schlafzimmer eine wand farbig

sense and sensibilityby jane austen (1811) chapter 26 elinor could not find herself in thecarriage with mrs. jennings, and beginning a journey to london under her protection,and as her guest, without wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance with that lady been, so whollyunsuited were they in age and disposition, and so many had been her objections againstsuch a measure only a few days before! but these objections had all, with thathappy ardour of youth which marianne and her mother equally shared, been overcome oroverlooked; and elinor, in spite of every

occasional doubt of willoughby's constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightfulexpectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of marianne, withoutfeeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless her own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would engagein the solicitude of marianne's situation to have the same animating object in view,the same possibility of hope. a short, a very short time however must nowdecide what willoughby's intentions were; in all probability he was already in town. marianne's eagerness to be gone declaredher dependence on finding him there; and

elinor was resolved not only upon gainingevery new light as to his character which her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her, but likewise uponwatching his behaviour to her sister with such zealous attention, as to ascertainwhat he was and what he meant, before many meetings had taken place. should the result of her observations beunfavourable, she was determined at all events to open the eyes of her sister;should it be otherwise, her exertions would be of a different nature--she must then learn to avoid every selfish comparison,and banish every regret which might lessen

her satisfaction in the happiness ofmarianne. they were three days on their journey, andmarianne's behaviour as they travelled was a happy specimen of what futurecomplaisance and companionableness to mrs. jennings might be expected to be. she sat in silence almost all the way,wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely ever voluntarily speaking, except when anyobject of picturesque beauty within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively addressed to hersister. to atone for this conduct therefore, elinortook immediate possession of the post of

civility which she had assigned herself,behaved with the greatest attention to mrs. jennings, talked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever shecould; and mrs. jennings on her side treated them both with all possiblekindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make themchoose their own dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferringsalmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets. they reached town by three o'clock thethird day, glad to be released, after such

a journey, from the confinement of acarriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury of a good fire. the house was handsome, and handsomelyfitted up, and the young ladies were immediately put in possession of a verycomfortable apartment. it had formerly been charlotte's, and overthe mantelpiece still hung a landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proofof her having spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect. as dinner was not to be ready in less thantwo hours from their arrival, elinor determined to employ the interval inwriting to her mother, and sat down for

that purpose. in a few moments marianne did the same."i am writing home, marianne," said elinor; "had not you better defer your letter for aday or two?" "i am not going to write to my mother,"replied marianne, hastily, and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. elinor said no more; it immediately struckher that she must then be writing to willoughby; and the conclusion which asinstantly followed was, that, however mysteriously they might wish to conduct theaffair, they must be engaged. this conviction, though not entirelysatisfactory, gave her pleasure, and she

continued her letter with greater alacrity. marianne's was finished in a very fewminutes; in length it could be no more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, anddirected with eager rapidity. elinor thought she could distinguish alarge w in the direction; and no sooner was it complete than marianne, ringing thebell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed for her to thetwo-penny post. this decided the matter at once. her spirits still continued very high; butthere was a flutter in them which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister,and this agitation increased as the evening

drew on. she could scarcely eat any dinner, and whenthey afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed anxiously listening to thesound of every carriage. it was a great satisfaction to elinor thatmrs. jennings, by being much engaged in her own room, could see little of what waspassing. the tea things were brought in, and alreadyhad marianne been disappointed more than once by a rap at a neighbouring door, whena loud one was suddenly heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, elinor felt secure of its announcingwilloughby's approach, and marianne,

starting up, moved towards the door. every thing was silent; this could not beborne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few steps towards the stairs,and after listening half a minute, returned into the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard him wouldnaturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that instant she could not helpexclaiming, "oh, elinor, it is willoughby, indeed it is!" and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when colonelbrandon appeared. it was too great a shock to be borne withcalmness, and she immediately left the

room. elinor was disappointed too; but at thesame time her regard for colonel brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she feltparticularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive that she experienced nothing but grief anddisappointment in seeing him. she instantly saw that it was not unnoticedby him, that he even observed marianne as she quitted the room, with suchastonishment and concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civilitydemanded towards herself. "is your sister ill?" said he.

elinor answered in some distress that shewas, and then talked of head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of everything to which she could decently attribute her sister's behaviour. he heard her with the most earnestattention, but seeming to recollect himself, said no more on the subject, andbegan directly to speak of his pleasure at seeing them in london, making the usual inquiries about their journey, and thefriends they had left behind. in this calm kind of way, with very littleinterest on either side, they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and thethoughts of both engaged elsewhere.

elinor wished very much to ask whetherwilloughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by any enquiryafter his rival; and at length, by way of saying something, she asked if he had beenin london ever since she had seen him last. "yes," he replied, with some embarrassment,"almost ever since; i have been once or twice at delaford for a few days, but ithas never been in my power to return to barton." this, and the manner in which it was said,immediately brought back to her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting thatplace, with the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to mrs. jennings, and she

was fearful that her question had impliedmuch more curiosity on the subject than she had ever felt.mrs. jennings soon came in. "oh! colonel," said she, with her usualnoisy cheerfulness, "i am monstrous glad to see you--sorry i could not come before--begyour pardon, but i have been forced to look about me a little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since i have been athome, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do after one hasbeen away for any time; and then i have had cartwright to settle with-- lord, i havebeen as busy as a bee ever since dinner! but pray, colonel, how came you to conjureout that i should be in town today?"

"i had the pleasure of hearing it at mr.palmer's, where i have been dining." "oh, you did; well, and how do they all doat their house? how does charlotte do? i warrant you she is a fine size by thistime." "mrs. palmer appeared quite well, and i amcommissioned to tell you, that you will certainly see her to-morrow." "ay, to be sure, i thought as much.well, colonel, i have brought two young ladies with me, you see--that is, you seebut one of them now, but there is another somewhere.

your friend, miss marianne, too--which youwill not be sorry to hear. i do not know what you and mr. willoughbywill do between you about her. ay, it is a fine thing to be young andhandsome. well!i was young once, but i never was very handsome--worse luck for me. however, i got a very good husband, and idon't know what the greatest beauty can do more.ah! poor man! he has been dead these eight years and better. but colonel, where have you been to sincewe parted?

and how does your business go on?come, come, let's have no secrets among friends." he replied with his accustomary mildness toall her inquiries, but without satisfying her in any.elinor now began to make the tea, and marianne was obliged to appear again. after her entrance, colonel brandon becamemore thoughtful and silent than he had been before, and mrs. jennings could not prevailon him to stay long. no other visitor appeared that evening, andthe ladies were unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.marianne rose the next morning with

recovered spirits and happy looks. the disappointment of the evening beforeseemed forgotten in the expectation of what was to happen that day. they had not long finished their breakfastbefore mrs. palmer's barouche stopped at the door, and in a few minutes she camelaughing into the room: so delighted to see them all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure from meeting hermother or the miss dashwoods again. so surprised at their coming to town,though it was what she had rather expected all along; so angry at their accepting hermother's invitation after having declined

her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven them if they had notcome! "mr. palmer will be so happy to see you,"said she; "what do you think he said when he heard of your coming with mama?i forget what it was now, but it was something so droll!" after an hour or two spent in what hermother called comfortable chat, or in other words, in every variety of inquiryconcerning all their acquaintance on mrs. jennings's side, and in laughter without cause on mrs. palmer's, it was proposed bythe latter that they should all accompany

her to some shops where she had businessthat morning, to which mrs. jennings and elinor readily consented, as having likewise some purchases to make themselves;and marianne, though declining it at first was induced to go likewise.wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch. in bond street especially, where much oftheir business lay, her eyes were in constant inquiry; and in whatever shop theparty were engaged, her mind was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all that interested and occupiedthe others.

restless and dissatisfied every where, hersister could never obtain her opinion of any article of purchase, however it mightequally concern them both: she received no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and could withdifficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of mrs. palmer, whose eye wascaught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new; who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away hertime in rapture and indecision. it was late in the morning before theyreturned home; and no sooner had they entered the house than marianne fleweagerly up stairs, and when elinor

followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful countenance, whichdeclared that no willoughby had been there. "has no letter been left here for me sincewe went out?" said she to the footman who then entered with the parcels. she was answered in the negative."are you quite sure of it?" she replied. "are you certain that no servant, no porterhas left any letter or note?" the man replied that none had. "how very odd!" said she, in a low anddisappointed voice, as she turned away to the window.

"how odd, indeed!" repeated elinor withinherself, regarding her sister with uneasiness. "if she had not known him to be in town shewould not have written to him, as she did; she would have written to combe magna; andif he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write! oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong inpermitting an engagement between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to becarried on in so doubtful, so mysterious a manner! i long to inquire; and how will myinterference be borne."

she determined, after some consideration,that if appearances continued many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, shewould represent in the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some seriousenquiry into the affair. mrs. palmer and two elderly ladies of mrs.jennings's intimate acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dinedwith them. the former left them soon after tea tofulfill her evening engagements; and elinor was obliged to assist in making a whisttable for the others. marianne was of no use on these occasions,as she would never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her owndisposal, the evening was by no means more

productive of pleasure to her than to elinor, for it was spent in all the anxietyof expectation and the pain of disappointment. she sometimes endeavoured for a few minutesto read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she returned to the moreinteresting employment of walking backwards and forwards across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the window, inhopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap. >

chapter 27 "if this open weather holds much longer,"said mrs. jennings, when they met at breakfast the following morning, "sir johnwill not like leaving barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose aday's pleasure. poor souls!i always pity them when they do; they seem to take it so much to heart." "that is true," cried marianne, in acheerful voice, and walking to the window as she spoke, to examine the day."i had not thought of that. this weather will keep many sportsmen inthe country."

it was a lucky recollection, all her goodspirits were restored by it. "it is charming weather for them indeed,"she continued, as she sat down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance."how much they must enjoy it! but" (with a little return of anxiety) "itcannot be expected to last long. at this time of the year, and after such aseries of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. frosts will soon set in, and in allprobability with severity. in another day or two perhaps; this extrememildness can hardly last longer--nay, perhaps it may freeze tonight!"

