The Project Gutenberg eBook of Persuasion

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Persuasion

Contents

CHAPTER I.

Sir Walter Elliot,kids ukuleles for 12 year olds under 100 dollars of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for hisown amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he foundoccupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there hisfaculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limitedremnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising fromdomestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over thealmost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leafwere powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which neverfailed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

“ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.

“Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county of Gloucester,by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born June 1, 1785; Anne,born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5, 1789; Mary, born November20, 1791.”

Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from the printer’shands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information of himselfand his family, these words, after the date of Mary’sbirth—“Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of CharlesMusgrove, Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset,” and byinserting most accurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.

Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectable family, inthe usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire; how mentioned inDugdale, serving the office of high sheriff, representing a borough in threesuccessive parliaments, exertions of loyalty, and dignity of baronet, in thefirst year of Charles II, with all the Marys and Elizabeths they had married;forming altogether two handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with the armsand motto:—“Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county ofSomerset,” and Sir Walter’s handwriting again in thisfinale:—

“Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of thesecond Sir Walter.”

Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot’s character;vanity of person and of situation. He had been remarkably handsome in hisyouth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man. Few women could thinkmore of their personal appearance than he did, nor could the valet of any newmade lord be more delighted with the place he held in society. He consideredthe blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and theSir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the constant object of hiswarmest respect and devotion.

His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; since to themhe must have owed a wife of very superior character to any thing deserved byhis own. Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman, sensible and amiable; whosejudgement and conduct, if they might be pardoned the youthful infatuation whichmade her Lady Elliot, had never required indulgence afterwards. She hadhumoured, or softened, or concealed his failings, and promoted his realrespectability for seventeen years; and though not the very happiest being inthe world herself, had found enough in her duties, her friends, and herchildren, to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference to herwhen she was called on to quit them. Three girls, the two eldest sixteenand fourteen, was an awful legacy for a mother to bequeath, an awful chargerather, to confide to the authority and guidance of a conceited, silly father.She had, however, one very intimate friend, a sensible, deserving woman, whohad been brought, by strong attachment to herself, to settle close by her, inthe village of Kellynch; and on her kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainlyrelied for the best help and maintenance of the good principles and instructionwhich she had been anxiously giving her daughters.

This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have beenanticipated on that head by their acquaintance. Thirteen years had passed awaysince Lady Elliot’s death, and they were still near neighbours andintimate friends, and one remained a widower, the other a widow.

That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely well providedfor, should have no thought of a second marriage, needs no apology to thepublic, which is rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a womandoesmarry again, than when she does not;but Sir Walter’scontinuing in singleness requires explanation. Be it known then, that SirWalter, like a good father, (having met with one or two private disappointmentsin very unreasonable applications), prided himself on remaining single for hisdear daughters’ sake. For one daughter, his eldest, he would really havegiven up any thing, which he had not been very much tempted to do. Elizabethhad succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her mother’srights and consequence; and being very handsome, and very like himself, herinfluence had always been great, and they had gone on together most happily.His two other children were of very inferior value. Mary had acquired a littleartificial importance, by becoming Mrs Charles Musgrove; but Anne, with anelegance of mind and sweetness of character, which must have placed her highwith any people of real understanding, was nobody with either father or sister;her word had no weight, her convenience was always to give way—she wasonly Anne.

To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valued god-daughter,favourite, and friend. Lady Russell loved them all; but it was only in Annethat she could fancy the mother to revive again.

A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl, but her bloom hadvanished early; and as even in its height, her father had found little toadmire in her, (so totally different were her delicate features and mild darkeyes from his own), there could be nothing in them, now that she was faded andthin, to excite his esteem. He had never indulged much hope, he had now none,of ever reading her name in any other page of his favourite work. All equalityof alliance must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herselfwith an old country family of respectability and large fortune, and hadtherefore givenall the honour and received none: Elizabeth would, oneday or other, marry suitably.

It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was tenyears before; and, generally speaking, if there has been neither ill health noranxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost. It was sowith Elizabeth, still the same handsome Miss Elliot that she had begun to bethirteen years ago, and Sir Walter might be excused, therefore, in forgettingher age, or, at least, be deemed only half a fool, for thinking himself andElizabeth as blooming as ever, amidst the wreck of the good looks of everybodyelse; for he could plainly see how old all the rest of his family andacquaintance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face in theneighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow’s foot aboutLady Russell’s temples had long been a distress to him.

Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment. Thirteenyears had seen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and directing with aself-possession and decision which could never have given the idea of her beingyounger than she was. For thirteen years had she been doing the honours, andlaying down the domestic law at home, and leading the way to the chaise andfour, and walking immediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-roomsand dining-rooms in the country. Thirteen winters’ revolving frosts hadseen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded,and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelled up to London withher father, for a few weeks’ annual enjoyment of the great world. She hadthe remembrance of all this, she had the consciousness of being nine-and-twentyto give her some regrets and some apprehensions; she was fully satisfied ofbeing still quite as handsome as ever, but she felt her approach to the yearsof danger, and would have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited bybaronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two. Then might she again take upthe book of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth, but now sheliked it not. Always to be presented with the date of her own birth and see nomarriage follow but that of a youngest sister, made the book an evil; and morethan once, when her father had left it open on the table near her, had sheclosed it, with averted eyes, and pushed it away.

She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book, and especially thehistory of her own family, must ever present the remembrance of. The heirpresumptive, the very William Walter Elliot, Esq., whose rights had been sogenerously supported by her father, had disappointed her.

She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to be, in theevent of her having no brother, the future baronet, meant to marry him, and herfather had always meant that she should. He had not been known to them as aboy; but soon after Lady Elliot’s death, Sir Walter had sought theacquaintance, and though his overtures had not been met with any warmth, he hadpersevered in seeking it, making allowance for the modest drawing-back ofyouth; and, in one of their spring excursions to London, when Elizabeth was inher first bloom, Mr Elliot had been forced into the introduction.

He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in the study of the law; andElizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in his favour wasconfirmed. He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talked of and expected allthe rest of the year; but he never came. The following spring he was seen againin town, found equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and expected, andagain he did not come; and the next tidings were that he was married. Insteadof pushing his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house ofElliot, he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman ofinferior birth.

Sir Walter had resented it. As the head of the house, he felt that he ought tohave been consulted, especially after taking the young man so publicly by thehand; “For they must have been seen together,” he observed,“once at Tattersall’s, and twice in the lobby of the House ofCommons.” His disapprobation was expressed, but apparently very littleregarded. Mr Elliot had attempted no apology, and shewn himself as unsolicitousof being longer noticed by the family, as Sir Walter considered him unworthy ofit: all acquaintance between them had ceased.

This very awkward history of Mr Elliot was still, after an interval of severalyears, felt with anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the man for himself, andstill more for being her father’s heir, and whose strong family pridecould see only in hima proper match for Sir Walter Elliot’seldest daughter. There was not a baronet from A to Z whom her feelings couldhave so willingly acknowledged as an equal. Yet so miserably had he conductedhimself, that though she was at this present time (the summer of 1814) wearingblack ribbons for his wife, she could not admit him to be worth thinking ofagain. The disgrace of his first marriage might, perhaps, as there was noreason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring, have been got over, had he notdone worse; but he had, as by the accustomary intervention of kind friends,they had been informed, spoken most disrespectfully of them all, mostslightingly and contemptuously of the very blood he belonged to, and thehonours which were hereafter to be his own. This could not be pardoned.

Such were Elizabeth Elliot’s sentiments and sensations; such the cares toalloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness and the elegance, the prosperityand the nothingness of her scene of life; such the feelings to give interest toa long, uneventful residence in one country circle, to fill the vacancies whichthere were no habits of utility abroad, no talents or accomplishments for home,to occupy.

But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to be added tothese. Her father was growing distressed for money. She knew, that when he nowtook up the Baronetage, it was to drive the heavy bills of his tradespeople,and the unwelcome hints of Mr Shepherd, his agent, from his thoughts. TheKellynch property was good, but not equal to Sir Walter’s apprehension ofthe state required in its possessor. While Lady Elliot lived, there had beenmethod, moderation, and economy, which had just kept him within his income; butwith her had died all such right-mindedness, and from that period he had beenconstantly exceeding it. It had not been possible for him to spend less; he haddone nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot was imperiously called on to do; butblameless as he was, he was not only growing dreadfully in debt, but washearing of it so often, that it became vain to attempt concealing it longer,even partially, from his daughter. He had given her some hints of it the lastspring in town; he had gone so far even as to say, “Can we retrench? Doesit occur to you that there is any one article in which we can retrench?”and Elizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm, setseriously to think what could be done, and had finally proposed these twobranches of economy, to cut off some unnecessary charities, and to refrain fromnew furnishing the drawing-room; to which expedients she afterwards added thehappy thought of their taking no present down to Anne, as had been the usualyearly custom. But these measures, however good in themselves, wereinsufficient for the real extent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walterfound himself obliged to confess to her soon afterwards. Elizabeth had nothingto propose of deeper efficacy. She felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, asdid her father; and they were neither of them able to devise any means oflessening their expenses without compromising their dignity, or relinquishingtheir comforts in a way not to be borne.

There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could dispose of; buthad every acre been alienable, it would have made no difference. He hadcondescended to mortgage as far as he had the power, but he would nevercondescend to sell. No; he would never disgrace his name so far. The Kellynchestate should be transmitted whole and entire, as he had received it.

Their two confidential friends, Mr Shepherd, who lived in the neighbouringmarket town, and Lady Russell, were called on to advise them; and both father anddaughter seemed to expect that something should be struck out by one or theother to remove their embarrassments and reduce their expenditure, withoutinvolving the loss of any indulgence of taste or pride.

CHAPTER II.

Mr Shepherd, a civil, cautious lawyer, who, whatever might be his hold or hisviews on Sir Walter, would rather have the disagreeableprompted byanybody else, excused himself from offering the slightest hint, and only beggedleave to recommend an implicit reference to the excellent judgement of LadyRussell, from whose known good sense he fully expected to have just suchresolute measures advised as he meant to see finally adopted.

Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject, and gave it muchserious consideration. She was a woman rather of sound than of quick abilities,whose difficulties in coming to any decision in this instance were great, fromthe opposition of two leading principles. She was of strict integrity herself,with a delicate sense of honour; but she was as desirous of saving SirWalter’s feelings, as solicitous for the credit of the family, asaristocratic in her ideas of what was due to them, as anybody of sense andhonesty could well be. She was a benevolent, charitable, good woman, andcapable of strong attachments, most correct in her conduct, strict in hernotions of decorum, and with manners that were held a standard ofgood-breeding. She had a cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking, rationaland consistent—but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had avalue for rank and consequence, which blinded her a little to the faults ofthose who possessed them. Herself the widow of only a knight, she gave thedignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir Walter, independent of his claims asan old acquaintance, an attentive neighbour, an obliging landlord, the husbandof her very dear friend, the father of Anne and her sisters, was, as being SirWalter, in her apprehension, entitled to a great deal of compassion andconsideration under his present difficulties.

They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt. But she was very anxious tohave it done with the least possible pain to him and Elizabeth. She drew upplans of economy, she made exact calculations, and she did what nobody elsethought of doing: she consulted Anne, who never seemed considered by the othersas having any interest in the question. She consulted, and in a degree wasinfluenced by her in marking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at lastsubmitted to Sir Walter. Every emendation of Anne’s had been on the sideof honesty against importance. She wanted more vigorous measures, a morecomplete reformation, a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone ofindifference for everything but justice and equity.

“If we can persuade your father to all this,” said Lady Russell,looking over her paper, “much may be done. If he will adopt theseregulations, in seven years he will be clear; and I hope we may be able toconvince him and Elizabeth, that Kellynch Hall has a respectability in itselfwhich cannot be affected by these reductions; and that the true dignity of SirWalter Elliot will be very far from lessened in the eyes of sensible people, byacting like a man of principle. What will he be doing, in fact, but what verymany of our first families have done, or ought to do? There will be nothingsingular in his case; and it is singularity which often makes the worst part ofour suffering, as it always does of our conduct. I have great hope ofprevailing. We must be serious and decided; for after all, the person who hascontracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to the feelingsof the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your father, there is stillmore due to the character of an honest man.”

This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to be proceeding, hisfriends to be urging him. She considered it as an act of indispensable duty toclear away the claims of creditors with all the expedition which the mostcomprehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw no dignity in anything shortof it. She wanted it to be prescribed, and felt as a duty. She rated LadyRussell’s influence highly; and as to the severe degree of self-denialwhich her own conscience prompted, she believed there might be little moredifficulty in persuading them to a complete, than to half a reformation. Herknowledge of her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the sacrificeof one pair of horses would be hardly less painful than of both, and so on,through the whole list of Lady Russell’s too gentle reductions.

How Anne’s more rigid requisitions might have been taken is of littleconsequence. Lady Russell’s had no success at all: could not be put upwith, were not to be borne. “What! every comfort of life knocked off!Journeys, London, servants, horses, table—contractions and restrictionsevery where! To live no longer with the decencies even of a private gentleman!No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hall at once, than remain in it on suchdisgraceful terms.”

“Quit Kellynch Hall.” The hint was immediately taken up by MrShepherd, whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter’sretrenching, and who was perfectly persuaded that nothing would be done withouta change of abode. “Since the idea had been started in the very quarterwhich ought to dictate, he had no scruple,” he said, “in confessinghis judgement to be entirely on that side. It did not appear to him that SirWalter could materially alter his style of living in a house which had such acharacter of hospitality and ancient dignity to support. In any other place SirWalter might judge for himself; and would be looked up to, as regulating themodes of life in whatever way he might choose to model his household.”

Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more of doubtand indecision, the great question of whither he should go was settled, and thefirst outline of this important change made out.

There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or another house in thecountry. All Anne’s wishes had been for the latter. A small house intheir own neighbourhood, where they might still have Lady Russell’ssociety, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure of sometimes seeingthe lawns and groves of Kellynch, was the object of her ambition. But the usualfate of Anne attended her, in having something very opposite from herinclination fixed on. She disliked Bath, and did not think it agreed with her;and Bath was to be her home.

Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but Mr Shepherd felt that hecould not be trusted in London, and had been skilful enough to dissuade himfrom it, and make Bath preferred. It was a much safer place for a gentleman inhis predicament: he might there be important at comparatively little expense.Two material advantages of Bath over London had of course been given all theirweight: its more convenient distance from Kellynch, only fifty miles, and LadyRussell’s spending some part of every winter there; and to the very greatsatisfaction of Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected change hadbeen for Bath, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were induced to believe that theyshould lose neither consequence nor enjoyment by settling there.

Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne’s known wishes. Itwould be too much to expect Sir Walter to descend into a small house in his ownneighbourhood. Anne herself would have found the mortifications of it more thanshe foresaw, and to Sir Walter’s feelings they must have been dreadful.And with regard to Anne’s dislike of Bath, she considered it as aprejudice and mistake arising, first, from the circumstance of her having beenthree years at school there, after her mother’s death; and secondly, fromher happening to be not in perfectly good spirits the only winter which she hadafterwards spent there with herself.

Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and disposed to think it must suitthem all; and as to her young friend’s health, by passing all the warmmonths with her at Kellynch Lodge, every danger would be avoided; and it was infact, a change which must do both health and spirits good. Anne had been toolittle from home, too little seen. Her spirits were not high. A larger societywould improve them. She wanted her to be more known.

The undesirableness of any other house in the same neighbourhood for Sir Walterwas certainly much strengthened by one part, and a very material part of thescheme, which had been happily engrafted on the beginning. He was not only toquit his home, but to see it in the hands of others; a trial of fortitude,which stronger heads than Sir Walter’s have found too much. Kellynch Hallwas to be let. This, however, was a profound secret, not to be breathed beyondtheir own circle.

Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being known to designletting his house. Mr Shepherd had once mentioned the word“advertise,” but never dared approach it again. Sir Walter spurnedthe idea of its being offered in any manner; forbad the slightest hint beingdropped of his having such an intention; and it was only on the supposition ofhis being spontaneously solicited by some most unexceptionable applicant, onhis own terms, and as a great favour, that he would let it at all.

How quick come the reasons for approving what we like! Lady Russell had anotherexcellent one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir Walter and his familywere to remove from the country. Elizabeth had been lately forming an intimacy,which she wished to see interrupted. It was with the daughter of Mr Shepherd,who had returned, after an unprosperous marriage, to her father’s house,with the additional burden of two children. She was a clever young woman, whounderstood the art of pleasing—the art of pleasing, at least, at KellynchHall; and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as to have beenalready staying there more than once, in spite of all that Lady Russell, whothought it a friendship quite out of place, could hint of caution and reserve.

Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with Elizabeth, and seemed tolove her, rather because she would love her, than because Elizabeth deservedit. She had never received from her more than outward attention, nothing beyondthe observances of complaisance; had never succeeded in any point which shewanted to carry, against previous inclination. She had been repeatedly veryearnest in trying to get Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open toall the injustice and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements which shuther out, and on many lesser occasions had endeavoured to give Elizabeth theadvantage of her own better judgement and experience; but always in vain:Elizabeth would go her own way; and never had she pursued it in more decidedopposition to Lady Russell than in this selection of Mrs Clay; turning from thesociety of so deserving a sister, to bestow her affection and confidence on onewho ought to have been nothing to her but the object of distant civility.

From situation, Mrs Clay was, in Lady Russell’s estimate, a very unequal,and in her character she believed a very dangerous companion; and a removalthat would leave Mrs Clay behind, and bring a choice of more suitable intimateswithin Miss Elliot’s reach, was therefore an object of first-rateimportance.

CHAPTER III.

“I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter,” said Mr Shepherd onemorning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down the newspaper, “that thepresent juncture is much in our favour. This peace will be turning all our richnaval officers ashore. They will be all wanting a home. Could not be a bettertime, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants, very responsible tenants.Many a noble fortune has been made during the war. If a rich admiral were tocome in our way, Sir Walter—”

“He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd,” replied Sir Walter;“that’s all I have to remark. A prize indeed would Kellynch Hall beto him; rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken ever so manybefore; hey, Shepherd?”

Mr Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit, and then added—

“I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of business,gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I have had a little knowledge oftheir methods of doing business; and I am free to confess that they have veryliberal notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants as any set ofpeople one should meet with. Therefore, Sir Walter, what I would take leave tosuggest is, that if in consequence of any rumours getting abroad of yourintention; which must be contemplated as a possible thing, because we know howdifficult it is to keep the actions and designs of one part of the world fromthe notice and curiosity of the other; consequence has its tax; I, JohnShepherd, might conceal any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would thinkit worth their while to observe me; but Sir Walter Elliot has eyes upon himwhich it may be very difficult to elude; and therefore, thus much I ventureupon, that it will not greatly surprise me if, with all our caution, somerumour of the truth should get abroad; in the supposition of which, as I wasgoing to observe, since applications will unquestionably follow, I should thinkany from our wealthy naval commanders particularly worth attending to; and begleave to add, that two hours will bring me over at any time, to save you thetrouble of replying.”

Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising and pacing the room, heobserved sarcastically—

“There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who would notbe surprised to find themselves in a house of this description.”

“They would look around them, no doubt, and bless their goodfortune,” said Mrs Clay, for Mrs Clay was present: her father had drivenher over, nothing being of so much use to Mrs Clay’s health as a drive toKellynch: “but I quite agree with my father in thinking a sailor might bea very desirable tenant. I have known a good deal of the profession; andbesides their liberality, they are so neat and careful in all their ways! Thesevaluable pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if you chose to leave them, would beperfectly safe. Everything in and about the house would be taken such excellentcare of! The gardens and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order asthey are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of your own sweet flowergardens being neglected.”

“As to all that,” rejoined Sir Walter coolly, “supposing Iwere induced to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind as to theprivileges to be annexed to it. I am not particularly disposed to favour atenant. The park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers, or menof any other description, can have had such a range; but what restrictions Imight impose on the use of the pleasure-grounds, is another thing. I am notfond of the idea of my shrubberies being always approachable; and I shouldrecommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard with respect to her flower garden. Iam very little disposed to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinaryfavour, I assure you, be he sailor or soldier.”

After a short pause, Mr Shepherd presumed to say—

“In all these cases, there are established usages which make everythingplain and easy between landlord and tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter, is inpretty safe hands. Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant has more thanhis just rights. I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half sojealous for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him.”

Here Anne spoke—

“The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least an equalclaim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privilegeswhich any home can give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we mustall allow.”

“Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is very true,” was MrShepherd’s rejoinder, and “Oh! certainly,” was hisdaughter’s; but Sir Walter’s remark was, soon afterwards—

“The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see any friendof mine belonging to it.”

“Indeed!” was the reply, and with a look of surprise.

“Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds ofobjection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons of obscure birthinto undue distinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers andgrandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly, as it cuts up a man’s youthand vigour most horribly; a sailor grows old sooner than any other man. I haveobserved it all my life. A man is in greater danger in the navy of beinginsulted by the rise of one whose father, his father might have disdained tospeak to, and of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in anyother line. One day last spring, in town, I was in company with two men,striking instances of what I am talking of; Lord St Ives, whose father we allknow to have been a country curate, without bread to eat; I was to give placeto Lord St Ives, and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-lookingpersonage you can imagine; his face the colour of mahogany, rough and rugged tothe last degree; all lines and wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side, and nothingbut a dab of powder at top. ‘In the name of heaven, who is that oldfellow?’ said I to a friend of mine who was standing near, (Sir BasilMorley). ‘Old fellow!’ cried Sir Basil, ‘it is AdmiralBaldwin. What do you take his age to be?’ ‘Sixty,’ said I,‘or perhaps sixty-two.’ ‘Forty,’ replied Sir Basil,‘forty, and no more.’ Picture to yourselves my amazement; I shallnot easily forget Admiral Baldwin. I never saw quite so wretched an example ofwhat a sea-faring life can do; but to a degree, I know it is the same with themall: they are all knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and everyweather, till they are not fit to be seen. It is a pity they are not knocked onthe head at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin’s age.”

“Nay, Sir Walter,” cried Mrs Clay, “this is being severeindeed. Have a little mercy on the poor men. We are not all born to behandsome. The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do grow old betimes; Ihave observed it; they soon lose the look of youth. But then, is not it thesame with many other professions, perhaps most other? Soldiers, in activeservice, are not at all better off: and even in the quieter professions, thereis a toil and a labour of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves aman’s looks to the natural effect of time. The lawyer plods, quitecare-worn; the physician is up at all hours, and travelling in all weather; andeven the clergyman—” she stopt a moment to consider what might dofor the clergyman;—“and even the clergyman, you know is obliged togo into infected rooms, and expose his health and looks to all the injury of apoisonous atmosphere. In fact, as I have long been convinced, though everyprofession is necessary and honourable in its turn, it is only the lot of thosewho are not obliged to follow any, who can live in a regular way, in thecountry, choosing their own hours, following their own pursuits, and living ontheir own property, without the torment of trying for more; it is onlytheirlot, I say, to hold the blessings of health and a good appearanceto the utmost: I know no other set of men but what lose something of theirpersonableness when they cease to be quite young.”

It seemed as if Mr Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak Sir Walter’s goodwill towards a naval officer as tenant, had been gifted with foresight; for thevery first application for the house was from an Admiral Croft, with whom heshortly afterwards fell into company in attending the quarter sessions atTaunton; and indeed, he had received a hint of the Admiral from a Londoncorrespondent. By the report which he hastened over to Kellynch to make,Admiral Croft was a native of Somersetshire, who having acquired a veryhandsome fortune, was wishing to settle in his own country, and had come downto Taunton in order to look at some advertised places in that immediateneighbourhood, which, however, had not suited him; that accidentallyhearing—(it was just as he had foretold, Mr Shepherd observed, SirWalter’s concerns could not be kept a secret,)—accidentally hearingof the possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding his (MrShepherd’s) connection with the owner, he had introduced himself to himin order to make particular inquiries, and had, in the course of a pretty longconference, expressed as strong an inclination for the place as a man who knewit only by description could feel; and given Mr Shepherd, in his explicitaccount of himself, every proof of his being a most responsible, eligibletenant.

“And who is Admiral Croft?” was Sir Walter’s cold suspiciousinquiry.

Mr Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman’s family, and mentioneda place; and Anne, after the little pause which followed, added—

“He is a rear admiral of the white. He was in the Trafalgar action, andhas been in the East Indies since; he was stationed there, I believe, severalyears.”

“Then I take it for granted,” observed Sir Walter, “that hisface is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of my livery.”

Mr Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral Croft was a very hale, hearty,well-looking man, a little weather-beaten, to be sure, but not much, and quitethe gentleman in all his notions and behaviour; not likely to make the smallestdifficulty about terms, only wanted a comfortable home, and to get into it assoon as possible; knew he must pay for his convenience; knew what rent aready-furnished house of that consequence might fetch; should not have beensurprised if Sir Walter had asked more; had inquired about the manor; would beglad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point of it; said hesometimes took out a gun, but never killed; quite the gentleman.

Mr Shepherd was eloquent on the subject; pointing out all the circumstances ofthe Admiral’s family, which made him peculiarly desirable as a tenant. Hewas a married man, and without children; the very state to be wished for. Ahouse was never taken good care of, Mr Shepherd observed, without a lady: hedid not know, whether furniture might not be in danger of suffering as muchwhere there was no lady, as where there were many children. A lady, without afamily, was the very best preserver of furniture in the world. He had seen MrsCroft, too; she was at Taunton with the admiral, and had been present almostall the time they were talking the matter over.

“And a very well-spoken, genteel, shrewd lady, she seemed to be,”continued he; “asked more questions about the house, and terms, andtaxes, than the Admiral himself, and seemed more conversant with business; andmoreover, Sir Walter, I found she was not quite unconnected in this country,any more than her husband; that is to say, she is sister to a gentleman who didlive amongst us once; she told me so herself: sister to the gentleman who liveda few years back at Monkford. Bless me! what was his name? At this moment Icannot recollect his name, though I have heard it so lately. Penelope, my dear,can you help me to the name of the gentleman who lived at Monkford: MrsCroft’s brother?”

But Mrs Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot, that she did not hear theappeal.

“I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd; I remember nogentleman resident at Monkford since the time of old Governor Trent.”

“Bless me! how very odd! I shall forget my own name soon, I suppose. Aname that I am so very well acquainted with; knew the gentleman so well bysight; seen him a hundred times; came to consult me once, I remember, about atrespass of one of his neighbours; farmer’s man breaking into hisorchard; wall torn down; apples stolen; caught in the fact; and afterwards,contrary to my judgement, submitted to an amicable compromise. Very oddindeed!”

After waiting another moment—

“You mean Mr Wentworth, I suppose?” said Anne.

Mr Shepherd was all gratitude.

“Wentworth was the very name! Mr Wentworth was the very man. He had thecuracy of Monkford, you know, Sir Walter, some time back, for two or threeyears. Came there about the year —5, I take it. You remember him, I amsure.”

“Wentworth? Oh! ay, Mr Wentworth, the curate of Monkford. Youmisled me by the term gentleman. I thought you were speaking of some manof property: Mr Wentworth was nobody, I remember; quite unconnected; nothing todo with the Strafford family. One wonders how the names of many of our nobilitybecome so common.”

As Mr Shepherd perceived that this connexion of the Crofts did them no servicewith Sir Walter, he mentioned it no more; returning, with all his zeal, todwell on the circumstances more indisputably in their favour; their age, andnumber, and fortune; the high idea they had formed of Kellynch Hall, andextreme solicitude for the advantage of renting it; making it appear as if theyranked nothing beyond the happiness of being the tenants of Sir Walter Elliot:an extraordinary taste, certainly, could they have been supposed in the secretof Sir Walter’s estimate of the dues of a tenant.

It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter must ever look with an evil eye onanyone intending to inhabit that house, and think them infinitely too well offin being permitted to rent it on the highest terms, he was talked into allowingMr Shepherd to proceed in the treaty, and authorising him to wait on AdmiralCroft, who still remained at Taunton, and fix a day for the house being seen.

Sir Walter was not very wise; but still he had experience enough of the worldto feel, that a more unobjectionable tenant, in all essentials, than AdmiralCroft bid fair to be, could hardly offer. So far went his understanding; andhis vanity supplied a little additional soothing, in the Admiral’ssituation in life, which was just high enough, and not too high. “I havelet my house to Admiral Croft,” would sound extremely well; very muchbetter than to any mere Mr.——; a Mr.(save, perhaps,some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of explanation. An admiralspeaks his own consequence, and, at the same time, can never make a baronetlook small. In all their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot must everhave the precedence.

Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth: but her inclination wasgrowing so strong for a removal, that she was happy to have it fixed andexpedited by a tenant at hand; and not a word to suspend decision was utteredby her.

Mr Shepherd was completely empowered to act; and no sooner had such an end beenreached, than Anne, who had been a most attentive listener to the whole, leftthe room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed cheeks; and as shewalked along a favourite grove, said, with a gentle sigh, “A few monthsmore, and he, perhaps, may be walking here.”

CHAPTER IV.

Hewas not Mr Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford, howeversuspicious appearances may be, but a Captain Frederick Wentworth, his brother,who being made commander in consequence of the action off St Domingo, and notimmediately employed, had come into Somersetshire, in the summer of 1806; andhaving no parent living, found a home for half a year at Monkford. He was, atthat time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence,spirit, and brilliancy; and Anne an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness,modesty, taste, and feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side, mighthave been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love;but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail. They weregradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love. It wouldbe difficult to say which had seen highest perfection in the other, or whichhad been the happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or hein having them accepted.

A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a short one. Troublessoon arose. Sir Walter, on being applied to, without actually withholding hisconsent, or saying it should never be, gave it all the negative of greatastonishment, great coldness, great silence, and a professed resolution ofdoing nothing for his daughter. He thought it a very degrading alliance; andLady Russell, though with more tempered and pardonable pride, received it as amost unfortunate one.

Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and mind, to throw herselfaway at nineteen; involve herself at nineteen in an engagement with a youngman, who had nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of attainingaffluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain profession, and no connexionsto secure even his farther rise in the profession, would be, indeed, a throwingaway, which she grieved to think of! Anne Elliot, so young; known to so few, tobe snatched off by a stranger without alliance or fortune; or rather sunk byhim into a state of most wearing, anxious, youth-killing dependence! It mustnot be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any representations from onewho had almost a mother’s love, and mother’s rights, it would beprevented.

Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had been lucky in his profession; butspending freely, what had come freely, had realized nothing. But he wasconfident that he should soon be rich: full of life and ardour, he knew that heshould soon have a ship, and soon be on a station that would lead to everythinghe wanted. He had always been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Suchconfidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which oftenexpressed it, must have been enough for Anne; but Lady Russell saw it verydifferently. His sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated verydifferently on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the evil. It only addeda dangerous character to himself. He was brilliant, he was headstrong. LadyRussell had little taste for wit, and of anything approaching to imprudence ahorror. She deprecated the connexion in every light.

Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more than Anne could combat.Young and gentle as she was, it might yet have been possible to withstand herfather’s ill-will, though unsoftened by one kind word or look on the partof her sister; but Lady Russell, whom she had always loved and relied on, couldnot, with such steadiness of opinion, and such tenderness of manner, becontinually advising her in vain. She was persuaded to believe the engagement awrong thing: indiscreet, improper, hardly capable of success, and not deservingit. But it was not a merely selfish caution, under which she acted, in puttingan end to it. Had she not imagined herself consulting his good, even more thanher own, she could hardly have given him up. The belief of being prudent, andself-denying, principally for hisadvantage, was her chief consolation,under the misery of a parting, a final parting; and every consolation wasrequired, for she had to encounter all the additional pain of opinions, on hisside, totally unconvinced and unbending, and of his feeling himself ill used byso forced a relinquishment. He had left the country in consequence.

A few months had seen the beginning and the end of their acquaintance; but notwith a few months ended Anne’s share of suffering from it. Her attachmentand regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment of youth, and anearly loss of bloom and spirits had been their lasting effect.

More than seven years were gone since this little history of sorrowful interesthad reached its close; and time had softened down much, perhaps nearly all ofpeculiar attachment to him, but she had been too dependent on time alone; noaid had been given in change of place (except in one visit to Bath soon afterthe rupture), or in any novelty or enlargement of society. No one had ever comewithin the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison with FrederickWentworth, as he stood in her memory. No second attachment, the only thoroughlynatural, happy, and sufficient cure, at her time of life, had been possible tothe nice tone of her mind, the fastidiousness of her taste, in the small limitsof the society around them. She had been solicited, when about two-and-twenty,to change her name, by the young man, who not long afterwards found a morewilling mind in her younger sister; and Lady Russell had lamented her refusal;for Charles Musgrove was the eldest son of a man, whose landed property andgeneral importance were second in that country, only to Sir Walter’s, andof good character and appearance; and however Lady Russell might have asked yetfor something more, while Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to see herat twenty-two so respectably removed from the partialities and injustice of herfather’s house, and settled so permanently near herself. But in thiscase, Anne had left nothing for advice to do; and though Lady Russell, assatisfied as ever with her own discretion, never wished the past undone, shebegan now to have the anxiety which borders on hopelessness for Anne’sbeing tempted, by some man of talents and independence, to enter a state forwhich she held her to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections and domestichabits.

They knew not each other’s opinion, either its constancy or its change,on the one leading point of Anne’s conduct, for the subject was neveralluded to; but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought very differently from whatshe had been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady Russell, she didnot blame herself for having been guided by her; but she felt that were anyyoung person, in similar circumstances, to apply to her for counsel, they wouldnever receive any of such certain immediate wretchedness, such uncertain futuregood. She was persuaded that under every disadvantage of disapprobation athome, and every anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears,delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a happier woman inmaintaining the engagement, than she had been in the sacrifice of it; and this,she fully believed, had the usual share, had even more than the usual share ofall such solicitudes and suspense been theirs, without reference to the actualresults of their case, which, as it happened, would have bestowed earlierprosperity than could be reasonably calculated on. All his sanguineexpectations, all his confidence had been justified. His genius and ardour hadseemed to foresee and to command his prosperous path. He had, very soon aftertheir engagement ceased, got employ: and all that he had told her would follow,had taken place. He had distinguished himself, and early gained the other stepin rank, and must now, by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune.She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority, but she could notdoubt his being rich; and, in favour of his constancy, she had no reason tobelieve him married.

How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been! how eloquent, at least, were herwishes on the side of early warm attachment, and a cheerful confidence infuturity, against that over-anxious caution which seems to insult exertion anddistrust Providence! She had been forced into prudence in her youth, shelearned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnaturalbeginning.

With all these circumstances, recollections and feelings, she could not hearthat Captain Wentworth’s sister was likely to live at Kellynch without arevival of former pain; and many a stroll, and many a sigh, were necessary todispel the agitation of the idea. She often told herself it was folly, beforeshe could harden her nerves sufficiently to feel the continual discussion ofthe Crofts and their business no evil. She was assisted, however, by thatperfect indifference and apparent unconsciousness, among the only three of herown friends in the secret of the past, which seemed almost to deny anyrecollection of it. She could do justice to the superiority of LadyRussell’s motives in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth; shecould honour all the better feelings of her calmness; but the general air ofoblivion among them was highly important from whatever it sprung; and in theevent of Admiral Croft’s really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced anewover the conviction which had always been most grateful to her, of the pastbeing known to those three only among her connexions, by whom no syllable, shebelieved, would ever be whispered, and in the trust that among his, the brotheronly with whom he had been residing, had received any information of theirshort-lived engagement. That brother had been long removed from the country andbeing a sensible man, and, moreover, a single man at the time, she had a fonddependence on no human creature’s having heard of it from him.

The sister, Mrs Croft, had then been out of England, accompanying her husbandon a foreign station, and her own sister, Mary, had been at school while it alloccurred; and never admitted by the pride of some, and the delicacy of others,to the smallest knowledge of it afterwards.

With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance between herself and theCrofts, which, with Lady Russell, still resident in Kellynch, and Mary fixedonly three miles off, must be anticipated, need not involve any particularawkwardness.

CHAPTER V.

On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs Croft’s seeing KellynchHall, Anne found it most natural to take her almost daily walk to LadyRussell’s, and keep out of the way till all was over; when she found itmost natural to be sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing them.

This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory, and decided thewhole business at once. Each lady was previously well disposed for anagreement, and saw nothing, therefore, but good manners in the other; and withregard to the gentlemen, there was such an hearty good humour, such an open,trusting liberality on the Admiral’s side, as could not but influence SirWalter, who had besides been flattered into his very best and most polishedbehaviour by Mr Shepherd’s assurances of his being known, by report, tothe Admiral, as a model of good breeding.

