed--for the cruel situation in which the\nunjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you--a concern which I\nam sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and\nlikewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and\nhis particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.\"\n\n\"Colonel Brandon give ME a living!--Can it be possible?\"\n\n\"The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find\nfriendship any where.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied he, with sudden consciousness, \"not to find it in YOU;\nfor I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it\nall.--I feel it--I would express it if I could--but, as you well know,\nI am no orator.\"\n\n\"You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely,\nat least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon's\ndiscernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know,\ntill I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it\never occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift.\nAs a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps--indeed I know he\nHAS, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe\nnothing to my solicitation.\"\n\nTruth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but\nshe was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of\nEdward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably\ncontributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently\nentered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had\nceased to speak;--at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,\n\n\"Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have\nalways heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him\nhighly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly\nthe gentleman.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" replied Elinor, \"I believe that you will find him, on farther\nacquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be\nsuch very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost\nclose to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he\nSHOULD be all this.\"\n\nEdward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her\na look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he\nmight hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the\nmansion-house much greater.\n\n\"Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,\" said he, soon\nafterwards, rising from his chair.\n\nElinor told him the number of the house.\n\n\"I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not\nallow me to give YOU; to assure him that he has made me a very--an\nexceedingly happy man.\"\n\nElinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very\nearnest assurance on HER side of her unceasing good wishes for his\nhappiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on HIS,\nwith rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of\nexpressing it.\n\n\"When I see him again,\" said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him\nout, \"I shall see him the husband of Lucy.\"\n\nAnd with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the\npast, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of\nEdward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.\n\nWhen Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people\nwhom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a\ngreat deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important\nsecret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to\nit again as soon as Elinor appeared.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" she cried, \"I sent you up the young man. Did not I\ndo right?--And I suppose you had no great difficulty--You did not find\nhim very unwilling to accept your proposal?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am; THAT was not very likely.\"\n\n\"Well, and how soon will he be ready?--For it seems all to depend upon\nthat.\"\n\n\"Really,\" said Elinor, \"I know so little of these kind of forms, that I\ncan hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation\nnecessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his\nordination.\"\n\n\"Two or three months!\" cried Mrs. Jennings; \"Lord! my dear, how calmly\nyou talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord\nbless me!--I am sure it would put ME quite out of patience!--And though\none would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think\nit is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure\nsomebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in\norders already.\"\n\n\"My dear ma'am,\" said Elinor, \"what can you be thinking of?-- Why,\nColonel Brandon's only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.\"\n\n\"Lord bless you, my dear!--Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the\nColonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.\nFerrars!\"\n\nThe deception could not continue after this; and an explanation\nimmediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for\nthe moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.\nJennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still\nwithout forfeiting her expectation of the first.\n\n\"Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,\" said she, after the first\nebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, \"and very likely MAY\nbe out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a\nhouse that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor,\nand I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds!--and to\nyou too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage!-- It seems quite\nridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some\nthing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy\ngoes to it.\"\n\n\"But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living's\nbeing enough to allow them to marry.\"\n\n\"The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year\nhimself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word\nfor it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford\nParsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan't go if Lucy an't\nthere.\"\n\nElinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not\nwaiting for any thing more.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 41\n\n\nEdward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with\nhis happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he\nreached Bartlett's Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs.\nJennings, who called on her again the next day with her\ncongratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in\nher life.\n\nHer own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and\nshe joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their\nbeing all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.\nSo far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor\nthat credit which Edward WOULD give her, that she spoke of her\nfriendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to\nown all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion\nfor their good on Miss Dashwood's part, either present or future, would\never surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in\nthe world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was\nnot only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly\nanxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;\nanxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and scarcely\nresolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,\nof his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.\n\nIt was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley\nStreet, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his\nwife's indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel\nit necessary to pay her a visit.--This was an obligation, however,\nwhich not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the\nassistance of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not\ncontented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to\nprevent her sister's going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her\ncarriage was always at Elinor's service, so very much disliked Mrs.\nJohn Dashwood, that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after\nthe late discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking\nEdward's part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company\nagain. The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a\nvisit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run\nthe risk of a tete-a-tete with a woman, whom neither of the others had\nso much reason to dislike.\n\nMrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the\nhouse, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure\nin meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in\nBerkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see\nher, invited her to come in.\n\nThey walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.--Nobody was there.\n\n\"Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,\" said he:--\"I will go to her\npresently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the\nworld to seeing YOU.-- Very far from it, indeed. NOW especially there\ncannot be--but however, you and Marianne were always great\nfavourites.--Why would not Marianne come?\"--\n\nElinor made what excuse she could for her.\n\n\"I am not sorry to see you alone,\" he replied, \"for I have a good deal\nto say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon's--can it be true?--has\nhe really given it to Edward?--I heard it yesterday by chance, and was\ncoming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.\"\n\n\"It is perfectly true.--Colonel Brandon has given the living of\nDelaford to Edward.\"\n\n\"Really!--Well, this is very astonishing!--no relationship!--no\nconnection between them!--and now that livings fetch such a\nprice!--what was the value of this?\"\n\n\"About two hundred a year.\"\n\n\"Very well--and for the next presentation to a living of that\nvalue--supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and\nlikely to vacate it soon--he might have got I dare say--fourteen\nhundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before\nthis person's death?--NOW indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a\nman of Colonel Brandon's sense!--I wonder he should be so improvident\nin a point of such common, such natural, concern!--Well, I am convinced\nthat there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human\ncharacter. I suppose, however--on recollection--that the case may\nprobably be THIS. Edward is only to hold the living till the person to\nwhom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to\ntake it.--Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.\"\n\nElinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that\nshe had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel\nBrandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which\nit was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.\n\n\"It is truly astonishing!\"--he cried, after hearing what she\nsaid--\"what could be the Colonel's motive?\"\n\n\"A very simple one--to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.\"\n\n\"Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky\nman.--You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I\nhave broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,--she will not like\nto hear it much talked of.\"\n\nElinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she\nthought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth\nto her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly\nimpoverished.\n\n\"Mrs. Ferrars,\" added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so\nimportant a subject, \"knows nothing about it at present, and I believe\nit will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may\nbe.-- When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.\"\n\n\"But why should such precaution be used?--Though it is not to be\nsupposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in\nknowing that her son has money enough to live upon,--for THAT must be\nquite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she\nsupposed to feel at all?--She has done with her son, she cast him off\nfor ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast\nhim off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined\nliable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account--she cannot\nbe interested in any thing that befalls him.-- She would not be so weak\nas to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of\na parent!\"\n\n\"Ah! Elinor,\" said John, \"your reasoning is very good, but it is\nfounded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward's unhappy match\ntakes place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had\nnever discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may\naccelerate that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as\npossible. Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son.\"\n\n\"You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory\nby THIS time.\"\n\n\"You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most\naffectionate mothers in the world.\"\n\nElinor was silent.\n\n\"We think NOW,\"--said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, \"of ROBERT'S\nmarrying Miss Morton.\"\n\nElinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother's\ntone, calmly replied,\n\n\"The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.\"\n\n\"Choice!--how do you mean?\"\n\n\"I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be\nthe same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert.\"\n\n\"Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all\nintents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;--and as to any\nthing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that\none is superior to the other.\"\n\nElinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.--His\nreflections ended thus.\n\n\"Of ONE thing, my dear sister,\" kindly taking her hand, and speaking in\nan awful whisper,--\"I may assure you;--and I WILL do it, because I know\nit must gratify you. I have good reason to think--indeed I have it\nfrom the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it\nwould be very wrong to say any thing about it--but I have it from the\nvery best authority--not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say\nit herself--but her daughter DID, and I have it from her--That in\nshort, whatever objections there might be against a certain--a certain\nconnection--you understand me--it would have been far preferable to\nher, it would not have given her half the vexation that THIS does. I\nwas exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that\nlight--a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. 'It would\nhave been beyond comparison,' she said, 'the least evil of the two, and\nshe would be glad to compound NOW for nothing worse.' But however, all\nthat is quite out of the question--not to be thought of or\nmentioned--as to any attachment you know--it never could be--all that\nis gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I\nknew how much it must please you. Not that you have any reason to\nregret, my dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly\nwell--quite as well, or better, perhaps, all things considered. Has\nColonel Brandon been with you lately?\"\n\nElinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her\nself-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;--and she was\ntherefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply\nherself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her\nbrother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments'\nchat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her\nsister's being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was\nleft to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay\nunconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so\nunfair a division of his mother's love and liberality, to the prejudice\nof his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of\nlife, and that brother's integrity, was confirming her most\nunfavourable opinion of his head and heart.\n\nThey had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to\nspeak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very\ninquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as\nshe had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very\ndifferent, was not less striking than it had been on HIM. He laughed\nmost immoderately. The idea of Edward's being a clergyman, and living\nin a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;--and when to\nthat was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a\nwhite surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith\nand Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.\n\nElinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the\nconclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed\non him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a\nlook, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings,\nand gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom,\nnot by any reproof of hers, but by his own sensibility.\n\n\"We may treat it as a joke,\" said he, at last, recovering from the\naffected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety\nof the moment--\"but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business. Poor\nEdward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it--for I\nknow him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow\nperhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, Miss\nDashwood, from YOUR slight acquaintance.--Poor Edward!--His manners are\ncertainly not the happiest in nature.--But we are not all born, you\nknow, with the same powers,--the same address.-- Poor fellow!--to see\nhim in a circle of strangers!--to be sure it was pitiable enough!--but\nupon my soul, I believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom;\nand I declare and protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as\nwhen it all burst forth. I could not believe it.-- My mother was the\nfirst person who told me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act\nwith resolution, immediately said to her, 'My dear madam, I do not know\nwhat you may intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must\nsay, that if Edward does marry this young woman, I never will see him\nagain.' That was what I said immediately.-- I was most uncommonly\nshocked, indeed!--Poor Edward!--he has done for himself\ncompletely--shut himself out for ever from all decent society!--but, as\nI directly said to my mother, I am not in the least surprised at it;\nfrom his style of education, it was always to be expected. My poor\nmother was half frantic.\"\n\n\"Have you ever seen the lady?\"\n\n\"Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in\nfor ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest awkward\ncountry girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty.--\nI remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose\nlikely to captivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my\nmother related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade\nhim from the match; but it was too late THEN, I found, to do any thing,\nfor unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it\ntill after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you\nknow, to interfere. But had I been informed of it a few hours\nearlier--I think it is most probable--that something might have been\nhit on. I certainly should have represented it to Edward in a very\nstrong light. 'My dear fellow,' I should have said, 'consider what you\nare doing. You are making a most disgraceful connection, and such a\none as your family are unanimous in disapproving.' I cannot help\nthinking, in short, that means might have been found. But now it is\nall too late. He must be starved, you know;--that is certain;\nabsolutely starved.\"\n\nHe had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance\nof Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though SHE never\nspoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on\nher mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she\nentered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself. She\neven proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her\nsister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of\nthem;--an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the\nroom, and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every\nthing that was most affectionate and graceful.