"at any rate," said elinor, wishing toprevent mrs. jennings from seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, "idare say we shall have sir john and lady middleton in town by the end of next week." "ay, my dear, i'll warrant you we do.mary always has her own way." "and now," silently conjectured elinor,"she will write to combe by this day's post." but if she did, the letter was written andsent away with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. whatever the truth of it might be, and faras elinor was from feeling thorough

contentment about it, yet while she sawmarianne in spirits, she could not be very uncomfortable herself. and marianne was in spirits; happy in themildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of a frost. the morning was chiefly spent in leavingcards at the houses of mrs. jennings's acquaintance to inform them of her being intown; and marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind, watching the variations of the sky andimagining an alteration in the air. "don't you find it colder than it was inthe morning, elinor?

there seems to me a very decideddifference. i can hardly keep my hands warm even in mymuff. it was not so yesterday, i think. the clouds seem parting too, the sun willbe out in a moment, and we shall have a clear afternoon." elinor was alternately diverted and pained;but marianne persevered, and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, andevery morning in the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms ofapproaching frost. the miss dashwoods had no greater reason tobe dissatisfied with mrs. jennings's style

of living, and set of acquaintance, thanwith her behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. every thing in her household arrangementswas conducted on the most liberal plan, and excepting a few old city friends, whom, tolady middleton's regret, she had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at all discompose thefeelings of her young companions. pleased to find herself more comfortablysituated in that particular than she had expected, elinor was very willing tocompound for the want of much real enjoyment from any of their evening

parties, which, whether at home or abroad,formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her. colonel brandon, who had a generalinvitation to the house, was with them almost every day; he came to look atmarianne and talk to elinor, who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other dailyoccurrence, but who saw at the same time with much concern his continued regard forher sister. she feared it was a strengthening regard. it grieved her to see the earnestness withwhich he often watched marianne, and his

spirits were certainly worse than when atbarton. about a week after their arrival, it becamecertain that willoughby was also arrived. his card was on the table when they came infrom the morning's drive. "good god!" cried marianne, "he has beenhere while we were out." elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his beingin london, now ventured to say, "depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow." but marianne seemed hardly to hear her, andon mrs. jennings's entrance, escaped with the precious card. this event, while it raised the spirits ofelinor, restored to those of her sister

all, and more than all, their formeragitation. from this moment her mind was never quiet;the expectation of seeing him every hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing.she insisted on being left behind, the next morning, when the others went out. elinor's thoughts were full of what mightbe passing in berkeley street during their absence; but a moment's glance at hersister when they returned was enough to inform her, that willoughby had paid nosecond visit there. a note was just then brought in, and laidon the table. "for me!" cried marianne, stepping hastilyforward.

"no, ma'am, for my mistress."but marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up. "it is indeed for mrs. jennings; howprovoking!" "you are expecting a letter, then?" saidelinor, unable to be longer silent. "yes, a little--not much." after a short pause."you have no confidence in me, marianne." "nay, elinor, this reproach from you--youwho have confidence in no one!" "me!" returned elinor in some confusion;"indeed, marianne, i have nothing to tell." "nor i," answered marianne with energy,"our situations then are alike.

we have neither of us any thing to tell;you, because you do not communicate, and i, because i conceal nothing." elinor, distressed by this charge ofreserve in herself, which she was not at liberty to do away, knew not how, undersuch circumstances, to press for greater openness in marianne. mrs. jennings soon appeared, and the notebeing given her, she read it aloud. it was from lady middleton, announcingtheir arrival in conduit street the night before, and requesting the company of hermother and cousins the following evening. business on sir john's part, and a violentcold on her own, prevented their calling in

berkeley street. the invitation was accepted; but when thehour of appointment drew near, necessary as it was in common civility to mrs. jennings,that they should both attend her on such a visit, elinor had some difficulty in persuading her sister to go, for still shehad seen nothing of willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed foramusement abroad, than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence. elinor found, when the evening was over,that disposition is not materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcelysettled in town, sir john had contrived to

collect around him, nearly twenty youngpeople, and to amuse them with a ball. this was an affair, however, of which ladymiddleton did not approve. in the country, an unpremeditated dance wasvery allowable; but in london, where the reputation of elegance was more importantand less easily attained, it was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it known that lady middletonhad given a small dance of eight or nine couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation. mr. and mrs. palmer were of the party; fromthe former, whom they had not seen before since their arrival in town, as he wascareful to avoid the appearance of any

attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore never came near her, theyreceived no mark of recognition on their entrance. he looked at them slightly, without seemingto know who they were, and merely nodded to mrs. jennings from the other side of theroom. marianne gave one glance round theapartment as she entered: it was enough--he was not there--and she sat down, equallyill-disposed to receive or communicate pleasure. after they had been assembled about anhour, mr. palmer sauntered towards the miss

dashwoods to express his surprise on seeingthem in town, though colonel brandon had been first informed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said somethingvery droll on hearing that they were to come."i thought you were both in devonshire," said he. "did you?" replied elinor."when do you go back again?" "i do not know."and thus ended their discourse. never had marianne been so unwilling todance in her life, as she was that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise.she complained of it as they returned to

"aye, aye," said mrs. jennings, "we knowthe reason of all that very well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, hadbeen there, you would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very pretty of him not to give you the meetingwhen he was invited." "invited!" cried marianne. "so my daughter middleton told me, for itseems sir john met him somewhere in the street this morning."marianne said no more, but looked exceedingly hurt. impatient in this situation to be doingsomething that might lead to her sister's

relief, elinor resolved to write the nextmorning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears for the health of marianne, to procure those inquiries whichhad been so long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure byperceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that marianne was again writing to willoughby, for she could not suppose it tobe to any other person. about the middle of the day, mrs. jenningswent out by herself on business, and elinor began her letter directly, while marianne,too restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one window to

the other, or sat down by the fire inmelancholy meditation. elinor was very earnest in her applicationto her mother, relating all that had passed, her suspicions of willoughby'sinconstancy, urging her by every plea of duty and affection to demand from marianne an account of her real situation withrespect to him. her letter was scarcely finished, when arap foretold a visitor, and colonel brandon was announced. marianne, who had seen him from the window,and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he entered it.

he looked more than usually grave, andthough expressing satisfaction at finding miss dashwood alone, as if he had somewhatin particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word. elinor, persuaded that he had somecommunication to make in which her sister was concerned, impatiently expected itsopening. it was not the first time of her feelingthe same kind of conviction; for, more than once before, beginning with the observationof "your sister looks unwell to-day," or "your sister seems out of spirits," he had appeared on the point, either ofdisclosing, or of inquiring, something

particular about her. after a pause of several minutes, theirsilence was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was tocongratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? elinor was not prepared for such aquestion, and having no answer ready, was obliged to adopt the simple and commonexpedient, of asking what he meant? he tried to smile as he replied, "yoursister's engagement to mr. willoughby is very generally known." "it cannot be generally known," returnedelinor, "for her own family do not know

it." he looked surprised and said, "i beg yourpardon, i am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but i had not supposed anysecrecy intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage isuniversally talked of." "how can that be?by whom can you have heard it mentioned?" "by many--by some of whom you know nothing,by others with whom you are most intimate, mrs. jennings, mrs. palmer, and themiddletons. but still i might not have believed it, forwhere the mind is perhaps rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always findsomething to support its doubts, if i had

not, when the servant let me in today, accidentally seen a letter in his hand,directed to mr. willoughby in your sister's writing.i came to inquire, but i was convinced before i could ask the question. is every thing finally settled?is it impossible to-? but i have no right, and i could have nochance of succeeding. excuse me, miss dashwood. i believe i have been wrong in saying somuch, but i hardly know what to do, and on your prudence i have the strongestdependence.

tell me that it is all absolutely resolvedon, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if concealment be possible, isall that remains." these words, which conveyed to elinor adirect avowal of his love for her sister, affected her very much. she was not immediately able to sayanything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a short time, onthe answer it would be most proper to give. the real state of things between willoughbyand her sister was so little known to herself, that in endeavouring to explainit, she might be as liable to say too much as too little.

yet as she was convinced that marianne'saffection for willoughby, could leave no hope of colonel brandon's success, whateverthe event of that affection might be, and at the same time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought it mostprudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than she really knew orbelieved. she acknowledged, therefore, that thoughshe had never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with eachother, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their correspondence she wasnot astonished to hear. he listened to her with silent attention,and on her ceasing to speak, rose directly

from his seat, and after saying in a voiceof emotion, "to your sister i wish all imaginable happiness; to willoughby that he may endeavour to deserve her,"--took leave,and went away. elinor derived no comfortable feelings fromthis conversation, to lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left,on the contrary, with a melancholy impression of colonel brandon's unhappiness, and was prevented even fromwishing it removed, by her anxiety for the very event that must confirm it. chapter 28

nothing occurred during the next three orfour days, to make elinor regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; forwilloughby neither came nor wrote. they were engaged about the end of thattime to attend lady middleton to a party, from which mrs. jennings was kept away bythe indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party, marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, andseeming equally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one lookof hope or one expression of pleasure. she sat by the drawing-room fire after tea,till the moment of lady middleton's arrival, without once stirring from herseat, or altering her attitude, lost in her

own thoughts, and insensible of her sister's presence; and when at last theywere told that lady middleton waited for them at the door, she started as if she hadforgotten that any one was expected. they arrived in due time at the place ofdestination, and as soon as the string of carriages before them would allow,alighted, ascended the stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another in an audible voice, and entered aroom splendidly lit up, quite full of company, and insufferably hot. when they had paid their tribute ofpoliteness by curtsying to the lady of the

house, they were permitted to mingle in thecrowd, and take their share of the heat and inconvenience, to which their arrival mustnecessarily add. after some time spent in saying little ordoing less, lady middleton sat down to cassino, and as marianne was not in spiritsfor moving about, she and elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves atno great distance from the table. they had not remained in this manner long,before elinor perceived willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, inearnest conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. she soon caught his eye, and he immediatelybowed, but without attempting to speak to

her, or to approach marianne, though hecould not but see her; and then continued his discourse with the same lady. elinor turned involuntarily to marianne, tosee whether it could be unobserved by her. at that moment she first perceived him, andher whole countenance glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards himinstantly, had not her sister caught hold of her. "good heavens!" she exclaimed, "he isthere--he is there--oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot i speak to him?" "pray, pray be composed," cried elinor,"and do not betray what you feel to every

body present.perhaps he has not observed you yet." this however was more than she couldbelieve herself; and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach ofmarianne, it was beyond her wish. she sat in an agony of impatience whichaffected every feature. at last he turned round again, and regardedthem both; she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held outher hand to him. he approached, and addressing himselfrather to elinor than marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determinednot to observe her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after mrs. dashwood, andasked how long they had been in town.