The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved, the Crofts were approved,terms, time, every thing, and every body, was right; and Mr Shepherd’sclerks were set to work, without there having been a single preliminarydifference to modify of all that “This indenture sheweth.”

Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to be the best-lookingsailor he had ever met with, and went so far as to say, that if his own manmight have had the arranging of his hair, he should not be ashamed of beingseen with him any where; and the Admiral, with sympathetic cordiality, observedto his wife as they drove back through the park, “I thought we shouldsoon come to a deal, my dear, in spite of what they told us at Taunton. TheBaronet will never set the Thames on fire, but there seems to be no harm inhim.”—reciprocal compliments, which would have been esteemed aboutequal.

The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter proposedremoving to Bath in the course of the preceding month, there was no time to belost in making every dependent arrangement.

Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed to be of any use, or anyimportance, in the choice of the house which they were going to secure, wasvery unwilling to have her hurried away so soon, and wanted to make it possiblefor her to stay behind till she might convey her to Bath herself afterChristmas; but having engagements of her own which must take her from Kellynchfor several weeks, she was unable to give the full invitation she wished, andAnne though dreading the possible heats of September in all the white glare ofBath, and grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad of theautumnal months in the country, did not think that, everything considered, shewished to remain. It would be most right, and most wise, and, therefore mustinvolve least suffering to go with the others.

Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty. Mary, often a littleunwell, and always thinking a great deal of her own complaints, and always inthe habit of claiming Anne when anything was the matter, was indisposed; andforeseeing that she should not have a day’s health all the autumn,entreated, or rather required her, for it was hardly entreaty, to come toUppercross Cottage, and bear her company as long as she should want her,instead of going to Bath.

“I cannot possibly do without Anne,” was Mary’s reasoning;and Elizabeth’s reply was, “Then I am sure Anne had better stay,for nobody will want her in Bath.”

To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style, is at least better thanbeing rejected as no good at all; and Anne, glad to be thought of some use,glad to have anything marked out as a duty, and certainly not sorry to have thescene of it in the country, and her own dear country, readily agreed to stay.

This invitation of Mary’s removed all Lady Russell’s difficulties,and it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath till LadyRussell took her, and that all the intervening time should be divided betweenUppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.

So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was almost startled by thewrong of one part of the Kellynch Hall plan, when it burst on her, which was,Mrs Clay’s being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Walter and Elizabeth, asa most important and valuable assistant to the latter in all the businessbefore her. Lady Russell was extremely sorry that such a measure should havebeen resorted to at all, wondered, grieved, and feared; and the affront itcontained to Anne, in Mrs Clay’s being of so much use, while Anne couldbe of none, was a very sore aggravation.

Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt the imprudenceof the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell. With a great deal of quietobservation, and a knowledge, which she often wished less, of herfather’s character, she was sensible that results the most serious to hisfamily from the intimacy were more than possible. She did not imagine that herfather had at present an idea of the kind. Mrs Clay had freckles, and aprojecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist, which he was continually making severeremarks upon, in her absence; but she was young, and certainly altogetherwell-looking, and possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing manners,infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might have been.Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that she could not excuseherself from trying to make it perceptible to her sister. She had little hopeof success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of such a reverse would be so muchmore to be pitied than herself, should never, she thought, have reason toreproach her for giving no warning.

She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could not conceive how such anabsurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly answered for eachparty’s perfectly knowing their situation.

“Mrs Clay,” said she, warmly, “never forgets who she is; andas I am rather better acquainted with her sentiments than you can be, I canassure you, that upon the subject of marriage they are particularly nice, andthat she reprobates all inequality of condition and rank more strongly thanmost people. And as to my father, I really should not have thought that he, whohas kept himself single so long for our sakes, need be suspected now. If MrsClay were a very beautiful woman, I grant you, it might be wrong to have her somuch with me; not that anything in the world, I am sure, would induce my fatherto make a degrading match, but he might be rendered unhappy. But poor Mrs Claywho, with all her merits, can never have been reckoned tolerably pretty, Ireally think poor Mrs Clay may be staying here in perfect safety. One wouldimagine you had never heard my father speak of her personal misfortunes, thoughI know you must fifty times. That tooth of hers and those freckles.Freckles do not disgust me so very much as they do him. I have known a face notmaterially disfigured by a few, but he abominates them. You must have heard himnotice Mrs Clay’s freckles.”

“There is hardly any personal defect,” replied Anne, “whichan agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to.”

“I think very differently,” answered Elizabeth, shortly; “anagreeable manner may set off handsome features, but can never alter plain ones.However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more at stake on this point thananybody else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you to be advisingme.”

Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless of doinggood. Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion, might yet be made observant byit.

The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter, MissElliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath. The party drove off in very good spirits; SirWalter prepared with condescending bows for all the afflicted tenantry andcottagers who might have had a hint to show themselves, and Anne walked up atthe same time, in a sort of desolate tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she wasto spend the first week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady Russell felt thisbreak-up of the family exceedingly. Their respectability was as dear to her asher own, and a daily intercourse had become precious by habit. It was painfulto look upon their deserted grounds, and still worse to anticipate the newhands they were to fall into; and to escape the solitariness and the melancholyof so altered a village, and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs Croft firstarrived, she had determined to make her own absence from home begin when shemust give up Anne. Accordingly their removal was made together, and Anne wasset down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady Russell’sjourney.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back had beencompletely in the old English style, containing only two houses superior inappearance to those of the yeomen and labourers; the mansion of the squire,with its high walls, great gates, and old trees, substantial and unmodernized,and the compact, tight parsonage, enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vineand a pear-tree trained round its casements; but upon the marriage of the young’squire, it had received the improvement of a farm-house elevated into acottage, for his residence, and Uppercross Cottage, with its veranda, Frenchwindows, and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch thetraveller’s eye as the more consistent and considerable aspect andpremises of the Great House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross as well asthose of Kellynch. The two families were so continually meeting, so much in thehabit of running in and out of each other’s house at all hours, that itwas rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone; but being alone, her beingunwell and out of spirits was almost a matter of course. Though better endowedthan the elder sister, Mary had not Anne’s understanding nor temper.While well, and happy, and properly attended to, she had great good humour andexcellent spirits; but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had noresources for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliotself-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of fancyingherself neglected and ill-used. In person, she was inferior to both sisters,and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being “a finegirl.” She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty littledrawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which had been gradually growingshabby, under the influence of four summers and two children; and, onAnne’s appearing, greeted her with—

“So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see you. I amso ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature the whole morning!”

“I am sorry to find you unwell,” replied Anne. “You sent mesuch a good account of yourself on Thursday!”

“Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from well atthe time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have been allthis morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure. Suppose I were to beseized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to ring the bell! So,Lady Russell would not get out. I do not think she has been in this house threetimes this summer.”

Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband. “Oh! Charlesis out shooting. I have not seen him since seven o’clock. He would go,though I told him how ill I was. He said he should not stay out long; but hehas never come back, and now it is almost one. I assure you, I have not seen asoul this whole long morning.”

“You have had your little boys with you?”

“Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageablethat they do me more harm than good. Little Charles does not mind a word I say,and Walter is growing quite as bad.”

“Well, you will soon be better now,” replied Anne, cheerfully.“You know I always cure you when I come. How are your neighbours at theGreat House?”

“I can give you no account of them. I have not seen one of them to-day,except Mr Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through the window, but withoutgetting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was, not one of themhave been near me. It did not happen to suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, andthey never put themselves out of their way.”

“You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone. It isearly.”

“I never want them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great deal toomuch for me. Oh! Anne, I am so very unwell! It was quite unkind of you not tocome on Thursday.”

“My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me ofyourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest manner, and said you were perfectlywell, and in no hurry for me; and that being the case, you must be aware thatmy wish would be to remain with Lady Russell to the last: and besides what Ifelt on her account, I have really been so busy, have had so much to do, that Icould not very conveniently have left Kellynch sooner.”

“Dear me! what can youpossibly have to do?”

“A great many things, I assure you. More than I can recollect in amoment; but I can tell you some. I have been making a duplicate of thecatalogue of my father’s books and pictures. I have been several times inthe garden with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him understand, whichof Elizabeth’s plants are for Lady Russell. I have had all my own littleconcerns to arrange, books and music to divide, and all my trunks to repack,from not having understood in time what was intended as to the waggons: and onething I have had to do, Mary, of a more trying nature: going to almost everyhouse in the parish, as a sort of take-leave. I was told that they wished it.But all these things took up a great deal of time.”

“Oh! well!” and after a moment’s pause, “but you havenever asked me one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday.”

“Did you go then? I have made no enquiries, because I concluded you musthave been obliged to give up the party.”

“Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday; nothing at all the matterwith me till this morning. It would have been strange if I had not gone.”

“I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasantparty.”

“Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand what the dinner will be,and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not having a carriage ofone’s own. Mr and Mrs Musgrove took me, and we were so crowded! They areboth so very large, and take up so much room; and Mr Musgrove always sitsforward. So, there was I, crowded into the back seat with Henrietta and Louisa;and I think it very likely that my illness to-day may be owing to it.”

A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness onAnne’s side produced nearly a cure on Mary’s. She could soon situpright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able to leave it bydinner-time. Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the other end of theroom, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her cold meat; and then she was wellenough to propose a little walk.

“Where shall we go?” said she, when they were ready. “Isuppose you will not like to call at the Great House before they have been tosee you?”

“I have not the smallest objection on that account,” replied Anne.“I should never think of standing on such ceremony with people I know sowell as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves.”

“Oh! but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible. They ought tofeel what is due to you as mysister. However, we may as well go and sitwith them a little while, and when we have that over, we can enjoy ourwalk.”

Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent; but shehad ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that, though there were oneach side continual subjects of offence, neither family could now do withoutit. To the Great House accordingly they went, to sit the full half hour in theold-fashioned square parlour, with a small carpet and shining floor, to whichthe present daughters of the house were gradually giving the proper air ofconfusion by a grand piano-forte and a harp, flower-stands and little tablesplaced in every direction. Oh! could the originals of the portraits against thewainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the ladies in blue satin haveseen what was going on, have been conscious of such an overthrow of all orderand neatness! The portraits themselves seemed to be staring in astonishment.

The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration, perhaps ofimprovement. The father and mother were in the old English style, and the youngpeople in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a very good sort of people;friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and not at all elegant. Theirchildren had more modern minds and manners. There was a numerous family; butthe only two grown up, excepting Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa, youngladies of nineteen and twenty, who had brought from school at Exeter all theusual stock of accomplishments, and were now like thousands of other youngladies, living to be fashionable, happy, and merry. Their dress had everyadvantage, their faces were rather pretty, their spirits extremely good, theirmanner unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence at home, andfavourites abroad. Anne always contemplated them as some of the happiestcreatures of her acquaintance; but still, saved as we all are, by somecomfortable feeling of superiority from wishing for the possibility ofexchange, she would not have given up her own more elegant and cultivated mindfor all their enjoyments; and envied them nothing but that seemingly perfectgood understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured mutual affection,of which she had known so little herself with either of her sisters.

They were received with great cordiality. Nothing seemed amiss on the side ofthe Great House family, which was generally, as Anne very well knew, the leastto blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly enough; and she was not atall surprised, at the end of it, to have their walking party joined by both theMiss Musgroves, at Mary’s particular invitation.

CHAPTER VI.

Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal from oneset of people to another, though at a distance of only three miles, will ofteninclude a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea. She had never beenstaying there before, without being struck by it, or without wishing that otherElliots could have her advantage in seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there,were the affairs which at Kellynch Hall were treated as of such generalpublicity and pervading interest; yet, with all this experience, she believedshe must now submit to feel that another lesson, in the art of knowing our ownnothingness beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her; for certainly,coming as she did, with a heart full of the subject which had been completelyoccupying both houses in Kellynch for many weeks, she had expected rather morecuriosity and sympathy than she found in the separate but very similar remarkof Mr and Mrs Musgrove: “So, Miss Anne, Sir Walter and your sister aregone; and what part of Bath do you think they will settle in?” and this,without much waiting for an answer; or in the young ladies’ addition of,“I hope weshall be in Bath in the winter; but remember, papa, ifwe do go, we must be in a good situation: none of your Queen Squares forus!” or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of—“Upon myword, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away to be happy atBath!”

She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in future, and think withheightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing of having one such trulysympathising friend as Lady Russell.

The Mr Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy, their own horses,dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females were fully occupied in allthe other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours, dress, dancing, andmusic. She acknowledged it to be very fitting, that every little socialcommonwealth should dictate its own matters of discourse; and hoped, ere long,to become a not unworthy member of the one she was now transplanted into. Withthe prospect of spending at least two months at Uppercross, it was highlyincumbent on her to clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in asmuch of Uppercross as possible.

She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not so repulsive and unsisterlyas Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers; neither was thereanything among the other component parts of the cottage inimical to comfort.She was always on friendly terms with her brother-in-law; and in the children,who loved her nearly as well, and respected her a great deal more than theirmother, she had an object of interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.

Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and temper he wasundoubtedly superior to his wife, but not of powers, or conversation, or grace,to make the past, as they were connected together, at all a dangerouscontemplation; though, at the same time, Anne could believe, with Lady Russell,that a more equal match might have greatly improved him; and that a woman ofreal understanding might have given more consequence to his character, and moreusefulness, rationality, and elegance to his habits and pursuits. As it was, hedid nothing with much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away,without benefit from books or anything else. He had very good spirits, whichnever seemed much affected by his wife’s occasional lowness, bore withher unreasonableness sometimes to Anne’s admiration, and upon the whole,though there was very often a little disagreement (in which she had sometimesmore share than she wished, being appealed to by both parties), they might passfor a happy couple. They were always perfectly agreed in the want of moremoney, and a strong inclination for a handsome present from his father; buthere, as on most topics, he had the superiority, for while Mary thought it agreat shame that such a present was not made, he always contended for hisfather’s having many other uses for his money, and a right to spend it ashe liked.

As to the management of their children, his theory was much better than hiswife’s, and his practice not so bad. “I could manage them verywell, if it were not for Mary’s interference,” was what Anne oftenheard him say, and had a good deal of faith in; but when listening in turn toMary’s reproach of “Charles spoils the children so that I cannotget them into any order,” she never had the smallest temptation to say,“Very true.”

One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her beingtreated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too much in thesecret of the complaints of each house. Known to have some influence with hersister, she was continually requested, or at least receiving hints to exert it,beyond what was practicable. “I wish you could persuade Mary not to bealways fancying herself ill,” was Charles’s language; and, in anunhappy mood, thus spoke Mary: “I do believe if Charles were to see medying, he would not think there was anything the matter with me. I am sure,Anne, if you would, you might persuade him that I really am very ill—agreat deal worse than I ever own.”

Mary’s declaration was, “I hate sending the children to the GreatHouse, though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for she humoursand indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so much trash and sweetthings, that they are sure to come back sick and cross for the rest of theday.” And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity of being alone withAnne, to say, “Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs Charles had alittle of your method with those children. They are quite different creatureswith you! But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt! It is a pity youcannot put your sister in the way of managing them. They are as fine healthychildren as ever were seen, poor little dears! without partiality; but MrsCharles knows no more how they should be treated—! Bless me! howtroublesome they are sometimes. I assure you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishingto see them at our house so often as I otherwise should. I believe Mrs Charlesis not quite pleased with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is verybad to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking everymoment; “don’t do this,” and “don’t dothat;” or that one can only keep in tolerable order by more cake than isgood for them.”

She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. “Mrs Musgrove thinks allher servants so steady, that it would be high treason to call it in question;but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her upper house-maid andlaundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are gadding about thevillage, all day long. I meet them wherever I go; and I declare, I never gotwice into my nursery without seeing something of them. If Jemima were not thetrustiest, steadiest creature in the world, it would be enough to spoil her;for she tells me, they are always tempting her to take a walk with them.”And on Mrs Musgrove’s side, it was, “I make a rule of neverinterfering in any of my daughter-in-law’s concerns, for I know it wouldnot do; but I shall tell you, Miss Anne, because you may be able to setthings to rights, that I have no very good opinion of Mrs Charles’snursery-maid: I hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; andfrom my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady, thatshe is enough to ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs Charles quite swears byher, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you may be upon the watch;because, if you see anything amiss, you need not be afraid of mentioningit.”

Again, it was Mary’s complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt not togive her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at the Great Housewith other families; and she did not see any reason why she was to beconsidered so much at home as to lose her place. And one day when Anne waswalking with only the Musgroves, one of them after talking of rank, people ofrank, and jealousy of rank, said, “I have no scruple of observing toyou, how nonsensical some persons are about their place, because all theworld knows how easy and indifferent you are about it; but I wish anybody couldgive Mary a hint that it would be a great deal better if she were not so verytenacious, especially if she would not be always putting herself forward totake place of mamma. Nobody doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, butit would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting on it. It is notthat mamma cares about it the least in the world, but I know it is taken noticeof by many persons.”

How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do little more thanlisten patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each to the other; givethem all hints of the forbearance necessary between such near neighbours, andmake those hints broadest which were meant for her sister’s benefit.

In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well. Her own spiritsimproved by change of place and subject, by being removed three miles fromKellynch; Mary’s ailments lessened by having a constant companion, andtheir daily intercourse with the other family, since there was neither superioraffection, confidence, nor employment in the cottage, to be interrupted by it,was rather an advantage. It was certainly carried nearly as far as possible,for they met every morning, and hardly ever spent an evening asunder; but shebelieved they should not have done so well without the sight of Mr and MrsMusgrove’s respectable forms in the usual places, or without the talking,laughing, and singing of their daughters.

She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves, but having novoice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit by and fancythemselves delighted, her performance was little thought of, only out ofcivility, or to refresh the others, as she was well aware. She knew that whenshe played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no newsensation. Excepting one short period of her life, she had never, since the ageof fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, known the happiness ofbeing listened to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste. Inmusic she had been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr and MrsMusgrove’s fond partiality for their own daughters’ performance,and total indifference to any other person’s, gave her much more pleasurefor their sakes, than mortification for her own.

The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company. Theneighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by everybody, andhad more dinner-parties, and more callers, more visitors by invitation and bychance, than any other family. They were more completely popular.

The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally, in anunpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins within a walk ofUppercross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on the Musgroves forall their pleasures: they would come at any time, and help play at anything, ordance anywhere; and Anne, very much preferring the office of musician to a moreactive post, played country dances to them by the hour together; a kindnesswhich always recommended her musical powers to the notice of Mr and MrsMusgrove more than anything else, and often drew thiscompliment;—“Well done, Miss Anne! very well done indeed! Lordbless me! how those little fingers of yours fly about!”

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne’s heartmust be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others; all the preciousrooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning to own other eyes andother limbs! She could not think of much else on the 29th of September; and shehad this sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on having occasion tonote down the day of the month, exclaimed, “Dear me, is not this the daythe Crofts were to come to Kellynch? I am glad I did not think of it before.How low it makes me!”

The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were to be visited.Mary deplored the necessity for herself. “Nobody knew how much she shouldsuffer. She should put it off as long as she could;” but was not easytill she had talked Charles into driving her over on an early day, and was in avery animated, comfortable state of imaginary agitation, when she came back.Anne had very sincerely rejoiced in there being no means of her going. Shewished, however, to see the Crofts, and was glad to be within when the visit wasreturned. They came: the master of the house was not at home, but the twosisters were together; and as it chanced that Mrs Croft fell to the share ofAnne, while the Admiral sat by Mary, and made himself very agreeable by hisgood-humoured notice of her little boys, she was well able to watch for alikeness, and if it failed her in the features, to catch it in the voice, or inthe turn of sentiment and expression.

Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness, uprightness, andvigour of form, which gave importance to her person. She had bright dark eyes,good teeth, and altogether an agreeable face; though her reddened andweather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her having been almost as much atsea as her husband, made her seem to have lived some years longer in the worldthan her real eight-and-thirty. Her manners were open, easy, and decided, likeone who had no distrust of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without anyapproach to coarseness, however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave hercredit, indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards herself, in allthat related to Kellynch, and it pleased her: especially, as she had satisfiedherself in the very first half minute, in the instant even of introduction,that there was not the smallest symptom of any knowledge or suspicion on MrsCroft’s side, to give a bias of any sort. She was quite easy on thathead, and consequently full of strength and courage, till for a momentelectrified by Mrs Croft’s suddenly saying,—

“It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had thepleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country.”

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion shecertainly had not.

“Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?” added MrsCroft.

She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when MrsCroft’s next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she spoke,that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother. Sheimmediately felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs Croft should be thinking andspeaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and with shame at her ownforgetfulness applied herself to the knowledge of their formerneighbour’s present state with proper interest.

The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving, she heard theAdmiral say to Mary—

“We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft’s here soon; I dare sayyou know him by name.”

He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys, clinging to him likean old friend, and declaring he should not go; and being too much engrossed byproposals of carrying them away in his coat pockets, &c., to have anothermoment for finishing or recollecting what he had begun, Anne was left topersuade herself, as well as she could, that the same brother must still be inquestion. She could not, however, reach such a degree of certainty, as not tobe anxious to hear whether anything had been said on the subject at the otherhouse, where the Crofts had previously been calling.

The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day at theCottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits to be made onfoot, the coach was beginning to be listened for, when the youngest MissMusgrove walked in. That she was coming to apologize, and that they should haveto spend the evening by themselves, was the first black idea; and Mary wasquite ready to be affronted, when Louisa made all right by saying, that sheonly came on foot, to leave more room for the harp, which was bringing in thecarriage.

“And I will tell you our reason,” she added, “and all aboutit. I am come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are out of spiritsthis evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much of poor Richard! And weagreed it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse her more thanthe piano-forte. I will tell you why she is out of spirits. When the Croftscalled this morning, (they called here afterwards, did not they?), theyhappened to say, that her brother, Captain Wentworth, is just returned toEngland, or paid off, or something, and is coming to see them almost directly;and most unluckily it came into mamma’s head, when they were gone, thatWentworth, or something very like it, was the name of poor Richard’scaptain at one time; I do not know when or where, but a great while before hedied, poor fellow! And upon looking over his letters and things, she found itwas so, and is perfectly sure that this must be the very man, and her head isquite full of it, and of poor Richard! So we must be as merry as we can, thatshe may not be dwelling upon such gloomy things.”

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were, that theMusgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless son; and thegood fortune to lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had beensent to sea because he was stupid and unmanageable on shore; that he had beenvery little cared for at any time by his family, though quite as much as hedeserved; seldom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligenceof his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for him, bycalling him “poor Richard,” been nothing better than athick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never doneanything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name, livingor dead.

He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course of those removals towhich all midshipmen are liable, and especially such midshipmen as everycaptain wishes to get rid of, been six months on board Captain FrederickWentworth’s frigate, the Laconia; and from the Laconia he had, under theinfluence of his captain, written the only two letters which his father andmother had ever received from him during the whole of his absence; that is tosay, the only two disinterested letters; all the rest had been mereapplications for money.

In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet, so little were theyin the habit of attending to such matters, so unobservant and incurious werethey as to the names of men or ships, that it had made scarcely any impressionat the time; and that Mrs Musgrove should have been suddenly struck, this veryday, with a recollection of the name of Wentworth, as connected with her son,seemed one of those extraordinary bursts of mind which do sometimes occur.

She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she supposed; and there-perusal of these letters, after so long an interval, her poor son gone forever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten, had affected her spiritsexceedingly, and thrown her into greater grief for him than she had known onfirst hearing of his death. Mr Musgrove was, in a lesser degree, affectedlikewise; and when they reached the cottage, they were evidently in want,first, of being listened to anew on this subject, and afterwards, of all therelief which cheerful companions could give them.

To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name so often,puzzling over past years, and at last ascertaining that it might, thatit probably would, turn out to be the very same Captain Wentworth whomthey recollected meeting, once or twice, after their coming back fromClifton—a very fine young man—but they could not say whether it wasseven or eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to Anne’s nerves. Shefound, however, that it was one to which she must inure herself. Since heactually was expected in the country, she must teach herself to be insensibleon such points. And not only did it appear that he was expected, and speedily,but the Musgroves, in their warm gratitude for the kindness he had shewn poorDick, and very high respect for his character, stamped as it was by poorDick’s having been six months under his care, and mentioning him instrong, though not perfectly well-spelt praise, as “a fine dashing felow,only two perticular about the schoolmaster,” were bent on introducingthemselves, and seeking his acquaintance, as soon as they could hear of hisarrival.

The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.

CHAPTER VII.

A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch, and MrMusgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise, and he wasengaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross, by the end of another week. Ithad been a great disappointment to Mr Musgrove to find that no earlier daycould be fixed, so impatient was he to shew his gratitude, by seeing CaptainWentworth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest andbest in his cellars. But a week must pass; only a week, in Anne’sreckoning, and then, she supposed, they must meet; and soon she began to wishthat she could feel secure even for a week.

Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr Musgrove’s civility, andshe was all but calling there in the same half hour. She and Mary were actuallysetting forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards learnt, they mustinevitably have found him, when they were stopped by the eldest boy’sbeing at that moment brought home in consequence of a bad fall. Thechild’s situation put the visit entirely aside; but she could not hear ofher escape with indifference, even in the midst of the serious anxiety whichthey afterwards felt on his account.

His collar-bone was found to be dislocated, and such injury received in theback, as roused the most alarming ideas. It was an afternoon of distress, andAnne had every thing to do at once; the apothecary to send for, the father tohave pursued and informed, the mother to support and keep from hysterics, theservants to control, the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering oneto attend and soothe; besides sending, as soon as she recollected it, propernotice to the other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened,enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.

Her brother’s return was the first comfort; he could take best care ofhis wife; and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary. Till hecame and had examined the child, their apprehensions were the worse for beingvague; they suspected great injury, but knew not where; but now the collar-bonewas soon replaced, and though Mr Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed, and lookedgrave, and spoke low words both to the father and the aunt, still they were allto hope the best, and to be able to part and eat their dinner in tolerable easeof mind; and then it was, just before they parted, that the two young auntswere able so far to digress from their nephew’s state, as to give theinformation of Captain Wentworth’s visit; staying five minutes behindtheir father and mother, to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted theywere with him, how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable they thoughthim than any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been at all afavourite before. How glad they had been to hear papa invite him to staydinner, how sorry when he said it was quite out of his power, and how gladagain when he had promised in reply to papa and mamma’s farther pressinginvitations to come and dine with them on the morrow—actually on themorrow; and he had promised it in so pleasant a manner, as if he felt all themotive of their attention just as he ought. And in short, he had looked andsaid everything with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them all,their heads were both turned by him; and off they ran, quite as full of glee asof love, and apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.

The same story and the same raptures were repeated, when the two girls camewith their father, through the gloom of the evening, to make enquiries; and MrMusgrove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir, could add hisconfirmation and praise, and hope there would be now no occasion for puttingCaptain Wentworth off, and only be sorry to think that the cottage party,probably, would not like to leave the little boy, to give him the meeting.“Oh no; as to leaving the little boy,” both father and mother werein much too strong and recent alarm to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joyof the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to theirs.

Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, shewed more of inclination; “thechild was going on so well, and he wished so much to be introduced to CaptainWentworth, that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening; he would not dinefrom home, but he might walk in for half an hour.” But in this he waseagerly opposed by his wife, with “Oh! no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bearto have you go away. Only think if anything should happen?”

The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day. It must be awork of time to ascertain that no injury had been done to the spine; but MrRobinson found nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began,consequently, to feel no necessity for longer confinement. The child was to bekept in bed and amused as quietly as possible; but what was there for a fatherto do? This was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in him, whocould be of no use at home, to shut himself up. His father very much wished himto meet Captain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient reason against it, heought to go; and it ended in his making a bold, public declaration, when hecame in from shooting, of his meaning to dress directly, and dine at the otherhouse.

“Nothing can be going on better than the child,” said he; “soI told my father, just now, that I would come, and he thought me quite right.Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple at all. You would notlike to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use. Anne will send forme if anything is the matter.”

Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain. Maryknew, from Charles’s manner of speaking, that he was quite determined ongoing, and that it would be of no use to teaze him. She said nothing,therefore, till he was out of the room, but as soon as there was only Anne tohear—

“So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this poor sickchild; and not a creature coming near us all the evening! I knew how it wouldbe. This is always my luck. If there is anything disagreeable going on men arealways sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad as any of them. Veryunfeeling! I must say it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from hispoor little boy. Talks of his being going on so well! How does he know that heis going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence?I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to go awayand enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother, I am not to be allowed tostir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else to be about thechild. My being the mother is the very reason why my feelings should not betried. I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysterical I wasyesterday.”

“But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm—ofthe shock. You will not be hysterical again. I dare say we shall have nothingto distress us. I perfectly understand Mr Robinson’s directions, and haveno fears; and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband. Nursing does notbelong to a man; it is not his province. A sick child is always themother’s property: her own feelings generally make it so.”

“I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but I do not know that Iam of any more use in the sick-room than Charles, for I cannot be alwaysscolding and teazing the poor child when it is ill; and you saw, this morning,that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin kicking about. I havenot nerves for the sort of thing.”

“But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending the whole eveningaway from the poor boy?”

“Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so careful;and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really think Charles mightas well have told his father we would all come. I am not more alarmed aboutlittle Charles now than he is. I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the caseis very different to-day.”

“Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself,suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little Charles to mycare. Mr and Mrs Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain with him.”

“Are you serious?” cried Mary, her eyes brightening. “Dearme! that’s a very good thought, very good, indeed. To be sure, I may justas well go as not, for I am of no use at home—am I? and it only harassesme. You, who have not a mother’s feelings, are a great deal the properestperson. You can make little Charles do anything; he always minds you at a word.It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with Jemima. Oh! I shallcertainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for theywant me excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know you donot mind being left alone. An excellent thought of yours, indeed, Anne. I willgo and tell Charles, and get ready directly. You can send for us, you know, ata moment’s notice, if anything is the matter; but I dare say there willbe nothing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feelquite at ease about my dear child.”

The next moment she was tapping at her husband’s dressing-room door, andas Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for the whole conversation,which began with Mary’s saying, in a tone of great exultation—

“I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than youare. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should not be ableto persuade him to do anything he did not like. Anne will stay; Anne undertakesto stay at home and take care of him. It is Anne’s own proposal, and so Ishall go with you, which will be a great deal better, for I have not dined atthe other house since Tuesday.”

“This is very kind of Anne,” was her husband’s answer,“and I should be very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard thatshe should be left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child.”

Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity of her mannerbeing soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction was at least veryagreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone,though he still wanted her to join them in the evening, when the child might beat rest for the night, and kindly urged her to let him come and fetch her, butshe was quite unpersuadable; and this being the case, she had ere long thepleasure of seeing them set off together in high spirits. They were gone, shehoped, to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem; as forherself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort, as were, perhaps,ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to be of the first utility to thechild; and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a miledistant, making himself agreeable to others?

She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent,if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He must be eitherindifferent or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he need not havewaited till this time; he would have done what she could not but believe thatin his place she should have done long ago, when events had been early givinghim the independence which alone had been wanting.

Her brother and sister came back delighted with their new acquaintance, andtheir visit in general. There had been music, singing, talking, laughing, allthat was most agreeable; charming manners in Captain Wentworth, no shyness orreserve; they seemed all to know each other perfectly, and he was coming thevery next morning to shoot with Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but notat the Cottage, though that had been proposed at first; but then he had beenpressed to come to the Great House instead, and he seemed afraid of being inMrs Charles Musgrove’s way, on account of the child, and therefore,somehow, they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles’s being to meet him tobreakfast at his father’s.

Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her. He had inquired after her,she found, slightly, as might suit a former slight acquaintance, seeming toacknowledge such as she had acknowledged, actuated, perhaps, by the same viewof escaping introduction when they were to meet.

The morning hours of the Cottage were always later than those of the otherhouse, and on the morrow the difference was so great that Mary and Anne werenot more than beginning breakfast when Charles came in to say that they werejust setting off, that he was come for his dogs, that his sisters werefollowing with Captain Wentworth; his sisters meaning to visit Mary and thechild, and Captain Wentworth proposing also to wait on her for a few minutes ifnot inconvenient; and though Charles had answered for the child’s beingin no such state as could make it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not besatisfied without his running on to give notice.

Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was delighted to receive him,while a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the most consoling,that it would soon be over. And it was soon over. In two minutes afterCharles’s preparation, the others appeared; they were in thedrawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth’s, a bow, a curtseypassed; she heard his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that was right, saidsomething to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing; the roomseemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few minutes ended it. Charlesshewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and wasgone, the Miss Musgroves were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk to the endof the village with the sportsmen: the room was cleared, and Anne might finishher breakfast as she could.

“It is over! it is over!” she repeated to herself again and again,in nervous gratitude. “The worst is over!”

Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him. They had met. They hadbeen once more in the same room.

Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less.Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given up. Howabsurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished intodistance and indistinctness! What might not eight years do? Events of everydescription, changes, alienations, removals—all, all must be comprised init, and oblivion of the past— how natural, how certain too! It includednearly a third part of her own life.

Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings eight yearsmay be little more than nothing.

Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like wishing to avoid her?And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly which asked thequestion.

On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom might not have prevented,she was soon spared all suspense; for, after the Miss Musgroves had returnedand finished their visit at the Cottage she had this spontaneous informationfrom Mary:—

“Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was soattentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you, when they wentaway, and he said, ‘You were so altered he should not have known youagain.’”

Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sister’s in a common way,but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar wound.

“Altered beyond his knowledge.” Anne fully submitted, in silent,deep mortification. Doubtless it was so, and she could take no revenge, for hewas not altered, or not for the worse. She had already acknowledged it toherself, and she could not think differently, let him think of her as he would.No: the years which had destroyed her youth and bloom had only given him a moreglowing, manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages. Shehad seen the same Frederick Wentworth.

“So altered that he should not have known her again!” These werewords which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice thatshe had heard them. They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation;they composed, and consequently must make her happier.

Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something like them, but without anidea that they would be carried round to her. He had thought her wretchedlyaltered, and in the first moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt. He had notforgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill, deserted and disappointed him; andworse, she had shewn a feebleness of character in doing so, which his owndecided, confident temper could not endure. She had given him up to obligeothers. It had been the effect of over-persuasion. It had been weakness andtimidity.

He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whomhe thought her equal; but, except from some natural sensation of curiosity, hehad no desire of meeting her again. Her power with him was gone for ever.

It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and being turned on shore, fullyintended to settle as soon as he could be properly tempted; actually lookinground, ready to fall in love with all the speed which a clear head and a quicktaste could allow. He had a heart for either of the Miss Musgroves, if theycould catch it; a heart, in short, for any pleasing young woman who came in hisway, excepting Anne Elliot. This was his only secret exception, when he said tohis sister, in answer to her suppositions:—

“Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match. Anybodybetween fifteen and thirty may have me for asking. A little beauty, and a fewsmiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man. Should not thisbe enough for a sailor, who has had no society among women to make himnice?”

He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright proud eye spoke theconviction that he was nice; and Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts, whenhe more seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with. “Astrong mind, with sweetness of manner,” made the first and the last ofthe description.

“That is the woman I want,” said he. “Something a littleinferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am afool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more thanmost men.”

CHAPTER VIII.

From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the samecircle. They were soon dining in company together at Mr Musgrove’s, forthe little boy’s state could no longer supply his aunt with a pretencefor absenting herself; and this was but the beginning of other dinings andother meetings.

Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be brought to the proof; formertimes must undoubtedly be brought to the recollection of each; theycould not but be reverted to; the year of their engagement could not but benamed by him, in the little narratives or descriptions which conversationcalled forth. His profession qualified him, his disposition lead him, to talk;and “Thatwas in the year six;” “Thathappenedbefore I went to sea in the year six,” occurred in the course of thefirst evening they spent together: and though his voice did not falter, andthough she had no reason to suppose his eye wandering towards her while hespoke, Anne felt the utter impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind, thathe could be unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. There must be thesame immediate association of thought, though she was very far from conceivingit to be of equal pain.

They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the commonestcivility required. Once so much to each other! Now nothing! There hadbeen a time, when of all the large party now filling the drawing-room atUppercross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to speak to oneanother. With the exception, perhaps, of Admiral and Mrs Croft, who seemedparticularly attached and happy, (Anne could allow no other exceptions evenamong the married couples), there could have been no two hearts so open, notastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Nowthey were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never becomeacquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.

When he talked, she heard the same voice, and discerned the same mind. Therewas a very general ignorance of all naval matters throughout the party; and hewas very much questioned, and especially by the two Miss Musgroves, who seemedhardly to have any eyes but for him, as to the manner of living on board, dailyregulations, food, hours, &c., and their surprise at his accounts, atlearning the degree of accommodation and arrangement which was practicable,drew from him some pleasant ridicule, which reminded Anne of the early dayswhen she too had been ignorant, and she too had been accused of supposingsailors to be living on board without anything to eat, or any cook to dress itif there were, or any servant to wait, or any knife and fork to use.