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 42\n\n\nOne other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor received her\nbrother's congratulations on their travelling so far towards Barton\nwithout any expense, and on Colonel Brandon's being to follow them to\nCleveland in a day or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and\nsisters in town;--and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come to Norland\nwhenever it should happen to be in their way, which of all things was\nthe most unlikely to occur, with a more warm, though less public,\nassurance, from John to Elinor, of the promptitude with which he should\ncome to see her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the\ncountry.\n\nIt amused her to observe that all her friends seemed determined to send\nher to Delaford;--a place, in which, of all others, she would now least\nchuse to visit, or wish to reside; for not only was it considered as\nher future home by her brother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when\nthey parted, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there.\n\nVery early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties\nfrom Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective\nhomes, to meet, by appointment, on the road. For the convenience of\nCharlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their\njourney, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel\nBrandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.\n\nMarianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in London, and eager as\nshe had long been to quit it, could not, when it came to the point, bid\nadieu to the house in which she had for the last time enjoyed those\nhopes, and that confidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished\nfor ever, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in which\nWilloughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which\nSHE could have no share, without shedding many tears.\n\nElinor's satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive.\nShe had no such object for her lingering thoughts to fix on, she left\nno creature behind, from whom it would give her a moment's regret to be\ndivided for ever, she was pleased to be free herself from the\npersecution of Lucy's friendship, she was grateful for bringing her\nsister away unseen by Willoughby since his marriage, and she looked\nforward with hope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might\ndo towards restoring Marianne's peace of mind, and confirming her own.\n\nTheir journey was safely performed. The second day brought them into\nthe cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was\nit dwelt on by turns in Marianne's imagination; and in the forenoon of\nthe third they drove up to Cleveland.\n\nCleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated on a sloping\nlawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds were tolerably\nextensive; and like every other place of the same degree of importance,\nit had its open shrubbery, and closer wood walk, a road of smooth\ngravel winding round a plantation, led to the front, the lawn was\ndotted over with timber, the house itself was under the guardianship of\nthe fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them\naltogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, shut out the\noffices.\n\nMarianne entered the house with a heart swelling with emotion from the\nconsciousness of being only eighty miles from Barton, and not thirty\nfrom Combe Magna; and before she had been five minutes within its\nwalls, while the others were busily helping Charlotte to show her child\nto the housekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the\nwinding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, to gain a\ndistant eminence; where, from its Grecian temple, her eye, wandering\nover a wide tract of country to the south-east, could fondly rest on\nthe farthest ridge of hills in the horizon, and fancy that from their\nsummits Combe Magna might be seen.\n\nIn such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears\nof agony to be at Cleveland; and as she returned by a different circuit\nto the house, feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty, of\nwandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude, she\nresolved to spend almost every hour of every day while she remained\nwith the Palmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles.\n\nShe returned just in time to join the others as they quitted the house,\non an excursion through its more immediate premises; and the rest of\nthe morning was easily whiled away, in lounging round the kitchen\ngarden, examining the bloom upon its walls, and listening to the\ngardener's lamentations upon blights, in dawdling through the\ngreen-house, where the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed,\nand nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of\nCharlotte,--and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the\ndisappointed hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking their nests, or\nbeing stolen by a fox, or in the rapid decrease of a promising young\nbrood, she found fresh sources of merriment.\n\nThe morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment\nabroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay\nat Cleveland. With great surprise therefore, did she find herself\nprevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had\ndepended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over\nthe grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred\nher from it; but a heavy and settled rain even SHE could not fancy dry\nor pleasant weather for walking.\n\nTheir party was small, and the hours passed quietly away. Mrs. Palmer\nhad her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet-work; they talked of the\nfriends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton's engagements,\nand wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther\nthan Reading that night. Elinor, however little concerned in it,\njoined in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding\nher way in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by\nthe family in general, soon procured herself a book.\n\nNothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer's side that constant and friendly\ngood humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome. The\nopenness and heartiness of her manner more than atoned for that want of\nrecollection and elegance which made her often deficient in the forms\nof politeness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was\nengaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, because it was\nnot conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven every thing but her laugh.\n\nThe two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording\na pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to\ntheir conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had\nreduced very low.\n\nElinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so\nmuch variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew\nnot what to expect to find him in his own family. She found him,\nhowever, perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors,\nand only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him\nvery capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from\nbeing so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much\nsuperior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs.\nJennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they\nwere marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all\nunusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating,\nuncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight\nit; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been\ndevoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much\nbetter than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she\ncould like him no more;--not sorry to be driven by the observation of\nhis Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with\ncomplacency on the remembrance of Edward's generous temper, simple\ntaste, and diffident feelings.\n\nOf Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now received\nintelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been into Dorsetshire\nlately; and who, treating her at once as the disinterested friend of\nMr. Ferrars, and the kind confidante of himself, talked to her a\ngreat deal of the parsonage at Delaford, described its deficiencies,\nand told her what he meant to do himself towards removing them.--His\nbehaviour to her in this, as well as in every other particular, his\nopen pleasure in meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his\nreadiness to converse with her, and his deference for her opinion,\nmight very well justify Mrs. Jennings's persuasion of his attachment,\nand would have been enough, perhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the\nfirst, believed Marianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it\nherself. But as it was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her\nhead, except by Mrs. Jennings's suggestion; and she could not help\nbelieving herself the nicest observer of the two;--she watched his\neyes, while Mrs. Jennings thought only of his behaviour;--and while his\nlooks of anxious solicitude on Marianne's feeling, in her head and\nthroat, the beginning of a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words,\nentirely escaped the latter lady's observation;--SHE could discover in\nthem the quick feelings, and needless alarm of a lover.\n\nTwo delightful twilight walks on the third and fourth evenings of her\nbeing there, not merely on the dry gravel of the shrubbery, but all\nover the grounds, and especially in the most distant parts of them,\nwhere there was something more of wildness than in the rest, where the\ntrees were the oldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest,\nhad--assisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet\nshoes and stockings--given Marianne a cold so violent as, though for a\nday or two trifled with or denied, would force itself by increasing\nailments on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself.\nPrescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all\ndeclined. Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a\ncough, and a sore throat, a good night's rest was to cure her entirely;\nand it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went\nto bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 43\n\n\nMarianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry\nreplied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging\nin her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering\nover the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or\nin lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of\nher amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more\nindisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister's\ncomposure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against\nMarianne's inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night,\ntrusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and\nfelt no real alarm.\n\nA very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the\nexpectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising,\nconfessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her\nbed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings's advice, of sending\nfor the Palmers' apothecary.\n\nHe came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to\nexpect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by\npronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the\nword \"infection\" to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer,\non her baby's account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the\nfirst to think Marianne's complaint more serious than Elinor, now\nlooked very grave on Mr. Harris's report, and confirming Charlotte's\nfears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with\nher infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as\nidle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be\nwithstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour\nafter Mr. Harris's arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his\nnurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer's, who lived a\nfew miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at\nher earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was\nalmost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings,\nhowever, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her,\ndeclared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as\nMarianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care,\nto supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and\nElinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate,\ndesirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better\nexperience in nursing, of material use.\n\nPoor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and\nfeeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow\nwould find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have\nproduced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for\non that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended\nthe whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their\nmother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was\nall in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to\nraise her spirits, and make her believe, as she THEN really believed\nherself, that it would be a very short one.\n\nThe next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the\npatient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no\namendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced;\nfor Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity\nand good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away\nby his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his\npromise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel\nBrandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going\nlikewise.--Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most\nacceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much\nuneasiness on her sister's account, would be to deprive them both, she\nthought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his\nstay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to\nplay at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her\nsister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was\ngratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not\nlong even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings's entreaty was\nwarmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself,\nin leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss\nDashwood in any emergence.\n\nMarianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements.\nShe knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of\nCleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It\ngave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it\ngave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.\n\nTwo days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer's departure, and her\nsituation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who\nattended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and\nMiss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others\nwas by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early\nin the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel\nBrandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings's\nforebodings, was not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He\ntried to reason himself out of fears, which the different judgment of\nthe apothecary seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day\nin which he was left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the\nadmission of every melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his\nmind the persuasion that he should see Marianne no more.\n\nOn the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of\nboth were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared\nhis patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every\nsymptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed\nin every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her\nletters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her\nfriend's, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them\nat Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able\nto travel.\n\nBut the day did not close so auspiciously as it began.-- Towards the\nevening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and\nuncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was\nwilling to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of\nhaving sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the\ncordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a\nslumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her\nsleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a\nconsiderable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she\nresolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings,\nknowing nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to\nbed; her maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating\nherself in the housekeeper's room, and Elinor remained alone with\nMarianne.\n\nThe repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her\nsister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of\nposture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint\nwhich passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful\na slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in\nthe house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,--\n\n\"Is mama coming?--\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting\nMarianne to lie down again, \"but she will be here, I hope, before it is\nlong. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton.\"\n\n\"But she must not go round by London,\" cried Marianne, in the same\nhurried manner. \"I shall never see her, if she goes by London.\"\n\nElinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while\nattempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and\nquicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her\nalarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly\nfor Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother.\nTo consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the\nlatter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its\nperformance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by\nher sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he\nwas generally to be found at a much later hour than the present.\n\nIt was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were\nimmediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to\nattempt the removal of:--he listened to them in silent despondence;--but\nher difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that\nseemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind,\nhe offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood.\nElinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him\nwith brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off his\nservant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses\ndirectly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.\n\nThe comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon--or such\na companion for her mother,--how gratefully was it felt!--a companion\nwhose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose\nfriendship might soothe her!--as far as the shock of such a summons\nCOULD be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance,\nwould lessen it.\n\nHE, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a\ncollected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost\ndespatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might\nlook for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The\nhorses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon\nonly pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken\ntoo low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about\ntwelve o'clock, and she returned to her sister's apartment to wait for\nthe arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the\nnight. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after\nhour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne's side, and\nin the most cruel anxiety on Elinor's, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her\napprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former\nsecurity; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow\nMrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what\nher mistress had always thought.