elinor was robbed of all presence of mindby such an address, and was unable to say a word. but the feelings of her sister wereinstantly expressed. her face was crimsoned over, and sheexclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, "good god! willoughby, what is themeaning of this? have you not received my letters? will you not shake hands with me?"he could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he held her handonly for a moment. during all this time he was evidentlystruggling for composure.

elinor watched his countenance and saw itsexpression becoming more tranquil. after a moment's pause, he spoke withcalmness. "i did myself the honour of calling inberkeley street last tuesday, and very much regretted that i was not fortunate enoughto find yourselves and mrs. jennings at home. my card was not lost, i hope.""but have you not received my notes?" cried marianne in the wildest anxiety."here is some mistake i am sure--some dreadful mistake. what can be the meaning of it?tell me, willoughby; for heaven's sake tell

me, what is the matter?" he made no reply; his complexion changedand all his embarrassment returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young ladywith whom he had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion, he recovered himself again, and aftersaying, "yes, i had the pleasure of receiving the information of your arrivalin town, which you were so good as to send me," turned hastily away with a slight bowand joined his friend. marianne, now looking dreadfully white, andunable to stand, sunk into her chair, and elinor, expecting every moment to see herfaint, tried to screen her from the

observation of others, while reviving herwith lavender water. "go to him, elinor," she cried, as soon asshe could speak, "and force him to come to me. tell him i must see him again--must speakto him instantly.-- i cannot rest--i shall not have a moment's peace till this isexplained--some dreadful misapprehension or other.-- oh go to him this moment." "how can that be done?no, my dearest marianne, you must wait. this is not the place for explanations.wait only till tomorrow." with difficulty however could she preventher from following him herself; and to

persuade her to check her agitation, towait, at least, with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more privacy and more effect, wasimpossible; for marianne continued incessantly to give way in a low voice tothe misery of her feelings, by exclamations of wretchedness. in a short time elinor saw willoughby quitthe room by the door towards the staircase, and telling marianne that he was gone,urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that evening, as a fresh argument forher to be calm. she instantly begged her sister wouldentreat lady middleton to take them home,

as she was too miserable to stay a minutelonger. lady middleton, though in the middle of arubber, on being informed that marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for amoment to her wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they departed as soon the carriage could befound. scarcely a word was spoken during theirreturn to berkeley street. marianne was in a silent agony, too muchoppressed even for tears; but as mrs. jennings was luckily not come home, theycould go directly to their own room, where hartshorn restored her a little to herself.

she was soon undressed and in bed, and asshe seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left her, and while she waitedthe return of mrs. jennings, had leisure enough for thinking over the past. that some kind of engagement had subsistedbetween willoughby and marianne she could not doubt, and that willoughby was weary ofit, seemed equally clear; for however marianne might still feed her own wishes, she could not attribute such behaviour tomistake or misapprehension of any kind. nothing but a thorough change of sentimentcould account for it. her indignation would have been stillstronger than it was, had she not witnessed

that embarrassment which seemed to speak aconsciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented her from believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting withthe affections of her sister from the first, without any design that would bearinvestigation. absence might have weakened his regard, andconvenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a regard hadformerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt. as for marianne, on the pangs which sounhappy a meeting must already have given her, and on those still more severe whichmight await her in its probable

consequence, she could not reflect withoutthe deepest concern. her own situation gained in the comparison;for while she could esteem edward as much as ever, however they might be divided infuture, her mind might be always supported. but every circumstance that could embittersuch an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of marianne in a final separationfrom willoughby--in an immediate and irreconcilable rupture with him. chapter 29 before the house-maid had lit their firethe next day, or the sun gained any power over a cold, gloomy morning in january,marianne, only half dressed, was kneeling

against one of the window-seats for the sake of all the little light she couldcommand from it, and writing as fast as a continual flow of tears would permit her. in this situation, elinor, roused fromsleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived her; and after observing her fora few moments with silent anxiety, said, in a tone of the most considerate gentleness, "marianne, may i ask-?""no, elinor," she replied, "ask nothing; you will soon know all." the sort of desperate calmness with whichthis was said, lasted no longer than while

she spoke, and was immediately followed bya return of the same excessive affliction. it was some minutes before she could go onwith her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still obliged her, atintervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of her feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing forthe last time to willoughby. elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusiveattention in her power; and she would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her stillmore, had not marianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous irritability, not to speak to her for theworld.

in such circumstances, it was better forboth that they should not be long together; and the restless state of marianne's mindnot only prevented her from remaining in the room a moment after she was dressed, but requiring at once solitude andcontinual change of place, made her wander about the house till breakfast time,avoiding the sight of every body. at breakfast she neither ate, nor attemptedto eat any thing; and elinor's attention was then all employed, not in urging her,not in pitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to engagemrs. jennings's notice entirely to herself. as this was a favourite meal with mrs.jennings, it lasted a considerable time,

and they were just setting themselves,after it, round the common working table, when a letter was delivered to marianne, which she eagerly caught from the servant,and, turning of a death-like paleness, instantly ran out of the room. elinor, who saw as plainly by this, as ifshe had seen the direction, that it must come from willoughby, felt immediately sucha sickness at heart as made her hardly able to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour as made her fear itimpossible to escape mrs. jennings's notice.

that good lady, however, saw only thatmarianne had received a letter from willoughby, which appeared to her a verygood joke, and which she treated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, thatshe would find it to her liking. of elinor's distress, she was too busilyemployed in measuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; andcalmly continuing her talk, as soon as marianne disappeared, she said, "upon my word, i never saw a young woman sodesperately in love in my life! my girls were nothing to her, and yet theyused to be foolish enough; but as for miss marianne, she is quite an altered creature.

i hope, from the bottom of my heart, hewon't keep her waiting much longer, for it is quite grievous to see her look so illand forlorn. pray, when are they to be married?" elinor, though never less disposed to speakthan at that moment, obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and,therefore, trying to smile, replied, "and have you really, ma'am, talked yourself into a persuasion of my sister's beingengaged to mr. willoughby? i thought it had been only a joke, but soserious a question seems to imply more; and i must beg, therefore, that you will notdeceive yourself any longer.

i do assure you that nothing would surpriseme more than to hear of their being going to be married.""for shame, for shame, miss dashwood! how can you talk so? don't we all know that it must be a match,that they were over head and ears in love with each other from the first moment theymet? did not i see them together in devonshireevery day, and all day long; and did not i know that your sister came to town with meon purpose to buy wedding clothes? come, come, this won't do. because you are so sly about it yourself,you think nobody else has any senses; but

it is no such thing, i can tell you, for ithas been known all over town this ever so long. i tell every body of it and so doescharlotte." "indeed, ma'am," said elinor, veryseriously, "you are mistaken. indeed, you are doing a very unkind thingin spreading the report, and you will find that you have though you will not believeme now." mrs. jennings laughed again, but elinor hadnot spirits to say more, and eager at all events to know what willoughby had written,hurried away to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw marianne

stretched on the bed, almost choked bygrief, one letter in her hand, and two or three others laying by her. elinor drew near, but without saying aword; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed her affectionately severaltimes, and then gave way to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely lessviolent than marianne's. the latter, though unable to speak, seemedto feel all the tenderness of this behaviour, and after some time thus spentin joint affliction, she put all the letters into elinor's hands; and then covering her face with her handkerchief,almost screamed with agony.

elinor, who knew that such grief, shockingas it was to witness it, must have its course, watched by her till this excess ofsuffering had somewhat spent itself, and then turning eagerly to willoughby's letter, read as follows: "bond street, january."my dear madam, "i have just had the honour of receivingyour letter, for which i beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. i am much concerned to find there wasanything in my behaviour last night that did not meet your approbation; and though iam quite at a loss to discover in what

point i could be so unfortunate as to offend you, i entreat your forgiveness ofwhat i can assure you to have been perfectly unintentional. i shall never reflect on my formeracquaintance with your family in devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, andflatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or misapprehension of my actions. my esteem for your whole family is verysincere; but if i have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than ifelt, or meant to express, i shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded inmy professions of that esteem.

that i should ever have meant more you willallow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long engagedelsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, i believe, before this engagement isfulfilled. it is with great regret that i obey yourcommands in returning the letters with which i have been honoured from you, andthe lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed on me. "i am, dear madam, "your most obedient"humble servant, "john willoughby." with what indignation such a letter as thismust be read by miss dashwood, may be imagined.

though aware, before she began it, that itmust bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, shewas not aware that such language could be suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed willoughby capable of departing sofar from the appearance of every honourable and delicate feeling--so far from thecommon decorum of a gentleman, as to send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing with his desire of arelease any professions of regret, acknowledged no breach of faith, denied allpeculiar affection whatever--a letter of which every line was an insult, and which

proclaimed its writer to be deep inhardened villainy. she paused over it for some time withindignant astonishment; then read it again and again; but every perusal only served toincrease her abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him, that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most irremediable

of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important. in her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the very different mind of a very different person, who had no other connection whatever with the affair than

what her heart gave him with every thing that passed, elinor forgot the immediate distress of her sister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing a carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who could be coming so unreasonably early, she was all

astonishment to perceive mrs. jennings's chariot, which she knew had not been ordered till one. determined not to quit marianne, though hopeless of contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse herself from attending mrs. jennings, on account of her sister being indisposed. mrs. jennings, with a thoroughly good-

humoured concern for its cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and elinor, after seeing her safe off, returned to marianne, whom she found attempting to rise from the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest and food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many nights since

she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer supported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was felt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous faintness. a glass of wine, which elinor procured for her directly, made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some sense of her kindness, by saying,

"poor elinor! how unhappy i make you!" "i only wish," replied her sister, "there were any thing i could do, which might be of comfort to you." this, as every thing else would have been, was too much for marianne, who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, "oh! elinor, i am miserable, indeed," before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.

elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in silence. "exert yourself, dear marianne," she cried, "if you would not kill yourself and all who love you. think of your mother; think of her misery while you suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself." "i cannot, i cannot," cried marianne;

"leave me, leave me, if i distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so. oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion! happy, happy elinor, you cannot have an idea of what i suffer." "do you call me happy, marianne? ah! if you knew!--and can you believe me to

be so, while i see you so wretched!" "forgive me, forgive me," throwing her arms round her sister's neck; "i know you feel for me; i know what a heart you have; but yet you are--you must be happy; edward loves you--what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?" "many, many circumstances," said elinor, solemnly.