From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper of MrsMusgrove’s who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying—

“Ah! Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my poor son, I dare sayhe would have been just such another by this time.”

Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs Musgrove relieved herheart a little more; and for a few minutes, therefore, could not keep pace withthe conversation of the others.

When she could let her attention take its natural course again, she found theMiss Musgroves just fetching the Navy List (their own navy list, the first thathad ever been at Uppercross), and sitting down together to pore over it, withthe professed view of finding out the ships that Captain Wentworth hadcommanded.

“Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for the Asp.”

“You will not find her there. Quite worn out and broken up. I was thelast man who commanded her. Hardly fit for service then. Reported fit for homeservice for a year or two, and so I was sent off to the West Indies.”

The girls looked all amazement.

“The Admiralty,” he continued, “entertain themselves now andthen, with sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed.But they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands that mayjust as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to distinguishthe very set who may be least missed.”

“Phoo! phoo!” cried the Admiral, “what stuff these youngfellows talk! Never was a better sloop than the Asp in her day. For an oldbuilt sloop, you would not see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her! He knowsthere must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her at thesame time. Lucky fellow to get anything so soon, with no more interest thanhis.”

“I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you;” replied Captain Wentworth,seriously. “I was as well satisfied with my appointment as you candesire. It was a great object with me at that time to be at sea; a very greatobject, I wanted to be doing something.”

“To be sure you did. What should a young fellow like you do ashore forhalf a year together? If a man had not a wife, he soon wants to be afloatagain.”

“But, Captain Wentworth,” cried Louisa, “how vexed you musthave been when you came to the Asp, to see what an old thing they had givenyou.”

“I knew pretty well what she was before that day;” said he,smiling. “I had no more discoveries to make than you would have as to thefashion and strength of any old pelisse, which you had seen lent about amonghalf your acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which at last, onsome very wet day, is lent to yourself. Ah! she was a dear old Asp to me. Shedid all that I wanted. I knew she would. I knew that we should either go to thebottom together, or that she would be the making of me; and I never had twodays of foul weather all the time I was at sea in her; and after takingprivateers enough to be very entertaining, I had the good luck in my passagehome the next autumn, to fall in with the very French frigate I wanted. Ibrought her into Plymouth; and here another instance of luck. We had not beensix hours in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days and nights,and which would have done for poor old Asp in half the time; our touch with theGreat Nation not having much improved our condition. Four-and-twenty hourslater, and I should only have been a gallant Captain Wentworth, in a smallparagraph at one corner of the newspapers; and being lost in only a sloop,nobody would have thought about me.” Anne’s shudderings were toherself alone; but the Miss Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, intheir exclamations of pity and horror.

“And so then, I suppose,” said Mrs Musgrove, in a low voice, as ifthinking aloud, “so then he went away to the Laconia, and there he metwith our poor boy. Charles, my dear,” (beckoning him to her), “doask Captain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor brother. Ialways forgot.”

“It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had been left ill atGibraltar, with a recommendation from his former captain to CaptainWentworth.”

“Oh! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need not be afraid ofmentioning poor Dick before me, for it would be rather a pleasure to hear himtalked of by such a good friend.”

Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the probabilities of the case, onlynodded in reply, and walked away.

The girls were now hunting for the Laconia; and Captain Wentworth could notdeny himself the pleasure of taking the precious volume into his own hands tosave them the trouble, and once more read aloud the little statement of hername and rate, and present non-commissioned class, observing over it that shetoo had been one of the best friends man ever had.

“Ah! those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia! How fast I mademoney in her. A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise together off theWestern Islands. Poor Harville, sister! You know how much he wanted money:worse than myself. He had a wife. Excellent fellow. I shall never forget hishappiness. He felt it all, so much for her sake. I wished for him again thenext summer, when I had still the same luck in the Mediterranean.”

“And I am sure, Sir,” said Mrs Musgrove, “it was a lucky dayfor us, when you were put captain into that ship. Weshall neverforget what you did.”

Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Wentworth, hearing only in part,and probably not having Dick Musgrove at all near his thoughts, looked ratherin suspense, and as if waiting for more.

“My brother,” whispered one of the girls; “mamma is thinkingof poor Richard.”

“Poor dear fellow!” continued Mrs Musgrove; “he was grown sosteady, and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care! Ah!it would have been a happy thing, if he had never left you. I assure you,Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you.”

There was a momentary expression in Captain Wentworth’s face at thisspeech, a certain glance of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome mouth,which convinced Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs Musgrove’s kindwishes, as to her son, he had probably been at some pains to get rid of him;but it was too transient an indulgence of self-amusement to be detected by anywho understood him less than herself; in another moment he was perfectlycollected and serious, and almost instantly afterwards coming up to the sofa,on which she and Mrs Musgrove were sitting, took a place by the latter, andentered into conversation with her, in a low voice, about her son, doing itwith so much sympathy and natural grace, as shewed the kindest considerationfor all that was real and unabsurd in the parent’s feelings.

They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs Musgrove had most readily maderoom for him; they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove. It was no insignificantbarrier, indeed. Mrs Musgrove was of a comfortable, substantial size,infinitely more fitted by nature to express good cheer and good humour, thantenderness and sentiment; and while the agitations of Anne’s slenderform, and pensive face, may be considered as very completely screened, CaptainWentworth should be allowed some credit for the self-command with which heattended to her large fat sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobodyhad cared for.

Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions. Alarge bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction, as the mostgraceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair or not fair, there are unbecomingconjunctions, which reason will patronize in vain—which taste cannottolerate—which ridicule will seize.

The Admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns about the room with hishands behind him, being called to order by his wife, now came up to CaptainWentworth, and without any observation of what he might be interrupting,thinking only of his own thoughts, began with—

“If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick, youwould have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson and herdaughters.”

“Should I? I am glad I was not a week later then.”

The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He defended himself; thoughprofessing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship ofhis, excepting for a ball, or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend.

“But, if I know myself,” said he, “this is from no want ofgallantry towards them. It is rather from feeling how impossible it is, withall one’s efforts, and all one’s sacrifices, to make theaccommodations on board such as women ought to have. There can be no want ofgallantry, Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comforthigh, and this is what I do. I hate to hear of women on board, or to seethem on board; and no ship under my command shall ever convey a family ofladies anywhere, if I can help it.”

This brought his sister upon him.

“Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you.—All idlerefinement!—Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house inEngland. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I knownothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare I have not acomfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall,” (with a kindbow to Anne), “beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have livedin; and they have been five altogether.”

“Nothing to the purpose,” replied her brother. “You wereliving with your husband, and were the only woman on board.”

“But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her sister, her cousin, andthree children, round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this superfine,extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then?”

“All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any brotherofficer’s wife that I could, and I would bring anything ofHarville’s from the world’s end, if he wanted it. But do notimagine that I did not feel it an evil in itself.”

“Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable.”

“I might not like them the better for that perhaps. Such a number ofwomen and children have no rightto be comfortable on board.”

“My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would becomeof us poor sailors’ wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port oranother, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?”

“My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs Harville and all herfamily to Plymouth.”

“But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if womenwere all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to bein smooth water all our days.”

“Ah! my dear,” said the Admiral, “when he has got a wife, hewill sing a different tune. When he is married, if we have the good luck tolive to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many others,have done. We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will bring him hiswife.”

“Ay, that we shall.”

“Now I have done,” cried Captain Wentworth. “When oncemarried people begin to attack me with,—‘Oh! you will think verydifferently, when you are married.’ I can only say, ‘No, I shallnot;’ and then they say again, ‘Yes, you will,’ and there isan end of it.”

He got up and moved away.

“What a great traveller you must have been, ma’am!” said MrsMusgrove to Mrs Croft.

“Pretty well, ma’am, in the fifteen years of my marriage; thoughmany women have done more. I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and havebeen once to the East Indies, and back again, and only once; besides being indifferent places about home: Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar. But I never wentbeyond the Streights, and never was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermudaor Bahama, you know, the West Indies.”

Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she could not accuse herself ofhaving ever called them anything in the whole course of her life.

“And I do assure you, ma’am,” pursued Mrs Croft, “thatnothing can exceed the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, ofthe higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined;though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of them; and I cansafely say, that the happiest part of my life has been spent on board a ship.While we were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared. Thank God! Ihave always been blessed with excellent health, and no climate disagrees withme. A little disordered always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea, butnever knew what sickness was afterwards. The only time I ever really sufferedin body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had anyideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when theAdmiral (CaptainCroft then) was in the North Seas. I lived in perpetualfright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from notknowing what to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next; but aslong as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with thesmallest inconvenience.”

“Aye, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am quite of your opinion, MrsCroft,” was Mrs Musgrove’s hearty answer. “There is nothingso bad as a separation. I am quite of your opinion. Iknow what it is,for Mr Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they areover, and he is safe back again.”

The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed, Anne offered herservices, as usual; and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as shesat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and desirednothing in return but to be unobserved.

It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in higher spirits than CaptainWentworth. She felt that he had every thing to elevate him which generalattention and deference, and especially the attention of all the young women,could do. The Miss Hayters, the females of the family of cousins alreadymentioned, were apparently admitted to the honour of being in love with him;and as for Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occupied by him,that nothing but the continued appearance of the most perfect good-will betweenthemselves could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals. If hewere a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration, who couldwonder?

These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne, while her fingers weremechanically at work, proceeding for half an hour together, equally withouterror, and without consciousness. Onceshe felt that he was looking atherself, observing her altered features, perhaps, trying to trace in them theruins of the face which had once charmed him; and onceshe knew that hemust have spoken of her; she was hardly aware of it, till she heard the answer;but then she was sure of his having asked his partner whether Miss Elliot neverdanced? The answer was, “Oh, no; never; she has quite given up dancing.She had rather play. She is never tired of playing.” Once, too, he spoketo her. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had satdown to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves anidea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw her,and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness—

“I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;” and though sheimmediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sitdown again.

Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, hisceremonious grace, were worse than anything.

CHAPTER IX.

Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as to a home, to stay as long as heliked, being as thoroughly the object of the Admiral’s fraternal kindnessas of his wife’s. He had intended, on first arriving, to proceed verysoon into Shropshire, and visit the brother settled in that country, but theattractions of Uppercross induced him to put this off. There was so much offriendliness, and of flattery, and of everything most bewitching in hisreception there; the old were so hospitable, the young so agreeable, that hecould not but resolve to remain where he was, and take all the charms andperfections of Edward’s wife upon credit a little longer.

It was soon Uppercross with him almost every day. The Musgroves could hardly bemore ready to invite than he to come, particularly in the morning, when he hadno companion at home, for the Admiral and Mrs Croft were generally out of doorstogether, interesting themselves in their new possessions, their grass, andtheir sheep, and dawdling about in a way not endurable to a third person, ordriving out in a gig, lately added to their establishment.

Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain Wentworth among theMusgroves and their dependencies. It was unvarying, warm admiration everywhere;but this intimate footing was not more than established, when a certain CharlesHayter returned among them, to be a good deal disturbed by it, and to thinkCaptain Wentworth very much in the way.

Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a very amiable, pleasingyoung man, between whom and Henrietta there had been a considerable appearanceof attachment previous to Captain Wentworth’s introduction. He was inorders; and having a curacy in the neighbourhood, where residence was notrequired, lived at his father’s house, only two miles from Uppercross. Ashort absence from home had left his fair one unguarded by his attentions atthis critical period, and when he came back he had the pain of finding veryaltered manners, and of seeing Captain Wentworth.

Mrs Musgrove and Mrs Hayter were sisters. They had each had money, but theirmarriages had made a material difference in their degree of consequence. MrHayter had some property of his own, but it was insignificant compared with MrMusgrove’s; and while the Musgroves were in the first class of society inthe country, the young Hayters would, from their parents’ inferior,retired, and unpolished way of living, and their own defective education, havebeen hardly in any class at all, but for their connexion with Uppercross, thiseldest son of course excepted, who had chosen to be a scholar and a gentleman,and who was very superior in cultivation and manners to all the rest.

The two families had always been on excellent terms, there being no pride onone side, and no envy on the other, and only such a consciousness ofsuperiority in the Miss Musgroves, as made them pleased to improve theircousins. Charles’s attentions to Henrietta had been observed by herfather and mother without any disapprobation. “It would not be a greatmatch for her; but if Henrietta liked him,”—and Henriettadidseem to like him.

Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain Wentworth came; but fromthat time Cousin Charles had been very much forgotten.

Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain Wentworth was as yet quitedoubtful, as far as Anne’s observation reached. Henrietta was perhaps theprettiest, Louisa had the higher spirits; and she knew not now, whetherthe more gentle or the more lively character were most likely to attract him.

Mr and Mrs Musgrove, either from seeing little, or from an entire confidence inthe discretion of both their daughters, and of all the young men who came nearthem, seemed to leave everything to take its chance. There was not the smallestappearance of solicitude or remark about them in the Mansion-house; but it wasdifferent at the Cottage: the young couple there were more disposed tospeculate and wonder; and Captain Wentworth had not been above four or fivetimes in the Miss Musgroves’ company, and Charles Hayter had but justreappeared, when Anne had to listen to the opinions of her brother and sister,as to whichwas the one liked best. Charles gave it for Louisa, Mary forHenrietta, but quite agreeing that to have him marry either could be extremelydelightful.

Charles “had never seen a pleasanter man in his life; and from what hehad once heard Captain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that he had notmade less than twenty thousand pounds by the war. Here was a fortune at once;besides which, there would be the chance of what might be done in any futurewar; and he was sure Captain Wentworth was as likely a man to distinguishhimself as any officer in the navy. Oh! it would be a capital match for eitherof his sisters.”

“Upon my word it would,” replied Mary. “Dear me! If he shouldrise to any very great honours! If he should ever be made a baronet!‘Lady Wentworth’ sounds very well. That would be a noble thing,indeed, for Henrietta! She would take place of me then, and Henrietta would notdislike that. Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth! It would be but a new creation,however, and I never think much of your new creations.”

It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one preferred on the very account ofCharles Hayter, whose pretensions she wished to see put an end to. She lookeddown very decidedly upon the Hayters, and thought it would be quite amisfortune to have the existing connection between the familiesrenewed—very sad for herself and her children.

“You know,” said she, “I cannot think him at all a fit matchfor Henrietta; and considering the alliances which the Musgroves have made, shehas no right to throw herself away. I do not think any young woman has a rightto make a choice that may be disagreeable and inconvenient to theprincipalpart of her family, and be giving bad connections to those whohave not been used to them. And, pray, who is Charles Hayter? Nothing but acountry curate. A most improper match for Miss Musgrove of Uppercross.”

Her husband, however, would not agree with her here; for besides having aregard for his cousin, Charles Hayter was an eldest son, and he saw things asan eldest son himself.

“Now you are talking nonsense, Mary,” was therefore his answer.“It would not be a greatmatch for Henrietta, but Charles has avery fair chance, through the Spicers, of getting something from the Bishop inthe course of a year or two; and you will please to remember, that he is theeldest son; whenever my uncle dies, he steps into very pretty property. Theestate at Winthrop is not less than two hundred and fifty acres, besides thefarm near Taunton, which is some of the best land in the country. I grant you,that any of them but Charles would be a very shocking match for Henrietta, andindeed it could not be; he is the only one that could be possible; but he is avery good-natured, good sort of a fellow; and whenever Winthrop comes into hishands, he will make a different sort of place of it, and live in a verydifferent sort of way; and with that property, he will never be a contemptibleman—good, freehold property. No, no; Henrietta might do worse than marryCharles Hayter; and if she has him, and Louisa can get Captain Wentworth, Ishall be very well satisfied.”

“Charles may say what he pleases,” cried Mary to Anne, as soon ashe was out of the room, “but it would be shocking to have Henrietta marryCharles Hayter; a very bad thing for her, and still worse for me;and therefore it is very much to be wished that Captain Wentworth may soon puthim quite out of her head, and I have very little doubt that he has. She tookhardly any notice of Charles Hayter yesterday. I wish you had been there to seeher behaviour. And as to Captain Wentworth’s liking Louisa as well asHenrietta, it is nonsense to say so; for he certainly doeslikeHenrietta a great deal the best. But Charles is so positive! I wish you hadbeen with us yesterday, for then you might have decided between us; and I amsure you would have thought as I did, unless you had been determined to give itagainst me.”

A dinner at Mr Musgrove’s had been the occasion when all these thingsshould have been seen by Anne; but she had staid at home, under the mixed pleaof a headache of her own, and some return of indisposition in little Charles.She had thought only of avoiding Captain Wentworth; but an escape from beingappealed to as umpire was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening.

As to Captain Wentworth’s views, she deemed it of more consequence thathe should know his own mind early enough not to be endangering the happiness ofeither sister, or impeaching his own honour, than that he should preferHenrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta. Either of them would, in allprobability, make him an affectionate, good-humoured wife. With regard toCharles Hayter, she had delicacy which must be pained by any lightness ofconduct in a well-meaning young woman, and a heart to sympathize in any of thesufferings it occasioned; but if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the natureof her feelings, the alteration could not be understood too soon.

Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and mortify him in hiscousin’s behaviour. She had too old a regard for him to be so whollyestranged as might in two meetings extinguish every past hope, and leave himnothing to do but to keep away from Uppercross: but there was such a change asbecame very alarming, when such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be regardedas the probable cause. He had been absent only two Sundays, and when theyparted, had left her interested, even to the height of his wishes, in hisprospect of soon quitting his present curacy, and obtaining that of Uppercrossinstead. It had then seemed the object nearest her heart, that Dr Shirley, therector, who for more than forty years had been zealously discharging all theduties of his office, but was now growing too infirm for many of them, shouldbe quite fixed on engaging a curate; should make his curacy quite as good as hecould afford, and should give Charles Hayter the promise of it. The advantageof his having to come only to Uppercross, instead of going six miles anotherway; of his having, in every respect, a better curacy; of his belonging totheir dear Dr Shirley, and of dear, good Dr Shirley’s being relieved fromthe duty which he could no longer get through without most injurious fatigue,had been a great deal, even to Louisa, but had been almost everything toHenrietta. When he came back, alas! the zeal of the business was gone by.Louisa could not listen at all to his account of a conversation which he hadjust held with Dr Shirley: she was at a window, looking out for CaptainWentworth; and even Henrietta had at best only a divided attention to give, andseemed to have forgotten all the former doubt and solicitude of thenegotiation.

“Well, I am very glad indeed: but I always thought you would have it; Ialways thought you sure. It did not appear to me that—in short, you know,Dr Shirley musthave a curate, and you had secured his promise. Is hecoming, Louisa?”

One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Musgroves, at which Anne had notbeen present, Captain Wentworth walked into the drawing-room at the Cottage,where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who was lying on thesofa.

The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne Elliot, deprived hismanners of their usual composure: he started, and could only say, “Ithought the Miss Musgroves had been here: Mrs Musgrove told me I should findthem here,” before he walked to the window to recollect himself, and feelhow he ought to behave.

“They are up stairs with my sister: they will be down in a few moments, Idare say,” had been Anne’s reply, in all the confusion that wasnatural; and if the child had not called her to come and do something for him,she would have been out of the room the next moment, and released CaptainWentworth as well as herself.

He continued at the window; and after calmly and politely saying, “I hopethe little boy is better,” was silent.

She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain there to satisfy herpatient; and thus they continued a few minutes, when, to her very greatsatisfaction, she heard some other person crossing the little vestibule. Shehoped, on turning her head, to see the master of the house; but it proved to beone much less calculated for making matters easy—Charles Hayter, probablynot at all better pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth than CaptainWentworth had been by the sight of Anne.

She only attempted to say, “How do you do? Will you not sit down? Theothers will be here presently.”

Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window, apparently not ill-disposedfor conversation; but Charles Hayter soon put an end to his attempts by seatinghimself near the table, and taking up the newspaper; and Captain Wentworthreturned to his window.

Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable stout,forward child, of two years old, having got the door opened for him by some onewithout, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to thesofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to anything good that mightbe giving away.

There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt wouldnot let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as sheknelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shakehim off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain. Once shedid contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in gettingupon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremelytroublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you arebid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousinCharles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being releasedfrom him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head somuch, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and hewas resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.

Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly speechless. She could noteven thank him. She could only hang over little Charles, with most disorderedfeelings. His kindness in stepping forward to her relief, the manner, thesilence in which it had passed, the little particulars of the circumstance,with the conviction soon forced on her by the noise he was studiously makingwith the child, that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and rather sought totestify that her conversation was the last of his wants, produced such aconfusion of varying, but very painful agitation, as she could not recoverfrom, till enabled by the entrance of Mary and the Miss Musgroves to make overher little patient to their cares, and leave the room. She could not stay. Itmight have been an opportunity of watching the loves and jealousies of thefour—they were now altogether; but she could stay for none of it. It wasevident that Charles Hayter was not well inclined towards Captain Wentworth.She had a strong impression of his having said, in a vext tone of voice, afterCaptain Wentworth’s interference, “You ought to have mindedme, Walter; I told you not to teaze your aunt;” and couldcomprehend his regretting that Captain Wentworth should do what he ought tohave done himself. But neither Charles Hayter’s feelings, noranybody’s feelings, could interest her, till she had a little betterarranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being sonervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it was, and it required a longapplication of solitude and reflection to recover her.

CHAPTER X.

Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur. Annehad soon been in company with all the four together often enough to have anopinion, though too wise to acknowledge as much at home, where she knew itwould have satisfied neither husband nor wife; for while she considered Louisato be rather the favourite, she could not but think, as far as she might dareto judge from memory and experience, that Captain Wentworth was not in lovewith either. They were more in love with him; yet there it was not love. It wasa little fever of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love withsome. Charles Hayter seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta hadsometimes the air of being divided between them. Anne longed for the power ofrepresenting to them all what they were about, and of pointing out some of theevils they were exposing themselves to. She did not attribute guile to any. Itwas the highest satisfaction to her to believe Captain Wentworth not in theleast aware of the pain he was occasioning. There was no triumph, no pitifultriumph in his manner. He had, probably, never heard, and never thought of anyclaims of Charles Hayter. He was only wrong in accepting the attentions (foraccepting must be the word) of two young women at once.

After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter seemed to quit the field. Threedays had passed without his coming once to Uppercross; a most decided change.He had even refused one regular invitation to dinner; and having been found onthe occasion by Mr Musgrove with some large books before him, Mr and MrsMusgrove were sure all could not be right, and talked, with grave faces, of hisstudying himself to death. It was Mary’s hope and belief that he hadreceived a positive dismissal from Henrietta, and her husband lived under theconstant dependence of seeing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that CharlesHayter was wise.

One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth being gonea-shooting together, as the sisters in the Cottage were sitting quietly atwork, they were visited at the window by the sisters from the Mansion-house.

It was a very fine November day, and the Miss Musgroves came through the littlegrounds, and stopped for no other purpose than to say, that they were going totake a longwalk, and, therefore, concluded Mary could not like to gowith them; and when Mary immediately replied, with some jealousy at not beingsupposed a good walker, “Oh, yes, I should like to join you very much, Iam very fond of a long walk;” Anne felt persuaded, by the looks of thetwo girls, that it was precisely what they did not wish, and admired again thesort of necessity which the family habits seemed to produce, of everythingbeing to be communicated, and everything being to be done together, howeverundesired and inconvenient. She tried to dissuade Mary from going, but in vain;and that being the case, thought it best to accept the Miss Musgroves’much more cordial invitation to herself to go likewise, as she might be usefulin turning back with her sister, and lessening the interference in any plan oftheir own.

“I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a longwalk,” said Mary, as she went up stairs. “Everybody is alwayssupposing that I am not a good walker; and yet they would not have beenpleased, if we had refused to join them. When people come in this manner onpurpose to ask us, how can one say no?”

Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned. They had taken out ayoung dog, who had spoilt their sport, and sent them back early. Their time andstrength, and spirits, were, therefore, exactly ready for this walk, and theyentered into it with pleasure. Could Anne have foreseen such a junction, shewould have staid at home; but, from some feelings of interest and curiosity,she fancied now that it was too late to retract, and the whole six set forwardtogether in the direction chosen by the Miss Musgroves, who evidentlyconsidered the walk as under their guidance.

Anne’s object was, not to be in the way of anybody; and where the narrowpaths across the fields made many separations necessary, to keep with herbrother and sister. Her pleasurein the walk must arise from theexercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon thetawny leaves, and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few ofthe thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiarand inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that seasonwhich had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt atdescription, or some lines of feeling. She occupied her mind as much aspossible in such like musings and quotations; but it was not possible, thatwhen within reach of Captain Wentworth’s conversation with either of theMiss Musgroves, she should not try to hear it; yet she caught little veryremarkable. It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimatefooting, might fall into. He was more engaged with Louisa than with Henrietta.Louisa certainly put more forward for his notice than her sister. Thisdistinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech of Louisa’swhich struck her. After one of the many praises of the day, which werecontinually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth added:—

“What glorious weather for the Admiral and my sister! They meant to takea long drive this morning; perhaps we may hail them from some of these hills.They talked of coming into this side of the country. I wonder whereabouts theywill upset to-day. Oh! it does happen very often, I assure you; but my sistermakes nothing of it; she would as lieve be tossed out as not.”

“Ah! You make the most of it, I know,” cried Louisa, “but ifit were really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved a man, asshe loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separateus, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven safely by anybodyelse.”

It was spoken with enthusiasm.

“Had you?” cried he, catching the same tone; “I honouryou!” And there was silence between them for a little while.

Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again. The sweet scenes ofautumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet, fraught with the aptanalogy of the declining year, with declining happiness, and the images ofyouth and hope, and spring, all gone together, blessed her memory. She rousedherself to say, as they struck by order into another path, “Is not thisone of the ways to Winthrop?” But nobody heard, or, at least, nobodyanswered her.

Winthrop, however, or its environs—for young men are, sometimes to be metwith, strolling about near home—was their destination; and after anotherhalf mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures, where the ploughs atwork, and the fresh made path spoke the farmer counteracting the sweets ofpoetical despondence, and meaning to have spring again, they gained the summitof the most considerable hill, which parted Uppercross and Winthrop, and sooncommanded a full view of the latter, at the foot of the hill on the other side.

Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was stretched before them; anindifferent house, standing low, and hemmed in by the barns and buildings of afarm-yard.

Mary exclaimed, “Bless me! here is Winthrop. I declare I had no idea!Well now, I think we had better turn back; I am excessively tired.”

Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles walking alongany path, or leaning against any gate, was ready to do as Mary wished; but“No!” said Charles Musgrove, and “No, no!” cried Louisamore eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the matterwarmly.

Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring his resolution ofcalling on his aunt, now that he was so near; and very evidently, though morefearfully, trying to induce his wife to go too. But this was one of the pointson which the lady shewed her strength; and when he recommended the advantage ofresting herself a quarter of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so tired, sheresolutely answered, “Oh! no, indeed! walking up that hill again would doher more harm than any sitting down could do her good;” and, in short,her look and manner declared, that go she would not.

After a little succession of these sort of debates and consultations, it wassettled between Charles and his two sisters, that he and Henrietta should justrun down for a few minutes, to see their aunt and cousins, while the rest ofthe party waited for them at the top of the hill. Louisa seemed the principalarranger of the plan; and, as she went a little way with them, down the hill,still talking to Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfullyaround her, and saying to Captain Wentworth—

“It is very unpleasant, having such connexions! But, I assure you, I havenever been in the house above twice in my life.”

She received no other answer, than an artificial, assenting smile, followed bya contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne perfectly knew the meaningof.

The brow of the hill, where they remained, was a cheerful spot: Louisareturned; and Mary, finding a comfortable seat for herself on the step of astile, was very well satisfied so long as the others all stood about her; butwhen Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away, to try for a gleaning of nuts in anadjoining hedge-row, and they were gone by degrees quite out of sight andsound, Mary was happy no longer; she quarrelled with her own seat, was sureLouisa had got a much better somewhere, and nothing could prevent her fromgoing to look for a better also. She turned through the same gate, but couldnot see them. Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry sunny bank, under thehedge-row, in which she had no doubt of their still being, in some spot orother. Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not do; she was sure Louisa hadfound a better seat somewhere else, and she would go on till she overtook her.

Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down; and she very soon heardCaptain Wentworth and Louisa in the hedge-row, behind her, as if making theirway back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the centre. They werespeaking as they drew near. Louisa’s voice was the first distinguished.She seemed to be in the middle of some eager speech. What Anne first heardwas—

“And so, I made her go. I could not bear that she should be frightenedfrom the visit by such nonsense. What! would I be turned back from doing athing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs andinterference of such a person, or of any person I may say? No, I have no ideaof being so easily persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it; andHenrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop to-day; andyet, she was as near giving it up, out of nonsensical complaisance!”

“She would have turned back then, but for you?”

“She would indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.”

“Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! After the hints yougave just now, which did but confirm my own observations, the last time I wasin company with him, I need not affect to have no comprehension of what isgoing on. I see that more than a mere dutiful morning visit to your aunt was inquestion; and woe betide him, and her too, when it comes to things ofconsequence, when they are placed in circumstances requiring fortitude andstrength of mind, if she have not resolution enough to resist idle interferencein such a trifle as this. Your sister is an amiable creature; but yoursis the character of decision and firmness, I see. If you value her conduct orhappiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, nodoubt, you have been always doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding andindecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended on. You arenever sure of a good impression being durable; everybody may sway it. Let thosewho would be happy be firm. Here is a nut,” said he, catching one downfrom an upper bough, “to exemplify: a beautiful glossy nut, which,blessed with original strength, has outlived all the storms of autumn. Not apuncture, not a weak spot anywhere. This nut,” he continued, with playfulsolemnity, “while so many of his brethren have fallen and been troddenunder foot, is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazel nut can besupposed capable of.” Then returning to his former earnesttone—“My first wish for all whom I am interested in, is that theyshould be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her Novemberof life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind.”

He had done, and was unanswered. It would have surprised Anne if Louisa couldhave readily answered such a speech: words of such interest, spoken with suchserious warmth! She could imagine what Louisa was feeling. For herself, shefeared to move, lest she should be seen. While she remained, a bush of lowrambling holly protected her, and they were moving on. Before they were beyondher hearing, however, Louisa spoke again.

“Mary is good-natured enough in many respects,” said she;“but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense andpride—the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliotpride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you knowhe wanted to marry Anne?”

After a moment’s pause, Captain Wentworth said—

“Do you mean that she refused him?”

“Oh! yes; certainly.”

“When did that happen?”

“I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time;but I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had accepted him.We should all have liked her a great deal better; and papa and mamma alwaysthink it was her great friend Lady Russell’s doing, that she did not.They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please LadyRussell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him.”

The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no more. Her own emotionsstill kept her fixed. She had much to recover from, before she could move. Thelistener’s proverbial fate was not absolutely hers; she had heard no evilof herself, but she had heard a great deal of very painful import. She saw howher own character was considered by Captain Wentworth, and there had been justthat degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner which must giveher extreme agitation.

As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and having found, and walked backwith her to their former station, by the stile, felt some comfort in theirwhole party being immediately afterwards collected, and once more in motiontogether. Her spirits wanted the solitude and silence which only numbers couldgive.

Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be conjectured, Charles Hayterwith them. The minutiae of the business Anne could not attempt to understand;even Captain Wentworth did not seem admitted to perfect confidence here; butthat there had been a withdrawing on the gentleman’s side, and arelenting on the lady’s, and that they were now very glad to be togetheragain, did not admit a doubt. Henrietta looked a little ashamed, but very wellpleased;—Charles Hayter exceedingly happy: and they were devoted to eachother almost from the first instant of their all setting forward forUppercross.

Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth; nothing could beplainer; and where many divisions were necessary, or even where they were not,they walked side by side nearly as much as the other two. In a long strip ofmeadow land, where there was ample space for all, they were thus divided,forming three distinct parties; and to that party of the three which boastedleast animation, and least complaisance, Anne necessarily belonged. She joinedCharles and Mary, and was tired enough to be very glad of Charles’s otherarm; but Charles, though in very good humour with her, was out of temper withhis wife. Mary had shewn herself disobliging to him, and was now to reap theconsequence, which consequence was his dropping her arm almost every moment tocut off the heads of some nettles in the hedge with his switch; and when Marybegan to complain of it, and lament her being ill-used, according to custom, inbeing on the hedge side, while Anne was never incommoded on the other, hedropped the arms of both to hunt after a weasel which he had a momentary glanceof, and they could hardly get him along at all.

This long meadow bordered a lane, which their footpath, at the end of it was tocross, and when the party had all reached the gate of exit, the carriageadvancing in the same direction, which had been some time heard, was justcoming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft’s gig. He and his wife hadtaken their intended drive, and were returning home. Upon hearing how long awalk the young people had engaged in, they kindly offered a seat to any ladywho might be particularly tired; it would save her a full mile, and they weregoing through Uppercross. The invitation was general, and generally declined.The Miss Musgroves were not at all tired, and Mary was either offended, by notbeing asked before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pridecould not endure to make a third in a one horse chaise.

The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite stile,and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again, when Captain Wentworthcleared the hedge in a moment to say something to his sister. The somethingmight be guessed by its effects.

“Miss Elliot, I am sure youare tired,” cried Mrs Croft.“Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent roomfor three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four.You must, indeed, you must.”

Anne was still in the lane; and though instinctively beginning to decline, shewas not allowed to proceed. The Admiral’s kind urgency came in support ofhis wife’s; they would not be refused; they compressed themselves intothe smallest possible space to leave her a corner, and Captain Wentworth,without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assistedinto the carriage.

Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed herthere, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to hisperception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. She was verymuch affected by the view of his disposition towards her, which all thesethings made apparent. This little circumstance seemed the completion of allthat had gone before. She understood him. He could not forgive her, but hecould not be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering itwith high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and thoughbecoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer, without thedesire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former sentiment; it was animpulse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship; it was a proof of his ownwarm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions socompounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.

Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of her companions were at firstunconsciously given. They had travelled half their way along the rough lane,before she was quite awake to what they said. She then found them talking of“Frederick.”

“He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls,Sophy,” said the Admiral; “but there is no saying which. He hasbeen running after them, too, long enough, one would think, to make up hismind. Ay, this comes of the peace. If it were war now, he would have settled itlong ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to make long courtships intime of war. How many days was it, my dear, between the first time of my seeingyou and our sitting down together in our lodgings at North Yarmouth?”

“We had better not talk about it, my dear,” replied Mrs Croft,pleasantly; “for if Miss Elliot were to hear how soon we came to anunderstanding, she would never be persuaded that we could be happy together. Ihad known you by character, however, long before.”

“Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl, and what were we towait for besides? I do not like having such things so long in hand. I wishFrederick would spread a little more canvass, and bring us home one of theseyoung ladies to Kellynch. Then there would always be company for them. And verynice young ladies they both are; I hardly know one from the other.”

“Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed,” said Mrs Croft, ina tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that her keener powers mightnot consider either of them as quite worthy of her brother; “and a veryrespectable family. One could not be connected with better people. My dearAdmiral, that post! we shall certainly take that post.”

But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself they happily passedthe danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand theyneither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart; and Anne, with someamusement at their style of driving, which she imagined no bad representationof the general guidance of their affairs, found herself safely deposited bythem at the Cottage.

CHAPTER XI.

The time now approached for Lady Russell’s return: the day was evenfixed; and Anne, being engaged to join her as soon as she was resettled, waslooking forward to an early removal to Kellynch, and beginning to think how herown comfort was likely to be affected by it.

It would place her in the same village with Captain Wentworth, within half amile of him; they would have to frequent the same church, and there must beintercourse between the two families. This was against her; but on the otherhand, he spent so much of his time at Uppercross, that in removing thence shemight be considered rather as leaving him behind, than as going towards him;and, upon the whole, she believed she must, on this interesting question, bethe gainer, almost as certainly as in her change of domestic society, inleaving poor Mary for Lady Russell.

She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever seeing Captain Wentworthat the Hall: those rooms had witnessed former meetings which would be broughttoo painfully before her; but she was yet more anxious for the possibility ofLady Russell and Captain Wentworth never meeting anywhere. They did not likeeach other, and no renewal of acquaintance now could do any good; and were LadyRussell to see them together, she might think that he had too muchself-possession, and she too little.

These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating her removal fromUppercross, where she felt she had been stationed quite long enough. Herusefulness to little Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory ofher two months’ visit there, but he was gaining strength apace, and shehad nothing else to stay for.

The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in a way which she hadnot at all imagined. Captain Wentworth, after being unseen and unheard of atUppercross for two whole days, appeared again among them to justify himself bya relation of what had kept him away.