\n\nMarianne's ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her\nmother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the\nheart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with\nso many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief,\nfancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had\nbeen delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother\narriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.\n\nShe was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if HE could\nnot come, for some other advice, when the former--but not till after\nfive o'clock--arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends\nfor his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and\nunpleasant alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to\nbe material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment\nmust procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was\ncommunicated to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of\nthree or four hours, and left both the patient and her anxious\nattendant more composed than he had found them.\n\nWith strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to\ntheir aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed.\nHer former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no\ndoubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her\nconviction of her sister's danger would not allow her to offer the\ncomfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the\nearly death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck\na less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings's compassion\nshe had other claims. She had been for three months her companion, was\nstill under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured,\nand long unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a\nfavourite, was before her;--and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings\nconsidered that Marianne might probably be to HER what Charlotte was to\nherself, her sympathy in HER sufferings was very sincere.\n\nMr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;--but he came to be\ndisappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His\nmedicines had failed;--the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more\nquiet--not more herself--remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching\nall, and more than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in\nfurther advice. But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something\nmore to try, some more fresh application, of whose success he was as\nconfident as the last, and his visit concluded with encouraging\nassurances which reached the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss\nDashwood. She was calm, except when she thought of her mother; but she\nwas almost hopeless; and in this state she continued till noon,\nscarcely stirring from her sister's bed, her thoughts wandering from\none image of grief, one suffering friend to another, and her spirits\noppressed to the utmost by the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who\nscrupled not to attribute the severity and danger of this attack to the\nmany weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne's disappointment\nhad brought on. Elinor felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it\ngave fresh misery to her reflections.\n\nAbout noon, however, she began--but with a caution--a dread of\ndisappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her\nfriend--to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her\nsister's pulse;--she waited, watched, and examined it again and\nagain;--and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under\nexterior calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to\ncommunicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination,\nto acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from\nindulging a thought of its continuance;--and Elinor, conning over every\ninjunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was\ntoo late. Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious\nflutter, she bent over her sister to watch--she hardly knew for what.\nHalf an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her.\nOthers even arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all\nflattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes\non her with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now\noppressed her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity\ntill the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o'clock;--when his assurances,\nhis felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his\nexpectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.\n\nMarianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her\nentirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the\npartial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their\nlate alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted,\nwith unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the\nprobability of an entire recovery.\n\nElinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led\nto any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health,\nfriends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with\nsensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent\ngratitude;--but it led to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words,\nno smiles. All within Elinor's breast was satisfaction, silent and\nstrong.\n\nShe continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the\nwhole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her\nenfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every\nlook and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course,\nin some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was--but when she\nsaw, on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of\nrecovery continued, and saw Marianne at six o'clock sink into a quiet,\nsteady, and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every\ndoubt.\n\nThe time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected\nback. At ten o'clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her\nmother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must\nnow be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!--perhaps scarcely\nless an object of pity!--Oh!--how slow was the progress of time which\nyet kept them in ignorance!\n\nAt seven o'clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined\nMrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been\nkept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating\nmuch;--and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of\ncontent as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings\nwould have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before\nher mother's arrival, and allow HER to take her place by Marianne; but\nElinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that moment\nabout her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an\nunnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs\ninto the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right,\nleft her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her\nown room to write letters and sleep.\n\nThe night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and\nthe rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within,\nregarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the\ntravellers--they had a rich reward in store, for every present\ninconvenience.\n\nThe clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been\nconvinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the\nhouse; and so strong was the persuasion that she DID, in spite of the\nALMOST impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into\nthe adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be\nsatisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not\ndeceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in\nview. By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be\ndrawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor\nmother's alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.\n\nNever in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at\nthat moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the\ncarriage stopt at the door--of her doubt--her dread--perhaps her\ndespair!--and of what SHE had to tell!--with such knowledge it was\nimpossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy;\nand, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings's maid\nwith her sister, she hurried down stairs.\n\nThe bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby,\nassured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the\ndrawing-room,--she entered it,--and saw only Willoughby.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 44\n\n\nElinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed\nthe first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room,\nand her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by\nhis hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than\nsupplication,\n\n\"Miss Dashwood, for half an hour--for ten minutes--I entreat you to\nstay.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" she replied with firmness, \"I shall NOT stay. Your business\ncannot be with ME. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell you that\nMr. Palmer was not in the house.\"\n\n\"Had they told me,\" he cried with vehemence, \"that Mr. Palmer and all\nhis relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the\ndoor. My business is with you, and only you.\"\n\n\"With me!\"--in the utmost amazement--\"well, sir,--be quick--and if you\ncan--less violent.\"\n\n\"Sit down, and I will be both.\"\n\nShe hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel\nBrandon's arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had\npromised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was\nengaged. After a moment's recollection, therefore, concluding that\nprudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best\npromote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He\ntook the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by\neither.\n\n\"Pray be quick, sir,\"--said Elinor, impatiently;--\"I have no time to\nspare.\"\n\nHe was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to\nhear her.\n\n\"Your sister,\" said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards--\"is out\nof danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!--But is it\ntrue? is it really true?\"\n\nElinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater\neagerness.\n\n\"For God's sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?\"\n\n\"We hope she is.\"\n\nHe rose up, and walked across the room.\n\n\"Had I known as much half an hour ago--But since I AM here,\"--speaking\nwith a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat--\"what does it\nsignify?--For once, Miss Dashwood--it will be the last time,\nperhaps--let us be cheerful together.--I am in a fine mood for\ngaiety.-- Tell me honestly\"--a deeper glow overspreading his\ncheeks--\"do you think me most a knave or a fool?\"\n\nElinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to\nthink that he must be in liquor;--the strangeness of such a visit, and\nof such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this\nimpression she immediately rose, saying,\n\n\"Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe--I am not\nat leisure to remain with you longer.-- Whatever your business may be\nwith me, it will be better recollected and explained to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I understand you,\" he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice\nperfectly calm; \"yes, I am very drunk.-- A pint of porter with my cold\nbeef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me.\"\n\n\"At Marlborough!\"--cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand\nwhat he would be at.\n\n\"Yes,--I left London this morning at eight o'clock, and the only ten\nminutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a\nnuncheon at Marlborough.\"\n\nThe steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he\nspoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might\nbring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she\nsaid, after a moment's recollection,\n\n\"Mr. Willoughby, you OUGHT to feel, and I certainly DO--that after what\nhas passed--your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon\nmy notice, requires a very particular excuse.--What is it, that you\nmean by it?\"--\n\n\"I mean,\"--said he, with serious energy--\"if I can, to make you hate me\none degree less than you do NOW. I mean to offer some kind of\nexplanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart\nto you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a\nblockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like\nforgiveness from Ma--from your sister.\"\n\n\"Is this the real reason of your coming?\"\n\n\"Upon my soul it is,\"--was his answer, with a warmth which brought all\nthe former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made\nher think him sincere.\n\n\"If that is all, you may be satisfied already,--for Marianne DOES--she\nhas LONG forgiven you.\"\n\n\"Has she?\"--he cried, in the same eager tone.-- \"Then she has forgiven\nme before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again,\nand on more reasonable grounds.--NOW will you listen to me?\"\n\nElinor bowed her assent.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and\nthoughtfulness on his own,--\"how YOU may have accounted for my\nbehaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have\nimputed to me.-- Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,--it is\nworth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first\nbecame intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view\nin the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged\nto remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before.\nYour sister's lovely person and interesting manners could not but\nplease me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a\nkind--It is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what SHE\nwas, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must\nconfess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness,\nthinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had\nalways been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every\nmeans in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design\nof returning her affection.\"\n\nMiss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most\nangry contempt, stopped him, by saying,\n\n\"It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me\nto listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by\nany thing.-- Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the\nsubject.\"\n\n\"I insist on you hearing the whole of it,\" he replied, \"My fortune was\nnever large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of\nassociating with people of better income than myself. Every year since\nmy coming of age, or even before, I believe, had added to my debts; and\nthough the death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; yet\nthat event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it had been for\nsome time my intention to re-establish my circumstances by marrying a\nwoman of fortune. To attach myself to your sister, therefore, was not\na thing to be thought of;--and with a meanness, selfishness,\ncruelty--which no indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss\nDashwood, can ever reprobate too much--I was acting in this manner,\ntrying to engage her regard, without a thought of returning it.--But\none thing may be said for me: even in that horrid state of selfish\nvanity, I did not know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I\ndid not THEN know what it was to love. But have I ever known it?--Well\nmay it be doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my\nfeelings to vanity, to avarice?--or, what is more, could I have\nsacrificed hers?-- But I have done it. To avoid a comparative poverty,\nwhich her affection and her society would have deprived of all its\nhorrors, I have, by raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that\ncould make it a blessing.\"\n\n\"You did then,\" said Elinor, a little softened, \"believe yourself at\none time attached to her?\"\n\n\"To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such\ntenderness!--Is there a man on earth who could have done it?--Yes, I\nfound myself, by insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the\nhappiest hours of my life were what I spent with her when I felt my\nintentions were strictly honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even\nTHEN, however, when fully determined on paying my addresses to her, I\nallowed myself most improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment\nof doing it, from an unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my\ncircumstances were so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here--nor\nwill I stop for YOU to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than\nabsurdity, of scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already\nbound. The event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with\ngreat circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself\ncontemptible and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution\nwas taken, and I had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone,\nto justify the attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly\nassure her of an affection which I had already taken such pains to\ndisplay. But in the interim--in the interim of the very few hours that\nwere to pass, before I could have an opportunity of speaking with her\nin private--a circumstance occurred--an unlucky circumstance, to ruin\nall my resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took\nplace,\"--here he hesitated and looked down.--\"Mrs. Smith had somehow or\nother been informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest\nit was to deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection--but I\nneed not explain myself farther,\" he added, looking at her with an\nheightened colour and an enquiring eye--\"your particular intimacy--you\nhave probably heard the whole story long ago.\"\n\n\"I have,\" returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart\nanew against any compassion for him, \"I have heard it all. And how you\nwill explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I\nconfess is beyond my comprehension.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" cried Willoughby, \"from whom you received the account.\nCould it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her\ncharacter ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify\nmyself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have\nnothing to urge--that because she was injured she was irreproachable,\nand because I was a libertine, SHE must be a saint. If the violence of\nher passions, the weakness of her understanding--I do not mean,\nhowever, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better\ntreatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness\nwhich, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I\nwish--I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than\nherself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me--(may I say\nit?) was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind--Oh! how\ninfinitely superior!\"--\n\n\"Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl--I must say\nit, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well\nbe--your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do\nnot think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of\nunderstanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours.\nYou must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in\nDevonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was\nreduced to the extremest indigence.\"\n\n\"But, upon my soul, I did NOT know it,\" he warmly replied; \"I did not\nrecollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense\nmight have told her how to find it out.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?\"\n\n\"She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be\nguessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her\nignorance of the world--every thing was against me. The matter itself\nI could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was\npreviously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in\ngeneral, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention,\nthe very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my\npresent visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I\nmight have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman!\nshe offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could\nnot be--and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house.