"no, no, no," cried marianne wildly, "he loves you, and only you. you can have no grief." "i can have no pleasure while i see you in this state." "and you will never see me otherwise. mine is a misery which nothing can do away." "you must not talk so, marianne.

have you no comforts? no friends? is your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? much as you suffer now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his character had been delayed to a later period--if your engagement had been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he chose to put an end to it.

every additional day of unhappy confidence, on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful." "engagement!" cried marianne, "there has been no engagement." "no engagement!" "no, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. he has broken no faith with me."

"but he told you that he loved you." "yes--no--never absolutely. it was every day implied, but never professedly declared. sometimes i thought it had been--but it never was." "yet you wrote to him?"-- "yes--could that be wrong after all that had passed?-- but i cannot talk."

elinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the contents of all. the first, which was what her sister had sent him on their arrival in town, was to this effect. berkeley street, january. "how surprised you will be, willoughby, on

receiving this; and i think you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that i am in town. an opportunity of coming hither, though with mrs. jennings, was a temptation we could not resist. i wish you may receive this in time to come here to-night, but i will not depend on it. at any rate i shall expect you to-morrow.

for the present, adieu. "m.d." her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance at the middletons', was in these words:-- "i cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a note which i sent you above

a week ago. i have been expecting to hear from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. pray call again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected this in vain. you had better come earlier another time, because we are generally out by one.

we were last night at lady middleton's, where there was a dance. i have been told that you were asked to be of the party. but could it be so? you must be very much altered indeed since we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. but i will not suppose this possible, and i

hope very soon to receive your personal assurance of its being otherwise. the contents of her last note to him were these:-- "what am i to imagine, willoughby, by your behaviour last night? again i demand an explanation of it. i was prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally

produced, with the familiarity which our intimacy at barton appeared to me to justify. i was repulsed indeed! i have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though i have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your behaviour, i am

perfectly ready to hear your justification of it. you have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion. tell me what it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and i shall be satisfied, in being able to satisfy you.

it would grieve me indeed to be obliged to think ill of you; but if i am to do it, if i am to learn that you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that your regard for us all was insincere, that your behaviour to me was intended only to deceive, let it be told as soon as possible. my feelings are at present in a state of dreadful indecision; i wish to acquit you,

but certainty on either side will be ease to what i now suffer. if your sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and the lock of my hair which is in your possession. that such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been so answered, elinor, for willoughby's sake, would have

been unwilling to believe. but her condemnation of him did not blind her to the impropriety of their having been written at all; and she was silently grieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs of tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, and most severely condemned by the event, when marianne, perceiving that

she had finished the letters, observed to her that they contained nothing but what any one would have written in the same situation. "i felt myself," she added, "to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other." "i can believe it," said elinor; "but

unfortunately he did not feel the same." "he did feel the same, elinor--for weeks and weeks he felt it. i know he did. whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the blackest art employed against me can have done it), i was once as dear to him as my own soul could wish. this lock of hair, which now he can so

readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest supplication. had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his voice at that moment! have you forgot the last evening of our being together at barton? the morning that we parted too! when he told me that it might be many weeks before we met again--his distress--can i

ever forget his distress?" for a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had passed away, she added, in a firmer tone, "elinor, i have been cruelly used; but not by willoughby." "dearest marianne, who but himself? by whom can he have been instigated?" "by all the world, rather than by his own

heart. i could rather believe every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. this woman of whom he writes--whoever she be--or any one, in short, but your own dear self, mama, and edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me.

beyond you three, is there a creature in the world whom i would not rather suspect of evil than willoughby, whose heart i know so well?" elinor would not contend, and only replied, "whoever may have been so detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph, my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your

own innocence and good intentions supports your spirits. it is a reasonable and laudable pride which resists such malevolence." "no, no," cried marianne, "misery such as mine has no pride. i care not who knows that i am wretched. the triumph of seeing me so may be open to all the world.

elinor, elinor, they who suffer little may be proud and independent as they like--may resist insult, or return mortification--but i cannot. i must feel--i must be wretched--and they are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can." "but for my mother's sake and mine--" "i would do more than for my own.

but to appear happy when i am so miserable- -oh! who can require it?" again they were both silent. elinor was employed in walking thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire, without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning objects through the other; and marianne, seated at the foot of the bed, with her

head leaning against one of its posts, again took up willoughby's letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence, exclaimed-- "it is too much! oh, willoughby, willoughby, could this be yours! cruel, cruel--nothing can acquit you. elinor, nothing can.

whatever he might have heard against me-- ought he not to have suspended his belief? ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of clearing myself? 'the lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,) which you so obligingly bestowed on me'--that is unpardonable. willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words?

oh, barbarously insolent!--elinor, can he be justified?" "no, marianne, in no possible way." "and yet this woman--who knows what her art may have been?--how long it may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!--who is she?--who can she be?--whom did i ever hear him talk of as young and attractive among his female acquaintance?--

oh! no one, no one--he talked to me only of myself." another pause ensued; marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus. "elinor, i must go home. i must go and comfort mama. can not we be gone to-morrow?" "to-morrow, marianne!" "yes, why should i stay here?

i came only for willoughby's sake--and now who cares for me? who regards me?" "it would be impossible to go to-morrow. we owe mrs. jennings much more than civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a hasty removal as that." "well then, another day or two, perhaps;

but i cannot stay here long, i cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people. the middletons and palmers--how am i to bear their pity? the pity of such a woman as lady middleton! oh, what would he say to that!" elinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment she did so; but no attitude

could give her ease; and in restless pain of mind and body she moved from one posture to another, till growing more and more hysterical, her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at all, and for some time was fearful of being constrained to call for assistance. some lavender drops, however, which she was at length persuaded to take, were of use;

and from that time till mrs. jennings returned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless. chapter 30 mrs. jennings came immediately to theirroom on her return, and without waiting to have her request of admittance answered,opened the door and walked in with a look of real concern. "how do you do my dear?"--said she in avoice of great compassion to marianne, who turned away her face without attempting toanswer.

"how is she, miss dashwood?--poor thing!she looks very bad.-- no wonder. ay, it is but too true.he is to be married very soon--a good-for- nothing fellow! i have no patience with him. mrs. taylor told me of it half an hour ago,and she was told it by a particular friend of miss grey herself, else i am sure ishould not have believed it; and i was almost ready to sink as it was. well, said i, all i can say is, that ifthis be true, he has used a young lady of my acquaintance abominably ill, and i wishwith all my soul his wife may plague his

heart out. and so i shall always say, my dear, you maydepend on it. i have no notion of men's going on in thisway; and if ever i meet him again, i will give him such a dressing as he has not hadthis many a day. but there is one comfort, my dear missmarianne; he is not the only young man in the world worth having; and with yourpretty face you will never want admirers. well, poor thing! i won't disturb her any longer, for she hadbetter have her cry out at once and have done with.

the parrys and sandersons luckily arecoming tonight you know, and that will amuse her." she then went away, walking on tiptoe outof the room, as if she supposed her young friend's affliction could be increased bynoise. marianne, to the surprise of her sister,determined on dining with them. elinor even advised her against it. but "no, she would go down; she could bearit very well, and the bustle about her would be less." elinor, pleased to have her governed for amoment by such a motive, though believing

it hardly possible that she could sit outthe dinner, said no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could, while marianne still remained on the bed, wasready to assist her into the dining room as soon as they were summoned to it. when there, though looking most wretchedly,she ate more and was calmer than her sister had expected. had she tried to speak, or had she beenconscious of half mrs. jennings's well- meant but ill-judged attentions to her,this calmness could not have been maintained; but not a syllable escaped her

lips; and the abstraction of her thoughtspreserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing before her. elinor, who did justice to mrs. jennings'skindness, though its effusions were often distressing, and sometimes almostridiculous, made her those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her sister could not make or return forherself. their good friend saw that marianne wasunhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her which might make her at all less so. she treated her therefore, with all theindulgent fondness of a parent towards a

favourite child on the last day of itsholidays. marianne was to have the best place by thefire, was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to be amused bythe relation of all the news of the day. had not elinor, in the sad countenance ofher sister, seen a check to all mirth, she could have been entertained by mrs.jennings's endeavours to cure a disappointment in love, by a variety ofsweetmeats and olives, and a good fire. as soon, however, as the consciousness ofall this was forced by continual repetition on marianne, she could stay no longer. with a hasty exclamation of misery, and asign to her sister not to follow her, she

directly got up and hurried out of theroom. "poor soul!" cried mrs. jennings, as soonas she was gone, "how it grieves me to see her!and i declare if she is not gone away without finishing her wine! and the dried cherries too!lord! nothing seems to do her any good. i am sure if i knew of any thing she wouldlike, i would send all over the town for it. well, it is the oddest thing to me, that aman should use such a pretty girl so ill! but when there is plenty of money on oneside, and next to none on the other, lord

bless you! they care no more about suchthings!--" "the lady then--miss grey i think youcalled her--is very rich?" "fifty thousand pounds, my dear.did you ever see her? a smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome. i remember her aunt very well, biddyhenshawe; she married a very wealthy man. but the family are all rich together. fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts,it won't come before it's wanted; for they say he is all to pieces.no wonder! dashing about with his curricle and hunters!

well, it don't signify talking; but when ayoung man, be who he will, comes and makes love to a pretty girl, and promisesmarriage, he has no business to fly off from his word only because he grows poor,and a richer girl is ready to have him. why don't he, in such a case, sell hishorses, let his house, turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform atonce? i warrant you, miss marianne would havebeen ready to wait till matters came round. but that won't do now-a-days; nothing inthe way of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men of this age." "do you know what kind of a girl miss greyis?

is she said to be amiable?" "i never heard any harm of her; indeed ihardly ever heard her mentioned; except that mrs. taylor did say this morning, thatone day miss walker hinted to her, that she believed mr. and mrs. ellison would not be sorry to have miss grey married, for sheand mrs. ellison could never agree."-- "and who are the ellisons?""her guardians, my dear. but now she is of age and may choose forherself; and a pretty choice she has made!- -what now," after pausing a moment--"yourpoor sister is gone to her own room, i suppose, to moan by herself.

is there nothing one can get to comforther? poor dear, it seems quite cruel to let herbe alone. well, by-and-by we shall have a fewfriends, and that will amuse her a little. what shall we play at?she hates whist i know; but is there no round game she cares for?" "dear ma'am, this kindness is quiteunnecessary. marianne, i dare say, will not leave herroom again this evening. i shall persuade her if i can to go earlyto bed, for i am sure she wants rest." "aye, i believe that will be best for her.let her name her own supper, and go to bed.

lord! no wonder she has been looking so badand so cast down this last week or two, for this matter i suppose has been hanging overher head as long as that. and so the letter that came today finishedit! poor soul! i am sure if i had had a notion of it, iwould not have joked her about it for all my money.but then you know, how should i guess such a thing? i made sure of its being nothing but acommon love letter, and you know young people like to be laughed at about them.lord! how concerned sir john and my

daughters will be when they hear it! if i had my senses about me i might havecalled in conduit street in my way home, and told them of it.but i shall see them tomorrow." "it would be unnecessary i am sure, for youto caution mrs. palmer and sir john against ever naming mr. willoughby, or making theslightest allusion to what has passed, before my sister. their own good-nature must point out tothem the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing about it when she is present; andthe less that may ever be said to myself on the subject, the more my feelings will be

spared, as you my dear madam will easilybelieve." "oh! lord! yes, that i do indeed. it must be terrible for you to hear ittalked of; and as for your sister, i am sure i would not mention a word about it toher for the world. you saw i did not all dinner time. no more would sir john, nor my daughters,for they are all very thoughtful and considerate; especially if i give them ahint, as i certainly will. for my part, i think the less that is saidabout such things, the better, the sooner 'tis blown over and forgot.and what does talking ever do you know?"