A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found him out at last, hadbrought intelligence of Captain Harville’s being settled with his familyat Lyme for the winter; of their being therefore, quite unknowingly, withintwenty miles of each other. Captain Harville had never been in good healthsince a severe wound which he received two years before, and CaptainWentworth’s anxiety to see him had determined him to go immediately toLyme. He had been there for four-and-twenty hours. His acquittal was complete,his friendship warmly honoured, a lively interest excited for his friend, andhis description of the fine country about Lyme so feelingly attended to by theparty, that an earnest desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for goingthither was the consequence.

The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain Wentworth talked of goingthere again himself, it was only seventeen miles from Uppercross; thoughNovember, the weather was by no means bad; and, in short, Louisa, who was themost eager of the eager, having formed the resolution to go, and besides thepleasure of doing as she liked, being now armed with the idea of merit inmaintaining her own way, bore down all the wishes of her father and mother forputting it off till summer; and to Lyme they were to go—Charles, Mary,Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Captain Wentworth.

The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning and return at night;but to this Mr Musgrove, for the sake of his horses, would not consent; andwhen it came to be rationally considered, a day in the middle of November wouldnot leave much time for seeing a new place, after deducting seven hours, as thenature of the country required, for going and returning. They were,consequently, to stay the night there, and not to be expected back till thenext day’s dinner. This was felt to be a considerable amendment; andthough they all met at the Great House at rather an early breakfast hour, andset off very punctually, it was so much past noon before the two carriages, MrMusgrove’s coach containing the four ladies, and Charles’scurricle, in which he drove Captain Wentworth, were descending the long hillinto Lyme, and entering upon the still steeper street of the town itself, thatit was very evident they would not have more than time for looking about them,before the light and warmth of the day were gone.

After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the inns, thenext thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea. Theywere come too late in the year for any amusement or variety which Lyme, as apublic place, might offer. The rooms were shut up, the lodgers almost all gone,scarcely any family but of the residents left; and, as there is nothing toadmire in the buildings themselves, the remarkable situation of the town, theprincipal street almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the Cobb, skirtinground the pleasant little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathingmachines and company; the Cobb itself, its old wonders and new improvements,with the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching out to the east of the town,are what the stranger’s eye will seek; and a very strange stranger itmust be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of Lyme, to make himwish to know it better. The scenes in its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with itshigh grounds and extensive sweeps of country, and still more, its sweet,retired bay, backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among thesands, make it the happiest spot for watching the flow of the tide, for sittingin unwearied contemplation; the woody varieties of the cheerful village of UpLyme; and, above all, Pinny, with its green chasms between romantic rocks,where the scattered forest trees and orchards of luxuriant growth, declare thatmany a generation must have passed away since the first partial falling of thecliff prepared the ground for such a state, where a scene so wonderful and solovely is exhibited, as may more than equal any of the resembling scenes of thefar-famed Isle of Wight: these places must be visited, and visited again, tomake the worth of Lyme understood.

The party from Uppercross passing down by the now deserted and melancholylooking rooms, and still descending, soon found themselves on the sea-shore;and lingering only, as all must linger and gaze on a first return to the sea,who ever deserved to look on it at all, proceeded towards the Cobb, equallytheir object in itself and on Captain Wentworth’s account: for in a smallhouse, near the foot of an old pier of unknown date, were the Harvillessettled. Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the others walkedon, and he was to join them on the Cobb.

They were by no means tired of wondering and admiring; and not even Louisaseemed to feel that they had parted with Captain Wentworth long, when they sawhim coming after them, with three companions, all well known already, bydescription, to be Captain and Mrs Harville, and a Captain Benwick, who wasstaying with them.

Captain Benwick had some time ago been first lieutenant of the Laconia; and theaccount which Captain Wentworth had given of him, on his return from Lymebefore, his warm praise of him as an excellent young man and an officer, whomhe had always valued highly, which must have stamped him well in the esteem ofevery listener, had been followed by a little history of his private life,which rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the ladies. He hadbeen engaged to Captain Harville’s sister, and was now mourning her loss.They had been a year or two waiting for fortune and promotion. Fortune came,his prize-money as lieutenant being great; promotion, too, came at last;but Fanny Harville did not live to know it. She had died the preceding summerwhile he was at sea. Captain Wentworth believed it impossible for man to bemore attached to woman than poor Benwick had been to Fanny Harville, or to bemore deeply afflicted under the dreadful change. He considered his dispositionas of the sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings withquiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste for reading, andsedentary pursuits. To finish the interest of the story, the friendship betweenhim and the Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which closedall their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was now living with thementirely. Captain Harville had taken his present house for half a year; histaste, and his health, and his fortune, all directing him to a residenceinexpensive, and by the sea; and the grandeur of the country, and theretirement of Lyme in the winter, appeared exactly adapted to CaptainBenwick’s state of mind. The sympathy and good-will excited towardsCaptain Benwick was very great.

“And yet,” said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meetthe party, “he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. Icannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am;younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He will rally again, andbe happy with another.”

They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville was a tall, dark man, witha sensible, benevolent countenance; a little lame; and from strong features andwant of health, looking much older than Captain Wentworth. Captain Benwicklooked, and was, the youngest of the three, and, compared with either of them,a little man. He had a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as he ought tohave, and drew back from conversation.

Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Wentworth in manners, was aperfect gentleman, unaffected, warm, and obliging. Mrs Harville, a degree lesspolished than her husband, seemed, however, to have the same good feelings; andnothing could be more pleasant than their desire of considering the whole partyas friends of their own, because the friends of Captain Wentworth, or morekindly hospitable than their entreaties for their all promising to dine withthem. The dinner, already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly,accepted as a excuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth shouldhave brought any such party to Lyme, without considering it as a thing ofcourse that they should dine with them.

There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth in all this, and such abewitching charm in a degree of hospitality so uncommon, so unlike the usualstyle of give-and-take invitations, and dinners of formality and display, thatAnne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by an increasing acquaintanceamong his brother-officers. “These would have been all my friends,”was her thought; and she had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.

On quitting the Cobb, they all went in-doors with their new friends, and foundrooms so small as none but those who invite from the heart could think capableof accommodating so many. Anne had a moment’s astonishment on the subjectherself; but it was soon lost in the pleasanter feelings which sprang from thesight of all the ingenious contrivances and nice arrangements of CaptainHarville, to turn the actual space to the best account, to supply thedeficiencies of lodging-house furniture, and defend the windows and doorsagainst the winter storms to be expected. The varieties in the fitting-up ofthe rooms, where the common necessaries provided by the owner, in the commonindifferent plight, were contrasted with some few articles of a rare species ofwood, excellently worked up, and with something curious and valuable from allthe distant countries Captain Harville had visited, were more than amusing toAnne; connected as it all was with his profession, the fruit of its labours,the effect of its influence on his habits, the picture of repose and domestichappiness it presented, made it to her a something more, or less, thangratification.

Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived excellent accommodations,and fashioned very pretty shelves, for a tolerable collection of well-boundvolumes, the property of Captain Benwick. His lameness prevented him fromtaking much exercise; but a mind of usefulness and ingenuity seemed to furnishhim with constant employment within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, heglued; he made toys for the children; he fashioned new netting-needles and pinswith improvements; and if everything else was done, sat down to his largefishing-net at one corner of the room.

Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when they quitted the house;and Louisa, by whom she found herself walking, burst forth into raptures ofadmiration and delight on the character of the navy; their friendliness, theirbrotherliness, their openness, their uprightness; protesting that she wasconvinced of sailors having more worth and warmth than any other set of men inEngland; that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to berespected and loved.

They went back to dress and dine; and so well had the scheme answered already,that nothing was found amiss; though its being “so entirely out ofseason,” and the “no thoroughfare of Lyme,” and the “noexpectation of company,” had brought many apologies from the heads of theinn.

Anne found herself by this time growing so much more hardened to being inCaptain Wentworth’s company than she had at first imagined could ever be,that the sitting down to the same table with him now, and the interchange ofthe common civilities attending on it (they never got beyond), was become amere nothing.

The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again till the morrow, butCaptain Harville had promised them a visit in the evening; and he came,bringing his friend also, which was more than had been expected, it having beenagreed that Captain Benwick had all the appearance of being oppressed by thepresence of so many strangers. He ventured among them again, however, thoughhis spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth of the party in general.

While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the room, andby recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in abundance to occupy andentertain the others, it fell to Anne’s lot to be placed rather apartwith Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her nature obliged her tobegin an acquaintance with him. He was shy, and disposed to abstraction; butthe engaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soonhad their effect; and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion. Hewas evidently a young man of considerable taste in reading, though principallyin poetry; and besides the persuasion of having given him at least anevening’s indulgence in the discussion of subjects, which his usualcompanions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use tohim in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling againstaffliction, which had naturally grown out of their conversation. For, thoughshy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad toburst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of thepresent age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to thefirst-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmionor The Lady ofthe Lakewere to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaourand TheBride of Abydos;and moreover, how the Giaourwas to be pronounced,he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of theone poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other;he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged abroken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as ifhe meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always readonly poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to beseldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strongfeelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which oughtto taste it but sparingly.

His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion to hissituation, she was emboldened to go on; and feeling in herself the right ofseniority of mind, she ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in hisdaily study; and on being requested to particularize, mentioned such works ofour best moralists, such collections of the finest letters, such memoirs ofcharacters of worth and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment ascalculated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts, and thestrongest examples of moral and religious endurances.

Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the interestimplied; and though with a shake of the head, and sighs which declared hislittle faith in the efficacy of any books on grief like his, noted down thenames of those she recommended, and promised to procure and read them.

When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of hercoming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she hadnever seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection,that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on apoint in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.

CHAPTER XII.

Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party the nextmorning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They went to thesands, to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine south-easterly breeze wasbringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a shore admitted. They praisedthe morning; gloried in the sea; sympathized in the delight of thefresh-feeling breeze—and were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began againwith—

“Oh! yes,—I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, thesea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having been of thegreatest service to Dr Shirley, after his illness, last spring twelvemonth. Hedeclares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month, did him more good than allthe medicine he took; and that being by the sea always makes him feel youngagain. Now, I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely bythe sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross entirely, and fix at Lyme.Do not you, Anne? Do not you agree with me, that it is the best thing he coulddo, both for himself and Mrs Shirley? She has cousins here, you know, and manyacquaintance, which would make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would beglad to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in caseof his having another seizure. Indeed I think it quite melancholy to have suchexcellent people as Dr and Mrs Shirley, who have been doing good all theirlives, wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross, where, exceptingour family, they seem shut out from all the world. I wish his friends wouldpropose it to him. I really think they ought. And, as to procuring adispensation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and with hischaracter. My only doubt is, whether anything could persuade him to leave hisparish. He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions; over-scrupulous Imust say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being over-scrupulous? Do not you thinkit is quite a mistaken point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices hishealth for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by anotherperson? And at Lyme too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough tohear, if people thought there was anything to complain of.”

Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered into thesubject, as ready to do good by entering into the feelings of a young lady asof a young man, though here it was good of a lower standard, for what could beoffered but general acquiescence? She said all that was reasonable and properon the business; felt the claims of Dr Shirley to repose as she ought; saw howvery desirable it was that he should have some active, respectable young manas a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at the advantage ofsuch resident curate’s being married.

“I wish,” said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion,“I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and were intimate with DrShirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the greatestinfluence with everybody! I always look upon her as able to persuade a personto anything! I am afraid of her, as I have told you before, quite afraid ofher, because she is so very clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish wehad such a neighbour at Uppercross.”

Anne was amused by Henrietta’s manner of being grateful, and amused alsothat the course of events and the new interests of Henrietta’s viewsshould have placed her friend at all in favour with any of the Musgrove family;she had only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that such anotherwoman were at Uppercross, before all subjects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisaand Captain Wentworth coming towards them. They came also for a stroll tillbreakfast was likely to be ready; but Louisa recollecting immediatelyafterwards that she had something to procure at a shop, invited them all to goback with her into the town. They were all at her disposal.

When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman, atthe same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back, and stopped to givethem way. They ascended and passed him; and as they passed, Anne’s facecaught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, whichshe could not be insensible of. She was looking remarkably well; her veryregular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restoredby the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animationof eye which it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman,(completely a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworthlooked round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it. He gaveher a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say,“That man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see somethinglike Anne Elliot again.”

After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about a littlelonger, they returned to the inn; and Anne, in passing afterwards quickly fromher own chamber to their dining-room, had nearly run against the very samegentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She had before conjecturedhim to be a stranger like themselves, and determined that a well-looking groom,who was strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be hisservant. Both master and man being in mourning assisted the idea. It was nowproved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves; and this second meeting,short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman’s looks, that hethought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of his apologies,that he was a man of exceedingly good manners. He seemed about thirty, andthough not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne felt that she should like toknow who he was.

They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage, (almost the firstthey had heard since entering Lyme) drew half the party to the window. It was agentleman’s carriage, a curricle, but only coming round from thestable-yard to the front door; somebody must be going away. It was driven by aservant in mourning.

The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might compare it withhis own; the servant in mourning roused Anne’s curiosity, and the wholesix were collected to look, by the time the owner of the curricle was to beseen issuing from the door amidst the bows and civilities of the household, andtaking his seat, to drive off.

“Ah!” cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance atAnne, “it is the very man we passed.”

The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly watched him as far upthe hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table. The waiter cameinto the room soon afterwards.

“Pray,” said Captain Wentworth, immediately, “can you tell usthe name of the gentleman who is just gone away?”

“Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last nightfrom Sidmouth. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner;and going on now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and London.”

“Elliot!” Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated thename, before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity of awaiter.

“Bless me!” cried Mary; “it must be our cousin; it must beour Mr Elliot, it must, indeed! Charles, Anne, must not it? In mourning, yousee, just as our Mr Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the very sameinn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr Elliot? my father’s next heir?Pray sir,” turning to the waiter, “did not you hear, did not hisservant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?”

“No, ma’am, he did not mention no particular family; but he saidhis master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some day.”

“There! you see!” cried Mary in an ecstasy, “just as I said!Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out, if it was so. Dependupon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish,wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! I wish I hadlooked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time, who it was, that he mighthave been introduced to us. What a pity that we should not have been introducedto each other! Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked athim, I was looking at the horses; but I think he had something of the Elliotcountenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me! Oh! the great-coat washanging over the panel, and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise, I am sure, Ishould have observed them, and the livery too; if the servant had not been inmourning, one should have known him by the livery.”

“Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,” saidCaptain Wentworth, “we must consider it to be the arrangement ofProvidence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.”

When she could command Mary’s attention, Anne quietly tried to convinceher that their father and Mr Elliot had not, for many years, been on such termsas to make the power of attempting an introduction at all desirable.

At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself to haveseen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedlya gentleman, and had an air of good sense. She would not, upon any account,mention her having met with him the second time; luckily Mary did not muchattend to their having passed close by him in their earlier walk, but she wouldhave felt quite ill-used by Anne’s having actually run against him in thepassage, and received his very polite excuses, while she had never been nearhim at all; no, that cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret.

“Of course,” said Mary, “you will mention our seeing MrElliot, the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought tohear of it; do mention all about him.”

Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which sheconsidered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated, but as what ought tobe suppressed. The offence which had been given her father, many years back,she knew; Elizabeth’s particular share in it she suspected; and that MrElliot’s idea always produced irritation in both was beyond a doubt. Marynever wrote to Bath herself; all the toil of keeping up a slow andunsatisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell on Anne.

Breakfast had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain and MrsHarville and Captain Benwick; with whom they had appointed to take their lastwalk about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for Uppercross by one, and in themeanwhile were to be all together, and out of doors as long as they could.

Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were all fairly inthe street. Their conversation the preceding evening did not disincline him toseek her again; and they walked together some time, talking as before of MrScott and Lord Byron, and still as unable as before, and as unable as any othertwo readers, to think exactly alike of the merits of either, till somethingoccasioned an almost general change amongst their party, and instead of CaptainBenwick, she had Captain Harville by her side.

“Miss Elliot,” said he, speaking rather low, “you have done agood deed in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have suchcompany oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is; but whatcan we do? We cannot part.”

“No,” said Anne, “that I can easily believe to be impossible;but in time, perhaps—we know what time does in every case of affliction,and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called ayoung mourner—only last summer, I understand.”

“Ay, true enough,” (with a deep sigh) “only June.”

“And not known to him, perhaps, so soon.”

“Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape, justmade into the Grappler. I was at Plymouth dreading to hear of him; he sent inletters, but the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth. There the news mustfollow him, but who was to tell it? not I. I would as soon have been run up tothe yard-arm. Nobody could do it, but that good fellow” (pointing toCaptain Wentworth). “The Laconia had come into Plymouth the week before;no danger of her being sent to sea again. He stood his chance for the rest;wrote up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return, travelled nightand day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the Grappler that instant, andnever left the poor fellow for a week. That’s what he did, and nobodyelse could have saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he isdear to us!”

Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much in replyas her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he wastoo much affected to renew the subject, and when he spoke again, it was ofsomething totally different.

Mrs Harville’s giving it as her opinion that her husband would have quitewalking enough by the time he reached home, determined the direction of all theparty in what was to be their last walk; they would accompany them to theirdoor, and then return and set off themselves. By all their calculations therewas just time for this; but as they drew near the Cobb, there was such ageneral wish to walk along it once more, all were so inclined, and Louisa soongrew so determined, that the difference of a quarter of an hour, it was found,would be no difference at all; so with all the kind leave-taking, and all thekind interchange of invitations and promises which may be imagined, they partedfrom Captain and Mrs Harville at their own door, and still accompanied byCaptain Benwick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded to make theproper adieus to the Cobb.

Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron’s“dark blue seas” could not fail of being brought forward by theirpresent view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attentionwas possible. It was soon drawn, perforce another way.

There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for theladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all werecontented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, exceptingLouisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks,he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her.The hardness of the pavement for her feet, made him less willing upon thepresent occasion; he did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly, toshow her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised heragainst it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain,she smiled and said, “I am determined I will:” he put out hishands; she was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement onthe Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no blood, novisible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was likedeath. The horror of the moment to all who stood around!

Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, lookingon her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence. “She isdead! she is dead!” screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, andcontributing with his own horror to make him immoveable; and in another moment,Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost her senses too, and would havefallen on the steps, but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who caught and supportedher between them.

“Is there no one to help me?” were the first words which burst fromCaptain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength weregone.

“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven’s sakego to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands,rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them.”

Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same moment, disengaging himselffrom his wife, they were both with him; and Louisa was raised up and supportedmore firmly between them, and everything was done that Anne had prompted, butin vain; while Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support,exclaimed in the bitterest agony—

“Oh God! her father and mother!”

“A surgeon!” said Anne.

He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and sayingonly—“True, true, a surgeon this instant,” was darting away,when Anne eagerly suggested—

“Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain Benwick? He knowswhere a surgeon is to be found.”

Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a moment(it was all done in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had resigned the poorcorpse-like figure entirely to the brother’s care, and was off for thetown with the utmost rapidity.

As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said which of thethree, who were completely rational, was suffering most: Captain Wentworth,Anne, or Charles, who, really a very affectionate brother, hung over Louisawith sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one sister, to see theother in a state as insensible, or to witness the hysterical agitations of hiswife, calling on him for help which he could not give.

Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal, and thought, which instinctsupplied, to Henrietta, still tried, at intervals, to suggest comfort to theothers, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings ofCaptain Wentworth. Both seemed to look to her for directions.

“Anne, Anne,” cried Charles, “What is to be done next? What,in heaven’s name, is to be done next?”

Captain Wentworth’s eyes were also turned towards her.

“Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure: carry hergently to the inn.”

“Yes, yes, to the inn,” repeated Captain Wentworth, comparativelycollected, and eager to be doing something. “I will carry her myself.Musgrove, take care of the others.”

By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen andboatmen about the Cobb, and many were collected near them, to be useful ifwanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two deadyoung ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report. To some of thebest-looking of these good people Henrietta was consigned, for, thoughpartially revived, she was quite helpless; and in this manner, Anne walking byher side, and Charles attending to his wife, they set forward, treading backwith feelings unutterable, the ground, which so lately, so very lately, and solight of heart, they had passed along.

They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met them. Captain Benwick hadbeen seen flying by their house, with a countenance which showed something tobe wrong; and they had set off immediately, informed and directed as theypassed, towards the spot. Shocked as Captain Harville was, he brought sensesand nerves that could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his wifedecided what was to be done. She must be taken to their house; all must go totheir house; and await the surgeon’s arrival there. They would not listento scruples: he was obeyed; they were all beneath his roof; and while Louisa,under Mrs Harville’s direction, was conveyed up stairs, and givenpossession of her own bed, assistance, cordials, restoratives were supplied byher husband to all who needed them.

Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without apparentconsciousness. This had been a proof of life, however, of service to hersister; and Henrietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same roomwith Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of hope and fear, from a return of herown insensibility. Mary, too, was growing calmer.

The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible. They were sickwith horror, while he examined; but he was not hopeless. The head had receiveda severe contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from: he was byno means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.

That he did not regard it as a desperate case, that he did not say a few hoursmust end it, was at first felt, beyond the hope of most; and the ecstasy ofsuch a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent, after a few ferventejaculations of gratitude to Heaven had been offered, may be conceived.

The tone, the look, with which “Thank God!” was uttered by CaptainWentworth, Anne was sure could never be forgotten by her; nor the sight of himafterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms and faceconcealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his soul, and trying byprayer and reflection to calm them.

Louisa’s limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to the head.

It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done, asto their general situation. They were now able to speak to each other andconsult. That Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing to herfriends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble, did not admit a doubt.Her removal was impossible. The Harvilles silenced all scruples; and, as muchas they could, all gratitude. They had looked forward and arranged everythingbefore the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room tothem, and get another bed elsewhere; and the whole was settled. They were onlyconcerned that the house could accommodate no more; and yet perhaps, by“putting the children away in the maid’s room, or swinging a cotsomewhere,” they could hardly bear to think of not finding room for twoor three besides, supposing they might wish to stay; though, with regard to anyattendance on Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in leavingher to Mrs Harville’s care entirely. Mrs Harville was a very experiencednurse, and her nursery-maid, who had lived with her long, and gone about withher everywhere, was just such another. Between these two, she could want nopossible attendance by day or night. And all this was said with a truth andsincerity of feeling irresistible.

Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation, andfor a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror.“Uppercross, the necessity of some one’s going to Uppercross; thenews to be conveyed; how it could be broken to Mr and Mrs Musgrove; thelateness of the morning; an hour already gone since they ought to have beenoff; the impossibility of being in tolerable time.” At first, they werecapable of nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations; but, after awhile, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said—

“We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute. Every minuteis valuable. Some one must resolve on being off for Uppercross instantly.Musgrove, either you or I must go.”

Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away. He would be aslittle incumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs Harville; but as to leavinghis sister in such a state, he neither ought, nor would. So far it was decided;and Henrietta at first declared the same. She, however, was soon persuaded tothink differently. The usefulness of her staying! She who had not been able toremain in Louisa’s room, or to look at her, without sufferings which madeher worse than helpless! She was forced to acknowledge that she could do nogood, yet was still unwilling to be away, till, touched by the thought of herfather and mother, she gave it up; she consented, she was anxious to be athome.

The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming quietly down fromLouisa’s room, could not but hear what followed, for the parlour door wasopen.

“Then it is settled, Musgrove,” cried Captain Wentworth,“that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home. But as to therest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs Harville, I think it need beonly one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to herchildren; but if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Anne.”

She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself so spokenof. The other two warmly agreed with what he said, and she then appeared.

“You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her;” cried he,turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemedalmost restoring the past. She coloured deeply, and he recollected himself andmoved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready, happy to remain.“It was what she had been thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do. Abed on the floor in Louisa’s room would be sufficient for her, if MrsHarville would but think so.”

One thing more, and all seemed arranged. Though it was rather desirable that Mrand Mrs Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some share of delay; yet thetime required by the Uppercross horses to take them back, would be a dreadfulextension of suspense; and Captain Wentworth proposed, and Charles Musgroveagreed, that it would be much better for him to take a chaise from the inn, andleave Mr Musgrove’s carriage and horses to be sent home the next morningearly, when there would be the farther advantage of sending an account ofLouisa’s night.

Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part, and tobe soon followed by the two ladies. When the plan was made known to Mary,however, there was an end of all peace in it. She was so wretched and sovehement, complained so much of injustice in being expected to go away insteadof Anne; Anne, who was nothing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had thebest right to stay in Henrietta’s stead! Why was not she to be as usefulas Anne? And to go home without Charles, too, without her husband! No, it wastoo unkind. And in short, she said more than her husband could long withstand,and as none of the others could oppose when he gave way, there was no help forit; the change of Mary for Anne was inevitable.

Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill-judging claimsof Mary; but so it must be, and they set off for the town, Charles taking careof his sister, and Captain Benwick attending to her. She gave a moment’srecollection, as they hurried along, to the little circumstances which the samespots had witnessed earlier in the morning. There she had listened toHenrietta’s schemes for Dr Shirley’s leaving Uppercross; fartheron, she had first seen Mr Elliot; a moment seemed all that could now be givento any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapped up in her welfare.

Captain Benwick was most considerately attentive to her; and, united as theyall seemed by the distress of the day, she felt an increasing degree ofgood-will towards him, and a pleasure even in thinking that it might, perhaps,be the occasion of continuing their acquaintance.

Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a chaise and four in waiting,stationed for their convenience in the lowest part of the street; but hisevident surprise and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other,the change in his countenance, the astonishment, the expressions begun andsuppressed, with which Charles was listened to, made but a mortifying receptionof Anne; or must at least convince her that she was valued only as she could beuseful to Louisa.

She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just. Without emulating the feelingsof an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended on Louisa with a zealabove the common claims of regard, for his sake; and she hoped he would notlong be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the officeof a friend.

In the meanwhile she was in the carriage. He had handed them both in, andplaced himself between them; and in this manner, under these circumstances,full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme. How the long stagewould pass; how it was to affect their manners; what was to be their sort ofintercourse, she could not foresee. It was all quite natural, however. He wasdevoted to Henrietta; always turning towards her; and when he spoke at all,always with the view of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits. Ingeneral, his voice and manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta fromagitation seemed the governing principle. Once only, when she had been grievingover the last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting thatit ever had been thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome—

“Don’t talk of it, don’t talk of it,” he cried.“Oh God! that I had not given way to her at the fatal moment! Had I doneas I ought! But so eager and so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!”

Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness ofhis own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmnessof character; and whether it might not strike him that, like all otherqualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits. She thoughtit could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimesbe as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character.

They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills and the sameobjects so soon. Their actual speed, heightened by some dread of theconclusion, made the road appear but half as long as on the day before. It wasgrowing quite dusk, however, before they were in the neighbourhood ofUppercross, and there had been total silence among them for some time,Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving thehope of her having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going up theirlast hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In alow, cautious voice, he said:—

“I have been considering what we had best do. She must not appear atfirst. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you had not betterremain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr and MrsMusgrove. Do you think this is a good plan?”

She did: he was satisfied, and said no more. But the remembrance of the appealremained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for herjudgement, a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof, itsvalue did not lessen.

When the distressing communication at Uppercross was over, and he had seen thefather and mother quite as composed as could be hoped, and the daughter all thebetter for being with them, he announced his intention of returning in the samecarriage to Lyme; and when the horses were baited, he was off.

(End of volume one.)

CHAPTER XIII.

The remainder of Anne’s time at Uppercross, comprehending only two days,was spent entirely at the Mansion House; and she had the satisfaction ofknowing herself extremely useful there, both as an immediate companion, and asassisting in all those arrangements for the future, which, in Mr and MrsMusgrove’s distressed state of spirits, would have been difficulties.

They had an early account from Lyme the next morning. Louisa was much the same.No symptoms worse than before had appeared. Charles came a few hoursafterwards, to bring a later and more particular account. He was tolerablycheerful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but everything was going on as wellas the nature of the case admitted. In speaking of the Harvilles, he seemedunable to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of MrsHarville’s exertions as a nurse. “She really left nothing for Maryto do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go early to their inn last night. Maryhad been hysterical again this morning. When he came away, she was going towalk out with Captain Benwick, which, he hoped, would do her good. He almostwished she had been prevailed on to come home the day before; but the truthwas, that Mrs Harville left nothing for anybody to do.”

Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and his father had at firsthalf a mind to go with him, but the ladies could not consent. It would be goingonly to multiply trouble to the others, and increase his own distress; and amuch better scheme followed and was acted upon. A chaise was sent for fromCrewkherne, and Charles conveyed back a far more useful person in the oldnursery-maid of the family, one who having brought up all the children, andseen the very last, the lingering and long-petted Master Harry, sent to schoolafter his brothers, was now living in her deserted nursery to mend stockingsand dress all the blains and bruises she could get near her, and who,consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go and help nurse dearMiss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting Sarah thither, had occurred before to MrsMusgrove and Henrietta; but without Anne, it would hardly have been resolvedon, and found practicable so soon.

They were indebted, the next day, to Charles Hayter, for all the minuteknowledge of Louisa, which it was so essential to obtain every twenty-fourhours. He made it his business to go to Lyme, and his account was stillencouraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were believed to bestronger. Every report agreed in Captain Wentworth’s appearing fixed inLyme.

Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which they all dreaded.“What should they do without her? They were wretched comforters for oneanother.” And so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she couldnot do better than impart among them the general inclination to which she wasprivy, and persuaded them all to go to Lyme at once. She had little difficulty;it was soon determined that they would go; go to-morrow, fix themselves at theinn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and there remain till dear Louisacould be moved. They must be taking off some trouble from the good people shewas with; they might at least relieve Mrs Harville from the care of her ownchildren; and in short, they were so happy in the decision, that Anne wasdelighted with what she had done, and felt that she could not spend her lastmorning at Uppercross better than in assisting their preparations, and sendingthem off at an early hour, though her being left to the solitary range of thehouse was the consequence.

She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage, she was the verylast, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated both houses,of all that had given Uppercross its cheerful character. A few days had made achange indeed!

If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again. More than former happinesswould be restored. There could not be a doubt, to her mind there was none, ofwhat would follow her recovery. A few months hence, and the room now sodeserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self, might be filled again withall that was happy and gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosperous love,all that was most unlike Anne Elliot!

An hour’s complete leisure for such reflections as these, on a darkNovember day, a small thick rain almost blotting out the very few objects everto be discerned from the windows, was enough to make the sound of LadyRussell’s carriage exceedingly welcome; and yet, though desirous to begone, she could not quit the Mansion House, or look an adieu to the Cottage,with its black, dripping and comfortless veranda, or even notice through themisty glasses the last humble tenements of the village, without a saddenedheart. Scenes had passed in Uppercross which made it precious. It stood therecord of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of someinstances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship andreconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could nevercease to be dear. She left it all behind her, all but the recollection thatsuch things had been.

Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting Lady Russell’s housein September. It had not been necessary, and the few occasions of its beingpossible for her to go to the Hall she had contrived to evade and escape from.Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and elegant apartmentsof the Lodge, and to gladden the eyes of its mistress.

There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell’s joy in meeting her. Sheknew who had been frequenting Uppercross. But happily, either Anne was improvedin plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied her so; and Anne, in receivingher compliments on the occasion, had the amusement of connecting them with thesilent admiration of her cousin, and of hoping that she was to be blessed witha second spring of youth and beauty.

When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of some mental change. Thesubjects of which her heart had been full on leaving Kellynch, and which shehad felt slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Musgroves, were nowbecome but of secondary interest. She had lately lost sight even of her fatherand sister and Bath. Their concerns had been sunk under those of Uppercross;and when Lady Russell reverted to their former hopes and fears, and spoke hersatisfaction in the house in Camden Place, which had been taken, and her regretthat Mrs Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been ashamed to haveit known how much more she was thinking of Lyme and Louisa Musgrove, and allher acquaintance there; how much more interesting to her was the home and thefriendship of the Harvilles and Captain Benwick, than her own father’shouse in Camden Place, or her own sister’s intimacy with Mrs Clay. Shewas actually forced to exert herself to meet Lady Russell with anything likethe appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by nature the firstclaim on her.

There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse on another subject.They must speak of the accident at Lyme. Lady Russell had not been arrived fiveminutes the day before, when a full account of the whole had burst on her; butstill it must be talked of, she must make enquiries, she must regret theimprudence, lament the result, and Captain Wentworth’s name must bementioned by both. Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady Russell.She could not speak the name, and look straight forward to Lady Russell’seye, till she had adopted the expedient of telling her briefly what she thoughtof the attachment between him and Louisa. When this was told, his namedistressed her no longer.

Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish them happy, but internallyher heart revelled in angry pleasure, in pleased contempt, that the man who attwenty-three had seemed to understand somewhat of the value of an Anne Elliot,should, eight years afterwards, be charmed by a Louisa Musgrove.

The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance to markthem excepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which found their way toAnne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account of Louisa.At the end of that period, Lady Russell’s politeness could repose nolonger, and the fainter self-threatenings of the past became in a decided tone,“I must call on Mrs Croft; I really must call upon her soon. Anne, haveyou courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that house? It will be some trialto us both.”

Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary, she truly felt as she said, inobserving—

“I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the two; your feelingsare less reconciled to the change than mine. By remaining in the neighbourhood,I am become inured to it.”

She could have said more on the subject; for she had in fact so high an opinionof the Crofts, and considered her father so very fortunate in his tenants, feltthe parish to be so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best attentionand relief, that however sorry and ashamed for the necessity of the removal,she could not but in conscience feel that they were gone who deserved not tostay, and that Kellynch Hall had passed into better hands than itsowners’. These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain, andsevere was its kind; but they precluded that pain which Lady Russell wouldsuffer in entering the house again, and returning through the well-knownapartments.

In such moments Anne had no power of saying to herself, “These roomsought to belong only to us. Oh, how fallen in their destination! How unworthilyoccupied! An ancient family to be so driven away! Strangers filling theirplace!” No, except when she thought of her mother, and remembered whereshe had been used to sit and preside, she had no sigh of that description toheave.

Mrs Croft always met her with a kindness which gave her the pleasure offancying herself a favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving her inthat house, there was particular attention.

The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic, and on comparing theirlatest accounts of the invalid, it appeared that each lady dated herintelligence from the same hour of yestermorn; that Captain Wentworth had beenin Kellynch yesterday (the first time since the accident), had brought Anne thelast note, which she had not been able to trace the exact steps of; had staid afew hours and then returned again to Lyme, and without any present intention ofquitting it any more. He had enquired after her, she found, particularly; hadexpressed his hope of Miss Elliot’s not being the worse for herexertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great. This was handsome, andgave her more pleasure than almost anything else could have done.

As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed only in one style by acouple of steady, sensible women, whose judgements had to work on ascertainedevents; and it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of muchthoughtlessness and much imprudence; that its effects were most alarming, andthat it was frightful to think, how long Miss Musgrove’s recovery mightyet be doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer from theconcussion hereafter! The Admiral wound it up summarily by exclaiming—

“Ay, a very bad business indeed. A new sort of way this, for a youngfellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress’s head, is not it,Miss Elliot? This is breaking a head and giving a plaster, truly!”

Admiral Croft’s manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell,but they delighted Anne. His goodness of heart and simplicity of character wereirresistible.

“Now, this must be very bad for you,” said he, suddenly rousingfrom a little reverie, “to be coming and finding us here. I had notrecollected it before, I declare, but it must be very bad. But now, do notstand upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the rooms in the house if you likeit.”

“Another time, Sir, I thank you, not now.”

“Well, whenever it suits you. You can slip in from the shrubbery at anytime; and there you will find we keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door. Agood place is not it? But,” (checking himself), “you will not thinkit a good place, for yours were always kept in the butler’s room. Ay, soit always is, I believe. One man’s ways may be as good asanother’s, but we all like our own best. And so you must judge foryourself, whether it would be better for you to go about the house ornot.”

Anne, finding she might decline it, did so, very gratefully.

“We have made very few changes either,” continued the Admiral,after thinking a moment. “Very few. We told you about the laundry-door,at Uppercross. That has been a very great improvement. The wonder was, how anyfamily upon earth could bear with the inconvenience of its opening as it did,so long! You will tell Sir Walter what we have done, and that Mr Shepherdthinks it the greatest improvement the house ever had. Indeed, I must doourselves the justice to say, that the few alterations we have made have beenall very much for the better. My wife should have the credit of them, however.I have done very little besides sending away some of the large looking-glassesfrom my dressing-room, which was your father’s. A very good man, and verymuch the gentleman I am sure: but I should think, Miss Elliot,” (lookingwith serious reflection), “I should think he must be rather a dressy manfor his time of life. Such a number of looking-glasses! oh Lord! there was nogetting away from one’s self. So I got Sophy to lend me a hand, and wesoon shifted their quarters; and now I am quite snug, with my little shavingglass in one corner, and another great thing that I never go near.”

Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer, and theAdmiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took up the subjectagain, to say—

“The next time you write to your good father, Miss Elliot, pray give himmy compliments and Mrs Croft’s, and say that we are settled here quite toour liking, and have no fault at all to find with the place. The breakfast-roomchimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is due northand blows hard, which may not happen three times a winter. And take italtogether, now that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts and canjudge, there is not one that we like better than this. Pray say so, with mycompliments. He will be glad to hear it.”

Lady Russell and Mrs Croft were very well pleased with each other: but theacquaintance which this visit began was fated not to proceed far at present;for when it was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going away fora few weeks, to visit their connexions in the north of the county, and probablymight not be at home again before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath.

So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, orof seeing him in company with her friend. Everything was safe enough, and shesmiled over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the subject.

CHAPTER XIV.

Though Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much longer after Mr and MrsMusgrove’s going than Anne conceived they could have been at all wanted,they were yet the first of the family to be at home again; and as soon aspossible after their return to Uppercross they drove over to the Lodge. Theyhad left Louisa beginning to sit up; but her head, though clear, wasexceedingly weak, and her nerves susceptible to the highest extreme oftenderness; and though she might be pronounced to be altogether doing verywell, it was still impossible to say when she might be able to bear the removalhome; and her father and mother, who must return in time to receive theiryounger children for the Christmas holidays, had hardly a hope of being allowedto bring her with them.

They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs Musgrove had got MrsHarville’s children away as much as she could, every possible supply fromUppercross had been furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvilles,while the Harvilles had been wanting them to come to dinner every day; and inshort, it seemed to have been only a struggle on each side as to which shouldbe most disinterested and hospitable.

Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as was evident by her staying solong, she had found more to enjoy than to suffer. Charles Hayter had been atLyme oftener than suited her; and when they dined with the Harvilles there hadbeen only a maid-servant to wait, and at first Mrs Harville had always givenMrs Musgrove precedence; but then, she had received so very handsome an apologyfrom her on finding out whose daughter she was, and there had been so muchgoing on every day, there had been so many walks between their lodgings and theHarvilles, and she had got books from the library, and changed them so often,that the balance had certainly been much in favour of Lyme. She had been takento Charmouth too, and she had bathed, and she had gone to church, and therewere a great many more people to look at in the church at Lyme than atUppercross; and all this, joined to the sense of being so very useful, had madereally an agreeable fortnight.

Anne enquired after Captain Benwick. Mary’s face was clouded directly.Charles laughed.

“Oh! Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he is a very odd youngman. I do not know what he would be at. We asked him to come home with us for aday or two: Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and he seemed quitedelighted, and, for my part, I thought it was all settled; when behold! onTuesday night, he made a very awkward sort of excuse; ‘he nevershot’ and he had ‘been quite misunderstood,’ and he hadpromised this and he had promised that, and the end of it was, I found, that hedid not mean to come. I suppose he was afraid of finding it dull; but upon myword I should have thought we were lively enough at the Cottage for such aheart-broken man as Captain Benwick.”

Charles laughed again and said, “Now Mary, you know very well how itreally was. It was all your doing,” (turning to Anne). “He fanciedthat if he went with us, he should find you close by: he fancied everybody tobe living in Uppercross; and when he discovered that Lady Russell lived threemiles off, his heart failed him, and he had not courage to come. That is thefact, upon my honour. Mary knows it is.”

But Mary did not give into it very graciously, whether from not consideringCaptain Benwick entitled by birth and situation to be in love with an Elliot,or from not wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Uppercross thanherself, must be left to be guessed. Anne’s good-will, however, was notto be lessened by what she heard. She boldly acknowledged herself flattered,and continued her enquiries.

“Oh! he talks of you,” cried Charles, “in suchterms—” Mary interrupted him. “I declare, Charles, I neverheard him mention Anne twice all the time I was there. I declare, Anne, henever talks of you at all.”

“No,” admitted Charles, “I do not know that he ever does, ina general way; but however, it is a very clear thing that he admires youexceedingly. His head is full of some books that he is reading upon yourrecommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them; he has found outsomething or other in one of them which he thinks—oh! I cannot pretend toremember it, but it was something very fine—I overheard him tellingHenrietta all about it; and then ‘Miss Elliot’ was spoken of in thehighest terms! Now Mary, I declare it was so, I heard it myself, and you werein the other room. ‘Elegance, sweetness, beauty.’ Oh! there was noend of Miss Elliot’s charms.”

“And I am sure,” cried Mary, warmly, “it was a very little tohis credit, if he did. Miss Harville only died last June. Such a heart is verylittle worth having; is it, Lady Russell? I am sure you will agree withme.”

“I must see Captain Benwick before I decide,” said Lady Russell,smiling.

“And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can tell you,ma’am,” said Charles. “Though he had not nerves for comingaway with us, and setting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit here, hewill make his way over to Kellynch one day by himself, you may depend on it. Itold him the distance and the road, and I told him of the church’s beingso very well worth seeing; for as he has a taste for those sort of things, Ithought that would be a good excuse, and he listened with all his understandingand soul; and I am sure from his manner that you will have him calling heresoon. So, I give you notice, Lady Russell.”

“Any acquaintance of Anne’s will always be welcome to me,”was Lady Russell’s kind answer.

“Oh! as to being Anne’s acquaintance,” said Mary, “Ithink he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been seeing him every day thislast fortnight.”

“Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall be very happy to seeCaptain Benwick.”

“You will not find anything very agreeable in him, I assure you,ma’am. He is one of the dullest young men that ever lived. He has walkedwith me, sometimes, from one end of the sands to the other, without saying aword. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am sure you will not likehim.”

“There we differ, Mary,” said Anne. “I think Lady Russellwould like him. I think she would be so much pleased with his mind, that shewould very soon see no deficiency in his manner.”

“So do I, Anne,” said Charles. “I am sure Lady Russell wouldlike him. He is just Lady Russell’s sort. Give him a book, and he willread all day long.”

“Yes, that he will!” exclaimed Mary, tauntingly. “He will sitporing over his book, and not know when a person speaks to him, or when onedrops one’s scissors, or anything that happens. Do you think Lady Russellwould like that?”

Lady Russell could not help laughing. “Upon my word,” said she,“I should not have supposed that my opinion of any one could haveadmitted of such difference of conjecture, steady and matter of fact as I maycall myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person who can give occasionto such directly opposite notions. I wish he may be induced to call here. Andwhen he does, Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion; but I am determinednot to judge him beforehand.”

“You will not like him, I will answer for it.”

Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary spoke with animation oftheir meeting with, or rather missing, Mr Elliot so extraordinarily.

“He is a man,” said Lady Russell, “whom I have no wish tosee. His declining to be on cordial terms with the head of his family, has lefta very strong impression in his disfavour with me.”

This decision checked Mary’s eagerness, and stopped her short in themidst of the Elliot countenance.

With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne hazarded no enquiries, there wasvoluntary communication sufficient. His spirits had been greatly recoveringlately as might be expected. As Louisa improved, he had improved, and he wasnow quite a different creature from what he had been the first week. He had notseen Louisa; and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her from aninterview, that he did not press for it at all; and, on the contrary, seemed tohave a plan of going away for a week or ten days, till her head was stronger.He had talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted to persuadeCaptain Benwick to go with him; but, as Charles maintained to the last, CaptainBenwick seemed much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch.

There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne were both occasionallythinking of Captain Benwick, from this time. Lady Russell could not hear thedoor-bell without feeling that it might be his herald; nor could Anne returnfrom any stroll of solitary indulgence in her father’s grounds, or anyvisit of charity in the village, without wondering whether she might see him orhear of him. Captain Benwick came not, however. He was either less disposed forit than Charles had imagined, or he was too shy; and after giving him aweek’s indulgence, Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of theinterest which he had been beginning to excite.

The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys and girls from school,bringing with them Mrs Harville’s little children, to improve the noiseof Uppercross, and lessen that of Lyme. Henrietta remained with Louisa; but allthe rest of the family were again in their usual quarters.

Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them once, when Anne could notbut feel that Uppercross was already quite alive again. Though neitherHenrietta, nor Louisa, nor Charles Hayter, nor Captain Wentworth were there,the room presented as strong a contrast as could be wished to the last stateshe had seen it in.

Immediately surrounding Mrs Musgrove were the little Harvilles, whom she wassedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the Cottage,expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was a table occupied by somechattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper; and on the other weretressels and trays, bending under the weight of brawn and cold pies, whereriotous boys were holding high revel; the whole completed by a roaringChristmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in spite of all the noiseof the others. Charles and Mary also came in, of course, during their visit,and Mr Musgrove made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and satdown close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but fromthe clamour of the children on his knees, generally in vain. It was a finefamily-piece.

Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have deemed such a domestichurricane a bad restorative of the nerves, which Louisa’s illness musthave so greatly shaken. But Mrs Musgrove, who got Anne near her on purpose tothank her most cordially, again and again, for all her attentions to them,concluded a short recapitulation of what she had suffered herself by observing,with a happy glance round the room, that after all she had gone through,nothing was so likely to do her good as a little quiet cheerfulness at home.

Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother could even think of her being ableto join their party at home, before her brothers and sisters went to schoolagain. The Harvilles had promised to come with her and stay at Uppercross,whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was gone, for the present, to see hisbrother in Shropshire.

“I hope I shall remember, in future,” said Lady Russell, as soon asthey were reseated in the carriage, “not to call at Uppercross in theChristmas holidays.”

Everybody has their taste in noises as well as in other matters; and sounds arequite innoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather than their quantity.When Lady Russell not long afterwards, was entering Bath on a wet afternoon,and driving through the long course of streets from the Old Bridge to CamdenPlace, amidst the dash of other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays,the bawling of newspapermen, muffin-men and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink ofpattens, she made no complaint. No, these were noises which belonged to thewinter pleasures; her spirits rose under their influence; and like MrsMusgrove, she was feeling, though not saying, that after being long in thecountry, nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness.

Anne did not share these feelings. She persisted in a very determined, thoughvery silent disinclination for Bath; caught the first dim view of the extensivebuildings, smoking in rain, without any wish of seeing them better; felt theirprogress through the streets to be, however disagreeable, yet too rapid; forwho would be glad to see her when she arrived? And looked back, with fondregret, to the bustles of Uppercross and the seclusion of Kellynch.

Elizabeth’s last letter had communicated a piece of news of someinterest. Mr Elliot was in Bath. He had called in Camden Place; had called asecond time, a third; had been pointedly attentive. If Elizabeth and her fatherdid not deceive themselves, had been taking much pains to seek theacquaintance, and proclaim the value of the connection, as he had formerlytaken pains to shew neglect. This was very wonderful if it were true; and LadyRussell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and perplexity about MrElliot, already recanting the sentiment she had so lately expressed to Mary, ofhis being “a man whom she had no wish to see.” She had a great wishto see him. If he really sought to reconcile himself like a dutiful branch, hemust be forgiven for having dismembered himself from the paternal tree.

Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the circumstance, but she felt thatshe would rather see Mr Elliot again than not, which was more than she couldsay for many other persons in Bath.

She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady Russell then drove to her ownlodgings, in Rivers Street.

CHAPTER XV.

Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden Place, a lofty dignifiedsituation, such as becomes a man of consequence; and both he and Elizabeth weresettled there, much to their satisfaction.

Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment of manymonths, and anxiously saying to herself, “Oh! when shall I leave youagain?” A degree of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome shereceived, did her good. Her father and sister were glad to see her, for thesake of shewing her the house and furniture, and met her with kindness. Hermaking a fourth, when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an advantage.

Mrs Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling, but her courtesies and smileswere more a matter of course. Anne had always felt that she would pretend whatwas proper on her arrival, but the complaisance of the others was unlooked for.They were evidently in excellent spirits, and she was soon to listen to thecauses. They had no inclination to listen to her. After laying out for somecompliments of being deeply regretted in their old neighbourhood, which Annecould not pay, they had only a few faint enquiries to make, before the talkmust be all their own. Uppercross excited no interest, Kellynch very little: itwas all Bath.

They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more than answered theirexpectations in every respect. Their house was undoubtedly the best in CamdenPlace; their drawing-rooms had many decided advantages over all the otherswhich they had either seen or heard of, and the superiority was not less in thestyle of the fitting-up, or the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance wasexceedingly sought after. Everybody was wanting to visit them. They had drawnback from many introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left bypeople of whom they knew nothing.

Here were funds of enjoyment. Could Anne wonder that her father and sister werehappy? She might not wonder, but she must sigh that her father should feel nodegradation in his change, should see nothing to regret in the duties anddignity of the resident landholder, should find so much to be vain of in thelittlenesses of a town; and she must sigh, and smile, and wonder too, asElizabeth threw open the folding-doors and walked with exultation from onedrawing-room to the other, boasting of their space; at the possibility of thatwoman, who had been mistress of Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud ofbetween two walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder.

But this was not all which they had to make them happy. They had Mr Elliot too.Anne had a great deal to hear of Mr Elliot. He was not only pardoned, they weredelighted with him. He had been in Bath about a fortnight; (he had passedthrough Bath in November, in his way to London, when the intelligence of SirWalter’s being settled there had of course reached him, though onlytwenty-four hours in the place, but he had not been able to avail himself ofit;) but he had now been a fortnight in Bath, and his first object on arriving,had been to leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by such assiduousendeavours to meet, and when they did meet, by such great openness of conduct,such readiness to apologize for the past, such solicitude to be received as arelation again, that their former good understanding was completelyre-established.

They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained away all the appearanceof neglect on his own side. It had originated in misapprehension entirely. Hehad never had an idea of throwing himself off; he had feared that he was thrownoff, but knew not why, and delicacy had kept him silent. Upon the hint ofhaving spoken disrespectfully or carelessly of the family and the familyhonours, he was quite indignant. He, who had ever boasted of being an Elliot,and whose feelings, as to connection, were only too strict to suit the unfeudaltone of the present day. He was astonished, indeed, but his character andgeneral conduct must refute it. He could refer Sir Walter to all who knew him;and certainly, the pains he had been taking on this, the first opportunity ofreconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a relation andheir-presumptive, was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject.

The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to admit of muchextenuation. This was an article not to be entered on by himself; but a veryintimate friend of his, a Colonel Wallis, a highly respectable man, perfectlythe gentleman, (and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter added), who was livingin very good style in Marlborough Buildings, and had, at his own particularrequest, been admitted to their acquaintance through Mr Elliot, had mentionedone or two things relative to the marriage, which made a material difference inthe discredit of it.

Colonel Wallis had known Mr Elliot long, had been well acquainted also with hiswife, had perfectly understood the whole story. She was certainly not a womanof family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and excessively in love withhis friend. There had been the charm. She had sought him. Without thatattraction, not all her money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was,moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman. Here was a great dealto soften the business. A very fine woman with a large fortune, in love withhim! Sir Walter seemed to admit it as complete apology; and though Elizabethcould not see the circumstance in quite so favourable a light, she allowed itbe a great extenuation.

Mr Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them once, evidently delightedby the distinction of being asked, for they gave no dinners in general;delighted, in short, by every proof of cousinly notice, and placing his wholehappiness in being on intimate terms in Camden Place.

Anne listened, but without quite understanding it. Allowances, largeallowances, she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke. She heardit all under embellishment. All that sounded extravagant or irrational in theprogress of the reconciliation might have no origin but in the language of therelators. Still, however, she had the sensation of there being something morethan immediately appeared, in Mr Elliot’s wishing, after an interval ofso many years, to be well received by them. In a worldly view, he had nothingto gain by being on terms with Sir Walter; nothing to risk by a state ofvariance. In all probability he was already the richer of the two, and theKellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title. A sensible man,and he had looked like a very sensible man, why should it be an object to him?She could only offer one solution; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth’s sake.There might really have been a liking formerly, though convenience and accidenthad drawn him a different way; and now that he could afford to please himself,he might mean to pay his addresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly veryhandsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and her character might never havebeen penetrated by Mr Elliot, knowing her but in public, and when very younghimself. How her temper and understanding might bear the investigation of hispresent keener time of life was another concern and rather a fearful one. Mostearnestly did she wish that he might not be too nice, or too observant ifElizabeth were his object; and that Elizabeth was disposed to believe herselfso, and that her friend Mrs Clay was encouraging the idea, seemed apparent by aglance or two between them, while Mr Elliot’s frequent visits were talkedof.

Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without being muchattended to. “Oh! yes, perhaps, it had been Mr Elliot. They did not know.It might be him, perhaps.” They could not listen to her description ofhim. They were describing him themselves; Sir Walter especially. He did justiceto his very gentlemanlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his goodshaped face, his sensible eye; but, at the same time, “must lament hisbeing very much under-hung, a defect which time seemed to have increased; norcould he pretend to say that ten years had not altered almost every feature forthe worse. Mr Elliot appeared to think that he (Sir Walter) was looking exactlyas he had done when they last parted;” but Sir Walter had “not beenable to return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed him. He did notmean to complain, however. Mr Elliot was better to look at than most men, andhe had no objection to being seen with him anywhere.”

Mr Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough Buildings, were talked of the wholeevening. “Colonel Wallis had been so impatient to be introduced to them!and Mr Elliot so anxious that he should!” and there was a Mrs Wallis, atpresent known only to them by description, as she was in daily expectation ofher confinement; but Mr Elliot spoke of her as “a most charming woman,quite worthy of being known in Camden Place,” and as soon as sherecovered they were to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought much of Mrs Wallis;she was said to be an excessively pretty woman, beautiful. “He longed tosee her. He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces hewas continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the number of itsplain women. He did not mean to say that there were no pretty women, but thenumber of the plain was out of all proportion. He had frequently observed, ashe walked, that one handsome face would be followed by thirty, orfive-and-thirty frights; and once, as he had stood in a shop on Bond Street, hehad counted eighty-seven women go by, one after another, without there being atolerable face among them. It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharpfrost, which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test of. But still,there certainly were a dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath; and as for themen! they were infinitely worse. Such scarecrows as the streets were full of!It was evident how little the women were used to the sight of anythingtolerable, by the effect which a man of decent appearance produced. He hadnever walked anywhere arm-in-arm with Colonel Wallis (who was a fine militaryfigure, though sandy-haired) without observing that every woman’s eye wasupon him; every woman’s eye was sure to be upon Colonel Wallis.”Modest Sir Walter! He was not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and MrsClay united in hinting that Colonel Wallis’s companion might have as gooda figure as Colonel Wallis, and certainly was not sandy-haired.

“How is Mary looking?” said Sir Walter, in the height of his goodhumour. “The last time I saw her she had a red nose, but I hope that maynot happen every day.”

“Oh! no, that must have been quite accidental. In general she has been invery good health and very good looks since Michaelmas.”

“If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in sharp winds, and growcoarse, I would send her a new hat and pelisse.”

Anne was considering whether she should venture to suggest that a gown, or acap, would not be liable to any such misuse, when a knock at the door suspendedeverything. “A knock at the door! and so late! It was ten o’clock.Could it be Mr Elliot? They knew he was to dine in Lansdown Crescent. It waspossible that he might stop in his way home to ask them how they did. Theycould think of no one else. Mrs Clay decidedly thought it Mr Elliot’sknock.” Mrs Clay was right. With all the state which a butler andfoot-boy could give, Mr Elliot was ushered into the room.

It was the same, the very same man, with no difference but of dress. Anne drewa little back, while the others received his compliments, and her sister hisapologies for calling at so unusual an hour, but “he could not be so nearwithout wishing to know that neither she nor her friend had taken cold the daybefore,” &c. &c.; which was all as politely done, and as politelytaken, as possible, but her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked of hisyoungest daughter; “Mr Elliot must give him leave to present him to hisyoungest daughter” (there was no occasion for remembering Mary); andAnne, smiling and blushing, very becomingly shewed to Mr Elliot the prettyfeatures which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly saw, with amusementat his little start of surprise, that he had not been at all aware of who shewas. He looked completely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased; hiseyes brightened! and with the most perfect alacrity he welcomed therelationship, alluded to the past, and entreated to be received as anacquaintance already. He was quite as good-looking as he had appeared at Lyme,his countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were so exactly what theyought to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she couldcompare them in excellence to only one person’s manners. They were notthe same, but they were, perhaps, equally good.

He sat down with them, and improved their conversation very much. There couldbe no doubt of his being a sensible man. Ten minutes were enough to certifythat. His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his knowing where tostop; it was all the operation of a sensible, discerning mind. As soon as hecould, he began to talk to her of Lyme, wanting to compare opinions respectingthe place, but especially wanting to speak of the circumstance of theirhappening to be guests in the same inn at the same time; to give his own route,understand something of hers, and regret that he should have lost such anopportunity of paying his respects to her. She gave him a short account of herparty and business at Lyme. His regret increased as he listened. He had spenthis whole solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs; had heard voices,mirth continually; thought they must be a most delightful set of people, longedto be with them, but certainly without the smallest suspicion of his possessingthe shadow of a right to introduce himself. If he had but asked who the partywere! The name of Musgrove would have told him enough. “Well, it wouldserve to cure him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an inn,which he had adopted, when quite a young man, on the principle of its beingvery ungenteel to be curious.”

“The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty,” said he,“as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the thing, are moreabsurd, I believe, than those of any other set of beings in the world. Thefolly of the means they often employ is only to be equalled by the folly ofwhat they have in view.”

But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne alone: he knew it; he wassoon diffused again among the others, and it was only at intervals that hecould return to Lyme.

His enquiries, however, produced at length an account of the scene she had beenengaged in there, soon after his leaving the place. Having alluded to “anaccident,” he must hear the whole. When he questioned, Sir Walter andElizabeth began to question also, but the difference in their manner of doingit could not be unfelt. She could only compare Mr Elliot to Lady Russell, inthe wish of really comprehending what had passed, and in the degree of concernfor what she must have suffered in witnessing it.

He staid an hour with them. The elegant little clock on the mantel-piece hadstruck “eleven with its silver sounds,” and the watchman wasbeginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale, before Mr Elliot orany of them seemed to feel that he had been there long.

Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in Camden Placecould have passed so well!

CHAPTER XVI.

There was one point which Anne, on returning to her family, would have beenmore thankful to ascertain even than Mr Elliot’s being in love withElizabeth, which was, her father’s not being in love with Mrs Clay; andshe was very far from easy about it, when she had been at home a few hours. Ongoing down to breakfast the next morning, she found there had just been adecent pretence on the lady’s side of meaning to leave them. She couldimagine Mrs Clay to have said, that “now Miss Anne was come, she couldnot suppose herself at all wanted;” for Elizabeth was replying in a sortof whisper, “That must not be any reason, indeed. I assure you I feel itnone. She is nothing to me, compared with you;” and she was in full timeto hear her father say, “My dear madam, this must not be. As yet, youhave seen nothing of Bath. You have been here only to be useful. You must notrun away from us now. You must stay to be acquainted with Mrs Wallis, thebeautiful Mrs Wallis. To your fine mind, I well know the sight of beauty is areal gratification.”

He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was not surprised to see MrsClay stealing a glance at Elizabeth and herself. Her countenance, perhaps,might express some watchfulness; but the praise of the fine mind did not appearto excite a thought in her sister. The lady could not but yield to such jointentreaties, and promise to stay.

In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to be alonetogether, he began to compliment her on her improved looks; he thought her“less thin in her person, in her cheeks; her skin, her complexion,greatly improved; clearer, fresher. Had she been using any thing inparticular?” “No, nothing.” “Merely Gowland,” hesupposed. “No, nothing at all.” “Ha! he was surprised atthat;” and added, “certainly you cannot do better than to continueas you are; you cannot be better than well; or I should recommend Gowland, theconstant use of Gowland, during the spring months. Mrs Clay has been using itat my recommendation, and you see what it has done for her. You see how it hascarried away her freckles.”

If Elizabeth could but have heard this! Such personal praise might have struckher, especially as it did not appear to Anne that the freckles were at alllessened. But everything must take its chance. The evil of a marriage would bemuch diminished, if Elizabeth were also to marry. As for herself, she mightalways command a home with Lady Russell.

Lady Russell’s composed mind and polite manners were put to some trial onthis point, in her intercourse in Camden Place. The sight of Mrs Clay in suchfavour, and of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation to her there;and vexed her as much when she was away, as a person in Bath who drinks thewater, gets all the new publications, and has a very large acquaintance, hastime to be vexed.

As Mr Elliot became known to her, she grew more charitable, or moreindifferent, towards the others. His manners were an immediate recommendation;and on conversing with him she found the solid so fully supporting thesuperficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, almost ready to exclaim,“Can this be Mr Elliot?” and could not seriously picture to herselfa more agreeable or estimable man. Everything united in him; goodunderstanding, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. Hehad strong feelings of family attachment and family honour, without pride orweakness; he lived with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display; hejudged for himself in everything essential, without defying public opinion inany point of worldly decorum. He was steady, observant, moderate, candid; neverrun away with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strongfeeling; and yet, with a sensibility to what was amiable and lovely, and avalue for all the felicities of domestic life, which characters of fanciedenthusiasm and violent agitation seldom really possess. She was sure that hehad not been happy in marriage. Colonel Wallis said it, and Lady Russell sawit; but it had been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor (she began pretty soonto suspect) to prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction in MrElliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs Clay.

It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn that she and her excellentfriend could sometimes think differently; and it did not surprise her,therefore, that Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsistent,nothing to require more motives than appeared, in Mr Elliot’s greatdesire of a reconciliation. In Lady Russell’s view, it was perfectlynatural that Mr Elliot, at a mature time of life, should feel it a mostdesirable object, and what would very generally recommend him among allsensible people, to be on good terms with the head of his family; the simplestprocess in the world of time upon a head naturally clear, and only erring inthe heyday of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile about it, and atlast to mention “Elizabeth.” Lady Russell listened, and looked, andmade only this cautious reply:—“Elizabeth! very well; time willexplain.”

It was a reference to the future, which Anne, after a little observation, feltshe must submit to. She could determine nothing at present. In that houseElizabeth must be first; and she was in the habit of such general observance as“Miss Elliot,” that any particularity of attention seemed almostimpossible. Mr Elliot, too, it must be remembered, had not been a widower sevenmonths. A little delay on his side might be very excusable. In fact, Anne couldnever see the crape round his hat, without fearing that she was the inexcusableone, in attributing to him such imaginations; for though his marriage had notbeen very happy, still it had existed so many years that she could notcomprehend a very rapid recovery from the awful impression of its beingdissolved.

However it might end, he was without any question their pleasantestacquaintance in Bath: she saw nobody equal to him; and it was a greatindulgence now and then to talk to him about Lyme, which he seemed to have aslively a wish to see again, and to see more of, as herself. They went throughthe particulars of their first meeting a great many times. He gave her tounderstand that he had looked at her with some earnestness. She knew it well;and she remembered another person’s look also.

They did not always think alike. His value for rank and connexion she perceivedwas greater than hers. It was not merely complaisance, it must be a liking tothe cause, which made him enter warmly into her father and sister’ssolicitudes on a subject which she thought unworthy to excite them. The Bathpaper one morning announced the arrival of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple,and her daughter, the Honourable Miss Carteret; and all the comfort of No.—, Camden Place, was swept away for many days; for the Dalrymples (inAnne’s opinion, most unfortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and theagony was how to introduce themselves properly.

Anne had never seen her father and sister before in contact with nobility, andshe must acknowledge herself disappointed. She had hoped better things fromtheir high ideas of their own situation in life, and was reduced to form a wishwhich she had never foreseen; a wish that they had more pride; for “ourcousins Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret;” “our cousins, theDalrymples,” sounded in her ears all day long.

Sir Walter had once been in company with the late viscount, but had never seenany of the rest of the family; and the difficulties of the case arose fromthere having been a suspension of all intercourse by letters of ceremony, eversince the death of that said late viscount, when, in consequence of a dangerousillness of Sir Walter’s at the same time, there had been an unluckyomission at Kellynch. No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland. Theneglect had been visited on the head of the sinner; for when poor Lady Elliotdied herself, no letter of condolence was received at Kellynch, and,consequently, there was but too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymplesconsidered the relationship as closed. How to have this anxious business set torights, and be admitted as cousins again, was the question: and it was aquestion which, in a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr Elliotthought unimportant. “Family connexions were always worth preserving,good company always worth seeking; Lady Dalrymple had taken a house, for threemonths, in Laura Place, and would be living in style. She had been at Bath theyear before, and Lady Russell had heard her spoken of as a charming woman. Itwas very desirable that the connexion should be renewed, if it could be done,without any compromise of propriety on the side of the Elliots.”

Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and at last wrote a very fineletter of ample explanation, regret, and entreaty, to his right honourablecousin. Neither Lady Russell nor Mr Elliot could admire the letter; but it didall that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl from the DowagerViscountess. “She was very much honoured, and should be happy in theiracquaintance.” The toils of the business were over, the sweets began.They visited in Laura Place, they had the cards of Dowager ViscountessDalrymple, and the Honourable Miss Carteret, to be arranged wherever they mightbe most visible: and “Our cousins in Laura Place,”—“Ourcousin, Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret,” were talked of to everybody.

Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her daughter even been very agreeable,she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they werenothing. There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or understanding.Lady Dalrymple had acquired the name of “a charming woman,” becauseshe had a smile and a civil answer for everybody. Miss Carteret, with stillless to say, was so plain and so awkward, that she would never have beentolerated in Camden Place but for her birth.

Lady Russell confessed she had expected something better; but yet “it wasan acquaintance worth having;” and when Anne ventured to speak heropinion of them to Mr Elliot, he agreed to their being nothing in themselves,but still maintained that, as a family connexion, as good company, as those whowould collect good company around them, they had their value. Anne smiled andsaid,

“My idea of good company, Mr Elliot, is the company of clever,well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what Icall good company.”

“You are mistaken,” said he gently, “that is not goodcompany; that is the best. Good company requires only birth, education, andmanners, and with regard to education is not very nice. Birth and good mannersare essential; but a little learning is by no means a dangerous thing in goodcompany; on the contrary, it will do very well. My cousin Anne shakes her head.She is not satisfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin” (sitting down byher), “you have a better right to be fastidious than almost any otherwoman I know; but will it answer? Will it make you happy? Will it not be wiserto accept the society of those good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy all theadvantages of the connexion as far as possible? You may depend upon it, thatthey will move in the first set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank, yourbeing known to be related to them will have its use in fixing your family (ourfamily let me say) in that degree of consideration which we must all wishfor.”

“Yes,” sighed Anne, “we shall, indeed, be known to be relatedto them!” then recollecting herself, and not wishing to be answered, sheadded, “I certainly do think there has been by far too much trouble takento procure the acquaintance. I suppose” (smiling) “I have morepride than any of you; but I confess it does vex me, that we should be sosolicitous to have the relationship acknowledged, which we may be very sure isa matter of perfect indifference to them.”

“Pardon me, dear cousin, you are unjust in your own claims. In London,perhaps, in your present quiet style of living, it might be as you say: but inBath; Sir Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth knowing: alwaysacceptable as acquaintance.”

“Well,” said Anne, “I certainly am proud, too proud to enjoya welcome which depends so entirely upon place.”

“I love your indignation,” said he; “it is very natural. Buthere you are in Bath, and the object is to be established here with all thecredit and dignity which ought to belong to Sir Walter Elliot. You talk ofbeing proud; I am called proud, I know, and I shall not wish to believe myselfotherwise; for our pride, if investigated, would have the same object, I haveno doubt, though the kind may seem a little different. In one point, I am sure,my dear cousin,” (he continued, speaking lower, though there was no oneelse in the room) “in one point, I am sure, we must feel alike. We mustfeel that every addition to your father’s society, among his equals orsuperiors, may be of use in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneathhim.”

He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs Clay had been lately occupying: asufficient explanation of what he particularly meant; and though Anne could notbelieve in their having the same sort of pride, she was pleased with him fornot liking Mrs Clay; and her conscience admitted that his wishing to promoteher father’s getting great acquaintance was more than excusable in theview of defeating her.

CHAPTER XVII.

While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good fortune inLaura Place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very different description.

She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of there beingan old schoolfellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on her attention ofpast kindness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs Smith, had shewnher kindness in one of those periods of her life when it had been mostvaluable. Anne had gone unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a motherwhom she had dearly loved, feeling her separation from home, and suffering as agirl of fourteen, of strong sensibility and not high spirits, must suffer atsuch a time; and Miss Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still fromthe want of near relations and a settled home, remaining another year atschool, had been useful and good to her in a way which had considerablylessened her misery, and could never be remembered with indifference.

Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long afterwards, was said tohave married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne had known of her,till now that their governess’s account brought her situation forward ina more decided but very different form.

She was a widow and poor. Her husband had been extravagant; and at his death,about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully involved. She had haddifficulties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these distresseshad been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which, finally settling inher legs, had made her for the present a cripple. She had come to Bath on thataccount, and was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very humbleway, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of coursealmost excluded from society.

Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from MissElliot would give Mrs Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in going. Shementioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home. Itwould excite no proper interest there. She only consulted Lady Russell, whoentered thoroughly into her sentiments, and was most happy to convey her asnear to Mrs Smith’s lodgings in Westgate Buildings, as Anne chose to betaken.

The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established, their interest in eachother more than re-kindled. The first ten minutes had its awkwardness and itsemotion. Twelve years were gone since they had parted, and each presented asomewhat different person from what the other had imagined. Twelve years hadchanged Anne from the blooming, silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to theelegant little woman of seven-and-twenty, with every beauty except bloom, andwith manners as consciously right as they were invariably gentle; and twelveyears had transformed the fine-looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all theglow of health and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helplesswidow, receiving the visit of her former protegee as a favour; but all that wasuncomfortable in the meeting had soon passed away, and left only theinteresting charm of remembering former partialities and talking over oldtimes.

Anne found in Mrs Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she hadalmost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be cheerfulbeyond her expectation. Neither the dissipations of the past—and she hadlived very much in the world—nor the restrictions of the present, neithersickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.

In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, andAnne’s astonishment increased. She could scarcely imagine a morecheerless situation in itself than Mrs Smith’s. She had been very fond ofher husband: she had buried him. She had been used to affluence: it was gone.She had no child to connect her with life and happiness again, no relations toassist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs, no health to make all the restsupportable. Her accommodations were limited to a noisy parlour, and a darkbedroom behind, with no possibility of moving from one to the other withoutassistance, which there was only one servant in the house to afford, and shenever quitted the house but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet, in spite ofall this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of languor anddepression, to hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could it be? She watched,observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was not a case offortitude or of resignation only. A submissive spirit might be patient, astrong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more; herewas that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power ofturning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried herout of herself, which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift ofHeaven; and Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which, by amerciful appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost every otherwant.

There had been a time, Mrs Smith told her, when her spirits had nearly failed.She could not call herself an invalid now, compared with her state on firstreaching Bath. Then she had, indeed, been a pitiable object; for she had caughtcold on the journey, and had hardly taken possession of her lodgings before shewas again confined to her bed and suffering under severe and constant pain; andall this among strangers, with the absolute necessity of having a regularnurse, and finances at that moment particularly unfit to meet any extraordinaryexpense. She had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had doneher good. It had increased her comforts by making her feel herself to be ingood hands. She had seen too much of the world, to expect sudden ordisinterested attachment anywhere, but her illness had proved to her that herlandlady had a character to preserve, and would not use her ill; and she hadbeen particularly fortunate in her nurse, as a sister of her landlady, a nurseby profession, and who had always a home in that house when unemployed, chancedto be at liberty just in time to attend her. “And she,” said MrsSmith, “besides nursing me most admirably, has really proved aninvaluable acquaintance. As soon as I could use my hands she taught me to knit,which has been a great amusement; and she put me in the way of making theselittle thread-cases, pin-cushions and card-racks, which you always find me sobusy about, and which supply me with the means of doing a little good to one ortwo very poor families in this neighbourhood. She had a large acquaintance, ofcourse professionally, among those who can afford to buy, and she disposes ofmy merchandise. She always takes the right time for applying. Everybody’sheart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, orare recovering the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly understandswhen to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Hers is a line forseeing human nature; and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which,as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands of those who havingonly received ‘the best education in the world,’ know nothing worthattending to. Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rooke has half anhour’s leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relatethat is entertaining and profitable: something that makes one know one’sspecies better. One likes to hear what is going on, to be au faitas tothe newest modes of being trifling and silly. To me, who live so much alone,her conversation, I assure you, is a treat.”

Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied, “I can easilybelieve it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they areintelligent may be well worth listening to. Such varieties of human nature asthey are in the habit of witnessing! And it is not merely in its follies, thatthey are well read; for they see it occasionally under every circumstance thatcan be most interesting or affecting. What instances must pass before them ofardent, disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude,patience, resignation: of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennobleus most. A sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Smith more doubtingly, “sometimes it may,though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe.Here and there, human nature may be great in times of trial; but generallyspeaking, it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a sickchamber: it is selfishness and impatience rather than generosity and fortitude,that one hears of. There is so little real friendship in the world! andunfortunately” (speaking low and tremulously) “there are so manywho forget to think seriously till it is almost too late.”

Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband had not been what he ought,and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which made her think worseof the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a passing emotion howeverwith Mrs Smith; she shook it off, and soon added in a different tone—

“I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs Rooke is in at present,will furnish much either to interest or edify me. She is only nursing MrsWallis of Marlborough Buildings; a mere pretty, silly, expensive, fashionablewoman, I believe; and of course will have nothing to report but of lace andfinery. I mean to make my profit of Mrs Wallis, however. She has plenty ofmoney, and I intend she shall buy all the high-priced things I have in handnow.”

Anne had called several times on her friend, before the existence of such aperson was known in Camden Place. At last, it became necessary to speak of her.Sir Walter, Elizabeth and Mrs Clay, returned one morning from Laura Place, witha sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple for the same evening, and Anne wasalready engaged, to spend that evening in Westgate Buildings. She was not sorryfor the excuse. They were only asked, she was sure, because Lady Dalrymplebeing kept at home by a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationshipwhich had been so pressed on her; and she declined on her own account withgreat alacrity—“She was engaged to spend the evening with an oldschoolfellow.” They were not much interested in anything relative toAnne; but still there were questions enough asked, to make it understood whatthis old schoolfellow was; and Elizabeth was disdainful, and Sir Walter severe.

“Westgate Buildings!” said he, “and who is Miss Anne Elliotto be visiting in Westgate Buildings? A Mrs Smith. A widow Mrs Smith; and whowas her husband? One of five thousand Mr Smiths whose names are to be met witheverywhere. And what is her attraction? That she is old and sickly. Upon myword, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste! Everything thatrevolts other people, low company, paltry rooms, foul air, disgustingassociations are inviting to you. But surely you may put off this old lady tillto-morrow: she is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to seeanother day. What is her age? Forty?”

“No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty; but I do not think I can put off myengagement, because it is the only evening for some time which will at oncesuit her and myself. She goes into the warm bath to-morrow, and for the rest ofthe week, you know, we are engaged.”

“But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance?” askedElizabeth.

“She sees nothing to blame in it,” replied Anne; “on thecontrary, she approves it, and has generally taken me when I have called on MrsSmith.”

“Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance ofa carriage drawn up near its pavement,” observed Sir Walter. “SirHenry Russell’s widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms,but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well known to convey aMiss Elliot. A widow Mrs Smith lodging in Westgate Buildings! A poor widowbarely able to live, between thirty and forty; a mere Mrs Smith, an every-dayMrs Smith, of all people and all names in the world, to be the chosen friend ofMiss Anne Elliot, and to be preferred by her to her own family connectionsamong the nobility of England and Ireland! Mrs Smith! Such a name!”

Mrs Clay, who had been present while all this passed, now thought it advisableto leave the room, and Anne could have said much, and did long to say a littlein defence of herfriend’s not very dissimilar claims to theirs,but her sense of personal respect to her father prevented her. She made noreply. She left it to himself to recollect, that Mrs Smith was not the onlywidow in Bath between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no surnameof dignity.

Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and of course she heard thenext morning that they had had a delightful evening. She had been the only oneof the set absent, for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had not only been quite at herladyship’s service themselves, but had actually been happy to be employedby her in collecting others, and had been at the trouble of inviting both LadyRussell and Mr Elliot; and Mr Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wallisearly, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged all her evening engagements in orderto wait on her. Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening couldsupply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest interest must be, in having beenvery much talked of between her friend and Mr Elliot; in having been wishedfor, regretted, and at the same time honoured for staying away in such a cause.Her kind, compassionate visits to this old schoolfellow, sick and reduced,seemed to have quite delighted Mr Elliot. He thought her a most extraordinaryyoung woman; in her temper, manners, mind, a model of female excellence. Hecould meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of her merits; and Anne could notbe given to understand so much by her friend, could not know herself to be sohighly rated by a sensible man, without many of those agreeable sensationswhich her friend meant to create.

Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr Elliot. She was asmuch convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of his deserving her, andwas beginning to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from allthe remaining restraints of widowhood, and leave him at liberty to exert hismost open powers of pleasing. She would not speak to Anne with half thecertainty she felt on the subject, she would venture on little more than hintsof what might be hereafter, of a possible attachment on his side, of thedesirableness of the alliance, supposing such attachment to be real andreturned. Anne heard her, and made no violent exclamations; she only smiled,blushed, and gently shook her head.

“I am no match-maker, as you well know,” said Lady Russell,“being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events andcalculations. I only mean that if Mr Elliot should some time hence pay hisaddresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think therewould be every possibility of your being happy together. A most suitableconnection everybody must consider it, but I think it might be a very happyone.”

“Mr Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects I thinkhighly of him,” said Anne; “but we should not suit.”

Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in rejoinder, “I own that to beable to regard you as the future mistress of Kellynch, the future Lady Elliot,to look forward and see you occupying your dear mother’s place,succeeding to all her rights, and all her popularity, as well as to all hervirtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me. You are yourmother’s self in countenance and disposition; and if I might be allowedto fancy you such as she was, in situation and name, and home, presiding andblessing in the same spot, and only superior to her in being more highlyvalued! My dearest Anne, it would give me more delight than is often felt at mytime of life!”

Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table, and,leaning there in pretended employment, try to subdue the feelings this pictureexcited. For a few moments her imagination and her heart were bewitched. Theidea of becoming what her mother had been; of having the precious name of“Lady Elliot” first revived in herself; of being restored toKellynch, calling it her home again, her home for ever, was a charm which shecould not immediately resist. Lady Russell said not another word, willing toleave the matter to its own operation; and believing that, could Mr Elliot atthat moment with propriety have spoken for himself!—she believed, inshort, what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr Elliot speaking forhimself brought Anne to composure again. The charm of Kellynch and of“Lady Elliot” all faded away. She never could accept him. And itwas not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man save one; herjudgement, on a serious consideration of the possibilities of such a case, wasagainst Mr Elliot.

Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied thatshe really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man,that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge properly and as aman of principle, this was all clear enough. He certainly knew what was right,nor could she fix on any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed; butyet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted thepast, if not the present. The names which occasionally dropt of formerassociates, the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggestedsuspicions not favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had been badhabits; that Sunday travelling had been a common thing; that there had been aperiod of his life (and probably not a short one) when he had been, at least,careless in all serious matters; and, though he might now think verydifferently, who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever, cautiousman, grown old enough to appreciate a fair character? How could it ever beascertained that his mind was truly cleansed?

Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There wasnever any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evilor good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her earlyimpressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eagercharacter beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. Shefelt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those whosometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whosepresence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped.

Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were the tempers in herfather’s house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood too wellwith every body. He had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs Clay;had appeared completely to see what Mrs Clay was about, and to hold her incontempt; and yet Mrs Clay found him as agreeable as any body.

Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw nothingto excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly what he ought tobe than Mr Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than the hope ofseeing him receive the hand of her beloved Anne in Kellynch church, in thecourse of the following autumn.

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having been a month in Bath, wasgrowing very eager for news from Uppercross and Lyme. She wanted to hear muchmore than Mary had communicated. It was three weeks since she had heard at all.She only knew that Henrietta was at home again; and that Louisa, thoughconsidered to be recovering fast, was still in Lyme; and she was thinking ofthem all very intently one evening, when a thicker letter than usual from Marywas delivered to her; and, to quicken the pleasure and surprise, with Admiraland Mrs Croft’s compliments.

The Crofts must be in Bath! A circumstance to interest her. They were peoplewhom her heart turned to very naturally.

“What is this?” cried Sir Walter. “The Crofts have arrived inBath? The Crofts who rent Kellynch? What have they brought you?”

“A letter from Uppercross Cottage, Sir.”

“Oh! those letters are convenient passports. They secure an introduction.I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any rate. I know what is dueto my tenant.”

Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have told how the poorAdmiral’s complexion escaped; her letter engrossed her. It had been begunseveral days back.

“February 1st.

“MY DEAR ANNE,

I make no apology for my silence, because I know how little people think ofletters in such a place as Bath. You must be a great deal too happy to care forUppercross, which, as you well know, affords little to write about. We have hada very dull Christmas; Mr and Mrs Musgrove have not had one dinner party allthe holidays. I do not reckon the Hayters as anybody. The holidays, however,are over at last: I believe no children ever had such long ones. I am sure Ihad not. The house was cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvilles; butyou will be surprised to hear they have never gone home. Mrs Harville must bean odd mother to part with them so long. I do not understand it. They are notat all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs Musgrove seems to like them quiteas well, if not better, than her grandchildren. What dreadful weather we havehad! It may not be felt in Bath, with your nice pavements; but in the countryit is of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on me since thesecond week in January, except Charles Hayter, who had been calling muchoftener than was welcome. Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henriettadid not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a little outof his way. The carriage is gone to-day, to bring Louisa and the Harvillesto-morrow. We are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after, MrsMusgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the journey, which is not verylikely, considering the care that will be taken of her; and it would be muchmore convenient to me to dine there to-morrow. I am glad you find Mr Elliot soagreeable, and wish I could be acquainted with him too; but I have my usualluck: I am always out of the way when any thing desirable is going on; alwaysthe last of my family to be noticed. What an immense time Mrs Clay has beenstaying with Elizabeth! Does she never mean to go away? But perhaps if she wereto leave the room vacant, we might not be invited. Let me know what you thinkof this. I do not expect my children to be asked, you know. I can leave them atthe Great House very well, for a month or six weeks. I have this moment heardthat the Crofts are going to Bath almost immediately; they think the Admiralgouty. Charles heard it quite by chance; they have not had the civility to giveme any notice, or of offering to take anything. I do not think they improve atall as neighbours. We see nothing of them, and this is really an instance ofgross inattention. Charles joins me in love, and everything proper. Yoursaffectionately,

“MARY M——.

“I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and Jemima has just toldme that the butcher says there is a bad sore-throat very much about. I dare sayI shall catch it; and my sore-throats, you know, are always worse thananybody’s.”

So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put into an envelope,containing nearly as much more.

“I kept my letter open, that I might send you word how Louisa bore herjourney, and now I am extremely glad I did, having a great deal to add. In thefirst place, I had a note from Mrs Croft yesterday, offering to convey anythingto you; a very kind, friendly note indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought; Ishall therefore be able to make my letter as long as I like. The Admiral doesnot seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath will do him all the good he wants.I shall be truly glad to have them back again. Our neighbourhood cannot sparesuch a pleasant family. But now for Louisa. I have something to communicatethat will astonish you not a little. She and the Harvilles came on Tuesday verysafely, and in the evening we went to ask her how she did, when we were rathersurprised not to find Captain Benwick of the party, for he had been invited aswell as the Harvilles; and what do you think was the reason? Neither more norless than his being in love with Louisa, and not choosing to venture toUppercross till he had had an answer from Mr Musgrove; for it was all settledbetween him and her before she came away, and he had written to her father byCaptain Harville. True, upon my honour! Are not you astonished? I shall besurprised at least if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did. MrsMusgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing of the matter. We are all verywell pleased, however, for though it is not equal to her marrying CaptainWentworth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hayter; and Mr Musgrove haswritten his consent, and Captain Benwick is expected to-day. Mrs Harville saysher husband feels a good deal on his poor sister’s account; but, however,Louisa is a great favourite with both. Indeed, Mrs Harville and I quite agreethat we love her the better for having nursed her. Charles wonders what CaptainWentworth will say; but if you remember, I never thought him attached toLouisa; I never could see anything of it. And this is the end, you see, ofCaptain Benwick’s being supposed to be an admirer of yours. How Charlescould take such a thing into his head was always incomprehensible to me. I hopehe will be more agreeable now. Certainly not a great match for Louisa Musgrove,but a million times better than marrying among the Hayters.”

Mary need not have feared her sister’s being in any degree prepared forthe news. She had never in her life been more astonished. Captain Benwick andLouisa Musgrove! It was almost too wonderful for belief, and it was with thegreatest effort that she could remain in the room, preserve an air of calmness,and answer the common questions of the moment. Happily for her, they were notmany. Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts travelled with four horses,and whether they were likely to be situated in such a part of Bath as it mightsuit Miss Elliot and himself to visit in; but had little curiosity beyond.

“How is Mary?” said Elizabeth; and without waiting for an answer,“And pray what brings the Crofts to Bath?”

“They come on the Admiral’s account. He is thought to begouty.”

“Gout and decrepitude!” said Sir Walter. “Poor oldgentleman.”

“Have they any acquaintance here?” asked Elizabeth.

“I do not know; but I can hardly suppose that, at Admiral Croft’stime of life, and in his profession, he should not have many acquaintance insuch a place as this.”

“I suspect,” said Sir Walter coolly, “that Admiral Croft willbe best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch Hall. Elizabeth, may we ventureto present him and his wife in Laura Place?”

“Oh, no! I think not. Situated as we are with Lady Dalrymple, cousins, weought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance she might notapprove. If we were not related, it would not signify; but as cousins, shewould feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours. We had better leave theCrofts to find their own level. There are several odd-looking men walking abouthere, who, I am told, are sailors. The Crofts will associate with them.”

This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth’s share of interest in the letter; whenMrs Clay had paid her tribute of more decent attention, in an enquiry after MrsCharles Musgrove, and her fine little boys, Anne was at liberty.

In her own room, she tried to comprehend it. Well might Charles wonder howCaptain Wentworth would feel! Perhaps he had quitted the field, had givenLouisa up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her. She could notendure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything akin to ill usage betweenhim and his friend. She could not endure that such a friendship as theirsshould be severed unfairly.

Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! The high-spirited, joyous-talking LouisaMusgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Captain Benwick, seemedeach of them everything that would not suit the other. Their minds mostdissimilar! Where could have been the attraction? The answer soon presenteditself. It had been in situation. They had been thrown together several weeks;they had been living in the same small family party: since Henrietta’scoming away, they must have been depending almost entirely on each other, andLouisa, just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting state, andCaptain Benwick was not inconsolable. That was a point which Anne had not beenable to avoid suspecting before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion asMary, from the present course of events, they served only to confirm the ideaof his having felt some dawning of tenderness toward herself. She did not mean,however, to derive much more from it to gratify her vanity, than Mary mighthave allowed. She was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman who hadlistened and seemed to feel for him would have received the same compliment. Hehad an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.

She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa had fine naval fervour tobegin with, and they would soon grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness,and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron; nay, that wasprobably learnt already; of course they had fallen in love over poetry. Theidea of Louisa Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste, and sentimentalreflection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being so. The day at Lyme,the fall from the Cobb, might influence her health, her nerves, her courage,her character to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to haveinfluenced her fate.

The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman who had been sensible ofCaptain Wentworth’s merits could be allowed to prefer another man, therewas nothing in the engagement to excite lasting wonder; and if CaptainWentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to be regretted. No, it wasnot regret which made Anne’s heart beat in spite of herself, and broughtthe colour into her cheeks when she thought of Captain Wentworth unshackled andfree. She had some feelings which she was ashamed to investigate. They were toomuch like joy, senseless joy!

She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took place, it was evidentthat no rumour of the news had yet reached them. The visit of ceremony was paidand returned; and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned, and Captain Benwick, too,without even half a smile.

The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay Street, perfectly to SirWalter’s satisfaction. He was not at all ashamed of the acquaintance, anddid, in fact, think and talk a great deal more about the Admiral, than theAdmiral ever thought or talked about him.

The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as they wished for, and consideredtheir intercourse with the Elliots as a mere matter of form, and not in theleast likely to afford them any pleasure. They brought with them their countryhabit of being almost always together. He was ordered to walk to keep off thegout, and Mrs Croft seemed to go shares with him in everything, and to walk forher life to do him good. Anne saw them wherever she went. Lady Russell took herout in her carriage almost every morning, and she never failed to think ofthem, and never failed to see them. Knowing their feelings as she did, it was amost attractive picture of happiness to her. She always watched them as long asshe could, delighted to fancy she understood what they might be talking of, asthey walked along in happy independence, or equally delighted to see theAdmiral’s hearty shake of the hand when he encountered an old friend, andobserve their eagerness of conversation when occasionally forming into a littleknot of the navy, Mrs Croft looking as intelligent and keen as any of theofficers around her.

Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to be often walking herself; but itso happened that one morning, about a week or ten days after the Croft’sarrival, it suited her best to leave her friend, or her friend’scarriage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone to Camden Place, andin walking up Milsom Street she had the good fortune to meet with the Admiral.He was standing by himself at a printshop window, with his hands behind him, inearnest contemplation of some print, and she not only might have passed himunseen, but was obliged to touch as well as address him before she could catchhis notice. When he did perceive and acknowledge her, however, it was done withall his usual frankness and good humour. “Ha! is it you? Thank you, thankyou. This is treating me like a friend. Here I am, you see, staring at apicture. I can never get by this shop without stopping. But what a thing hereis, by way of a boat! Do look at it. Did you ever see the like? What queerfellows your fine painters must be, to think that anybody would venture theirlives in such a shapeless old cockleshell as that? And yet here are twogentlemen stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about them at therocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment, whichthey certainly must be. I wonder where that boat was built!” (laughingheartily); “I would not venture over a horsepond in it. Well,”(turning away), “now, where are you bound? Can I go anywhere for you, orwith you? Can I be of any use?”

“None, I thank you, unless you will give me the pleasure of your companythe little way our road lies together. I am going home.”

“That I will, with all my heart, and farther, too. Yes, yes we will havea snug walk together, and I have something to tell you as we go along. There,take my arm; that’s right; I do not feel comfortable if I have not awoman there. Lord! what a boat it is!” taking a last look at the picture,as they began to be in motion.

“Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?”

“Yes, I have, presently. But here comes a friend, Captain Brigden; Ishall only say, ‘How d’ye do?’ as we pass, however. I shallnot stop. ‘How d’ye do?’ Brigden stares to see anybody withme but my wife. She, poor soul, is tied by the leg. She has a blister on one ofher heels, as large as a three-shilling piece. If you look across the street,you will see Admiral Brand coming down and his brother. Shabby fellows, both ofthem! I am glad they are not on this side of the way. Sophy cannot bear them.They played me a pitiful trick once: got away with some of my best men. I willtell you the whole story another time. There comes old Sir Archibald Drew andhis grandson. Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you; he takes you for mywife. Ah! the peace has come too soon for that younker. Poor old Sir Archibald!How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot? It suits us very well. We are always meetingwith some old friend or other; the streets full of them every morning; sure tohave plenty of chat; and then we get away from them all, and shut ourselves inour lodgings, and draw in our chairs, and are as snug as if we were atKellynch, ay, or as we used to be even at North Yarmouth and Deal. We do notlike our lodgings here the worse, I can tell you, for putting us in mind ofthose we first had at North Yarmouth. The wind blows through one of thecupboards just in the same way.”

When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to press again for what hehad to communicate. She hoped when clear of Milsom Street to have her curiositygratified; but she was still obliged to wait, for the Admiral had made up hismind not to begin till they had gained the greater space and quiet of Belmont;and as she was not really Mrs Croft, she must let him have his own way. As soonas they were fairly ascending Belmont, he began—

“Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise you. But first ofall, you must tell me the name of the young lady I am going to talk about. Thatyoung lady, you know, that we have all been so concerned for. The MissMusgrove, that all this has been happening to. Her Christian name: I alwaysforget her Christian name.”

Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so soon as she really did; butnow she could safely suggest the name of “Louisa.”

“Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name. I wish young ladies hadnot such a number of fine Christian names. I should never be out if they wereall Sophys, or something of that sort. Well, this Miss Louisa, we all thought,you know, was to marry Frederick. He was courting her week after week. The onlywonder was, what they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came;then, indeed, it was clear enough that they must wait till her brain was set toright. But even then there was something odd in their way of going on. Insteadof staying at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went off to seeEdward. When we came back from Minehead he was gone down to Edward’s, andthere he has been ever since. We have seen nothing of him since November. EvenSophy could not understand it. But now, the matter has taken the strangest turnof all; for this young lady, the same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marryFrederick, is to marry James Benwick. You know James Benwick.”

“A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick.”

“Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they are married already,for I do not know what they should wait for.”

“I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man,” said Anne,“and I understand that he bears an excellent character.”

“Oh! yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James Benwick. Heis only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and these are bad times forgetting on, but he has not another fault that I know of. An excellent,good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active, zealous officer too, which ismore than you would think for, perhaps, for that soft sort of manner does notdo him justice.”

“Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never augur want of spiritfrom Captain Benwick’s manners. I thought them particularly pleasing, andI will answer for it, they would generally please.”

“Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James Benwick is rather toopiano for me; and though very likely it is all our partiality, Sophy and Icannot help thinking Frederick’s manners better than his. There issomething about Frederick more to our taste.”

Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the too common idea of spirit andgentleness being incompatible with each other, not at all to represent CaptainBenwick’s manners as the very best that could possibly be; and, after alittle hesitation, she was beginning to say, “I was not entering into anycomparison of the two friends,” but the Admiral interrupted herwith—

“And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit of gossip. We haveit from Frederick himself. His sister had a letter from him yesterday, in whichhe tells us of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville, writtenupon the spot, from Uppercross. I fancy they are all at Uppercross.”

This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist; she said, therefore,“I hope, Admiral, I hope there is nothing in the style of CaptainWentworth’s letter to make you and Mrs Croft particularly uneasy. It didseem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment between him and LouisaMusgrove; but I hope it may be understood to have worn out on each sideequally, and without violence. I hope his letter does not breathe the spirit ofan ill-used man.”

“Not at all, not at all; there is not an oath or a murmur from beginningto end.”

Anne looked down to hide her smile.

“No, no; Frederick is not a man to whine and complain; he has too muchspirit for that. If the girl likes another man better, it is very fit sheshould have him.”

“Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope there is nothing in CaptainWentworth’s manner of writing to make you suppose he thinks himselfill-used by his friend, which might appear, you know, without its beingabsolutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship as has subsistedbetween him and Captain Benwick should be destroyed, or even wounded, by acircumstance of this sort.”

“Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is nothing at all of that naturein the letter. He does not give the least fling at Benwick; does not so much assay, ‘I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering atit.’ No, you would not guess, from his way of writing, that he had everthought of this Miss (what’s her name?) for himself. He very handsomelyhopes they will be happy together; and there is nothing very unforgiving inthat, I think.”

Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the Admiral meant to convey,but it would have been useless to press the enquiry farther. She thereforesatisfied herself with common-place remarks or quiet attention, and the Admiralhad it all his own way.

“Poor Frederick!” said he at last. “Now he must begin allover again with somebody else. I think we must get him to Bath. Sophy mustwrite, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure. Itwould be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that other Miss Musgrove, Ifind, is bespoke by her cousin, the young parson. Do not you think, MissElliot, we had better try to get him to Bath?”

CHAPTER XIX.

While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing his wish ofgetting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his waythither. Before Mrs Croft had written, he was arrived, and the very next timeAnne walked out, she saw him.

Mr Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs Clay. They were in MilsomStreet. It began to rain, not much, but enough to make shelter desirable forwomen, and quite enough to make it very desirable for Miss Elliot to have theadvantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple’s carriage, which wasseen waiting at a little distance; she, Anne, and Mrs Clay, therefore, turnedinto Molland’s, while Mr Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request herassistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of course; Lady Dalrymplewould be most happy to take them home, and would call for them in a fewminutes.

Her ladyship’s carriage was a barouche, and did not hold more than fourwith any comfort. Miss Carteret was with her mother; consequently it was notreasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place ladies. Therecould be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Whoever suffered inconvenience, she mustsuffer none, but it occupied a little time to settle the point of civilitybetween the other two. The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere inpreferring a walk with Mr Elliot. But the rain was also a mere trifle to MrsClay; she would hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were sothick! much thicker than Miss Anne’s; and, in short, her civilityrendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk with Mr Elliot as Anne couldbe, and it was discussed between them with a generosity so polite and sodetermined, that the others were obliged to settle it for them; Miss Elliotmaintaining that Mrs Clay had a little cold already, and Mr Elliot deciding onappeal, that his cousin Anne’s boots were rather the thickest.

It was fixed accordingly, that Mrs Clay should be of the party in the carriage;and they had just reached this point, when Anne, as she sat near the window,descried, most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walking down thestreet.

Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt that she wasthe greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable and absurd! For afew minutes she saw nothing before her; it was all confusion. She was lost, andwhen she had scolded back her senses, she found the others still waiting forthe carriage, and Mr Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Streeton a commission of Mrs Clay’s.

She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted to see ifit rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive? Captain Wentworthmust be out of sight. She left her seat, she would go; one half of her shouldnot be always so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the otherof being worse than it was. She would see if it rained. She was sent back,however, in a moment by the entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among aparty of gentlemen and ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he musthave joined a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck andconfused by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quitered. For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that shewas betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the advantage of him inthe preparation of the last few moments. All the overpowering, blinding,bewildering, first effects of strong surprise were over with her. Still,however, she had enough to feel! It was agitation, pain, pleasure, a somethingbetween delight and misery.

He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character of his manner wasembarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly, oranything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again. Mutualenquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably, much the wiserfor what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of his being less atease than formerly. They had by dint of being so very much together, got tospeak to each other with a considerable portion of apparent indifference andcalmness; but he could not do it now. Time had changed him, or Louisa hadchanged him. There was consciousness of some sort or other. He looked verywell, not as if he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked ofUppercross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentarylook of his own arch significance as he named her; but yet it was CaptainWentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth would notknow him. She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there wascomplete internal recognition on each side; she was convinced that he was readyto be acknowledged as an acquaintance, expecting it, and she had the pain ofseeing her sister turn away with unalterable coldness.

Lady Dalrymple’s carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing veryimpatient, now drew up; the servant came in to announce it. It was beginning torain again, and altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a talking,which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand that Lady Dalrymplewas calling to convey Miss Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend,unattended but by the servant, (for there was no cousin returned), were walkingoff; and Captain Wentworth, watching them, turned again to Anne, and by manner,rather than words, was offering his services to her.

“I am much obliged to you,” was her answer, “but I am notgoing with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk: I preferwalking.”

“But it rains.”

“Oh! very little. Nothing that I regard.”

After a moment’s pause he said: “Though I came only yesterday, Ihave equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,” (pointing to anew umbrella); “I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined towalk; though I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a chair.”

She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating herconviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding,“I am only waiting for Mr Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I amsure.”

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr Elliot walked in. Captain Wentworthrecollected him perfectly. There was no difference between him and the man whohad stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the airand look and manner of the privileged relation and friend. He came in witheagerness, appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his stay, wasgrieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to get her away without furtherloss of time and before the rain increased; and in another moment they walkedoff together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance, and a“Good morning to you!” being all that she had time for, as shepassed away.

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth’sparty began talking of them.

“Mr Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?”

“Oh! no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen there. Heis always with them; half lives in the family, I believe. What a verygood-looking man!”

“Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says heis the most agreeable man she ever was in company with.”

“She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes to lookat her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more thanher sister.”

“Oh! so do I.”

“And so do I. No comparison. But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot.Anne is too delicate for them.”

Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would havewalked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word. She hadnever found it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed hissolicitude and care, and though his subjects were principally such as were wontto be always interesting: praise, warm, just, and discriminating, of LadyRussell, and insinuations highly rational against Mrs Clay. But just now shecould think only of Captain Wentworth. She could not understand his presentfeelings, whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not; andtill that point were settled, she could not be quite herself.

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! alas! she must confessto herself that she was not wise yet.

Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long he meant tobe in Bath; he had not mentioned it, or she could not recollect it. He might beonly passing through. But it was more probable that he should be come to stay.In that case, so liable as every body was to meet every body in Bath, LadyRussell would in all likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recollect him? Howwould it all be?

She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove was tomarry Captain Benwick. It had cost her something to encounter LadyRussell’s surprise; and now, if she were by any chance to be thrown intocompany with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge of the matter might addanother shade of prejudice against him.

The following morning Anne was out with her friend, and for the first hour, inan incessant and fearful sort of watch for him in vain; but at last, inreturning down Pulteney Street, she distinguished him on the right handpavement at such a distance as to have him in view the greater part of thestreet. There were many other men about him, many groups walking the same way,but there was no mistaking him. She looked instinctively at Lady Russell; butnot from any mad idea of her recognising him so soon as she did herself. No, itwas not to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they werenearly opposite. She looked at her however, from time to time, anxiously; andwhen the moment approached which must point him out, though not daring to lookagain (for her own countenance she knew was unfit to be seen), she was yetperfectly conscious of Lady Russell’s eyes being turned exactly in thedirection for him—of her being, in short, intently observing him. Shecould thoroughly comprehend the sort of fascination he must possess over LadyRussell’s mind, the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes,the astonishment she must be feeling that eight or nine years should havepassed over him, and in foreign climes and in active service too, withoutrobbing him of one personal grace!

At last, Lady Russell drew back her head. “Now, how would she speak ofhim?”

“You will wonder,” said she, “what has been fixing my eye solong; but I was looking after some window-curtains, which Lady Alicia and MrsFrankland were telling me of last night. They described the drawing-roomwindow-curtains of one of the houses on this side of the way, and this part ofthe street, as being the handsomest and best hung of any in Bath, but could notrecollect the exact number, and I have been trying to find out which it couldbe; but I confess I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer theirdescription.”

Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friendor herself. The part which provoked her most, was that in all this waste offoresight and caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing whetherhe saw them.

A day or two passed without producing anything. The theatre or the rooms, wherehe was most likely to be, were not fashionable enough for the Elliots, whoseevening amusements were solely in the elegant stupidity of private parties, inwhich they were getting more and more engaged; and Anne, wearied of such astate of stagnation, sick of knowing nothing, and fancying herself strongerbecause her strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concertevening. It was a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by LadyDalrymple. Of course they must attend. It was really expected to be a good one,and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music. If she could only have a fewminutes conversation with him again, she fancied she should be satisfied; andas to the power of addressing him, she felt all over courage if the opportunityoccurred. Elizabeth had turned from him, Lady Russell overlooked him; hernerves were strengthened by these circumstances; she felt that she owed himattention.

She had once partly promised Mrs Smith to spend the evening with her; but in ashort hurried call she excused herself and put it off, with the more decidedpromise of a longer visit on the morrow. Mrs Smith gave a most good-humouredacquiescence.

“By all means,” said she; “only tell me all about it, whenyou do come. Who is your party?”

Anne named them all. Mrs Smith made no reply; but when she was leaving hersaid, and with an expression half serious, half arch, “Well, I heartilywish your concert may answer; and do not fail me to-morrow if you can come; forI begin to have a foreboding that I may not have many more visits fromyou.”

Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a moment’ssuspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.

CHAPTER XX.

Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs Clay, were the earliest of all theirparty at the rooms in the evening; and as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for,they took their station by one of the fires in the Octagon Room. But hardlywere they so settled, when the door opened again, and Captain Wentworth walkedin alone. Anne was the nearest to him, and making yet a little advance, sheinstantly spoke. He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle“How do you do?” brought him out of the straight line to stand nearher, and make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sisterin the back ground. Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne; sheknew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything which she believedright to be done.

While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth caughther ear. She could not distinguish, but she must guess the subject; and onCaptain Wentworth’s making a distant bow, she comprehended that herfather had judged so well as to give him that simple acknowledgement ofacquaintance, and she was just in time by a side glance to see a slight curtseyfrom Elizabeth herself. This, though late, and reluctant, and ungracious, wasyet better than nothing, and her spirits improved.

After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and the concert, theirconversation began to flag, and so little was said at last, that she wasexpecting him to go every moment, but he did not; he seemed in no hurry toleave her; and presently with renewed spirit, with a little smile, a littleglow, he said—

“I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I am afraid you must havesuffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering you at thetime.”

She assured him that she had not.

“It was a frightful hour,” said he, “a frightful day!”and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remembrance were still toopainful, but in a moment, half smiling again, added, “The day hasproduced some effects however; has had some consequences which must beconsidered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had the presence of mindto suggest that Benwick would be the properest person to fetch a surgeon, youcould have little idea of his being eventually one of those most concerned inher recovery.”

“Certainly I could have none. But it appears—I should hope it wouldbe a very happy match. There are on both sides good principles and goodtemper.”

“Yes,” said he, looking not exactly forward; “but there, Ithink, ends the resemblance. With all my soul I wish them happy, and rejoiceover every circumstance in favour of it. They have no difficulties to contendwith at home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays. The Musgroves are behavinglike themselves, most honourably and kindly, only anxious with true parentalhearts to promote their daughter’s comfort. All this is much, very muchin favour of their happiness; more than perhaps—”

He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to occur, and to give him some tasteof that emotion which was reddening Anne’s cheeks and fixing her eyes onthe ground. After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded thus—

“I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity,and in a point no less essential than mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a veryamiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwickis something more. He is a clever man, a reading man; and I confess, that I doconsider his attaching himself to her with some surprise. Had it been theeffect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he believed her to bepreferring him, it would have been another thing. But I have no reason tosuppose it so. It seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous,untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me. A man like him, in hissituation! with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken! Fanny Harville was avery superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed attachment. A mandoes not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman. He oughtnot; he does not.”

Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend had recovered, or fromother consciousness, he went no farther; and Anne who, in spite of the agitatedvoice in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of all thevarious noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of the door, andceaseless buzz of persons walking through, had distinguished every word, wasstruck, gratified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and feel anhundred things in a moment. It was impossible for her to enter on such asubject; and yet, after a pause, feeling the necessity of speaking, and havingnot the smallest wish for a total change, she only deviated so far as tosay—

“You were a good while at Lyme, I think?”

“About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louisa’s doing wellwas quite ascertained. I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief to besoon at peace. It had been my doing, solely mine. She would not have beenobstinate if I had not been weak. The country round Lyme is very fine. I walkedand rode a great deal; and the more I saw, the more I found to admire.”

“I should very much like to see Lyme again,” said Anne.

“Indeed! I should not have supposed that you could have found anything inLyme to inspire such a feeling. The horror and distress you were involved in,the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits! I should have thought your lastimpressions of Lyme must have been strong disgust.”

“The last hours were certainly very painful,” replied Anne;“but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it hasbeen all suffering, nothing but suffering, which was by no means the case atLyme. We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours, andpreviously there had been a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty andbeauty! I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interestingto me; but there is real beauty at Lyme; and in short” (with a faintblush at some recollections), “altogether my impressions of the place arevery agreeable.”

As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the very party appeared forwhom they were waiting. “Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,” was therejoicing sound; and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance,Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her. Lady Dalrymple andMiss Carteret, escorted by Mr Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened toarrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room. The others joinedthem, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included.She was divided from Captain Wentworth. Their interesting, almost toointeresting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight was thepenance compared with the happiness which brought it on! She had learnt, in thelast ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelingsthan she dared to think of; and she gave herself up to the demands of theparty, to the needful civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitatedsensations. She was in good humour with all. She had received ideas whichdisposed her to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one, as beingless happy than herself.

The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when on stepping back from thegroup, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone. Shewas just in time to see him turn into the Concert Room. He was gone; he haddisappeared, she felt a moment’s regret. But “they should meetagain. He would look for her, he would find her out before the evening wereover, and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder. She was in need ofa little interval for recollection.”

Upon Lady Russell’s appearance soon afterwards, the whole party wascollected, and all that remained was to marshal themselves, and proceed intothe Concert Room; and be of all the consequence in their power, draw as manyeyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people as they could.

Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in.Elizabeth arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of thedowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did notseem within her reach; and Anne—but it would be an insult to the natureof Anne’s felicity, to draw any comparison between it and hersister’s; the origin of one all selfish vanity, of the other all generousattachment.

Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room. Her happinesswas from within. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed; but she knewnothing about it. She was thinking only of the last half hour, and as theypassed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range over it. His choice ofsubjects, his expressions, and still more his manner and look, had been such asshe could see in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove’sinferiority, an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to give, his wonder atCaptain Benwick, his feelings as to a first, strong attachment; sentences begunwhich he could not finish, his half averted eyes and more than half expressiveglance, all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; thatanger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, notmerely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past. Yes, someshare of the tenderness of the past. She could not contemplate the change asimplying less. He must love her.

These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied and flurriedher too much to leave her any power of observation; and she passed along theroom without having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern him. Whentheir places were determined on, and they were all properly arranged, shelooked round to see if he should happen to be in the same part of the room, buthe was not; her eye could not reach him; and the concert being just opening,she must consent for a time to be happy in a humbler way.