\nThe night following this affair--I was to go the next morning--was\nspent by me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The\nstruggle was great--but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne,\nmy thorough conviction of her attachment to me--it was all insufficient\nto outweigh that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false\nideas of the necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to\nfeel, and expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe\nmyself secure of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I\npersuaded myself to think that nothing else in common prudence remained\nfor me to do. A heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave\nDevonshire;--I was engaged to dine with you on that very day; some\napology was therefore necessary for my breaking this engagement. But\nwhether I should write this apology, or deliver it in person, was a\npoint of long debate. To see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and\nI even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep to my\nresolution. In that point, however, I undervalued my own magnanimity,\nas the event declared; for I went, I saw her, and saw her miserable,\nand left her miserable--and left her hoping never to see her again.\"\n\n\"Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?\" said Elinor, reproachfully; \"a note\nwould have answered every purpose.-- Why was it necessary to call?\"\n\n\"It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the\ncountry in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the\nneighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between\nMrs. Smith and myself--and I resolved therefore on calling at the\ncottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however,\nwas really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone.\nYou were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening\nbefore, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A\nfew hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how\nhappy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to\nAllenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in\nthis, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense\nof guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her\nsorrow, her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was\nobliged to leave Devonshire so immediately--I never shall forget\nit--united too with such reliance, such confidence in me!--Oh,\nGod!--what a hard-hearted rascal I was!\"\n\nThey were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.\n\n\"Did you tell her that you should soon return?\"\n\n\"I do not know what I told her,\" he replied, impatiently; \"less than\nwas due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more\nthan was justified by the future. I cannot think of it.--It won't\ndo.--Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her\nkindness and confidence. Thank Heaven! it DID torture me. I was\nmiserable. Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it\ngives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a grudge to myself\nfor the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past\nsufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now. Well, I\nwent, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was\nonly indifferent. My journey to town--travelling with my own horses,\nand therefore so tediously--no creature to speak to--my own reflections\nso cheerful--when I looked forward every thing so inviting!--when I\nlooked back at Barton, the picture so soothing!--oh, it was a blessed\njourney!\"\n\nHe stopped.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for\nhis departure, \"and this is all?\"\n\n\"Ah!--no,--have you forgot what passed in town?-- That infamous\nletter--Did she shew it you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw every note that passed.\"\n\n\"When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in\ntown the whole time,) what I felt is--in the common phrase, not to be\nexpressed; in a more simple one--perhaps too simple to raise any\nemotion--my feelings were very, very painful.--Every line, every word\nwas--in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here,\nwould forbid--a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town\nwas--in the same language--a thunderbolt.--Thunderbolts and\ndaggers!--what a reproof would she have given me!--her taste, her\nopinions--I believe they are better known to me than my own,--and I am\nsure they are dearer.\"\n\nElinor's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this\nextraordinary conversation, was now softened again;--yet she felt it\nher duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.\n\n\"This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.--Remember that you are married.\nRelate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to hear.\"\n\n\"Marianne's note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in\nformer days, that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been\nseparated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of\nfaith in the constancy of mine as ever, awakened all my remorse. I say\nawakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in\nsome measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened\nvillain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing to fancy that\nshe too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our\npast attachment as a mere idle, trifling business, shrugging up my\nshoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach,\novercoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, 'I shall be\nheartily glad to hear she is well married.'-- But this note made me\nknow myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than\nany other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But\nevery thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat\nwas impossible. All that I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent\nno answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her\nfarther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in\nBerkeley Street;--but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a\ncool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely\nout of the house one morning, and left my name.\"\n\n\"Watched us out of the house!\"\n\n\"Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how\noften I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a\nshop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did\nin Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a\nglimpse of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant\nwatchfulness on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep\nout of your sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the\nMiddletons as much as possible, as well as everybody else who was\nlikely to prove an acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in\ntown, however, I blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his\ncoming, and the day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings's. He asked me\nto a party, a dance at his house in the evening.--Had he NOT told me as\nan inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have\nfelt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him. The next\nmorning brought another short note from Marianne--still affectionate,\nopen, artless, confiding--everything that could make MY conduct most\nhateful. I could not answer it. I tried--but could not frame a\nsentence. But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day.\nIf you CAN pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was THEN.\nWith my head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the\nhappy lover to another woman!--Those three or four weeks were worse\nthan all. Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on\nme; and what a sweet figure I cut!--what an evening of agony it was!--\nMarianne, beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby in\nsuch a tone!--Oh, God!--holding out her hand to me, asking me for an\nexplanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking\nsolicitude on my face!--and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other\nhand, looking all that was--Well, it does not signify; it is over\nnow.-- Such an evening!--I ran away from you all as soon as I could;\nbut not before I had seen Marianne's sweet face as white as\ndeath.--THAT was the last, last look I ever had of her;--the last\nmanner in which she appeared to me. It was a horrid sight!--yet when I\nthought of her to-day as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me\nto imagine that I knew exactly how she would appear to those, who saw\nher last in this world. She was before me, constantly before me, as I\ntravelled, in the same look and hue.\"\n\nA short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first\nrousing himself, broke it thus:\n\n\"Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better,\ncertainly out of danger?\"\n\n\"We are assured of it.\"\n\n\"Your poor mother, too!--doting on Marianne.\"\n\n\"But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to\nsay about that?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, THAT in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you\nknow, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was\nbreakfasting at the Ellisons,--and her letter, with some others, was\nbrought to me there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia's\neye before it caught mine--and its size, the elegance of the paper, the\nhand-writing altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague\nreport had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in\nDevonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding\nevening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous\nthan ever. Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is\ndelightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly,\nand read its contents. She was well paid for her impudence.\nShe read what made her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have\nborne, but her passion--her malice--At all events it must be appeased.\nAnd, in short--what do you think of my wife's style of\nletter-writing?--delicate--tender--truly feminine--was it not?\"\n\n\"Your wife!--The letter was in your own hand-writing.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as\nI was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own--her own\nhappy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!--we were\nengaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed--But I am\ntalking like a fool. Preparation!--day!--In honest words, her money\nwas necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be\ndone to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my\ncharacter in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language\nmy answer was couched?--It must have been only to one end. My business\nwas to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a\nbluster was of little importance.-- 'I am ruined for ever in their\nopinion--' said I to myself--'I am shut out for ever from their\nsociety, they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will\nonly make them think me a blackguard one.' Such were my reasonings, as,\nin a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife's words, and\nparted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes--unluckily\nthey were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their\nexistence, and hoarded them for ever--I was forced to put them up, and\ncould not even kiss them. And the lock of hair--that too I had always\ncarried about me in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by\nMadam with the most ingratiating virulence,--the dear lock--all, every\nmemento was torn from me.\"\n\n\"You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,\" said Elinor, while\nher voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion;\n\"you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my\nsister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your\nwife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She\nmust be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat\nher with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to\nMarianne--nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience.\"\n\n\"Do not talk to me of my wife,\" said he with a heavy sigh.-- \"She does\nnot deserve your compassion.--She knew I had no regard for her when we\nmarried.--Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be\nhappy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay.--And now do you pity\nme, Miss Dashwood?--or have I said all this to no purpose?-- Am I--be\nit only one degree--am I less guilty in your opinion than I was\nbefore?--My intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away\nany part of my guilt?\"\n\n\"Yes, you have certainly removed something--a little.-- You have proved\nyourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have\nproved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly\nknow--the misery that you have inflicted--I hardly know what could have\nmade it worse.\"\n\n\"Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been\ntelling you?--Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well\nas in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be\nable to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present\nfeelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more\ngentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my\npenitence--tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if\nyou will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever.\"\n\n\"I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be\ncalled, your justification. But you have not explained to me the\nparticular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her illness.\"\n\n\"Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and\nwhen he saw who I was--for the first time these two months--he spoke to\nme.--That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without\nsurprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid\nsoul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister,\ncould not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought\nto--though probably he did not think it WOULD--vex me horridly. As\nbluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne\nDashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland--a letter that\nmorning received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most\nimminent--the Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c.--I was too much\nshocked to be able to pass myself off as insensible even to the\nundiscerning Sir John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer;\nand so much of his ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he\nalmost shook me by the hand while he reminded me of an old promise\nabout a pointer puppy. What I felt on hearing that your sister was\ndying--and dying too, believing me the greatest villain upon earth,\nscorning, hating me in her latest moments--for how could I tell what\nhorrid projects might not have been imputed? ONE person I was sure\nwould represent me as capable of any thing-- What I felt was\ndreadful!--My resolution was soon made, and at eight o'clock this\nmorning I was in my carriage. Now you know all.\"\n\nElinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the\nirreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent\nhabits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the\ncharacter, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person\nand talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a\nfeeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and\nvain--Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish.\nVanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another,\nhad involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least\nits offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty\npropensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment.\nThe attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against\nevery better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no\nlonger allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the\nsake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery,\nwas likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more\nincurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the\nend of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie\nat least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and\nsaid--\n\n\"There is no use in staying here; I must be off.\"\n\n\"Are you going back to town?\"\n\n\"No--to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a\nday or two. Good bye.\"\n\nHe held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;--he\npressed it with affection.\n\n\"And you DO think something better of me than you did?\"--said he,\nletting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting\nhe was to go.\n\nElinor assured him that she did;--that she forgave, pitied, wished him\nwell--was even interested in his happiness--and added some gentle\ncounsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was\nnot very encouraging.\n\n\"As to that,\" said he, \"I must rub through the world as well as I can.\nDomestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed\nto think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it\nmay be the means--it may put me on my guard--at least, it may be\nsomething to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever.\nWere I even by any blessed chance at liberty again--\"\n\nElinor stopped him with a reproof.\n\n\"Well,\"--he replied--\"once more good bye. I shall now go away and live\nin dread of one event.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Your sister's marriage.\"\n\n\"You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is\nnow.\"\n\n\"But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some one should\nbe the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear--but I will not\nstay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by shewing that\nwhere I have most injured I can least forgive. Good bye,--God bless\nyou!\"\n\nAnd with these words, he almost ran out of the room.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 45\n\n\nElinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the\nsound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a\ncrowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness\nwas the general result, to think even of her sister.\n\nWilloughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the most\nworthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited a\ndegree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which made\nher think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with a\ntenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged\nwithin herself--to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that his\ninfluence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not\nin reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that\nopen, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess;\nand by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even\ninnocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before\nshe could feel his influence less.\n\nWhen at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her\njust awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of\nher hopes. Elinor's heart was full. The past, the present, the\nfuture, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her mother's\nexpected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits\nwhich kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful\nof betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in\nwhich that fear could affect her, for within half an hour after\nWilloughby's leaving the house, she was again called down stairs by the\nsound of another carriage.--Eager to save her mother from every\nunnecessary moment's horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the\nhall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive and support\nher as she entered it.\n\nMrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced\nalmost the conviction of Marianne's being no more, had no voice to\ninquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but SHE, waiting neither\nfor salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief;--and her\nmother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much\novercome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She\nwas supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her\nfriend;--and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to\nspeak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals\nto press Colonel Brandon's hand, with a look which spoke at once her\ngratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss\nof the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than\nher own.