"in this affair it can only do harm; moreso perhaps than in many cases of a similar kind, for it has been attended bycircumstances which, for the sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit tobecome the public conversation. i must do this justice to mr. willoughby--he has broken no positive engagement with my sister." "law, my dear!don't pretend to defend him. no positive engagement indeed! after takingher all over allenham house, and fixing on the very rooms they were to live inhereafter!" elinor, for her sister's sake, could notpress the subject farther, and she hoped it

was not required of her for willoughby's;since, though marianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcementof the real truth. after a short silence on both sides, mrs.jennings, with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again. "well, my dear, 'tis a true saying about anill-wind, for it will be all the better for colonel brandon.he will have her at last; aye, that he will. mind me, now, if they an't married by mid-summer. lord! how he'll chuckle over this news!i hope he will come tonight.

it will be all to one a better match foryour sister. two thousand a year without debt ordrawback--except the little love-child, indeed; aye, i had forgot her; but she maybe 'prenticed out at a small cost, and then what does it signify? delaford is a nice place, i can tell you;exactly what i call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences;quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree inone corner! lord! how charlotte and i did stuff theonly time we were there!

then, there is a dove-cote, some delightfulstew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wishfor; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so 'tis never dull, forif you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see allthe carriages that pass along. oh! 'tis a nice place! a butcher hard by in the village, and theparsonage-house within a stone's throw. to my fancy, a thousand times prettier thanbarton park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not aneighbour nearer than your mother.

well, i shall spirit up the colonel as soonas i can. one shoulder of mutton, you know, drivesanother down. if we can but put willoughby out of herhead!" "ay, if we can do that, ma'am," saidelinor, "we shall do very well with or without colonel brandon." and then rising, she went away to joinmarianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room, leaning, in silent misery,over the small remains of a fire, which, till elinor's entrance, had been her onlylight. "you had better leave me," was all thenotice that her sister received from her.

"i will leave you," said elinor, "if youwill go to bed." but this, from the momentary perversenessof impatient suffering, she at first refused to do. her sister's earnest, though gentlepersuasion, however, soon softened her to compliance, and elinor saw her lay heraching head on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet restbefore she left her. in the drawing-room, whither she thenrepaired, she was soon joined by mrs. jennings, with a wine-glass, full ofsomething, in her hand. "my dear," said she, entering, "i have justrecollected that i have some of the finest

old constantia wine in the house that everwas tasted, so i have brought a glass of it for your sister. my poor husband! how fond he was of it!whenever he had a touch of his old colicky gout, he said it did him more good than anything else in the world. do take it to your sister." "dear ma'am," replied elinor, smiling atthe difference of the complaints for which it was recommended, "how good you are! but i have just left marianne in bed, and,i hope, almost asleep; and as i think nothing will be of so much service to heras rest, if you will give me leave, i will

drink the wine myself." mrs. jennings, though regretting that shehad not been five minutes earlier, was satisfied with the compromise; and elinor,as she swallowed the chief of it, reflected, that though its effects on a colicky gout were, at present, of littleimportance to her, its healing powers, on a disappointed heart might be as reasonablytried on herself as on her sister. colonel brandon came in while the partywere at tea, and by his manner of looking round the room for marianne, elinorimmediately fancied that he neither expected nor wished to see her there, and,

in short, that he was already aware of whatoccasioned her absence. mrs. jennings was not struck by the samethought; for soon after his entrance, she walked across the room to the tea-tablewhere elinor presided, and whispered-- "the colonel looks as grave as ever you see. he knows nothing of it; do tell him, mydear." he shortly afterwards drew a chair close tohers, and, with a look which perfectly assured her of his good information,inquired after her sister. "marianne is not well," said she. "she has been indisposed all day, and wehave persuaded her to go to bed."

"perhaps, then," he hesitatingly replied,"what i heard this morning may be--there may be more truth in it than i couldbelieve possible at first." "what did you hear?" "that a gentleman, whom i had reason tothink--in short, that a man, whom i knew to be engaged--but how shall i tell you?if you know it already, as surely you must, i may be spared." "you mean," answered elinor, with forcedcalmness, "mr. willoughby's marriage with miss grey.yes, we do know it all. this seems to have been a day of generalelucidation, for this very morning first

unfolded it to us.mr. willoughby is unfathomable! where did you hear it?" "in a stationer's shop in pall mall, wherei had business. two ladies were waiting for their carriage,and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voiceso little attempting concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. the name of willoughby, john willoughby,frequently repeated, first caught my attention; and what followed was a positiveassertion that every thing was now finally settled respecting his marriage with miss

grey--it was no longer to be a secret--itwould take place even within a few weeks, with many particulars of preparations andother matters. one thing, especially, i remember, becauseit served to identify the man still more:-- as soon as the ceremony was over, they wereto go to combe magna, his seat in somersetshire. my astonishment!--but it would beimpossible to describe what i felt. the communicative lady i learnt, oninquiry, for i stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a mrs. ellison, and that, asi have been since informed, is the name of miss grey's guardian."

"it is.but have you likewise heard that miss grey has fifty thousand pounds?in that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation." "it may be so; but willoughby is capable--at least i think"--he stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed todistrust itself, "and your sister--how did she--" "her sufferings have been very severe.i have only to hope that they may be proportionately short.it has been, it is a most cruel affliction. till yesterday, i believe, she neverdoubted his regard; and even now, perhaps--

but i am almost convinced that he never wasreally attached to her. he has been very deceitful! and, in somepoints, there seems a hardness of heart about him.""ah!" said colonel brandon, "there is, indeed! but your sister does not--i think you saidso--she does not consider quite as you do?" "you know her disposition, and may believehow eagerly she would still justify him if she could." he made no answer; and soon afterwards, bythe removal of the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, thesubject was necessarily dropped.

mrs. jennings, who had watched them withpleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of missdashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on colonel brandon's side, as might have become a man in thebloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the wholeevening more serious and thoughtful than usual. chapter 31 from a night of more sleep than she hadexpected, marianne awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery inwhich she had closed her eyes.

elinor encouraged her as much as possibleto talk of what she felt; and before breakfast was ready, they had gone throughthe subject again and again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on elinor's side, the sameimpetuous feelings and varying opinions on marianne's, as before. sometimes she could believe willoughby tobe as unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost everyconsolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. at one moment she was absolutelyindifferent to the observation of all the

world, at another she would seclude herselffrom it for ever, and at a third could resist it with energy. in one thing, however, she was uniform,when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the presence of mrs.jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to endure it. her heart was hardened against the beliefof mrs. jennings's entering into her sorrows with any compassion."no, no, no, it cannot be," she cried; "she cannot feel. her kindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness.

all that she wants is gossip, and she onlylikes me now because i supply it." elinor had not needed this to be assured ofthe injustice to which her sister was often led in her opinion of others, by theirritable refinement of her own mind, and the too great importance placed by her on the delicacies of a strong sensibility, andthe graces of a polished manner. like half the rest of the world, if morethan half there be that are clever and good, marianne, with excellent abilitiesand an excellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. she expected from other people the sameopinions and feelings as her own, and she

judged of their motives by the immediateeffect of their actions on herself. thus a circumstance occurred, while thesisters were together in their own room after breakfast, which sunk the heart ofmrs. jennings still lower in her estimation; because, through her own weakness, it chanced to prove a source offresh pain to herself, though mrs. jennings was governed in it by an impulse of theutmost goodwill. with a letter in her outstretched hand, andcountenance gaily smiling, from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she enteredtheir room, saying, "now, my dear, i bring you something that iam sure will do you good."

marianne heard enough. in one moment her imagination placed beforeher a letter from willoughby, full of tenderness and contrition, explanatory ofall that had passed, satisfactory, convincing; and instantly followed by willoughby himself, rushing eagerly intothe room to inforce, at her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances ofhis letter. the work of one moment was destroyed by thenext. the hand writing of her mother, never tillthen unwelcome, was before her; and, in the acuteness of the disappointment whichfollowed such an ecstasy of more than hope,

she felt as if, till that instant, she hadnever suffered. the cruelty of mrs. jennings no language,within her reach in her moments of happiest eloquence, could have expressed; and nowshe could reproach her only by the tears which streamed from her eyes with passionate violence--a reproach, however,so entirely lost on its object, that after many expressions of pity, she withdrew,still referring her to the letter of comfort. but the letter, when she was calm enough toread it, brought little comfort. willoughby filled every page.

her mother, still confident of theirengagement, and relying as warmly as ever on his constancy, had only been roused byelinor's application, to intreat from marianne greater openness towards them both; and this, with such tendernesstowards her, such affection for willoughby, and such a conviction of their futurehappiness in each other, that she wept with agony through the whole of it. all her impatience to be at home again nowreturned; her mother was dearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of hermistaken confidence in willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone.

elinor, unable herself to determine whetherit were better for marianne to be in london or at barton, offered no counsel of her ownexcept of patience till their mother's wishes could be known; and at length she obtained her sister's consent to wait forthat knowledge. mrs. jennings left them earlier than usual;for she could not be easy till the middletons and palmers were able to grieveas much as herself; and positively refusing elinor's offered attendance, went out alonefor the rest of the morning. elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware ofthe pain she was going to communicate, and perceiving, by marianne's letter, how illshe had succeeded in laying any foundation

for it, then sat down to write her mother an account of what had passed, and entreather directions for the future; while marianne, who came into the drawing-room onmrs. jennings's going away, remained fixed at the table where elinor wrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving overher for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more fondly over its effecton her mother. in this manner they had continued about aquarter of an hour, when marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any suddennoise, was startled by a rap at the door. "who can this be?" cried elinor.