The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches: Anne was amongthose on the foremost, and Mr Elliot had manœuvred so well, with the assistanceof his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss Elliot, surroundedby her cousins, and the principal object of Colonel Wallis’s gallantry,was quite contented.

Anne’s mind was in a most favourable state for the entertainment of theevening; it was just occupation enough: she had feelings for the tender,spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for thewearisome; and had never liked a concert better, at least during the first act.Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding an Italian song, sheexplained the words of the song to Mr Elliot. They had a concert bill betweenthem.

“This,” said she, “is nearly the sense, or rather the meaningof the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love-song must not betalked of, but it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for I do not pretendto understand the language. I am a very poor Italian scholar.”

“Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of the matter. You haveonly knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted,transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegantEnglish. You need not say anything more of your ignorance. Here is completeproof.”

“I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry to beexamined by a real proficient.”

“I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden Place so long,”replied he, “without knowing something of Miss Anne Elliot; and I doregard her as one who is too modest for the world in general to be aware ofhalf her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty to be naturalin any other woman.”

“For shame! for shame! this is too much flattery. I forget what we are tohave next,” turning to the bill.

“Perhaps,” said Mr Elliot, speaking low, “I have had a longeracquaintance with your character than you are aware of.”

“Indeed! How so? You can have been acquainted with it only since I cameto Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of in my ownfamily.”

“I knew you by report long before you came to Bath. I had heard youdescribed by those who knew you intimately. I have been acquainted with you bycharacter many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner;they were all present to me.”

Mr Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one canwithstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described long ago to arecent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne was allcuriosity. She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain. He delightedin being asked, but he would not tell.

“No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention nonames now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He had many yearsago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him withthe highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to knowher.”

Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her manyyears ago as the Mr Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth’s brother.He might have been in Mr Elliot’s company, but she had not courage to askthe question.

“The name of Anne Elliot,” said he, “has long had aninteresting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and,if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change.”

Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received their sound,than her attention was caught by other sounds immediately behind her, whichrendered every thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking.

“A well-looking man,” said Sir Walter, “a very well-lookingman.”

“A very fine young man indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple. “Moreair than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I dare say.”

“No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth; CaptainWentworth of the navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, theCroft, who rents Kellynch.”

Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne’s eyes had caught theright direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a clusterof men at a little distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to bewithdrawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as if she had been onemoment too late; and as long as she dared observe, he did not look again: butthe performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore herattention to the orchestra and look straight forward.

When she could give another glance, he had moved away. He could not have comenearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut in: but she wouldrather have caught his eye.

Mr Elliot’s speech, too, distressed her. She had no longer anyinclination to talk to him. She wished him not so near her.

The first act was over. Now she hoped for some beneficial change; and, after aperiod of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them did decide on going inquest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move. She remainedin her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but she had the pleasure of getting ridof Mr Elliot; and she did not mean, whatever she might feel on LadyRussell’s account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth, ifhe gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady Russell’scountenance that she had seen him.

He did not come however. Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him at adistance, but he never came. The anxious interval wore away unproductively. Theothers returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed,and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be sat out, another hour ofmusic was to give delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for itprevailed. To Anne, it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. Shecould not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more,without the interchange of one friendly look.

In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which wasfavourable for her. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Mr Elliotwas invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, tosit between them; and by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own,Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she hadbeen before, much more within reach of a passer-by. She could not do so,without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; butstill she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by what seemedprosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, shefound herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed.

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth wasagain in sight. She saw him not far off. He saw her too; yet he looked grave,and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enoughto speak to her. She felt that something must be the matter. The change wasindubitable. The difference between his present air and what it had been in theOctagon Room was strikingly great. Why was it? She thought of her father, ofLady Russell. Could there have been any unpleasant glances? He began byspeaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross;owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confessthat he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke indefence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings sopleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost asmile. They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even lookeddown towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; whenat that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came fromMr Elliot. He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italianagain. Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was nextto be sung. Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politenesswith a more suffering spirit.

A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and whenher own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, shefound herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet hurried sort offarewell. “He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get homeas fast as he could.”

“Is not this song worth staying for?” said Anne, suddenly struck byan idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

“No!” he replied impressively, “there is nothing worth mystaying for;” and he was gone directly.

Jealousy of Mr Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain Wentworthjealous of her affection! Could she have believed it a week ago; three hoursago! For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But, alas! there were verydifferent thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy to be quieted? How was thetruth to reach him? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respectivesituations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments? It was misery to thinkof Mr Elliot’s attentions. Their evil was incalculable.

CHAPTER XXI.

Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her promise of going to MrsSmith, meaning that it should engage her from home at the time when Mr Elliotwould be most likely to call; for to avoid Mr Elliot was almost a first object.

She felt a great deal of good-will towards him. In spite of the mischief of hisattentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion. She couldnot help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances attending theiracquaintance, of the right which he seemed to have to interest her, byeverything in situation, by his own sentiments, by his early prepossession. Itwas altogether very extraordinary; flattering, but painful. There was much toregret. How she might have felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in thecase, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth; and be theconclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his forever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, thantheir final separation.

Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy, could never havepassed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden Placeto Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfumeall the way.

She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend seemed this morningparticularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected her,though it had been an appointment.

An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and Anne’srecollections of the concert were quite happy enough to animate her featuresand make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she could tell she told mostgladly, but the all was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactoryfor such an enquirer as Mrs Smith, who had already heard, through the short cutof a laundress and a waiter, rather more of the general success and produce ofthe evening than Anne could relate, and who now asked in vain for severalparticulars of the company. Everybody of any consequence or notoriety in Bathwas well know by name to Mrs Smith.

“The little Durands were there, I conclude,” said she, “withtheir mouths open to catch the music, like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed.They never miss a concert.”

“Yes; I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr Elliot say they were inthe room.”

“The Ibbotsons, were they there? and the two new beauties, with the tallIrish officer, who is talked of for one of them.”

“I do not know. I do not think they were.”

“Old Lady Mary Maclean? I need not ask after her. She never misses, Iknow; and you must have seen her. She must have been in your own circle; for asyou went with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur, round theorchestra, of course.”

“No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been very unpleasant to me inevery respect. But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off; andwe were exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing; I must not say forseeing, because I appear to have seen very little.”

“Oh! you saw enough for your own amusement. I can understand. There is asort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. Youwere a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond.”

“But I ought to have looked about me more,” said Anne, consciouswhile she spoke that there had in fact been no want of looking about, that theobject only had been deficient.

“No, no; you were better employed. You need not tell me that you had apleasant evening. I see it in your eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed:that you had always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals of theconcert it was conversation.”

Anne half smiled and said, “Do you see that in my eye?”

“Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were incompany last night with the person whom you think the most agreeable in theworld, the person who interests you at this present time more than all the restof the world put together.”

A blush overspread Anne’s cheeks. She could say nothing.

“And such being the case,” continued Mrs Smith, after a shortpause, “I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness incoming to me this morning. It is really very good of you to come and sit withme, when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time.”

Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the astonishment and confusionexcited by her friend’s penetration, unable to imagine how any report ofCaptain Wentworth could have reached her. After another short silence—

“Pray,” said Mrs Smith, “is Mr Elliot aware of youracquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath?”

“Mr Elliot!” repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A moment’sreflection shewed her the mistake she had been under. She caught itinstantaneously; and recovering her courage with the feeling of safety, soonadded, more composedly, “Are you acquainted with Mr Elliot?”

“I have been a good deal acquainted with him,” replied Mrs Smith,gravely, “but it seems worn out now. It is a great while since wemet.”

“I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned it before. Had Iknown it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about you.”

“To confess the truth,” said Mrs Smith, assuming her usual air ofcheerfulness, “that is exactly the pleasure I want you to have. I wantyou to talk about me to Mr Elliot. I want your interest with him. He can be ofessential service to me; and if you would have the goodness, my dear MissElliot, to make it an object to yourself, of course it is done.”

“I should be extremely happy; I hope you cannot doubt my willingness tobe of even the slightest use to you,” replied Anne; “but I suspectthat you are considering me as having a higher claim on Mr Elliot, a greaterright to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure you have, somehow orother, imbibed such a notion. You must consider me only as Mr Elliot’srelation. If in that light there is anything which you suppose his cousin mightfairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me.”

Mrs Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then, smiling, said—

“I have been a little premature, I perceive; I beg your pardon. I oughtto have waited for official information. But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as anold friend, do give me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week? To be sure bynext week I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build my own selfishschemes on Mr Elliot’s good fortune.”

“No,” replied Anne, “nor next week, nor next, nor next. Iassure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be settled anyweek. I am not going to marry Mr Elliot. I should like to know why you imagineI am?”

Mrs Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook her head, andexclaimed—

“Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do wish I knew what you wereat! I have a great idea that you do not design to be cruel, when the rightmoment occurs. Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to haveanybody. It is a thing of course among us, that every man is refused, till heoffers. But why should you be cruel? Let me plead for my—present friend Icannot call him, but for my former friend. Where can you look for a moresuitable match? Where could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agreeable man? Letme recommend Mr Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him from ColonelWallis; and who can know him better than Colonel Wallis?”

“My dear Mrs Smith, Mr Elliot’s wife has not been dead much abovehalf a year. He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to anyone.”

“Oh! if these are your only objections,” cried Mrs Smith, archly,“Mr Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more trouble about him. Donot forget me when you are married, that’s all. Let him know me to be afriend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble required, whichit is very natural for him now, with so many affairs and engagements of hisown, to avoid and get rid of as he can; very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine outof a hundred would do the same. Of course, he cannot be aware of the importanceto me. Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. MrElliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman. Your peace will notbe shipwrecked as mine has been. You are safe in all worldly matters, and safein his character. He will not be led astray; he will not be misled by others tohis ruin.”

“No,” said Anne, “I can readily believe all that of mycousin. He seems to have a calm decided temper, not at all open to dangerousimpressions. I consider him with great respect. I have no reason, from anything that has fallen within my observation, to do otherwise. But I have notknown him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be known intimately soon. Willnot this manner of speaking of him, Mrs Smith, convince you that he is nothingto me? Surely this must be calm enough. And, upon my word, he is nothing to me.Should he ever propose to me (which I have very little reason to imagine he hasany thought of doing), I shall not accept him. I assure you I shall not. Iassure you, Mr Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing, inwhatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford: not Mr Elliot; it isnot Mr Elliot that—”

She stopped, regretting with a deep blush that she had implied so much; butless would hardly have been sufficient. Mrs Smith would hardly have believed sosoon in Mr Elliot’s failure, but from the perception of there being asomebody else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and with all the semblanceof seeing nothing beyond; and Anne, eager to escape farther notice, wasimpatient to know why Mrs Smith should have fancied she was to marry Mr Elliot;where she could have received the idea, or from whom she could have heard it.

“Do tell me how it first came into your head.”

“It first came into my head,” replied Mrs Smith, “uponfinding how much you were together, and feeling it to be the most probablething in the world to be wished for by everybody belonging to either of you;and you may depend upon it that all your acquaintance have disposed of you inthe same way. But I never heard it spoken of till two days ago.”

“And has it indeed been spoken of?”

“Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you when you calledyesterday?”

“No. Was not it Mrs Speed, as usual, or the maid? I observed no one inparticular.”

“It was my friend Mrs Rooke; Nurse Rooke; who, by-the-bye, had a greatcuriosity to see you, and was delighted to be in the way to let you in. Shecame away from Marlborough Buildings only on Sunday; and she it was who told meyou were to marry Mr Elliot. She had had it from Mrs Wallis herself, which didnot seem bad authority. She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave methe whole history.”

“The whole history,” repeated Anne,laughing. “She could not make a very long history, I think, of one suchlittle article of unfounded news.”

Mrs Smith said nothing.

“But,” continued Anne, presently, “though there is no truthin my having this claim on Mr Elliot, I should be extremely happy to be of useto you in any way that I could. Shall I mention to him your being in Bath?Shall I take any message?”

“No, I thank you: no, certainly not. In the warmth of the moment, andunder a mistaken impression, I might, perhaps, have endeavoured to interest youin some circumstances; but not now. No, I thank you, I have nothing to troubleyou with.”

“I think you spoke of having known Mr Elliot many years?”

“I did.”

“Not before he was married, I suppose?”

“Yes; he was not married when I knew him first.”

“And—were you much acquainted?”

“Intimately.”

“Indeed! Then do tell me what he was at that time of life. I have a greatcuriosity to know what Mr Elliot was as a very young man. Was he at all such ashe appears now?”

“I have not seen Mr Elliot these three years,” was MrsSmith’s answer, given so gravely that it was impossible to pursue thesubject farther; and Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an increase ofcuriosity. They were both silent: Mrs Smith very thoughtful. At last—

“I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot,” she cried, in her naturaltone of cordiality, “I beg your pardon for the short answers I have beengiving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to do. I have been doubtingand considering as to what I ought to tell you. There were many things to betaken into the account. One hates to be officious, to be giving badimpressions, making mischief. Even the smooth surface of family-union seemsworth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath. However, I havedetermined; I think I am right; I think you ought to be made acquainted with MrElliot’s real character. Though I fully believe that, at present, youhave not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what mayhappen. You might, some time or other, be differently affected towards him.Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced. Mr Elliot is a manwithout heart or conscience; a designing, wary, cold-blooded being, who thinksonly of himself; whom for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of anycruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated without risk of hisgeneral character. He has no feeling for others. Those whom he has been thechief cause of leading into ruin, he can neglect and desert without thesmallest compunction. He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment ofjustice or compassion. Oh! he is black at heart, hollow and black!”

Anne’s astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made her pause, and ina calmer manner, she added,

“My expressions startle you. You must allow for an injured, angry woman.But I will try to command myself. I will not abuse him. I will only tell youwhat I have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the intimate friend of my dearhusband, who trusted and loved him, and thought him as good as himself. Theintimacy had been formed before our marriage. I found them most intimatefriends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with Mr Elliot, and entertainedthe highest opinion of him. At nineteen, you know, one does not think veryseriously; but Mr Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much moreagreeable than most others, and we were almost always together. We wereprincipally in town, living in very good style. He was then the inferior incircumstances; he was then the poor one; he had chambers in the Temple, and itwas as much as he could do to support the appearance of a gentleman. He hadalways a home with us whenever he chose it; he was always welcome; he was likea brother. My poor Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit in theworld, would have divided his last farthing with him; and I know that his pursewas open to him; I know that he often assisted him.”

“This must have been about that very period of Mr Elliot’slife,” said Anne, “which has always excited my particularcuriosity. It must have been about the same time that he became known to myfather and sister. I never knew him myself; I only heard of him; but there wasa something in his conduct then, with regard to my father and sister, andafterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which I never could quitereconcile with present times. It seemed to announce a different sort ofman.”

“I know it all, I know it all,” cried Mrs Smith. “He had beenintroduced to Sir Walter and your sister before I was acquainted with him, butI heard him speak of them for ever. I know he was invited and encouraged, and Iknow he did not choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps, on points which youwould little expect; and as to his marriage, I knew all about it at the time. Iwas privy to all the fors and againsts; I was the friend to whom he confidedhis hopes and plans; and though I did not know his wife previously, herinferior situation in society, indeed, rendered that impossible, yet I knew herall her life afterwards, or at least till within the last two years of herlife, and can answer any question you may wish to put.”

“Nay,” said Anne, “I have no particular enquiry to make abouther. I have always understood they were not a happy couple. But I should liketo know why, at that time of his life, he should slight my father’sacquaintance as he did. My father was certainly disposed to take very kind andproper notice of him. Why did Mr Elliot draw back?”

“Mr Elliot,” replied Mrs Smith, “at that period of his life,had one object in view: to make his fortune, and by a rather quicker processthan the law. He was determined to make it by marriage. He was determined, atleast, not to mar it by an imprudent marriage; and I know it was his belief(whether justly or not, of course I cannot decide), that your father andsister, in their civilities and invitations, were designing a match between theheir and the young lady, and it was impossible that such a match should haveanswered his ideas of wealth and independence. That was his motive for drawingback, I can assure you. He told me the whole story. He had no concealments withme. It was curious, that having just left you behind me in Bath, my first andprincipal acquaintance on marrying should be your cousin; and that, throughhim, I should be continually hearing of your father and sister. He describedone Miss Elliot, and I thought very affectionately of the other.”

“Perhaps,” cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, “yousometimes spoke of me to Mr Elliot?”

“To be sure I did; very often. I used to boast of my own Anne Elliot, andvouch for your being a very different creature from—”

She checked herself just in time.

“This accounts for something which Mr Elliot said last night,”cried Anne. “This explains it. I found he had been used to hear of me. Icould not comprehend how. What wild imaginations one forms where dear self isconcerned! How sure to be mistaken! But I beg your pardon; I have interruptedyou. Mr Elliot married then completely for money? The circumstances, probably,which first opened your eyes to his character.”

Mrs Smith hesitated a little here. “Oh! those things are too common. Whenone lives in the world, a man or woman’s marrying for money is too commonto strike one as it ought. I was very young, and associated only with theyoung, and we were a thoughtless, gay set, without any strict rules of conduct.We lived for enjoyment. I think differently now; time and sickness and sorrowhave given me other notions; but at that period I must own I saw nothingreprehensible in what Mr Elliot was doing. ‘To do the best forhimself,’ passed as a duty.”

“But was not she a very low woman?”

“Yes; which I objected to, but he would not regard. Money, money, was allthat he wanted. Her father was a grazier, her grandfather had been a butcher,but that was all nothing. She was a fine woman, had had a decent education, wasbrought forward by some cousins, thrown by chance into Mr Elliot’scompany, and fell in love with him; and not a difficulty or a scruple was thereon his side, with respect to her birth. All his caution was spent in beingsecured of the real amount of her fortune, before he committed himself. Dependupon it, whatever esteem Mr Elliot may have for his own situation in life now,as a young man he had not the smallest value for it. His chance for theKellynch estate was something, but all the honour of the family he held ascheap as dirt. I have often heard him declare, that if baronetcies weresaleable, anybody should have his for fifty pounds, arms and motto, name andlivery included; but I will not pretend to repeat half that I used to hear himsay on that subject. It would not be fair; and yet you ought to have proof, forwhat is all this but assertion, and you shall have proof.”

“Indeed, my dear Mrs Smith, I want none,” cried Anne. “Youhave asserted nothing contradictory to what Mr Elliot appeared to be some yearsago. This is all in confirmation, rather, of what we used to hear and believe.I am more curious to know why he should be so different now.”

“But for my satisfaction, if you will have the goodness to ring for Mary;stay: I am sure you will have the still greater goodness of going yourself intomy bedroom, and bringing me the small inlaid box which you will find on theupper shelf of the closet.”

Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did as she was desired. Thebox was brought and placed before her, and Mrs Smith, sighing over it as sheunlocked it, said—

“This is full of papers belonging to him, to my husband; a small portiononly of what I had to look over when I lost him. The letter I am looking forwas one written by Mr Elliot to him before our marriage, and happened to besaved; why, one can hardly imagine. But he was careless and immethodical, likeother men, about those things; and when I came to examine his papers, I foundit with others still more trivial, from different people scattered here andthere, while many letters and memorandums of real importance had beendestroyed. Here it is; I would not burn it, because being even then very littlesatisfied with Mr Elliot, I was determined to preserve every document of formerintimacy. I have now another motive for being glad that I can produceit.”

This was the letter, directed to “Charles Smith, Esq. TunbridgeWells,” and dated from London, as far back as July, 1803:—

“Dear Smith,

“I have received yours. Your kindness almost overpowers me. I wish naturehad made such hearts as yours more common, but I have lived three-and-twentyyears in the world, and have seen none like it. At present, believe me, I haveno need of your services, being in cash again. Give me joy: I have got rid ofSir Walter and Miss. They are gone back to Kellynch, and almost made me swearto visit them this summer; but my first visit to Kellynch will be with asurveyor, to tell me how to bring it with best advantage to the hammer. Thebaronet, nevertheless, is not unlikely to marry again; he is quite fool enough.If he does, however, they will leave me in peace, which may be a decentequivalent for the reversion. He is worse than last year.

“I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it. The name of Walter Ican drop, thank God! and I desire you will never insult me with my second W.again, meaning, for the rest of my life, to be only yours truly,

“WM. ELLIOT.”

Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in a glow; and Mrs Smith,observing the high colour in her face, said—

“The language, I know, is highly disrespectful. Though I have forgot theexact terms, I have a perfect impression of the general meaning. But it showsyou the man. Mark his professions to my poor husband. Can any thing bestronger?”

Anne could not immediately get over the shock and mortification of finding suchwords applied to her father. She was obliged to recollect that her seeing theletter was a violation of the laws of honour, that no one ought to be judged orto be known by such testimonies, that no private correspondence could bear theeye of others, before she could recover calmness enough to return the letterwhich she had been meditating over, and say—

“Thank you. This is full proof undoubtedly; proof of every thing you weresaying. But why be acquainted with us now?”

“I can explain this too,” cried Mrs Smith, smiling.

“Can you really?”

“Yes. I have shewn you Mr Elliot as he was a dozen years ago, and I willshew him as he is now. I cannot produce written proof again, but I can give asauthentic oral testimony as you can desire, of what he is now wanting, and whathe is now doing. He is no hypocrite now. He truly wants to marry you. Hispresent attentions to your family are very sincere: quite from the heart. Iwill give you my authority: his friend Colonel Wallis.”

“Colonel Wallis! you are acquainted with him?”

“No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that; it takes abend or two, but nothing of consequence. The stream is as good as at first; thelittle rubbish it collects in the turnings is easily moved away. Mr Elliottalks unreservedly to Colonel Wallis of his views on you, which said ColonelWallis, I imagine to be, in himself, a sensible, careful, discerning sort ofcharacter; but Colonel Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to whom he tellsthings which he had better not, and he repeats it all to her. She in theoverflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to her nurse; and the nurseknowing my acquaintance with you, very naturally brings it all to me. On Mondayevening, my good friend Mrs Rooke let me thus much into the secrets ofMarlborough Buildings. When I talked of a whole history, therefore, you see Iwas not romancing so much as you supposed.”

“My dear Mrs Smith, your authority is deficient. This will not do. MrElliot’s having any views on me will not in the least account for theefforts he made towards a reconciliation with my father. That was all prior tomy coming to Bath. I found them on the most friendly terms when Iarrived.”

“I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but—”

“Indeed, Mrs Smith, we must not expect to get real information in such aline. Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands of so many, to bemisconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have muchtruth left.”

“Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to judge of the generalcredit due, by listening to some particulars which you can yourself immediatelycontradict or confirm. Nobody supposes that you were his first inducement. Hehad seen you indeed, before he came to Bath, and admired you, but withoutknowing it to be you. So says my historian, at least. Is this true? Did he seeyou last summer or autumn, ‘somewhere down in the west,’ to use herown words, without knowing it to be you?”

“He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme. I happened to be atLyme.”

“Well,” continued Mrs Smith, triumphantly, “grant my friendthe credit due to the establishment of the first point asserted. He saw youthen at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet withyou again in Camden Place, as Miss Anne Elliot, and from that moment, I have nodoubt, had a double motive in his visits there. But there was another, and anearlier, which I will now explain. If there is anything in my story which youknow to be either false or improbable, stop me. My account states, that yoursister’s friend, the lady now staying with you, whom I have heard youmention, came to Bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long ago as September(in short when they first came themselves), and has been staying there eversince; that she is a clever, insinuating, handsome woman, poor and plausible,and altogether such in situation and manner, as to give a general idea, amongSir Walter’s acquaintance, of her meaning to be Lady Elliot, and asgeneral a surprise that Miss Elliot should be apparently, blind to thedanger.”

Here Mrs Smith paused a moment; but Anne had not a word to say, and shecontinued—

“This was the light in which it appeared to those who knew the family,long before you returned to it; and Colonel Wallis had his eye upon your fatherenough to be sensible of it, though he did not then visit in Camden Place; buthis regard for Mr Elliot gave him an interest in watching all that was going onthere, and when Mr Elliot came to Bath for a day or two, as he happened to do alittle before Christmas, Colonel Wallis made him acquainted with the appearanceof things, and the reports beginning to prevail. Now you are to understand,that time had worked a very material change in Mr Elliot’s opinions as tothe value of a baronetcy. Upon all points of blood and connexion he is acompletely altered man. Having long had as much money as he could spend,nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence, he has been graduallylearning to pin his happiness upon the consequence he is heir to. I thought itcoming on before our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a confirmed feeling. Hecannot bear the idea of not being Sir William. You may guess, therefore, thatthe news he heard from his friend could not be very agreeable, and you mayguess what it produced; the resolution of coming back to Bath as soon aspossible, and of fixing himself here for a time, with the view of renewing hisformer acquaintance, and recovering such a footing in the family as might givehim the means of ascertaining the degree of his danger, and of circumventingthe lady if he found it material. This was agreed upon between the two friendsas the only thing to be done; and Colonel Wallis was to assist in every waythat he could. He was to be introduced, and Mrs Wallis was to be introduced,and everybody was to be introduced. Mr Elliot came back accordingly; and onapplication was forgiven, as you know, and re-admitted into the family; andthere it was his constant object, and his only object (till your arrival addedanother motive), to watch Sir Walter and Mrs Clay. He omitted no opportunity ofbeing with them, threw himself in their way, called at all hours; but I neednot be particular on this subject. You can imagine what an artful man would do;and with this guide, perhaps, may recollect what you have seen him do.”

“Yes,” said Anne, “you tell me nothing which does not accordwith what I have known, or could imagine. There is always something offensivein the details of cunning. The manœuvres of selfishness and duplicity must everbe revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me. I know thosewho would be shocked by such a representation of Mr Elliot, who would havedifficulty in believing it; but I have never been satisfied. I have alwayswanted some other motive for his conduct than appeared. I should like to knowhis present opinion, as to the probability of the event he has been in dreadof; whether he considers the danger to be lessening or not.”

“Lessening, I understand,” replied Mrs Smith. “He thinks MrsClay afraid of him, aware that he sees through her, and not daring to proceedas she might do in his absence. But since he must be absent some time or other,I do not perceive how he can ever be secure while she holds her presentinfluence. Mrs Wallis has an amusing idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to beput into the marriage articles when you and Mr Elliot marry, that your fatheris not to marry Mrs Clay. A scheme, worthy of Mrs Wallis’s understanding,by all accounts; but my sensible nurse Rooke sees the absurdity of it.‘Why, to be sure, ma’am,’ said she, ‘it would notprevent his marrying anybody else.’ And, indeed, to own the truth, I donot think nurse, in her heart, is a very strenuous opposer of SirWalter’s making a second match. She must be allowed to be a favourer ofmatrimony, you know; and (since self will intrude) who can say that she may nothave some flying visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through MrsWallis’s recommendation?”

“I am very glad to know all this,” said Anne, after a littlethoughtfulness. “It will be more painful to me in some respects to be incompany with him, but I shall know better what to do. My line of conduct willbe more direct. Mr Elliot is evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly man,who has never had any better principle to guide him than selfishness.”

But Mr Elliot was not done with. Mrs Smith had been carried away from her firstdirection, and Anne had forgotten, in the interest of her own family concerns,how much had been originally implied against him; but her attention was nowcalled to the explanation of those first hints, and she listened to a recitalwhich, if it did not perfectly justify the unqualified bitterness of Mrs Smith,proved him to have been very unfeeling in his conduct towards her; verydeficient both in justice and compassion.

She learned that (the intimacy between them continuing unimpaired by MrElliot’s marriage) they had been as before always together, and Mr Elliothad led his friend into expenses much beyond his fortune. Mrs Smith did notwant to take blame to herself, and was most tender of throwing any on herhusband; but Anne could collect that their income had never been equal to theirstyle of living, and that from the first there had been a great deal of generaland joint extravagance. From his wife’s account of him she could discernMr Smith to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, andnot strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and very unlikehim, led by him, and probably despised by him. Mr Elliot, raised by hismarriage to great affluence, and disposed to every gratification of pleasureand vanity which could be commanded without involving himself, (for with allhis self-indulgence he had become a prudent man), and beginning to be rich,just as his friend ought to have found himself to be poor, seemed to have hadno concern at all for that friend’s probable finances, but, on thecontrary, had been prompting and encouraging expenses which could end only inruin; and the Smiths accordingly had been ruined.

The husband had died just in time to be spared the full knowledge of it. Theyhad previously known embarrassments enough to try the friendship of theirfriends, and to prove that Mr Elliot’s had better not be tried; but itwas not till his death that the wretched state of his affairs was fully known.With a confidence in Mr Elliot’s regard, more creditable to his feelingsthan his judgement, Mr Smith had appointed him the executor of his will; but MrElliot would not act, and the difficulties and distress which this refusal hadheaped on her, in addition to the inevitable sufferings of her situation, hadbeen such as could not be related without anguish of spirit, or listened towithout corresponding indignation.

Anne was shewn some letters of his on the occasion, answers to urgentapplications from Mrs Smith, which all breathed the same stern resolution ofnot engaging in a fruitless trouble, and, under a cold civility, the samehard-hearted indifference to any of the evils it might bring on her. It was adreadful picture of ingratitude and inhumanity; and Anne felt, at some moments,that no flagrant open crime could have been worse. She had a great deal tolisten to; all the particulars of past sad scenes, all the minutiae of distressupon distress, which in former conversations had been merely hinted at, weredwelt on now with a natural indulgence. Anne could perfectly comprehend theexquisite relief, and was only the more inclined to wonder at the composure ofher friend’s usual state of mind.

There was one circumstance in the history of her grievances of particularirritation. She had good reason to believe that some property of her husband inthe West Indies, which had been for many years under a sort of sequestrationfor the payment of its own incumbrances, might be recoverable by propermeasures; and this property, though not large, would be enough to make hercomparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir in it. Mr Elliot would donothing, and she could do nothing herself, equally disabled from personalexertion by her state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by her wantof money. She had no natural connexions to assist her even with their counsel,and she could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law. This was acruel aggravation of actually straitened means. To feel that she ought to be inbetter circumstances, that a little trouble in the right place might do it, andto fear that delay might be even weakening her claims, was hard to bear.

It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne’s good officeswith Mr Elliot. She had previously, in the anticipation of their marriage, beenvery apprehensive of losing her friend by it; but on being assured that hecould have made no attempt of that nature, since he did not even know her to bein Bath, it immediately occurred, that something might be done in her favour bythe influence of the woman he loved, and she had been hastily preparing tointerest Anne’s feelings, as far as the observances due to MrElliot’s character would allow, when Anne’s refutation of thesupposed engagement changed the face of everything; and while it took from herthe new-formed hope of succeeding in the object of her first anxiety, left herat least the comfort of telling the whole story her own way.

After listening to this full description of Mr Elliot, Anne could not butexpress some surprise at Mrs Smith’s having spoken of him so favourablyin the beginning of their conversation. “She had seemed to recommend andpraise him!”

“My dear,” was Mrs Smith’s reply, “there was nothingelse to be done. I considered your marrying him as certain, though he might notyet have made the offer, and I could no more speak the truth of him, than if hehad been your husband. My heart bled for you, as I talked of happiness; and yethe is sensible, he is agreeable, and with such a woman as you, it was notabsolutely hopeless. He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretchedtogether. But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had neverloved her. I was willing to hope that you must fare better.”

Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having beeninduced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of the misery which musthave followed. It was just possible that she might have been persuaded by LadyRussell! And under such a supposition, which would have been most miserable,when time had disclosed all, too late?

It was very desirable that Lady Russell should be no longer deceived; and oneof the concluding arrangements of this important conference, which carried themthrough the greater part of the morning, was, that Anne had full liberty tocommunicate to her friend everything relative to Mrs Smith, in which hisconduct was involved.

CHAPTER XXII.

Anne went home to think over all that she had heard. In one point, her feelingswere relieved by this knowledge of Mr Elliot. There was no longer anything oftenderness due to him. He stood as opposed to Captain Wentworth, in all his ownunwelcome obtrusiveness; and the evil of his attentions last night, theirremediable mischief he might have done, was considered with sensationsunqualified, unperplexed. Pity for him was all over. But this was the onlypoint of relief. In every other respect, in looking around her, or penetratingforward, she saw more to distrust and to apprehend. She was concerned for thedisappointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling; for the mortificationswhich must be hanging over her father and sister, and had all the distress offoreseeing many evils, without knowing how to avert any one of them. She wasmost thankful for her own knowledge of him. She had never considered herself asentitled to reward for not slighting an old friend like Mrs Smith, but here wasa reward indeed springing from it! Mrs Smith had been able to tell her what noone else could have done. Could the knowledge have been extended through herfamily? But this was a vain idea. She must talk to Lady Russell, tell her,consult with her, and having done her best, wait the event with as muchcomposure as possible; and after all, her greatest want of composure would bein that quarter of the mind which could not be opened to Lady Russell; in thatflow of anxieties and fears which must be all to herself.

She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she intended, escaped seeing MrElliot; that he had called and paid them a long morning visit; but hardly hadshe congratulated herself, and felt safe, when she heard that he was comingagain in the evening.

“I had not the smallest intention of asking him,” said Elizabeth,with affected carelessness, “but he gave so many hints; so Mrs Clay says,at least.”

“Indeed, I do say it. I never saw anybody in my life spell harder for aninvitation. Poor man! I was really in pain for him; for your hard-heartedsister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty.”

“Oh!” cried Elizabeth, “I have been rather too much used tothe game to be soon overcome by a gentleman’s hints. However, when Ifound how excessively he was regretting that he should miss my father thismorning, I gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an opportunityof bringing him and Sir Walter together. They appear to so much advantage incompany with each other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr Elliot looking up withso much respect.”

“Quite delightful!” cried Mrs Clay, not daring, however, to turnher eyes towards Anne. “Exactly like father and son! Dear Miss Elliot,may I not say father and son?”

“Oh! I lay no embargo on any body’s words. If you will have suchideas! But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions being beyondthose of other men.”

“My dear Miss Elliot!” exclaimed Mrs Clay, lifting her hands andeyes, and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a convenient silence.

“Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him. I didinvite him, you know. I sent him away with smiles. When I found he was reallygoing to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day to-morrow, I hadcompassion on him.”

Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to shew such pleasureas she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival of the very personwhose presence must really be interfering with her prime object. It wasimpossible but that Mrs Clay must hate the sight of Mr Elliot; and yet shecould assume a most obliging, placid look, and appear quite satisfied with thecurtailed license of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as shewould have done otherwise.

To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr Elliot enter the room; andquite painful to have him approach and speak to her. She had been used beforeto feel that he could not be always quite sincere, but now she saw insincerityin everything. His attentive deference to her father, contrasted with hisformer language, was odious; and when she thought of his cruel conduct towardsMrs Smith, she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles and mildness,or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.

She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as might provoke aremonstrance on his side. It was a great object to her to escape all enquiry oreclat; but it was her intention to be as decidedly cool to him as might becompatible with their relationship; and to retrace, as quietly as she could,the few steps of unnecessary intimacy she had been gradually led along. She wasaccordingly more guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night before.

He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and where he could haveheard her formerly praised; wanted very much to be gratified by moresolicitation; but the charm was broken: he found that the heat and animation ofa public room was necessary to kindle his modest cousin’s vanity; hefound, at least, that it was not to be done now, by any of those attempts whichhe could hazard among the too-commanding claims of the others. He littlesurmised that it was a subject acting now exactly against his interest,bringing immediately to her thoughts all those parts of his conduct which wereleast excusable.

She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really going out of Bath thenext morning, going early, and that he would be gone the greater part of twodays. He was invited again to Camden Place the very evening of his return; butfrom Thursday to Saturday evening his absence was certain. It was bad enoughthat a Mrs Clay should be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite shouldbe added to their party, seemed the destruction of everything like peace andcomfort. It was so humiliating to reflect on the constant deception practisedon her father and Elizabeth; to consider the various sources of mortificationpreparing for them! Mrs Clay’s selfishness was not so complicate nor sorevolting as his; and Anne would have compounded for the marriage at once, withall its evils, to be clear of Mr Elliot’s subtleties in endeavouring toprevent it.

On Friday morning she meant to go very early to Lady Russell, and accomplishthe necessary communication; and she would have gone directly after breakfast,but that Mrs Clay was also going out on some obliging purpose of saving hersister trouble, which determined her to wait till she might be safe from such acompanion. She saw Mrs Clay fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk ofspending the morning in Rivers Street.