\n\nAs soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her\nfirst desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child,\nrendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger.\nElinor's delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only\nchecked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther\nsleep;--but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when\nthe life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing\nher mother was near her, and conscious of being too weak for\nconversation, submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by\nevery nurse around her. Mrs. Dashwood WOULD sit up with her all night;\nand Elinor, in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed. But\nthe rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the\nmost wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by\nirritation of spirits. Willoughby, \"poor Willoughby,\" as she now\nallowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would\nnot but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now\nacquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before. But her\npromise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful. She\ndreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne\nmight be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever be\nhappy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower.\nThen, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself, felt that to HIS\nsufferings and his constancy far more than to his rival's, the reward\nof her sister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs.\nWilloughby's death.\n\nThe shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had been much softened\nto Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her\nuneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out\nfor Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further\nintelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival,\nthat the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away,\nas her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.\n\nMarianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of\nMrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly\ndeclared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor could\nnot hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes\nwondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs.\nDashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment\nwhich Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to\nthink only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to her\nfrom a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken\njudgment in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had\ncontributed to place her;--and in her recovery she had yet another\nsource of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as\nsoon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.\n\n\"At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my\nhappiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself.\"\n\nHer daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and\nnot surprised, was all silent attention.\n\n\"You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your\ncomposure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my\nfamily, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you as\nthe object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most\nhappy with him of the two.\"\n\nElinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because\nsatisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age,\ncharacters, or feelings, could be given;--but her mother must always be\ncarried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, and\ntherefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.\n\n\"He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came\nout quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could\ntalk of nothing but my child;--he could not conceal his distress; I saw\nthat it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship,\nas the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy--or rather,\nnot thinking at all, I suppose--giving way to irresistible feelings,\nmade me acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for\nMarianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of\nseeing her.\"\n\nHere, however, Elinor perceived,--not the language, not the professions\nof Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother's\nactive fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it chose.\n\n\"His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby\never felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or\nconstant--which ever we are to call it--has subsisted through all the\nknowledge of dear Marianne's unhappy prepossession for that worthless\nyoung man!--and without selfishness--without encouraging a hope!--could\nhe have seen her happy with another--Such a noble mind!--such openness,\nsuch sincerity!--no one can be deceived in HIM.\"\n\n\"Colonel Brandon's character,\" said Elinor, \"as an excellent man, is\nwell established.\"\n\n\"I know it is,\"--replied her mother seriously, \"or after such a warning,\nI should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be pleased\nby it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such ready\nfriendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men.\"\n\n\"His character, however,\" answered Elinor, \"does not rest on ONE act of\nkindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of the\ncase, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, he\nhas been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect him;\nand even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very\nconsiderable; and so highly do I value and esteem him, that if Marianne\ncan be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to think our\nconnection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What answer did\nyou give him?--Did you allow him to hope?\"\n\n\"Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself.\nMarianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or\nencouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible\neffusion to a soothing friend--not an application to a parent. Yet\nafter a time I DID say, for at first I was quite overcome--that if she\nlived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in\npromoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful\nsecurity, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every\nencouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will\ndo everything;--Marianne's heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a\nman as Willoughby.-- His own merits must soon secure it.\"\n\n\"To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however, you have not yet made\nhim equally sanguine.\"\n\n\"No.--He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any change\nin it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again\nfree, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a\ndifference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There,\nhowever, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as\nto be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed;--and\nhis disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make\nyour sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his\nfavour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so\nhandsome as Willoughby--but at the same time, there is something much\nmore pleasing in his countenance.-- There was always a something,--if\nyou remember,--in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like.\"\n\nElinor could NOT remember it;--but her mother, without waiting for her\nassent, continued,\n\n\"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more pleasing to\nme than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to\nbe more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine\nattention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much\nmore accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness--often\nartificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself,\nthat had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved\nhimself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with\nHIM, as she will be with Colonel Brandon.\"\n\nShe paused.--Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her\ndissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.\n\n\"At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,\" added Mrs.\nDashwood, \"even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability,--for I\nhear it is a large village,--indeed there certainly MUST be some small\nhouse or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our\npresent situation.\"\n\nPoor Elinor!--here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!--but\nher spirit was stubborn.\n\n\"His fortune too!--for at my time of life you know, everybody cares\nabout THAT;--and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it\nreally is, I am sure it must be a good one.\"\n\nHere they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and\nElinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her\nfriend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 46\n\n\nMarianne's illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long\nenough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and\nher mother's presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her\nto remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs.\nPalmer's dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for\nshe was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her\nmother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.\n\nHis emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in\nreceiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was\nsuch, as, in Elinor's conjecture, must arise from something more than\nhis affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to\nothers; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying\ncomplexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many\npast scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance\nbetween Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened\nby the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness,\nand the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.\n\nMrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but\nwith a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very\ndifferent effect, saw nothing in the Colonel's behaviour but what arose\nfrom the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions\nand words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something\nmore than gratitude already dawned.\n\nAt the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger\nevery twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her\ndaughter's wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On HER\nmeasures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not\nquit Cleveland during the Dashwoods' stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon\nbrought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as\nequally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs.\nJennings's united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to\naccept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better\naccommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint\ninvitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature\nmade her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself,\nengaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the\ncourse of a few weeks.\n\nThe day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking\nso particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly\ngrateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own\nheart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding\nColonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully\nassisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she\nshould engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed,\nand the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and\nfeel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise\nto take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young\ncompanions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his\nsolitary way to Delaford.\n\nThe Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey\non both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous\naffection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable,\nwas the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward\nin her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the\nobservation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen\nher week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of\nheart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to\nconceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an\napparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted\nof serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and\ncheerfulness.\n\nAs they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every\nfield and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection,\nshe grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their\nnotice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor\ncould neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted\nMarianne from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an\nemotion too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity,\nand in its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her\nsubsequent manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to\nreasonable exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common\nsitting-room, than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of\nresolute firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the\nsight of every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be\nconnected.--She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness,\nand though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without\nthe atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte.\nShe went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an\nopera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their\nfavourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his\nhand-writing.--That would not do.--She shook her head, put the music\naside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of\nfeebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring\nhowever with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice\nmuch.\n\nThe next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the\ncontrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked\nand spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of\nMargaret's return, and talking of the dear family party which would\nthen be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the\nonly happiness worth a wish.\n\n\"When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength,\" said\nshe, \"we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the\nfarm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will\nwalk to Sir John's new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland;\nand we will often go to the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace its\nfoundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we shall\nbe happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never to\nbe later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall\ndivide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan,\nand am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own\nlibrary is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond\nmere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the\nPark; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can\nborrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall\ngain in the course of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which\nI now feel myself to want.\"\n\nElinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this;\nthough smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her\nto the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work\nin introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and\nvirtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she\nremembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared\nshe had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of\nMarianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy\ntranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved\nto wait till her sister's health were more secure, before she appointed\nit. But the resolution was made only to be broken.\n\nMarianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was\nfine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out. But at last a\nsoft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter's\nwishes and the mother's confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor's\narm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in\nthe lane before the house.\n\nThe sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in an\nexercise hitherto untried since her illness required;--and they had\nadvanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the\nhill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned\ntowards it, Marianne calmly said,\n\n\"There, exactly there,\"--pointing with one hand, \"on that projecting\nmound,--there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby.\"\n\nHer voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,\n\n\"I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the\nspot!--shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?\"--hesitatingly it\nwas said.--\"Or will it be wrong?--I can talk of it now, I hope, as I\nought to do.\"--\n\nElinor tenderly invited her to be open.\n\n\"As for regret,\" said Marianne, \"I have done with that, as far as HE is\nconcerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have been\nfor him, but what they are NOW.--At present, if I could be satisfied on\none point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not ALWAYS acting\na part, not ALWAYS deceiving me;--but above all, if I could be assured\nthat he never was so VERY wicked as my fears have sometimes fancied\nhim, since the story of that unfortunate girl\"--\n\nShe stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,\n\n\"If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy.\"\n\n\"Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it;--for not only is it\nhorrible to suspect a person, who has been what HE has been to ME, of\nsuch designs,--but what must it make me appear to myself?--What in a\nsituation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could\nexpose me to\"--\n\n\"How then,\" asked her sister, \"would you account for his behaviour?\"\n\n\"I would suppose him,--Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle,\nvery, very fickle.\"\n\nElinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the\neligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till\nMarianne were in stronger health;--and they crept on for a few minutes\nin silence.\n\n\"I am not wishing him too much good,\" said Marianne at last with a\nsigh, \"when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant\nthan my own. He will suffer enough in them.\"\n\n\"Do you compare your conduct with his?\"\n\n\"No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with\nyours.\"\n\n\"Our situations have borne little resemblance.\"\n\n\"They have borne more than our conduct.--Do not, my dearest Elinor, let\nyour kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My\nillness has made me think-- It has given me leisure and calmness for\nserious recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I\nwas perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own\nbehaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last\nautumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of\nkindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my\nsufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me\nto the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by\nmyself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the\ntime to be wrong. Had I died,--it would have been self-destruction. I\ndid not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such\nfeelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,--wonder\nthat the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for\natonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I\ndied,--in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my\nfriend, my sister!--You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my\nlatter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart!--How should\nI have lived in YOUR remembrance!--My mother too! How could you have\nconsoled her!