"so early too!i thought we had been safe." marianne moved to the window--"it is colonel brandon!" said she, with vexation. "we are never safe from him.""he will not come in, as mrs. jennings is from home.""i will not trust to that," retreating to her own room. "a man who has nothing to do with his owntime has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others." the event proved her conjecture right,though it was founded on injustice and

error; for colonel brandon did come in; andelinor, who was convinced that solicitude for marianne brought him thither, and who saw that solicitude in his disturbed andmelancholy look, and in his anxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgiveher sister for esteeming him so lightly. "i met mrs. jennings in bond street," saidhe, after the first salutation, "and she encouraged me to come on; and i was themore easily encouraged, because i thought it probable that i might find you alone,which i was very desirous of doing. my object--my wish--my sole wish indesiring it--i hope, i believe it is--is to be a means of giving comfort;--no, i mustnot say comfort--not present comfort--but

conviction, lasting conviction to yoursister's mind. my regard for her, for yourself, for yourmother--will you allow me to prove it, by relating some circumstances which nothingbut a very sincere regard--nothing but an earnest desire of being useful--i think i am justified--though where so many hourshave been spent in convincing myself that i am right, is there not some reason to feari may be wrong?" he stopped. "i understand you," said elinor."you have something to tell me of mr. willoughby, that will open his characterfarther.

your telling it will be the greatest act offriendship that can be shewn marianne. my gratitude will be insured immediately byany information tending to that end, and hers must be gained by it in time. pray, pray let me hear it.""you shall; and, to be brief, when i quitted barton last october,--but this willgive you no idea--i must go farther back. you will find me a very awkward narrator,miss dashwood; i hardly know where to begin.a short account of myself, i believe, will be necessary, and it shall be a short one. on such a subject," sighing heavily, "can ihave little temptation to be diffuse."

he stopt a moment for recollection, andthen, with another sigh, went on. "you have probably entirely forgotten aconversation--(it is not to be supposed that it could make any impression on you)--a conversation between us one evening at barton park--it was the evening of a dance- -in which i alluded to a lady i had onceknown, as resembling, in some measure, your sister marianne.""indeed," answered elinor, "i have not forgotten it." he looked pleased by this remembrance, andadded, "if i am not deceived by the uncertainty,the partiality of tender recollection,

there is a very strong resemblance betweenthem, as well in mind as person. the same warmth of heart, the sameeagerness of fancy and spirits. this lady was one of my nearest relations,an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. our ages were nearly the same, and from ourearliest years we were playfellows and friends. i cannot remember the time when i did notlove eliza; and my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging frommy present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable of having everfelt.

hers, for me, was, i believe, fervent asthe attachment of your sister to mr. willoughby and it was, though from adifferent cause, no less unfortunate. at seventeen she was lost to me for ever. she was married--married against herinclination to my brother. her fortune was large, and our familyestate much encumbered. and this, i fear, is all that can be saidfor the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian.my brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her. i had hoped that her regard for me wouldsupport her under any difficulty, and for

some time it did; but at last the misery ofher situation, for she experienced great unkindness, overcame all her resolution, and though she had promised me thatnothing--but how blindly i relate! i have never told you how this was broughton. we were within a few hours of elopingtogether for scotland. the treachery, or the folly, of my cousin'smaid betrayed us. i was banished to the house of a relationfar distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till myfather's point was gained. i had depended on her fortitude too far,and the blow was a severe one--but had her

marriage been happy, so young as i thenwas, a few months must have reconciled me to it, or at least i should not have now tolament it. this however was not the case. my brother had no regard for her; hispleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated herunkindly. the consequence of this, upon a mind soyoung, so lively, so inexperienced as mrs. brandon's, was but too natural. she resigned herself at first to all themisery of her situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome thoseregrets which the remembrance of me

occasioned. but can we wonder that, with such a husbandto provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to advise or restrain her (for myfather lived only a few months after their marriage, and i was with my regiment in theeast indies) she should fall? had i remained in england, perhaps--but imeant to promote the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for thatpurpose had procured my exchange. the shock which her marriage had given me,"he continued, in a voice of great agitation, "was of trifling weight--wasnothing to what i felt when i heard, about two years afterwards, of her divorce.

it was that which threw this gloom,--evennow the recollection of what i suffered--" he could say no more, and rising hastilywalked for a few minutes about the room. elinor, affected by his relation, and stillmore by his distress, could not speak. he saw her concern, and coming to her, tookher hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. a few minutes more of silent exertionenabled him to proceed with composure. "it was nearly three years after thisunhappy period before i returned to england. my first care, when i did arrive, was ofcourse to seek for her; but the search was

as fruitless as it was melancholy. i could not trace her beyond her firstseducer, and there was every reason to fear that she had removed from him only to sinkdeeper in a life of sin. her legal allowance was not adequate to herfortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and i learnt from my brotherthat the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to anotherperson. he imagined, and calmly could he imagineit, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of itfor some immediate relief. at last, however, and after i had been sixmonths in england, i did find her.

regard for a former servant of my own, whohad since fallen into misfortune, carried me to visit him in a spunging-house, wherehe was confined for debt; and there, in the same house, under a similar confinement,was my unfortunate sister. so altered--so faded--worn down by acutesuffering of every kind! hardly could i believe the melancholy and sickly figurebefore me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, on whom i hadonce doted. what i endured in so beholding her--but ihave no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it--i have painedyou too much already. that she was, to all appearance, in thelast stage of a consumption, was--yes, in

such a situation it was my greatestcomfort. life could do nothing for her, beyondgiving time for a better preparation for death; and that was given. i saw her placed in comfortable lodgings,and under proper attendants; i visited her every day during the rest of her shortlife: i was with her in her last moments." again he stopped to recover himself; andelinor spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of hisunfortunate friend. "your sister, i hope, cannot be offended,"said he, "by the resemblance i have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation.

their fates, their fortunes, cannot be thesame; and had the natural sweet disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind,or a happier marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other be. but to what does all this lead?i seem to have been distressing you for nothing. ah! miss dashwood--a subject such as this--untouched for fourteen years--it is dangerous to handle it at all!i will be more collected--more concise. she left to my care her only child, alittle girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about threeyears old.

she loved the child, and had always kept itwith her. it was a valued, a precious trust to me;and gladly would i have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over hereducation myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but i had no family, no home; and my little eliza was thereforeplaced at school. i saw her there whenever i could, and afterthe death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to methe possession of the family property,) she visited me at delaford. i called her a distant relation; but i amwell aware that i have in general been

suspected of a much nearer connection withher. it is now three years ago (she had justreached her fourteenth year,) that i removed her from school, to place her underthe care of a very respectable woman, residing in dorsetshire, who had the charge of four or five other girls of about thesame time of life; and for two years i had every reason to be pleased with hersituation. but last february, almost a twelvemonthback, she suddenly disappeared. i had allowed her, (imprudently, as it hassince turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go to bath with one of her youngfriends, who was attending her father there

for his health. i knew him to be a very good sort of man,and i thought well of his daughter--better than she deserved, for, with a mostobstinate and ill-judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no clue, thoughshe certainly knew all. he, her father, a well-meaning, but not aquick-sighted man, could really, i believe, give no information; for he had beengenerally confined to the house, while the girls were ranging over the town and making what acquaintance they chose; and he triedto convince me, as thoroughly as he was convinced himself, of his daughter's beingentirely unconcerned in the business.

in short, i could learn nothing but thatshe was gone; all the rest, for eight long months, was left to conjecture.what i thought, what i feared, may be imagined; and what i suffered too." "good heavens!" cried elinor, "could it be--could willoughby!"-- "the first news that reached me of her," hecontinued, "came in a letter from herself, last october. it was forwarded to me from delaford, and ireceived it on the very morning of our intended party to whitwell; and this wasthe reason of my leaving barton so suddenly, which i am sure must at the time

have appeared strange to every body, andwhich i believe gave offence to some. little did mr. willoughby imagine, isuppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in breaking up the party, that iwas called away to the relief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but had heknown it, what would it have availed? would he have been less gay or less happyin the smiles of your sister? no, he had already done that, which no manwho can feel for another would do. he had left the girl whose youth andinnocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no creditablehome, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address!

he had left her, promising to return; heneither returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her.""this is beyond every thing!" exclaimed elinor. "his character is now before you;expensive, dissipated, and worse than both. knowing all this, as i have now known itmany weeks, guess what i must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever,and on being assured that she was to marry him: guess what i must have felt for allyour sakes. when i came to you last week and found youalone, i came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when it wasknown.

my behaviour must have seemed strange toyou then; but now you will comprehend it. to suffer you all to be so deceived; to seeyour sister--but what could i do? i had no hope of interfering with success;and sometimes i thought your sister's influence might yet reclaim him.but now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what were his designs on her. whatever they may have been, however, shemay now, and hereafter doubtless will turn with gratitude towards her own condition,when she compares it with that of my poor eliza, when she considers the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, andpictures her to herself, with an affection

for him so strong, still as strong as herown, and with a mind tormented by self- reproach, which must attend her throughlife. surely this comparison must have its usewith her. she will feel her own sufferings to benothing. they proceed from no misconduct, and canbring no disgrace. on the contrary, every friend must be madestill more her friend by them. concern for her unhappiness, and respectfor her fortitude under it, must strengthen every attachment. use your own discretion, however, incommunicating to her what i have told you.

you must know best what will be its effect;but had i not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of service, mightlessen her regrets, i would not have suffered myself to trouble you with this account of my family afflictions, with arecital which may seem to have been intended to raise myself at the expense ofothers." elinor's thanks followed this speech withgrateful earnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting materialadvantage to marianne, from the communication of what had passed. "i have been more pained," said she, "byher endeavors to acquit him than by all the

rest; for it irritates her mind more thanthe most perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. now, though at first she will suffer much,i am sure she will soon become easier. have you," she continued, after a shortsilence, "ever seen mr. willoughby since you left him at barton?" "yes," he replied gravely, "once i have.one meeting was unavoidable." elinor, startled by his manner, looked athim anxiously, saying, "what? have you met him to--" "i could meet him no other way.

eliza had confessed to me, though mostreluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which was withina fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to defend, i to punish hisconduct. we returned unwounded, and the meeting,therefore, never got abroad." elinor sighed over the fancied necessity ofthis; but to a man and a soldier she presumed not to censure it. "such," said colonel brandon, after apause, "has been the unhappy resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter!and so imperfectly have i discharged my trust!"

"is she still in town?""no; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for i found her near herdelivery, i removed her and her child into the country, and there she remains." recollecting, soon afterwards, that he wasprobably dividing elinor from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving fromher again the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full ofcompassion and esteem for him. chapter 32 when the particulars of this conversationwere repeated by miss dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effecton her was not entirely such as the former

had hoped to see. not that marianne appeared to distrust thetruth of any part of it, for she listened to it all with the most steady andsubmissive attention, made neither objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of willoughby, and seemed toshew by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. but though this behaviour assured elinorthat the conviction of this guilt was carried home to her mind, though she sawwith satisfaction the effect of it, in her no longer avoiding colonel brandon when he

called, in her speaking to him, evenvoluntarily speaking, with a kind of compassionate respect, and though she sawher spirits less violently irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. her mind did become settled, but it wassettled in a gloomy dejection. she felt the loss of willoughby's characteryet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart; his seduction and desertionof miss williams, the misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might once have been on herself, preyedaltogether so much on her spirits, that she could not bring herself to speak of whatshe felt even to elinor; and, brooding over

her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister than could have beencommunicated by the most open and most frequent confession of them. to give the feelings or the language ofmrs. dashwood on receiving and answering elinor's letter would be only to give arepetition of what her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly less painful than marianne's, and anindignation even greater than elinor's. long letters from her, quickly succeedingeach other, arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express heranxious solicitude for marianne, and

entreat she would bear up with fortitudeunder this misfortune. bad indeed must the nature of marianne'saffliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and humiliatingmust be the origin of those regrets, which she could wish her not to indulge! against the interest of her own individualcomfort, mrs. dashwood had determined that it would be better for marianne to be anywhere, at that time, than at barton, where every thing within her view would be bringing back the past in the strongest andmost afflicting manner, by constantly placing willoughby before her, such as shehad always seen him there.

she recommended it to her daughters,therefore, by all means not to shorten their visit to mrs. jennings; the length ofwhich, though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at least fiveor six weeks. a variety of occupations, of objects, andof company, which could not be procured at barton, would be inevitable there, andmight yet, she hoped, cheat marianne, at times, into some interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as theideas of both might now be spurned by her. from all danger of seeing willoughby again,her mother considered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the country,since his acquaintance must now be dropped

by all who called themselves her friends. design could never bring them in eachother's way: negligence could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance hadless in its favour in the crowd of london than even in the retirement of barton, where it might force him before her whilepaying that visit at allenham on his marriage, which mrs. dashwood, fromforeseeing at first as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certainone. she had yet another reason for wishing herchildren to remain where they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told herthat he and his wife were to be in town

before the middle of february, and she judged it right that they should sometimessee their brother. marianne had promised to be guided by hermother's opinion, and she submitted to it therefore without opposition, though itproved perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistakengrounds, and that by requiring her longer continuance in london it deprived her ofthe only possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her mother, and doomed her to such society andsuch scenes as must prevent her ever

knowing a moment's rest. but it was a matter of great consolation toher, that what brought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and elinor,on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking,that though their longer stay would therefore militate against her ownhappiness, it would be better for marianne than an immediate return into devonshire. her carefulness in guarding her sister fromever hearing willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away.

marianne, though without knowing itherself, reaped all its advantage; for neither mrs. jennings, nor sir john, noreven mrs. palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her. elinor wished that the same forbearancecould have extended towards herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged tolisten day after day to the indignation of them all. sir john, could not have thought itpossible. "a man of whom he had always had suchreason to think well! such a good-natured fellow!

he did not believe there was a bolder riderin england! it was an unaccountable business.he wished him at the devil with all his he would not speak another word to him,meet him where he might, for all the world! no, not if it were to be by the side ofbarton covert, and they were kept watching for two hours together. such a scoundrel of a fellow! such adeceitful dog! it was only the last time they met that hehad offered him one of folly's puppies! and this was the end of it!" mrs. palmer, in her way, was equally angry."she was determined to drop his

acquaintance immediately, and she was verythankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all. she wished with all her heart combe magnawas not so near cleveland; but it did not signify, for it was a great deal too faroff to visit; she hated him so much that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell everybody shesaw, how good-for-nothing he was." the rest of mrs. palmer's sympathy wasshewn in procuring all the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, andcommunicating them to elinor. she could soon tell at what coachmaker'sthe new carriage was building, by what

painter mr. willoughby's portrait wasdrawn, and at what warehouse miss grey's clothes might be seen. the calm and polite unconcern of ladymiddleton on the occasion was a happy relief to elinor's spirits, oppressed asthey often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. it was a great comfort to her to be sure ofexciting no interest in one person at least among their circle of friends: a greatcomfort to know that there was one who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxietyfor her sister's health.

every qualification is raised at times, bythe circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimesworried down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable tocomfort than good-nature. lady middleton expressed her sense of theaffair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying,"it is very shocking, indeed!" and by the means of this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to see the miss dashwoodsfrom the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them withoutrecollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity of her

own sex, and spoken her decided censure ofwhat was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to theinterest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather against the opinion of sir john) that as mrs.willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her cardwith her as soon as she married. colonel brandon's delicate, unobtrusiveenquiries were never unwelcome to miss dashwood. he had abundantly earned the privilege ofintimate discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal withwhich he had endeavoured to soften it, and

they always conversed with confidence. his chief reward for the painful exertionof disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eyewith which marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she wasobliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. these assured him that his exertion hadproduced an increase of good-will towards himself, and these gave elinor hopes of itsbeing farther augmented hereafter; but mrs. jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who

knew only that the colonel continued asgrave as ever, and that she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself,nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of midsummer, they would notbe married till michaelmas, and by the end of a week that it would not be a match atall. the good understanding between the coloneland miss dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, thecanal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to her; and mrs. jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all ofmrs. ferrars.

early in february, within a fortnight fromthe receipt of willoughby's letter, elinor had the painful office of informing hersister that he was married. she had taken care to have the intelligenceconveyed to herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as shewas desirous that marianne should not receive the first notice of it from the public papers, which she saw her eagerlyexamining every morning. she received the news with resolutecomposure; made no observation on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a shorttime they would burst out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less

pitiable than when she first learnt toexpect the event. the willoughbys left town as soon as theywere married; and elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeingeither of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow first fell, to go out again by degreesas she had done before. about this time the two miss steeles,lately arrived at their cousin's house in bartlett's buildings, holburn, presentedthemselves again before their more grand relations in conduit and berkeley streets; and were welcomed by them all with greatcordiality.

elinor only was sorry to see them. their presence always gave her pain, andshe hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the overpowering delight of lucyin finding her still in town. "i should have been quite disappointed if ihad not found you here still," said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on theword. "but i always thought i should. i was almost sure you would not leavelondon yet awhile; though you told me, you know, at barton, that you should not stayabove a month. but i thought, at the time, that you wouldmost likely change your mind when it came

to the point. it would have been such a great pity tohave went away before your brother and sister came.and now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone. i am amazingly glad you did not keep toyour word." elinor perfectly understood her, and wasforced to use all her self-command to make it appear that she did not. "well, my dear," said mrs. jennings, "andhow did you travel?" "not in the stage, i assure you," repliedmiss steele, with quick exultation; "we

came post all the way, and had a very smartbeau to attend us. dr. davies was coming to town, and so wethought we'd join him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten ortwelve shillings more than we did." "oh, oh!" cried mrs. jennings; "verypretty, indeed! and the doctor is a single man, i warrant you." "there now," said miss steele, affectedlysimpering, "everybody laughs at me so about the doctor, and i cannot think why. my cousins say they are sure i have made aconquest; but for my part i declare i never think about him from one hour's end toanother.

'lord! here comes your beau, nancy,' mycousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the street to the house.my beau, indeed! said i--i cannot think who you mean. the doctor is no beau of mine.""aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the doctor is the man, i see." "no, indeed!" replied her cousin, withaffected earnestness, "and i beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talkedof." mrs. jennings directly gave her thegratifying assurance that she certainly would not, and miss steele was madecompletely happy.

"i suppose you will go and stay with yourbrother and sister, miss dashwood, when they come to town," said lucy, returning,after a cessation of hostile hints, to the charge. "no, i do not think we shall.""oh, yes, i dare say you will." elinor would not humour her by fartheropposition. "what a charming thing it is that mrs.dashwood can spare you both for so long a time together!""long a time, indeed!" interposed mrs. jennings. "why, their visit is but just begun!"lucy was silenced.