--I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever\nI looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing\nindulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the\nunceasing kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful\ncontempt. To the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every\ncommon acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart\nhardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very\nattention.--To John, to Fanny,--yes, even to them, little as they\ndeserve, I had given less than their due. But you,--you above all,\nabove my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your\nheart and its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?--not to any\ncompassion that could benefit you or myself.--Your example was before\nme; but to what avail?--Was I more considerate of you and your comfort?\nDid I imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking\nany part in those offices of general complaisance or particular\ngratitude which you had hitherto been left to discharge\nalone?--No;--not less when I knew you to be unhappy, than when I had\nbelieved you at ease, did I turn away from every exertion of duty or\nfriendship; scarcely allowing sorrow to exist but with me, regretting\nonly THAT heart which had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for\nwhom I professed an unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake.\"\n\nHere ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor,\nimpatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly\nthat praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well\ndeserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,\n\n\"You are very good.--The future must be my proof. I have laid down my\nplan, and if I am capable of adhering to it--my feelings shall be\ngoverned and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others,\nnor torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my\nmother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will\nshare my affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I\nshall never again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix\nin other society, it will be only to shew that my spirit is humbled, my\nheart amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser\nduties of life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby--to\nsay that I shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle.\nHis remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or\nopinions. But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion,\nby reason, by constant employment.\"\n\nShe paused--and added in a low voice, \"If I could but know HIS heart,\neverything would become easy.\"\n\nElinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or\nimpropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all\nnearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as\nreflection did nothing, resolution must do all, soon found herself\nleading to the fact.\n\nShe managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her\nanxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief\npoints on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his\nrepentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard.\nMarianne said not a word.--She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the\nground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A\nthousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge\none. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand,\nunknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister's, and tears covered\nher cheeks.\n\nElinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they\nreached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity\nmust be though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing\nbut Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully\nminute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could\nbe safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a\nkiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her\ntears, \"Tell mama,\" withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up\nstairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable\nas what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its\nresult, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne\nfail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting\ninjunction.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 47\n\n\nMrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former\nfavourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his\nimputed guilt;--she was sorry for him;--she wished him happy. But the\nfeelings of the past could not be recalled.--Nothing could restore him\nwith a faith unbroken--a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing\ncould do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his\nmeans, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing\ncould replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the\ninterests of Colonel Brandon.\n\nHad Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby's story from\nhimself--had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence\nof his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion\nwould have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor's power, nor in\nher wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed\nexplanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection\nhad given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of\nWilloughby's deserts;--she wished, therefore, to declare only the\nsimple truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his\ncharacter, without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy\nastray.\n\nIn the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began\nvoluntarily to speak of him again;--but that it was not without an\neffort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for\nsome time previously sitting--her rising colour, as she spoke,--and her\nunsteady voice, plainly shewed.\n\n\"I wish to assure you both,\" said she, \"that I see every thing--as you\ncan desire me to do.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing\ntenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister's\nunbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne\nslowly continued--\n\n\"It is a great relief to me--what Elinor told me this morning--I have\nnow heard exactly what I wished to hear.\"--For some moments her voice\nwas lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness\nthan before--\"I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I\nnever could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later\nI must have known, all this.--I should have had no confidence, no\nesteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.\"\n\n\"I know it--I know it,\" cried her mother. \"Happy with a man of\nlibertine practices!--With one who so injured the peace of the dearest\nof our friends, and the best of men!--No--my Marianne has not a heart\nto be made happy with such a man!--Her conscience, her sensitive\nconscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband\nought to have felt.\"\n\nMarianne sighed, and repeated, \"I wish for no change.\"\n\n\"You consider the matter,\" said Elinor, \"exactly as a good mind and a\nsound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as\nwell as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances,\nreason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you\nin many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have\nbeen poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain.\nHad you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is\nacknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that\nself-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your\ninexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought\non distresses which would not be the LESS grievous to you, from having\nbeen entirely unknown and unthought of before. YOUR sense of honour\nand honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation,\nto attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and,\nperhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort,\nyou might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that--and how\nlittle could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin\nwhich had begun before your marriage?-- Beyond THAT, had you\nendeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge HIS enjoyments, is it not\nto be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to\nconsent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart,\nand made him regret the connection which had involved him in such\ndifficulties?\"\n\nMarianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word \"Selfish?\" in a\ntone that implied--\"do you really think him selfish?\"\n\n\"The whole of his behaviour,\" replied Elinor, \"from the beginning to\nthe end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was\nselfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which\nafterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of\nit, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or\nhis own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.\"\n\n\"It is very true. MY happiness never was his object.\"\n\n\"At present,\" continued Elinor, \"he regrets what he has done. And why\ndoes he regret it?--Because he finds it has not answered towards\nhimself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now\nunembarrassed--he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only\nthat he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself.\nBut does it follow that had he married you, he would have been\nhappy?--The inconveniences would have been different. He would then\nhave suffered under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are\nremoved, he now reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose\ntemper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always\nnecessitous--always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank\nthe innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far\nmore importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a\nwife.\"\n\n\"I have not a doubt of it,\" said Marianne; \"and I have nothing to\nregret--nothing but my own folly.\"\n\n\"Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child,\" said Mrs. Dashwood;\n\"SHE must be answerable.\"\n\nMarianne would not let her proceed;--and Elinor, satisfied that each\nfelt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might\nweaken her sister's spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first\nsubject, immediately continued,\n\n\"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the\nstory--that all Willoughby's difficulties have arisen from the first\noffence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime\nhas been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present\ndiscontents.\"\n\nMarianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led\nby it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon's injuries and merits, warm\nas friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not\nlook, however, as if much of it were heard by her.\n\nElinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following\ndays, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done;\nbut while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear\ncheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time\nupon her health.\n\nMargaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each\nother, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their\nusual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to\nBarton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.\n\nElinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard\nnothing of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans,\nnothing certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed\nbetween her and her brother, in consequence of Marianne's illness; and\nin the first of John's, there had been this sentence:-- \"We know\nnothing of our unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so\nprohibited a subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;\" which\nwas all the intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence,\nfor his name was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters.\nShe was not doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.\n\nTheir man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and\nwhen, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his\nmistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary\ncommunication--\n\n\"I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.\"\n\nMarianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her\nturning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood,\nwhose eyes, as she answered the servant's inquiry, had intuitively\ntaken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor's\ncountenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards,\nalike distressed by Marianne's situation, knew not on which child to\nbestow her principal attention.\n\nThe servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense\nenough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood's assistance,\nsupported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather\nbetter, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the\nmaid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far\nrecovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an\ninquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood\nimmediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the\nbenefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.\n\n\"Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?\"\n\n\"I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma'am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady\ntoo, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of\nthe New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the\nPark to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up\nas I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss\nSteele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and\ninquired after you, ma'am, and the young ladies, especially Miss\nMarianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars's,\ntheir best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not\ntime to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go\nforwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but\nhowsever, when they come back, they'd make sure to come and see you.\"\n\n\"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since\nshe was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken\nyoung lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.\"\n\n\"Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look\nup;--he never was a gentleman much for talking.\"\n\nElinor's heart could easily account for his not putting himself\nforward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.\n\n\"Was there no one else in the carriage?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am, only they two.\"\n\n\"Do you know where they came from?\"\n\n\"They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy--Mrs. Ferrars told me.\"\n\n\"And are they going farther westward?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am--but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and\nthen they'd be sure and call here.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than\nto expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and\nwas very confident that Edward would never come near them. She\nobserved in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going\ndown to Mr. Pratt's, near Plymouth.\n\nThomas's intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to\nhear more.\n\n\"Did you see them off, before you came away?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am--the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any\nlonger; I was afraid of being late.\"\n\n\"Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was\nalways a very handsome young lady--and she seemed vastly contented.\"\n\nMrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the\ntablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed.\nMarianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more.\nMrs. Dashwood's and Elinor's appetites were equally lost, and Margaret\nmight think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both\nher sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often\nhad to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go\nwithout her dinner before.\n\nWhen the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and\nElinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a\nsimilarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to\nhazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now\nfound that she had erred in relying on Elinor's representation of\nherself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly\nsoftened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness,\nsuffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she\nhad been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her\ndaughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well\nunderstood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to\nbelieve, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this\npersuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her\nElinor;--that Marianne's affliction, because more acknowledged, more\nimmediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led\nher away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter suffering\nalmost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater\nfortitude.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 48\n\n\nElinor now found the difference between the expectation of an\nunpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it,\nand certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had\nalways admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something\nwould occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his\nown, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of\nestablishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all.\nBut he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking\nflattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.\n\nThat he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in\norders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the\nliving, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely\nit was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure\nhim, should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were\nmarried, married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle's. What\nhad Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her\nmother's servant, on hearing Lucy's message!\n\nThey would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.--Delaford,--that\nplace in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she\nwished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them\nin an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active,\ncontriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with\nthe utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her\neconomical practices;--pursuing her own interest in every thought,\ncourting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every\nwealthy friend. In Edward--she knew not what she saw, nor what she\nwished to see;--happy or unhappy,--nothing pleased her; she turned away\nher head from every sketch of him.\n\nElinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London\nwould write to them to announce the event, and give farther\nparticulars,--but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no\ntidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault\nwith every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.\n\n\"When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma'am?\" was an inquiry which\nsprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.\n\n\"I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to\nhear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should\nnot be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day.\"\n\nThis was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel\nBrandon must have some information to give.\n\nScarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on\nhorseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt at their gate. It was\na gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more;\nand she trembled in expectation of it. But--it was NOT Colonel\nBrandon--neither his air--nor his height. Were it possible, she must\nsay it must be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted;--she\ncould not be mistaken,--it WAS Edward. She moved away and sat down.\n\"He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I WILL be calm; I WILL\nbe mistress of myself.\"\n\nIn a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the\nmistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look\nat herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have\ngiven the world to be able to speak--and to make them understand that\nshe hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to\nhim;--but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their\nown discretion.\n\nNot a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the\nappearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel\npath; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before\nthem.\n\nHis countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for\nElinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if\nfearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.\nMrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of\nthat daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be\nguided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him\nher hand, and wished him joy.\n\nHe coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor's lips\nhad moved with her mother's, and, when the moment of action was over,\nshe wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too\nlate, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and\ntalked of the weather.\n\nMarianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her\ndistress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of\nthe case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore\ntook a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict\nsilence.\n\nWhen Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very\nawful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who\nfelt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a\nhurried manner, he replied in the affirmative.\n\nAnother pause.\n\nElinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own\nvoice, now said,\n\n\"Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?\"\n\n\"At Longstaple!\" he replied, with an air of surprise.-- \"No, my mother\nis in town.\"\n\n\"I meant,\" said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, \"to inquire\nfor Mrs. EDWARD Ferrars.\"\n\nShe dared not look up;--but her mother and Marianne both turned their\neyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and,\nafter some hesitation, said,--\n\n\"Perhaps you mean--my brother--you mean Mrs.--Mrs. ROBERT Ferrars.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Robert Ferrars!\"--was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an\naccent of the utmost amazement;--and though Elinor could not speak,\neven HER eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He\nrose from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not\nknowing what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and\nwhile spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to\npieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,\n\n\"Perhaps you do not know--you may not have heard that my brother is\nlately married to--to the youngest--to Miss Lucy Steele.\"\n\nHis words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor,\nwho sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such\nagitation as made her hardly know where she was.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish.\"\n\nElinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as\nsoon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first\nshe thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any\nwhere, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw--or even\nheard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie,\nwhich no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs.\nDashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted\nthe room, and walked out towards the village--leaving the others in the\ngreatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so\nwonderful and so sudden;--a perplexity which they had no means of\nlessening but by their own conjectures.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 49\n\n\nUnaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might\nappear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to\nwhat purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined\nby all;--for after experiencing the blessings of ONE imprudent\nengagement, contracted without his mother's consent, as he had already\ndone for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in\nthe failure of THAT, than the immediate contraction of another.\n\nHis errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask\nElinor to marry him;--and considering that he was not altogether\ninexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should\nfeel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in\nneed of encouragement and fresh air.\n\nHow soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how\nsoon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he\nexpressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly\ntold. This only need be said;--that when they all sat down to table at\nfour o'clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his\nlady, engaged her mother's consent, and was not only in the rapturous\nprofession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one\nof the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly\njoyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to\nswell his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any\nreproach to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his\nmisery, from a woman whom he had long ceased to love;--and elevated at\nonce to that security with another, which he must have thought of\nalmost with despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with\ndesire. He was brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to\nhappiness;--and the change was openly spoken in such a genuine,\nflowing, grateful cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in\nhim before.\n\nHis heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors\nconfessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the\nphilosophic dignity of twenty-four.\n\n\"It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,\" said he, \"the\nconsequence of ignorance of the world--and want of employment. Had my\nmother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen\nfrom the care of Mr. Pratt, I think--nay, I am sure, it would never\nhave happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the\ntime, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had\nany pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance\nfrom her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied\nattachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I\nmust have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of\nhaving any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any\nmyself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first\ntwelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which\nbelonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered\nat Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to\ndo, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home\nin every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my\nbrother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to\nbe very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and\nwas always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part\nof my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything\nthat was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too--at least I thought\nso THEN; and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no\ncomparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I\nhope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every\nway been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable\npiece of folly.\"\n\nThe change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness\nof the Dashwoods, was such--so great--as promised them all, the\nsatisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be\ncomfortable, knew not how to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how\nto be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy,\nnor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation\ntogether, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight and society of both.\n\nMarianne could speak HER happiness only by tears. Comparisons would\noccur--regrets would arise;--and her joy, though sincere as her love\nfor her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language.\n\nBut Elinor--how are HER feelings to be described?--From the moment of\nlearning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the\nmoment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she\nwas every thing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had\npassed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared\nher situation with what so lately it had been,--saw him honourably\nreleased from his former engagement, saw him instantly profiting by the\nrelease, to address herself and declare an affection as tender, as\nconstant as she had ever supposed it to be,--she was oppressed, she was\novercome by her own felicity;--and happily disposed as is the human\nmind to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it\nrequired several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree\nof tranquillity to her heart.\n\nEdward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;--for whatever\nother claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a\nweek should be given up to the enjoyment of Elinor's company, or\nsuffice to say half that was to be said of the past, the present, and\nthe future;--for though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of\nincessant talking will despatch more subjects than can really be in\ncommon between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is\ndifferent. Between THEM no subject is finished, no communication is\neven made, till it has been made at least twenty times over.\n\nLucy's marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all,\nformed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers;--and\nElinor's particular knowledge of each party made it appear to her in\nevery view, as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable\ncircumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together,\nand by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of\nwhose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration,--a\ngirl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that\nbrother had been thrown off by his family--it was beyond her\ncomprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful\naffair, to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her\nreason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle.\n\nEdward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps,\nat first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked\non by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest.\nElinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his\nopinion of what his own mediation in his brother's affairs might have\ndone, if applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward.\n\n\"THAT was exactly like Robert,\"--was his immediate observation.--\"And\nTHAT,\" he presently added, \"might perhaps be in HIS head when the\nacquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might\nthink only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs\nmight afterward arise.\"\n\nHow long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally\nat a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had\nremained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means\nof hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last\nwere neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the\nsmallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for\nwhat followed;--and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy\nherself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between\nthe wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the\nletter into Elinor's hands.\n\n \"DEAR SIR,\n\n \"Being very sure I have long lost your affections,\n I have thought myself at liberty to bestow my own\n on another, and have no doubt of being as happy with\n him as I once used to think I might be with you;\n but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was\n another's. Sincerely wish you happy in your choice,\n and it shall not be my fault if we are not always\n good friends, as our near relationship now makes\n proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will,\n and am sure you will be too generous to do us any\n ill offices. Your brother has gained my affections\n entirely, and as we could not live without one\n another, we are just returned from the altar, and\n are now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which\n place your dear brother has great curiosity to see,\n but thought I would first trouble you with these\n few lines, and shall always remain,\n\n \"Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister,\n \"LUCY FERRARS.\n\n \"I have burnt all your letters, and will return\n your picture the first opportunity. Please to destroy\n my scrawls--but the ring with my hair you are very\n welcome to keep.\"\n\nElinor read and returned it without any comment.\n\n\"I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,\" said\nEdward.--\"For worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by YOU\nin former days.--In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!--how I\nhave blushed over the pages of her writing!--and I believe I may say\nthat since the first half year of our foolish--business--this is the\nonly letter I ever received from her, of which the substance made me\nany amends for the defect of the style.\"\n\n\"However it may have come about,\" said Elinor, after a pause,--\"they\nare certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most\nappropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert,\nthrough resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own\nchoice; and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand\na-year, to do the very deed which she disinherited the other for\nintending to do. She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert's\nmarrying Lucy, than she would have been by your marrying her.\"\n\n\"She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.--She\nwill be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him\nmuch sooner.\"\n\nIn what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew\nnot, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted\nby him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after\nLucy's letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest\nroad to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with\nwhich that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do\nnothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his\nrapidity in seeking THAT fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the\njealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of\nthe modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness\nwith which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect\na very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he\nDID, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a\ntwelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and\nwives.\n\nThat Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of\nmalice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to\nElinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her\ncharacter, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost\nmeanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened,\neven before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a\nwant of liberality in some of her opinions--they had been equally\nimputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter\nreached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed,\ngood-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but\nsuch a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an\nengagement, which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his\nmother's anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to\nhim.\n\n\"I thought it my duty,\" said he, \"independent of my feelings, to give\nher the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was\nrenounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in\nthe world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there\nseemed nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living\ncreature, how could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly\ninsisted on sharing my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but\nthe most disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I\ncannot comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage\nit could be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the\nsmallest regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world.\nShe could not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living.\"\n\n\"No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour;\nthat your own family might in time relent. And at any rate, she lost\nnothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it\nfettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was\ncertainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration\namong her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would\nbe better for her to marry YOU than be single.\"\n\nEdward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have\nbeen more natural than Lucy's conduct, nor more self-evident than the\nmotive of it.\n\nElinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which\ncompliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at\nNorland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.\n\n\"Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,\" said she; \"because--to say\nnothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to\nfancy and expect WHAT, as you were THEN situated, could never be.\"\n\nHe could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken\nconfidence in the force of his engagement.\n\n\"I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH was plighted to\nanother, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the\nconsciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred\nas my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only\nfriendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and\nLucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I WAS\nwrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I\nreconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than\nthese:--The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but\nmyself.\"\n\nElinor smiled, and shook her head.\n\nEdward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon's being expected at the\nCottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him,\nbut to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented\nhis giving him the living of Delaford--\"Which, at present,\" said he,\n\"after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion,\nhe must think I have never forgiven him for offering.\"\n\nNOW he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the place.\nBut so little interest had he taken in the matter, that he owed all his\nknowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the parish,\ncondition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor herself, who\nhad heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it with so much\nattention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.\n\nOne question after this only remained undecided, between them, one\ndifficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by\nmutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends;\ntheir intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness\ncertain--and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two\nthousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all\nthat they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs.\nDashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite\nenough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year\nwould supply them with the comforts of life.\n\nEdward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his\nmother towards him; and on THAT he rested for the residue of their\nincome. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would\nstill be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been\nspoken of in Mrs. Ferrars's flattering language as only a lesser evil\nthan his chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert's offence would\nserve no other purpose than to enrich Fanny.