"i am sorry we cannot see your sister, missdashwood," said miss steele. "i am sorry she is not well--" for mariannehad left the room on their arrival. "you are very good. my sister will be equally sorry to miss thepleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation." "oh, dear, that is a great pity! but suchold friends as lucy and me!--i think she might see us; and i am sure we would notspeak a word." elinor, with great civility, declined theproposal.

her sister was perhaps laid down upon thebed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them. "oh, if that's all," cried miss steele, "wecan just as well go and see her." elinor began to find this impertinence toomuch for her temper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by lucy's sharpreprimand, which now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the manners of one sister, was of advantagein governing those of the other. chapter 33 after some opposition, marianne yielded toher sister's entreaties, and consented to

go out with her and mrs. jennings onemorning for half an hour. she expressly conditioned, however, forpaying no visits, and would do no more than accompany them to gray's in sackvillestreet, where elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few old-fashioned jewels of her mother. when they stopped at the door, mrs.jennings recollected that there was a lady at the other end of the street on whom sheought to call; and as she had no business at gray's, it was resolved, that while her young friends transacted their's, sheshould pay her visit and return for them. on ascending the stairs, the miss dashwoodsfound so many people before them in the

room, that there was not a person atliberty to tend to their orders; and they were obliged to wait. all that could be done was, to sit down atthat end of the counter which seemed to promise the quickest succession; onegentleman only was standing there, and it is probable that elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to aquicker despatch. but the correctness of his eye, and thedelicacy of his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. he was giving orders for a toothpick-casefor himself, and till its size, shape, and

ornaments were determined, all of which,after examining and debating for a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally arranged by his owninventive fancy, he had no leisure to bestow any other attention on the twoladies, than what was comprised in three or four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to imprint on elinor theremembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural, sterling insignificance,though adorned in the first style of fashion. marianne was spared from the troublesomefeelings of contempt and resentment, on

this impertinent examination of theirfeatures, and on the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of the different toothpick-cases presented tohis inspection, by remaining unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collecther thoughts within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, inmr. gray's shop, as in her own bedroom. at last the affair was decided. the ivory, the gold, and the pearls, allreceived their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last day onwhich his existence could be continued without the possession of the toothpick-

case, drew on his gloves with leisurelycare, and bestowing another glance on the miss dashwoods, but such a one as seemedrather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a happy air of real conceitand affected indifference. elinor lost no time in bringing herbusiness forward, was on the point of concluding it, when another gentlemanpresented himself at her side. she turned her eyes towards his face, andfound him with some surprise to be her brother. their affection and pleasure in meeting wasjust enough to make a very creditable appearance in mr. gray's shop.

john dashwood was really far from beingsorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them satisfaction; and his inquiriesafter their mother were respectful and attentive. elinor found that he and fanny had been intown two days. "i wished very much to call upon youyesterday," said he, "but it was impossible, for we were obliged to takeharry to see the wild beasts at exeter exchange; and we spent the rest of the daywith mrs. ferrars. harry was vastly pleased. this morning i had fully intended to callon you, if i could possibly find a spare

half hour, but one has always so much to doon first coming to town. i am come here to bespeak fanny a seal. but tomorrow i think i shall certainly beable to call in berkeley street, and be introduced to your friend mrs. jennings.i understand she is a woman of very good fortune. and the middletons too, you must introduceme to them. as my mother-in-law's relations, i shall behappy to show them every respect. they are excellent neighbours to you in thecountry, i understand." "excellent indeed.

their attention to our comfort, theirfriendliness in every particular, is more than i can express.""i am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed. but so it ought to be; they are people oflarge fortune, they are related to you, and every civility and accommodation that canserve to make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. and so you are most comfortably settled inyour little cottage and want for nothing! edward brought us a most charming accountof the place: the most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and youall seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing.

it was a great satisfaction to us to hearit, i assure you." elinor did feel a little ashamed of herbrother; and was not sorry to be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrivalof mrs. jennings's servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for themat the door. mr. dashwood attended them down stairs, wasintroduced to mrs. jennings at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope ofbeing able to call on them the next day, took leave. his visit was duly paid. he came with a pretence at an apology fromtheir sister-in-law, for not coming too;

"but she was so much engaged with hermother, that really she had no leisure for going any where." mrs. jennings, however, assured himdirectly, that she should not stand upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, orsomething like it, and she should certainly wait on mrs. john dashwood very soon, andbring her sisters to see her. his manners to them, though calm, wereperfectly kind; to mrs. jennings, most attentively civil; and on colonel brandon'scoming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, tobe equally civil to him.

after staying with them half an hour, heasked elinor to walk with him to conduit street, and introduce him to sir john andlady middleton. the weather was remarkably fine, and shereadily consented. as soon as they were out of the house, hisenquiries began. "who is colonel brandon? is he a man of fortune?""yes; he has very good property in dorsetshire.""i am glad of it. he seems a most gentlemanlike man; and ithink, elinor, i may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectableestablishment in life."

"me, brother! what do you mean?" "he likes you.i observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it.what is the amount of his fortune?" "i believe about two thousand a year." "two thousand a-year;" and then workinghimself up to a pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added, "elinor, i wish withall my heart it were twice as much, for your sake." "indeed i believe you," replied elinor;"but i am very sure that colonel brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying me.""you are mistaken, elinor; you are very

much mistaken. a very little trouble on your side secureshim. perhaps just at present he may beundecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may alladvise him against it. but some of those little attentions andencouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite of himself.and there can be no reason why you should not try for him. it is not to be supposed that any priorattachment on your side--in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it isquite out of the question, the objections

are insurmountable--you have too much sensenot to see all that. colonel brandon must be the man; and nocivility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and your family. it is a match that must give universalsatisfaction. in short, it is a kind of thing that"--lowering his voice to an important whisper- -"will be exceedingly welcome to allparties." recollecting himself, however, he added,"that is, i mean to say--your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled;fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, i assure you.

and her mother too, mrs. ferrars, a verygood-natured woman, i am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much theother day." elinor would not vouchsafe any answer. "it would be something remarkable, now," hecontinued, "something droll, if fanny should have a brother and i a sistersettling at the same time. and yet it is not very unlikely." "is mr. edward ferrars," said elinor, withresolution, "going to be married?" "it is not actually settled, but there issuch a thing in agitation. he has a most excellent mother.

mrs. ferrars, with the utmost liberality,will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match takes place. the lady is the hon. miss morton, onlydaughter of the late lord morton, with thirty thousand pounds. a very desirable connection on both sides,and i have not a doubt of its taking place in time. a thousand a-year is a great deal for amother to give away, to make over for ever; but mrs. ferrars has a noble spirit. to give you another instance of herliberality:--the other day, as soon as we

came to town, aware that money could not bevery plenty with us just now, she put bank- notes into fanny's hands to the amount oftwo hundred pounds. and extremely acceptable it is, for we mustlive at a great expense while we are here." he paused for her assent and compassion;and she forced herself to say, "your expenses both in town and countrymust certainly be considerable; but your income is a large one." "not so large, i dare say, as many peoplesuppose. i do not mean to complain, however; it isundoubtedly a comfortable one, and i hope will in time be better.

the enclosure of norland common, nowcarrying on, is a most serious drain. and then i have made a little purchasewithin this half year; east kingham farm, you must remember the place, where oldgibson used to live. the land was so very desirable for me inevery respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that i felt it my duty to buyit. i could not have answered it to myconscience to let it fall into any other hands.a man must pay for his convenience; and it has cost me a vast deal of money." "more than you think it really andintrinsically worth."

"why, i hope not that. i might have sold it again, the next day,for more than i gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, i might have been veryunfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, that if i had not happened to have the necessary sum in mybanker's hands, i must have sold out to very great loss."elinor could only smile. "other great and inevitable expenses too wehave had on first coming to norland. our respected father, as you well know,bequeathed all the stanhill effects that remained at norland (and very valuable theywere) to your mother.

far be it from me to repine at his doingso; he had an undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, inconsequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of linen, china, &c.to supply the place of what was taken away. you may guess, after all these expenses,how very far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable mrs. ferrars's kindnessis." "certainly," said elinor; "and assisted byher liberality, i hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances." "another year or two may do much towardsit," he gravely replied; "but however there is still a great deal to be done.

there is not a stone laid of fanny's green-house, and nothing but the plan of the flower-garden marked out.""where is the green-house to be?" "upon the knoll behind the house. the old walnut trees are all come down tomake room for it. it will be a very fine object from manyparts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and beexceedingly pretty. we have cleared away all the old thornsthat grew in patches over the brow." elinor kept her concern and her censure toherself; and was very thankful that marianne was not present, to share theprovocation.

having now said enough to make his povertyclear, and to do away the necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of hissisters, in his next visit at gray's his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began to congratulate elinor on having sucha friend as mrs. jennings. "she seems a most valuable woman indeed--her house, her style of living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is anacquaintance that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may prove materially advantageous.--herinviting you to town is certainly a vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaksaltogether so great a regard for you, that

in all probability when she dies you will not be forgotten.-- she must have a greatdeal to leave." "nothing at all, i should rather suppose;for she has only her jointure, which will descend to her children." "but it is not to be imagined that shelives up to her income. few people of common prudence will do that;and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of." "and do you not think it more likely thatshe should leave it to her daughters, than to us?"

"her daughters are both exceedingly wellmarried, and therefore i cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering themfarther. whereas, in my opinion, by her taking somuch notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sortof claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. nothing can be kinder than her behaviour;and she can hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises.""but she raises none in those most concerned. indeed, brother, your anxiety for ourwelfare and prosperity carries you too

far." "why, to be sure," said he, seeming torecollect himself, "people have little, have very little in their power. but, my dear elinor, what is the matterwith marianne?-- she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin.is she ill?" "she is not well, she has had a nervouscomplaint on her for several weeks." "i am sorry for that.at her time of life, any thing of an illness destroys the bloom for ever! hers has been a very short one!she was as handsome a girl last september,

as i ever saw; and as likely to attract theman. there was something in her style of beauty,to please them particularly. i remember fanny used to say that she wouldmarry sooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of you,but so it happened to strike her. she will be mistaken, however. i question whether marianne now, will marrya man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and i am very muchdeceived if you do not do better. dorsetshire! i know very little of dorsetshire; but, mydear elinor, i shall be exceedingly glad to

know more of it; and i think i can answerfor your having fanny and myself among the earliest and best pleased of yourvisitors." elinor tried very seriously to convince himthat there was no likelihood of her marrying colonel brandon; but it was anexpectation of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really resolved on seeking an intimacy with thatgentleman, and promoting the marriage by every possible attention. he had just compunction enough for havingdone nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly anxious that everybody elseshould do a great deal; and an offer from

colonel brandon, or a legacy from mrs. jennings, was the easiest means of atoningfor his own neglect. they were lucky enough to find ladymiddleton at home, and sir john came in before their visit ended. abundance of civilities passed on allsides. sir john was ready to like anybody, andthough mr. dashwood did not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down asa very good-natured fellow: while lady middleton saw enough of fashion in his appearance to think his acquaintance worthhaving; and mr. dashwood went away

delighted with both. "i shall have a charming account to carryto fanny," said he, as he walked back with his sister."lady middleton is really a most elegant woman! such a woman as i am sure fanny will beglad to know. and mrs. jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant as her daughter. your sister need not have any scruple evenof visiting her, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and verynaturally; for we only knew that mrs.

jennings was the widow of a man who had got all his money in a low way; and fanny andmrs. ferrars were both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor herdaughters were such kind of women as fanny would like to associate with. but now i can carry her a most satisfactoryaccount of both."

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