\n\nAbout four days after Edward's arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to\ncomplete Mrs. Dashwood's satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of\nhaving, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company\nwith her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the\nprivilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every\nnight to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned\nin the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers' first tete-a-tete\nbefore breakfast.\n\nA three weeks' residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at\nleast, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between\nthirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind\nwhich needed all the improvement in Marianne's looks, all the kindness\nof her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother's language, to\nmake it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he\ndid revive. No rumour of Lucy's marriage had yet reached him:--he knew\nnothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were\nconsequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was\nexplained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice\nin what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the\ninterest of Elinor.\n\nIt would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good\nopinion of each other, as they advanced in each other's acquaintance,\nfor it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles\nand good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably\nhave been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other\nattraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two sisters\nfond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate,\nwhich might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment.\n\nThe letters from town, which a few days before would have made every\nnerve in Elinor's body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read\nwith less emotion than mirth. Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the\nwonderful tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting\ngirl, and pour forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she\nwas sure, had quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all\naccounts, almost broken-hearted, at Oxford.-- \"I do think,\" she\ncontinued, \"nothing was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days\nbefore Lucy called and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul\nsuspected anything of the matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came\ncrying to me the day after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars,\nas well as not knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems\nborrowed all her money before she went off to be married, on purpose we\nsuppose to make a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in\nthe world;--so I was very glad to give her five guineas to take her\ndown to Exeter, where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with\nMrs. Burgess, in hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor\nagain. And I must say that Lucy's crossness not to take them along\nwith them in the chaise is worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot\nget him out of my head, but you must send for him to Barton, and Miss\nMarianne must try to comfort him.\"\n\nMr. Dashwood's strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most\nunfortunate of women--poor Fanny had suffered agonies of\nsensibility--and he considered the existence of each, under such a\nblow, with grateful wonder. Robert's offence was unpardonable, but\nLucy's was infinitely worse. Neither of them were ever again to be\nmentioned to Mrs. Ferrars; and even, if she might hereafter be induced\nto forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged as her\ndaughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. The secrecy with\nwhich everything had been carried on between them, was rationally\ntreated as enormously heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion\nof it occurred to the others, proper measures would have been taken to\nprevent the marriage; and he called on Elinor to join with him in\nregretting that Lucy's engagement with Edward had not rather been\nfulfilled, than that she should thus be the means of spreading misery\nfarther in the family.-- He thus continued:\n\n\"Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward's name, which does not\nsurprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been\nreceived from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent\nby his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a\nline to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper\nsubmission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shewn to\nher mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of\nMrs. Ferrars's heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be\non good terms with her children.\"\n\nThis paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of\nEdward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not\nexactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister.\n\n\"A letter of proper submission!\" repeated he; \"would they have me beg\nmy mother's pardon for Robert's ingratitude to HER, and breach of\nhonour to ME?--I can make no submission--I am grown neither humble nor\npenitent by what has passed.--I am grown very happy; but that would not\ninterest.--I know of no submission that IS proper for me to make.\"\n\n\"You may certainly ask to be forgiven,\" said Elinor, \"because you have\noffended;--and I should think you might NOW venture so far as to\nprofess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew\non you your mother's anger.\"\n\nHe agreed that he might.\n\n\"And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be\nconvenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent\nin HER eyes as the first.\"\n\nHe had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a\nletter of proper submission; and therefore, to make it easier to him,\nas he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by\nword of mouth than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing\nto Fanny, he should go to London, and personally intreat her good\noffices in his favour.-- \"And if they really DO interest themselves,\"\nsaid Marianne, in her new character of candour, \"in bringing about a\nreconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely\nwithout merit.\"\n\nAfter a visit on Colonel Brandon's side of only three or four days, the\ntwo gentlemen quitted Barton together.-- They were to go immediately to\nDelaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future\nhome, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements\nwere needed to it; and from thence, after staying there a couple of\nnights, he was to proceed on his journey to town.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 50\n\n\nAfter a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent\nand so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always\nseemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward\nwas admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son.\n\nHer family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of\nher life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward\na few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of\nRobert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the\nresuscitation of Edward, she had one again.\n\nIn spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not\nfeel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his\npresent engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he\nfeared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off\nas rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was\nrevealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs.\nFerrars at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying\nMiss Dashwood, by every argument in her power;--told him, that in Miss\nMorton he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;--and\nenforced the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter\nof a nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only\nthe daughter of a private gentleman with no more than THREE; but when\nshe found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her\nrepresentation, he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she\njudged it wisest, from the experience of the past, to submit--and\ntherefore, after such an ungracious delay as she owed to her own\ndignity, and as served to prevent every suspicion of good-will, she\nissued her decree of consent to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.\n\nWhat she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to\nbe considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now\nher only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was\ninevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest\nobjection was made against Edward's taking orders for the sake of two\nhundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for\nthe present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had\nbeen given with Fanny.\n\nIt was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by\nEdward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses,\nseemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.\n\nWith an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them,\nthey had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the\nliving, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with\nan eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making\nconsiderable improvements; and after waiting some time for their\ncompletion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments\nand delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor,\nas usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying\ntill every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton\nchurch early in the autumn.\n\nThe first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the\nMansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the\nParsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;--could\nchuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings's\nprophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for\nshe was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by\nMichaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really\nbelieved, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact\nnothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne,\nand rather better pasturage for their cows.\n\nThey were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations\nand friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was\nalmost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the\nexpense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.\n\n\"I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,\" said John, as\nthey were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford\nHouse, \"THAT would be saying too much, for certainly you have been one\nof the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I\nconfess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon\nbrother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in\nsuch respectable and excellent condition!--and his woods!--I have not\nseen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in\nDelaford Hanger!--And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly\nthe person to attract him--yet I think it would altogether be advisable\nfor you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel\nBrandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may\nhappen--for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of\nanybody else--and it will always be in your power to set her off to\nadvantage, and so forth;--in short, you may as well give her a\nchance--You understand me.\"--\n\nBut though Mrs. Ferrars DID come to see them, and always treated them\nwith the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by\nher real favour and preference. THAT was due to the folly of Robert,\nand the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many\nmonths had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had\nat first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of\nhis deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous\nattentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was\ngiven for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and\nre-established him completely in her favour.\n\nThe whole of Lucy's behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which\ncrowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance\nof what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however\nits progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every\nadvantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and\nconscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately\nvisited her in Bartlett's Buildings, it was only with the view imputed\nto him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the\nengagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection\nof both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle\nthe matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred;--for\nthough Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her\nin TIME, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to\nproduce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when\nthey parted, which could only be removed by another half hour's\ndiscourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and\nthe rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came\ngradually to talk only of Robert,--a subject on which he had always\nmore to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an\ninterest even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily\nevident to both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was\nproud of his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of\nmarrying privately without his mother's consent. What immediately\nfollowed is known. They passed some months in great happiness at\nDawlish; for she had many relations and old acquaintances to cut--and\nhe drew several plans for magnificent cottages;--and from thence\nreturning to town, procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the\nsimple expedient of asking it, which, at Lucy's instigation, was\nadopted. The forgiveness, at first, indeed, as was reasonable,\ncomprehended only Robert; and Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and\ntherefore could have transgressed none, still remained some weeks\nlonger unpardoned. But perseverance in humility of conduct and\nmessages, in self-condemnation for Robert's offence, and gratitude for\nthe unkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the haughty\nnotice which overcame her by its graciousness, and led soon afterwards,\nby rapid degrees, to the highest state of affection and influence.\nLucy became as necessary to Mrs. Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny;\nand while Edward was never cordially forgiven for having once intended\nto marry her, and Elinor, though superior to her in fortune and birth,\nwas spoken of as an intruder, SHE was in every thing considered, and\nalways openly acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in\ntown, received very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the\nbest terms imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the\njealousies and ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy,\nin which their husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent\ndomestic disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing\ncould exceed the harmony in which they all lived together.\n\nWhat Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have\npuzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to\nit, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement,\nhowever, justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing\never appeared in Robert's style of living or of talking to give a\nsuspicion of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving\nhis brother too little, or bringing himself too much;--and if Edward\nmight be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every\nparticular, from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and\nfrom the regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no\nless contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an\nexchange.\n\nElinor's marriage divided her as little from her family as could well\nbe contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless,\nfor her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with\nher. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure\nin the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing\nMarianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though\nrather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her\ndarling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her,\nshe desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her\nvalued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was\nequally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and\ntheir own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the\nreward of all.\n\nWith such a confederacy against her--with a knowledge so intimate of\nhis goodness--with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself,\nwhich at last, though long after it was observable to everybody\nelse--burst on her--what could she do?\n\nMarianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to\ndiscover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her\nconduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an\naffection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment\nsuperior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give\nher hand to another!--and THAT other, a man who had suffered no less\nthan herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years\nbefore, she had considered too old to be married,--and who still sought\nthe constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!\n\nBut so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible\npassion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting,--instead\nof remaining even for ever with her mother, and finding her only\npleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in her more calm and\nsober judgment she had determined on,--she found herself at nineteen,\nsubmitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, placed in a new\nhome, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the patroness of a village.\n\nColonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him,\nbelieved he deserved to be;--in Marianne he was consoled for every past\naffliction;--her regard and her society restored his mind to animation,\nand his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own\nhappiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of\neach observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her\nwhole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had\nonce been to Willoughby.\n\nWilloughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his\npunishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of\nMrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as\nthe source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he\nbehaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy\nand rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its\nown punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;--nor that he long\nthought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But\nthat he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or\ncontracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must\nnot be depended on--for he did neither. He lived to exert, and\nfrequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour,\nnor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs,\nand in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of\ndomestic felicity.\n\nFor Marianne, however--in spite of his incivility in surviving her\nloss--he always retained that decided regard which interested him in\nevery thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of\nperfection in woman;--and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him\nin after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.\n\nMrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without\nattempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs.\nJennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an\nage highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being\nsupposed to have a lover.\n\nBetween Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication\nwhich strong family affection would naturally dictate;--and among the\nmerits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked\nas the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost\nwithin sight of each other, they could live without disagreement\nbetween themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.\n\n\n\nTHE END"