“Very well,” said Elizabeth, “I have nothing to send but mylove. Oh! you may as well take back that tiresome book she would lend me, andpretend I have read it through. I really cannot be plaguing myself for everwith all the new poems and states of the nation that come out. Lady Russellquite bores one with her new publications. You need not tell her so, but Ithought her dress hideous the other night. I used to think she had some tastein dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert. Something so formal andarrangéin her air! and she sits so upright! My best love, ofcourse.”

“And mine,” added Sir Walter. “Kindest regards. And you maysay, that I mean to call upon her soon. Make a civil message; but I shall onlyleave my card. Morning visits are never fair by women at her time of life, whomake themselves up so little. If she would only wear rouge she would not beafraid of being seen; but last time I called, I observed the blinds were letdown immediately.”

While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door. Who could it be? Anne,remembering the preconcerted visits, at all hours, of Mr Elliot, would haveexpected him, but for his known engagement seven miles off. After the usualperiod of suspense, the usual sounds of approach were heard, and “Mr andMrs Charles Musgrove” were ushered into the room.

Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by their appearance; but Anne wasreally glad to see them; and the others were not so sorry but that they couldput on a decent air of welcome; and as soon as it became clear that these,their nearest relations, were not arrived with any views of accommodation inthat house, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were able to rise in cordiality, and dothe honours of it very well. They were come to Bath for a few days with MrsMusgrove, and were at the White Hart. So much was pretty soon understood; buttill Sir Walter and Elizabeth were walking Mary into the other drawing-room,and regaling themselves with her admiration, Anne could not draw uponCharles’s brain for a regular history of their coming, or an explanationof some smiling hints of particular business, which had been ostentatiouslydropped by Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion as to whom their partyconsisted of.

She then found that it consisted of Mrs Musgrove, Henrietta, and CaptainHarville, beside their two selves. He gave her a very plain, intelligibleaccount of the whole; a narration in which she saw a great deal of mostcharacteristic proceeding. The scheme had received its first impulse by CaptainHarville’s wanting to come to Bath on business. He had begun to talk ofit a week ago; and by way of doing something, as shooting was over, Charles hadproposed coming with him, and Mrs Harville had seemed to like the idea of itvery much, as an advantage to her husband; but Mary could not bear to be left,and had made herself so unhappy about it, that for a day or two everythingseemed to be in suspense, or at an end. But then, it had been taken up by hisfather and mother. His mother had some old friends in Bath whom she wanted tosee; it was thought a good opportunity for Henrietta to come and buywedding-clothes for herself and her sister; and, in short, it ended in beinghis mother’s party, that everything might be comfortable and easy toCaptain Harville; and he and Mary were included in it by way of generalconvenience. They had arrived late the night before. Mrs Harville, herchildren, and Captain Benwick, remained with Mr Musgrove and Louisa atUppercross.

Anne’s only surprise was, that affairs should be in forwardness enoughfor Henrietta’s wedding-clothes to be talked of. She had imagined suchdifficulties of fortune to exist there as must prevent the marriage from beingnear at hand; but she learned from Charles that, very recently, (sinceMary’s last letter to herself), Charles Hayter had been applied to by afriend to hold a living for a youth who could not possibly claim it under manyyears; and that on the strength of his present income, with almost a certaintyof something more permanent long before the term in question, the two familieshad consented to the young people’s wishes, and that their marriage waslikely to take place in a few months, quite as soon as Louisa’s.“And a very good living it was,” Charles added: “onlyfive-and-twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine country: fine part ofDorsetshire. In the centre of some of the best preserves in the kingdom,surrounded by three great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than theother; and to two of the three at least, Charles Hayter might get a specialrecommendation. Not that he will value it as he ought,” he observed,“Charles is too cool about sporting. That’s the worst ofhim.”

“I am extremely glad, indeed,” cried Anne, “particularly gladthat this should happen; and that of two sisters, who both deserve equallywell, and who have always been such good friends, the pleasant prospect of oneshould not be dimming those of the other—that they should be so equal intheir prosperity and comfort. I hope your father and mother are quite happywith regard to both.”

“Oh! yes. My father would be well pleased if the gentlemen were richer,but he has no other fault to find. Money, you know, coming down withmoney—two daughters at once—it cannot be a very agreeableoperation, and it streightens him as to many things. However, I do not mean tosay they have not a right to it. It is very fit they should havedaughters’ shares; and I am sure he has always been a very kind, liberalfather to me. Mary does not above half like Henrietta’s match. She neverdid, you know. But she does not do him justice, nor think enough aboutWinthrop. I cannot make her attend to the value of the property. It is a veryfair match, as times go; and I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and Ishall not leave off now.”

“Such excellent parents as Mr and Mrs Musgrove,” exclaimed Anne,“should be happy in their children’s marriages. They do everythingto confer happiness, I am sure. What a blessing to young people to be in suchhands! Your father and mother seem so totally free from all those ambitiousfeelings which have led to so much misconduct and misery, both in young andold. I hope you think Louisa perfectly recovered now?”

He answered rather hesitatingly, “Yes, I believe I do; very muchrecovered; but she is altered; there is no running or jumping about, nolaughing or dancing; it is quite different. If one happens only to shut thedoor a little hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick in thewater; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or whispering to her, allday long.”

Anne could not help laughing. “That cannot be much to your taste, Iknow,” said she; “but I do believe him to be an excellent youngman.”

“To be sure he is. Nobody doubts it; and I hope you do not think I am soilliberal as to want every man to have the same objects and pleasures asmyself. I have a great value for Benwick; and when one can but get him to talk,he has plenty to say. His reading has done him no harm, for he has fought aswell as read. He is a brave fellow. I got more acquainted with him last Mondaythan ever I did before. We had a famous set-to at rat-hunting all the morningin my father’s great barns; and he played his part so well that I haveliked him the better ever since.”

Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of Charles’sfollowing the others to admire mirrors and china; but Anne had heard enough tounderstand the present state of Uppercross, and rejoice in its happiness; andthough she sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none of the ill-will of envy init. She would certainly have risen to their blessings if she could, but she didnot want to lessen theirs.

The visit passed off altogether in high good humour. Mary was in excellentspirits, enjoying the gaiety and the change, and so well satisfied with thejourney in her mother-in-law’s carriage with four horses, and with herown complete independence of Camden Place, that she was exactly in a temper toadmire everything as she ought, and enter most readily into all thesuperiorities of the house, as they were detailed to her. She had no demands onher father or sister, and her consequence was just enough increased by theirhandsome drawing-rooms.

Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal. She felt that MrsMusgrove and all her party ought to be asked to dine with them; but she couldnot bear to have the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which adinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been always so inferior to theElliots of Kellynch. It was a struggle between propriety and vanity; but vanitygot the better, and then Elizabeth was happy again. These were her internalpersuasions: “Old fashioned notions; country hospitality; we do notprofess to give dinners; few people in Bath do; Lady Alicia never does; did noteven ask her own sister’s family, though they were here a month: and Idare say it would be very inconvenient to Mrs Musgrove; put her quite out ofher way. I am sure she would rather not come; she cannot feel easy with us. Iwill ask them all for an evening; that will be much better; that will be anovelty and a treat. They have not seen two such drawing rooms before. Theywill be delighted to come to-morrow evening. It shall be a regular party,small, but most elegant.” And this satisfied Elizabeth: and when theinvitation was given to the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary wasas completely satisfied. She was particularly asked to meet Mr Elliot, and beintroduced to Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately alreadyengaged to come; and she could not have received a more gratifying attention.Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling on Mrs Musgrove in the course ofthe morning; and Anne walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and see her andHenrietta directly.

Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for the present. They allthree called in Rivers Street for a couple of minutes; but Anne convincedherself that a day’s delay of the intended communication could be of noconsequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart, to see again the friendsand companions of the last autumn, with an eagerness of good-will which manyassociations contributed to form.

They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves, and Annehad the kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was exactly in that state ofrecently-improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made her full ofregard and interest for everybody she had ever liked before at all; and MrsMusgrove’s real affection had been won by her usefulness when they werein distress. It was a heartiness, and a warmth, and a sincerity which Annedelighted in the more, from the sad want of such blessings at home. She wasentreated to give them as much of her time as possible, invited for every dayand all day long, or rather claimed as part of the family; and, in return, shenaturally fell into all her wonted ways of attention and assistance, and onCharles’s leaving them together, was listening to Mrs Musgrove’shistory of Louisa, and to Henrietta’s of herself, giving opinions onbusiness, and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every help which Maryrequired, from altering her ribbon to settling her accounts; from finding herkeys, and assorting her trinkets, to trying to convince her that she was notill-used by anybody; which Mary, well amused as she generally was, in herstation at a window overlooking the entrance to the Pump Room, could not buthave her moments of imagining.

A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. A large party in an hotelensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five minutes brought a note, thenext a parcel; and Anne had not been there half an hour, when theirdining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than half filled: a party ofsteady old friends were seated around Mrs Musgrove, and Charles came back withCaptains Harville and Wentworth. The appearance of the latter could not be morethan the surprise of the moment. It was impossible for her to have forgotten tofeel that this arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing themtogether again. Their last meeting had been most important in opening hisfeelings; she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she feared fromhis looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him awayfrom the Concert Room, still governed. He did not seem to want to be nearenough for conversation.

She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried to dwellmuch on this argument of rational dependence:—“Surely, if there beconstant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand each other erelong. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by everymoment’s inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our ownhappiness.” And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as if their beingin company with each other, under their present circumstances, could only beexposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of the most mischievouskind.

“Anne,” cried Mary, still at her window, “there is Mrs Clay,I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw themturn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed deep in talk. Who is it?Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr Elliot himself.”

“No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assureyou. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back tillto-morrow.”

As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, theconsciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that shehad said so much, simple as it was.

Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin, begantalking very warmly about the family features, and protesting still morepositively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look forherself, but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be cool and unconcerned.Her distress returned, however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent glancespass between two or three of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselvesquite in the secret. It was evident that the report concerning her had spread,and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spreadfarther.

“Do come, Anne,” cried Mary, “come and look yourself. Youwill be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shakinghands. He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgotall about Lyme.”

To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move quietlyto the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it really was Mr Elliot,which she had never believed, before he disappeared on one side, as Mrs Claywalked quickly off on the other; and checking the surprise which she could notbut feel at such an appearance of friendly conference between two persons oftotally opposite interest, she calmly said, “Yes, it is Mr Elliot,certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I maybe mistaken, I might not attend;” and walked back to her chair,recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.

The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them off, andthen made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began with—

“Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like. I havebeen to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night. A’n’t Ia good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for us all. It holdsnine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I amsure. We all like a play. Have not I done well, mother?”

Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect readiness forthe play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when Mary eagerlyinterrupted her by exclaiming—

“Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing? Take a box forto-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrownight? and that we were most particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and herdaughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal family connexions, on purpose tobe introduced to them? How can you be so forgetful?”

“Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what’s an eveningparty? Never worth remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner, Ithink, if he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I shall go tothe play.”

“Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when youpromised to go.”

“No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the word‘happy.’ There was no promise.”

“But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail. We wereasked on purpose to be introduced. There was always such a great connexionbetween the Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened on either side thatwas not announced immediately. We are quite near relations, you know; and MrElliot too, whom you ought so particularly to be acquainted with! Everyattention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider, my father’s heir: the futurerepresentative of the family.”

“Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,” criedCharles. “I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow tothe rising sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should thinkit scandalous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr Elliot to me?”The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that Captain Wentworth wasall attention, looking and listening with his whole soul; and that the lastwords brought his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself.

Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he, half serious and halfjesting, maintaining the scheme for the play, and she, invariably serious, mostwarmly opposing it, and not omitting to make it known that, however determinedto go to Camden Place herself, she should not think herself very well used, ifthey went to the play without her. Mrs Musgrove interposed.

“We had better put it off. Charles, you had much better go back andchange the box for Tuesday. It would be a pity to be divided, and we should belosing Miss Anne, too, if there is a party at her father’s; and I am sureneither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play, if Miss Anne could notbe with us.”

Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and quite as much so for theopportunity it gave her of decidedly saying—

“If it depended only on my inclination, ma’am, the party at home(excepting on Mary’s account) would not be the smallest impediment. Ihave no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy to change itfor a play, and with you. But, it had better not be attempted, perhaps.”She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done, conscious that her wordswere listened to, and daring not even to try to observe their effect.

It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day; Charles onlyreserving the advantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting that he wouldgo to the play to-morrow if nobody else would.

Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire-place; probably for thesake of walking away from it soon afterwards, and taking a station, with lessbare-faced design, by Anne.

“You have not been long enough in Bath,” said he, “to enjoythe evening parties of the place.”

“Oh! no. The usual character of them has nothing for me. I am nocard-player.”

“You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to like cards; but timemakes many changes.”

“I am not yet so much changed,” cried Anne, and stopped, fearingshe hardly knew what misconstruction. After waiting a few moments he said, andas if it were the result of immediate feeling, “It is a period, indeed!Eight years and a half is a period.”

Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to Anne’s imagination toponder over in a calmer hour; for while still hearing the sounds he haduttered, she was startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager to make use ofthe present leisure for getting out, and calling on her companions to lose notime, lest somebody else should come in.

They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being perfectly ready, and tried tolook it; but she felt that could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctanceof her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing to quit the room, she wouldhave found, in all her own sensations for her cousin, in the very security ofhis affection, wherewith to pity her.

Their preparations, however, were stopped short. Alarming sounds were heard;other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and MissElliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne felt an instantoppression, and wherever she looked saw symptoms of the same. The comfort, thefreedom, the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure,determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of herfather and sister. How mortifying to feel that it was so!

Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain Wentworth wasacknowledged again by each, by Elizabeth more graciously than before. She evenaddressed him once, and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth was, in fact,revolving a great measure. The sequel explained it. After the waste of a fewminutes in saying the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation whichwas to comprise all the remaining dues of the Musgroves. “To-morrowevening, to meet a few friends: no formal party.” It was all said verygracefully, and the cards with which she had provided herself, the “MissElliot at home,” were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensivesmile to all, and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth.The truth was, that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand theimportance of a man of such an air and appearance as his. The past was nothing.The present was that Captain Wentworth would move about well in herdrawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Elizabeth aroseand disappeared.

The interruption had been short, though severe, and ease and animation returnedto most of those they left as the door shut them out, but not to Anne. Shecould think only of the invitation she had with such astonishment witnessed,and of the manner in which it had been received; a manner of doubtful meaning,of surprise rather than gratification, of polite acknowledgement rather thanacceptance. She knew him; she saw disdain in his eye, and could not venture tobelieve that he had determined to accept such an offering, as an atonement forall the insolence of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his handafter they were gone, as if deeply considering it.

“Only think of Elizabeth’s including everybody!” whisperedMary very audibly. “I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted! Yousee he cannot put the card out of his hand.”

Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his mouth form itself into amomentary expression of contempt, and turned away, that she might neither seenor hear more to vex her.

The party separated. The gentlemen had their own pursuits, the ladies proceededon their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged to them. Shewas earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all the rest of the day,but her spirits had been so long exerted that at present she felt unequal tomore, and fit only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent as shechose.

Promising to be with them the whole of the following morning, therefore, sheclosed the fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to Camden Place, there tospend the evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of Elizabethand Mrs Clay for the morrow’s party, the frequent enumeration of thepersons invited, and the continually improving detail of all the embellishmentswhich were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in Bath, whileharassing herself with the never-ending question, of whether Captain Wentworthwould come or not? They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was agnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together. She generallythought he would come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was acase which she could not so shape into any positive act of duty or discretion,as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very opposite feelings.

She only roused herself from the broodings of this restless agitation, to letMrs Clay know that she had been seen with Mr Elliot three hours after his beingsupposed to be out of Bath, for having watched in vain for some intimation ofthe interview from the lady herself, she determined to mention it, and itseemed to her there was guilt in Mrs Clay’s face as she listened. It wastransient: cleared away in an instant; but Anne could imagine she read therethe consciousness of having, by some complication of mutual trick, or someoverbearing authority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half an hour)to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir Walter. She exclaimed,however, with a very tolerable imitation of nature:—

“Oh! dear! very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my great surprise I metwith Mr Elliot in Bath Street. I was never more astonished. He turned back andwalked with me to the Pump Yard. He had been prevented setting off forThornberry, but I really forget by what; for I was in a hurry, and could notmuch attend, and I can only answer for his being determined not to be delayedin his return. He wanted to know how early he might be admitted to-morrow. Hewas full of ‘to-morrow,’ and it is very evident that I have beenfull of it too, ever since I entered the house, and learnt the extension ofyour plan and all that had happened, or my seeing him could never have gone soentirely out of my head.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

One day only had passed since Anne’s conversation with Mrs Smith; but akeener interest had succeeded, and she was now so little touched by MrElliot’s conduct, except by its effects in one quarter, that it became amatter of course the next morning, still to defer her explanatory visit inRivers Street. She had promised to be with the Musgroves from breakfast todinner. Her faith was plighted, and Mr Elliot’s character, like theSultaness Scheherazade’s head, must live another day.

She could not keep her appointment punctually, however; the weather wasunfavourable, and she had grieved over the rain on her friends’ account,and felt it very much on her own, before she was able to attempt the walk. Whenshe reached the White Hart, and made her way to the proper apartment, she foundherself neither arriving quite in time, nor the first to arrive. The partybefore her were, Mrs Musgrove, talking to Mrs Croft, and Captain Harville toCaptain Wentworth; and she immediately heard that Mary and Henrietta, tooimpatient to wait, had gone out the moment it had cleared, but would be backagain soon, and that the strictest injunctions had been left with Mrs Musgroveto keep her there till they returned. She had only to submit, sit down, beoutwardly composed, and feel herself plunged at once in all the agitationswhich she had merely laid her account of tasting a little before the morningclosed. There was no delay, no waste of time. She was deep in the happiness ofsuch misery, or the misery of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes after herentering the room, Captain Wentworth said—

“We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville, now, if you willgive me materials.”

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he went to it, and nearly turninghis back to them all, was engrossed by writing.

Mrs Musgrove was giving Mrs Croft the history of her eldest daughter’sengagement, and just in that inconvenient tone of voice which was perfectlyaudible while it pretended to be a whisper. Anne felt that she did not belongto the conversation, and yet, as Captain Harville seemed thoughtful and notdisposed to talk, she could not avoid hearing many undesirable particulars;such as, “how Mr Musgrove and my brother Hayter had met again and againto talk it over; what my brother Hayter had said one day, and what Mr Musgrovehad proposed the next, and what had occurred to my sister Hayter, and what theyoung people had wished, and what I said at first I never could consent to, butwas afterwards persuaded to think might do very well,” and a great dealin the same style of open-hearted communication: minutiae which, even withevery advantage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs Musgrove could not give,could be properly interesting only to the principals. Mrs Croft was attendingwith great good-humour, and whenever she spoke at all, it was very sensibly.Anne hoped the gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied to hear.

“And so, ma’am, all these thing considered,” said MrsMusgrove, in her powerful whisper, “though we could have wished itdifferent, yet, altogether, we did not think it fair to stand out any longer,for Charles Hayter was quite wild about it, and Henrietta was pretty near asbad; and so we thought they had better marry at once, and make the best of it,as many others have done before them. At any rate, said I, it will be betterthan a long engagement.”

“That is precisely what I was going to observe,” cried Mrs Croft.“I would rather have young people settle on a small income at once, andhave to struggle with a few difficulties together, than be involved in a longengagement. I always think that no mutual—”

“Oh! dear Mrs Croft,” cried Mrs Musgrove, unable to let her finishher speech, “there is nothing I so abominate for young people as a longengagement. It is what I always protested against for my children. It is allvery well, I used to say, for young people to be engaged, if there is acertainty of their being able to marry in six months, or even in twelve; but along engagement—”

“Yes, dear ma’am,” said Mrs Croft, “or an uncertainengagement, an engagement which may be long. To begin without knowing that atsuch a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe andunwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they can.”

Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt its application to herself,felt it in a nervous thrill all over her; and at the same moment that her eyesinstinctively glanced towards the distant table, Captain Wentworth’s penceased to move, his head was raised, pausing, listening, and he turned roundthe next instant to give a look, one quick, conscious look at her.

The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same admitted truths, andenforce them with such examples of the ill effect of a contrary practice as hadfallen within their observation, but Anne heard nothing distinctly; it was onlya buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in confusion.

Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left his seat,and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though it was fromthorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he was inviting her tojoin him where he stood. He looked at her with a smile, and a little motion ofthe head, which expressed, “Come to me, I have something to say;”and the unaffected, easy kindness of manner which denoted the feelings of anolder acquaintance than he really was, strongly enforced the invitation. Sheroused herself and went to him. The window at which he stood was at the otherend of the room from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer toCaptain Wentworth’s table, not very near. As she joined him, CaptainHarville’s countenance re-assumed the serious, thoughtful expressionwhich seemed its natural character.

“Look here,” said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, anddisplaying a small miniature painting, “do you know who that is?”

“Certainly: Captain Benwick.”

“Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But,” (in a deep tone),“it was not done for her. Miss Elliot, do you remember our walkingtogether at Lyme, and grieving for him? I little thought then—but nomatter. This was drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young German artist atthe Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him, andwas bringing it home for her; and I have now the charge of getting it properlyset for another! It was a commission to me! But who else was there to employ? Ihope I can allow for him. I am not sorry, indeed, to make it over to another.He undertakes it;” (looking towards Captain Wentworth,) “he iswriting about it now.” And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole byadding, “Poor Fanny! she would not have forgotten him so soon!”

“No,” replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice. “That I caneasily believe.”

“It was not in her nature. She doted on him.”

“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved.”

Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, “Do you claim that for yoursex?” and she answered the question, smiling also, “Yes. Wecertainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our faterather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet,confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You havealways a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you backinto the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weakenimpressions.”

“Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon for men(which, however, I do not think I shall grant), it does not apply to Benwick.He has not been forced upon any exertion. The peace turned him on shore at thevery moment, and he has been living with us, in our little family circle, eversince.”

“True,” said Anne, “very true; I did not recollect; but whatshall we say now, Captain Harville? If the change be not from outwardcircumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature, man’s nature,which has done the business for Captain Benwick.”

“No, no, it is not man’s nature. I will not allow it to be moreman’s nature than woman’s to be inconstant and forget those they dolove, or have loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true analogy betweenour bodily frames and our mental; and that as our bodies are the strongest, soare our feelings; capable of bearing most rough usage, and riding out theheaviest weather.”

“Your feelings may be the strongest,” replied Anne, “but thesame spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are the mosttender. Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer lived; whichexactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments. Nay, it would betoo hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You have difficulties, and privations,and dangers enough to struggle with. You are always labouring and toiling,exposed to every risk and hardship. Your home, country, friends, all quitted.Neither time, nor health, nor life, to be called your own. It would be hard,indeed” (with a faltering voice), “if woman’s feelings wereto be added to all this.”

“We shall never agree upon this question,” Captain Harville wasbeginning to say, when a slight noise called their attention to CaptainWentworth’s hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room. It was nothingmore than that his pen had fallen down; but Anne was startled at finding himnearer than she had supposed, and half inclined to suspect that the pen hadonly fallen because he had been occupied by them, striving to catch sounds,which yet she did not think he could have caught.

“Have you finished your letter?” said Captain Harville.

“Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”

“There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready whenever you are. I am invery good anchorage here,” (smiling at Anne), “well supplied, andwant for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all. Well, Miss Elliot,”(lowering his voice), “as I was saying, we shall never agree, I suppose,upon this point. No man and woman would, probably. But let me observe that allhistories are against you—all stories, prose and verse. If I had such amemory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my sidethe argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had notsomething to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talkof woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all writtenby men.”

“Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples inbooks. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Educationhas been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. Iwill not allow books to prove anything.”

“But how shall we prove anything?”

“We never shall. We never can expect to prove any thing upon such apoint. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof. We eachbegin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and upon that biasbuild every circumstance in favour of it which has occurred within our owncircle; many of which circumstances (perhaps those very cases which strike usthe most) may be precisely such as cannot be brought forward without betrayinga confidence, or in some respect saying what should not be said.”

“Ah!” cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling,“if I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes alast look at his wife and children, and watches the boat that he has sent themoff in, as long as it is in sight, and then turns away and says, ‘Godknows whether we ever meet again!’ And then, if I could convey to you theglow of his soul when he does see them again; when, coming back after atwelvemonth’s absence, perhaps, and obliged to put into another port, hecalculates how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to deceivehimself, and saying, ‘They cannot be here till such a day,’ but allthe while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing them arrive at last,as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours sooner still! If I couldexplain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do, and glories to do,for the sake of these treasures of his existence! I speak, you know, only ofsuch men as have hearts!” pressing his own with emotion.

“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly, “I hope I do justice to all that isfelt by you, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I should undervaluethe warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures! I should deserveutter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy wereknown only by woman. No, I believe you capable of everything great and good inyour married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and toevery domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed theexpression—so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you lovelives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not avery enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, whenexistence or when hope is gone.”

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was toofull, her breath too much oppressed.

“You are a good soul,” cried Captain Harville, putting his hand onher arm, quite affectionately. “There is no quarrelling with you. Andwhen I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied.”

Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs Croft was taking leave.

“Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,” said she.“I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend. To-nightwe may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party,” (turning toAnne). “We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understoodFrederick had a card too, though I did not see it; and you are disengaged,Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”

Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could notor would not answer fully.

“Yes,” said he, “very true; here we separate, but Harvilleand I shall soon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am inhalf a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at yourservice in half a minute.”

Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter with greatrapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated air, which shewedimpatience to be gone. Anne knew not how to understand it. She had the kindest“Good morning, God bless you!” from Captain Harville, but from himnot a word, nor a look! He had passed out of the room without a look!

She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had beenwriting, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, it was himself.He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves, and instantly crossingthe room to the writing table, he drew out a letter from under the scatteredpaper, placed it before Anne with eyes of glowing entreaty fixed on her for atime, and hastily collecting his gloves, was again out of the room, almostbefore Mrs Musgrove was aware of his being in it: the work of an instant!

The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyondexpression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to “Miss A.E.—,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been alsoaddressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which this worldcould do for her. Anything was possible, anything might be defied rather thansuspense. Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements of her own at her own table; totheir protection she must trust, and sinking into the chair which he hadoccupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyesdevoured the following words:

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means asare within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell menot that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offermyself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost brokeit, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner thanwoman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust Imay have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alonehave brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seenthis? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even theseten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetratedmine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowersme. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice whenthey would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do usjustice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancyamong men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

“I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or followyour party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decidewhether I enter your father’s house this evening or never.”

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Half an hour’s solitudeand reflection might have tranquillized her; but the ten minutes only which nowpassed before she was interrupted, with all the restraints of her situation,could do nothing towards tranquillity. Every moment rather brought freshagitation. It was overpowering happiness. And before she was beyond the firststage of full sensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta all came in.

The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediatestruggle; but after a while she could do no more. She began not to understand aword they said, and was obliged to plead indisposition and excuse herself. Theycould then see that she looked very ill, were shocked and concerned, and wouldnot stir without her for the world. This was dreadful. Would they only havegone away, and left her in the quiet possession of that room it would have beenher cure; but to have them all standing or waiting around her was distracting,and in desperation, she said she would go home.

“By all means, my dear,” cried Mrs Musgrove, “go homedirectly, and take care of yourself, that you may be fit for the evening. Iwish Sarah was here to doctor you, but I am no doctor myself. Charles, ring andorder a chair. She must not walk.”

But the chair would never do. Worse than all! To lose the possibility ofspeaking two words to Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet, solitaryprogress up the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting him) could not beborne. The chair was earnestly protested against, and Mrs Musgrove, who thoughtonly of one sort of illness, having assured herself with some anxiety, thatthere had been no fall in the case; that Anne had not at any time latelyslipped down, and got a blow on her head; that she was perfectly convinced ofhaving had no fall; could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding herbetter at night.

Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled, and said—

“I am afraid, ma’am, that it is not perfectly understood. Pray beso good as to mention to the other gentlemen that we hope to see your wholeparty this evening. I am afraid there had been some mistake; and I wish youparticularly to assure Captain Harville and Captain Wentworth, that we hope tosee them both.”

“Oh! my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my word. CaptainHarville has no thought but of going.”

“Do you think so? But I am afraid; and I should be so very sorry. Willyou promise me to mention it, when you see them again? You will see them boththis morning, I dare say. Do promise me.”

“To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if you see Captain Harvilleanywhere, remember to give Miss Anne’s message. But indeed, my dear, youneed not be uneasy. Captain Harville holds himself quite engaged, I’llanswer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare say.”

Anne could do no more; but her heart prophesied some mischance to damp theperfection of her felicity. It could not be very lasting, however. Even if hedid not come to Camden Place himself, it would be in her power to send anintelligible sentence by Captain Harville. Another momentary vexation occurred.Charles, in his real concern and good nature, would go home with her; there wasno preventing him. This was almost cruel. But she could not be long ungrateful;he was sacrificing an engagement at a gunsmith’s, to be of use to her;and she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude apparent.

They were on Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something of familiarsound, gave her two moments’ preparation for the sight of CaptainWentworth. He joined them; but, as if irresolute whether to join or to pass on,said nothing, only looked. Anne could command herself enough to receive thatlook, and not repulsively. The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and themovements which had hesitated were decided. He walked by her side. Presently,struck by a sudden thought, Charles said—

“Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street, orfarther up the town?”

“I hardly know,” replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.

“Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place?Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place,and give Anne your arm to her father’s door. She is rather done for thismorning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought to be at thatfellow’s in the Market Place. He promised me the sight of a capital gunhe is just going to send off; said he would keep it unpacked to the lastpossible moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back now, I have nochance. By his description, a good deal like the second size double-barrel ofmine, which you shot with one day round Winthrop.”

There could not be an objection. There could be only the most proper alacrity,a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reined in and spiritsdancing in private rapture. In half a minute Charles was at the bottom of UnionStreet again, and the other two proceeding together: and soon words enough hadpassed between them to decide their direction towards the comparatively quietand retired gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the presenthour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which thehappiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow. There theyexchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemedto secure everything, but which had been followed by so many, many years ofdivision and estrangement. There they returned again into the past, moreexquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union, than when it had been firstprojected; more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of eachother’s character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act, morejustified in acting. And there, as they slowly paced the gradual ascent,heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians,bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children, theycould indulge in those retrospections and acknowledgements, and especially inthose explanations of what had directly preceded the present moment, which wereso poignant and so ceaseless in interest. All the little variations of the lastweek were gone through; and of yesterday and to-day there could scarcely be anend.

She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr Elliot had been the retarding weight,the doubt, the torment. That had begun to operate in the very hour of firstmeeting her in Bath; that had returned, after a short suspension, to ruin theconcert; and that had influenced him in everything he had said and done, oromitted to say and do, in the last four-and-twenty hours. It had been graduallyyielding to the better hopes which her looks, or words, or actions occasionallyencouraged; it had been vanquished at last by those sentiments and those toneswhich had reached him while she talked with Captain Harville; and under theirresistible governance of which he had seized a sheet of paper, and poured outhis feelings.

Of what he had then written, nothing was to be retracted or qualified. Hepersisted in having loved none but her. She had never been supplanted. He nevereven believed himself to see her equal. Thus much indeed he was obliged toacknowledge: that he had been constant unconsciously, nay unintentionally; thathe had meant to forget her, and believed it to be done. He had imagined himselfindifferent, when he had only been angry; and he had been unjust to her merits,because he had been a sufferer from them. Her character was now fixed on hismind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest medium of fortitude andgentleness; but he was obliged to acknowledge that only at Uppercross had helearnt to do her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to understand himself.At Lyme, he had received lessons of more than one sort. The passing admirationof Mr Elliot had at least roused him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at CaptainHarville’s had fixed her superiority.

In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa Musgrove (the attempts ofangry pride), he protested that he had for ever felt it to be impossible; thathe had not cared, could not care, for Louisa; though till that day, till theleisure for reflection which followed it, he had not understood the perfectexcellence of the mind with which Louisa’s could so ill bear acomparison, or the perfect unrivalled hold it possessed over his own. There, hehad learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacyof self-will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of acollected mind. There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation thewoman he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madnessof resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown in hisway.

From that period his penance had become severe. He had no sooner been free fromthe horror and remorse attending the first few days of Louisa’s accident,no sooner begun to feel himself alive again, than he had begun to feel himself,though alive, not at liberty.

“I found,” said he, “that I was considered by Harville anengaged man! That neither Harville nor his wife entertained a doubt of ourmutual attachment. I was startled and shocked. To a degree, I could contradictthis instantly; but, when I began to reflect that others might have felt thesame—her own family, nay, perhaps herself—I was no longer at my owndisposal. I was hers in honour if she wished it. I had been unguarded. I hadnot thought seriously on this subject before. I had not considered that myexcessive intimacy must have its danger of ill consequence in many ways; andthat I had no right to be trying whether I could attach myself to either of thegirls, at the risk of raising even an unpleasant report, were there no otherill effects. I had been grossly wrong, and must abide the consequences.”

He found too late, in short, that he had entangled himself; and that preciselyas he became fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa at all, he mustregard himself as bound to her, if her sentiments for him were what theHarvilles supposed. It determined him to leave Lyme, and await her completerecovery elsewhere. He would gladly weaken, by any fair means, whateverfeelings or speculations concerning him might exist; and he went, therefore, tohis brother’s, meaning after a while to return to Kellynch, and act ascircumstances might require.

“I was six weeks with Edward,” said he, “and saw him happy. Icould have no other pleasure. I deserved none. He enquired after you veryparticularly; asked even if you were personally altered, little suspecting thatto my eye you could never alter.”

Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a blunder for a reproach. Itis something for a woman to be assured, in her eight-and-twentieth year, thatshe has not lost one charm of earlier youth; but the value of such homage wasinexpressibly increased to Anne, by comparing it with former words, and feelingit to be the result, not the cause of a revival of his warm attachment.

He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of his own pride, andthe blunders of his own calculations, till at once released from Louisa by theastonishing and felicitous intelligence of her engagement with Benwick.

“Here,” said he, “ended the worst of my state; for now Icould at least put myself in the way of happiness; I could exert myself; Icould do something. But to be waiting so long in inaction, and waiting only forevil, had been dreadful. Within the first five minutes I said, ‘I will beat Bath on Wednesday,’ and I was. Was it unpardonable to think it worthmy while to come? and to arrive with some degree of hope? You were single. Itwas possible that you might retain the feelings of the past, as I did; and oneencouragement happened to be mine. I could never doubt that you would be lovedand sought by others, but I knew to a certainty that you had refused one man,at least, of better pretensions than myself; and I could not help often saying,‘Was this for me?’”

Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to be said, but the concertstill more. That evening seemed to be made up of exquisite moments. The momentof her stepping forward in the Octagon Room to speak to him: the moment of MrElliot’s appearing and tearing her away, and one or two subsequentmoments, marked by returning hope or increasing despondency, were dwelt on withenergy.

“To see you,” cried he, “in the midst of those who could notbe my well-wishers; to see your cousin close by you, conversing and smiling,and feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of the match! Toconsider it as the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence you!Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indifferent, to consider whatpowerful supports would be his! Was it not enough to make the fool of me whichI appeared? How could I look on without agony? Was not the very sight of thefriend who sat behind you, was not the recollection of what had been, theknowledge of her influence, the indelible, immoveable impression of whatpersuasion had once done—was it not all against me?”

“You should have distinguished,” replied Anne. “You shouldnot have suspected me now; the case is so different, and my age is sodifferent. If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it wasto persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk. When I yielded, Ithought it was to duty, but no duty could be called in aid here. In marrying aman indifferent to me, all risk would have been incurred, and all dutyviolated.”

“Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus,” he replied, “but Icould not. I could not derive benefit from the late knowledge I had acquired ofyour character. I could not bring it into play; it was overwhelmed, buried,lost in those earlier feelings which I had been smarting under year after year.I could think of you only as one who had yielded, who had given me up, who hadbeen influenced by any one rather than by me. I saw you with the very personwho had guided you in that year of misery. I had no reason to believe her ofless authority now. The force of habit was to be added.”

“I should have thought,” said Anne, “that my manner toyourself might have spared you much or all of this.”

“No, no! your manner might be only the ease which your engagement toanother man would give. I left you in this belief; and yet, I was determined tosee you again. My spirits rallied with the morning, and I felt that I had stilla motive for remaining here.”

At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any one in that house couldhave conceived. All the surprise and suspense, and every other painful part ofthe morning dissipated by this conversation, she re-entered the house so happyas to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary apprehensions of its beingimpossible to last. An interval of meditation, serious and grateful, was thebest corrective of everything dangerous in such high-wrought felicity; and shewent to her room, and grew steadfast and fearless in the thankfulness of herenjoyment.

The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up, the company assembled. Itwas but a card party, it was but a mixture of those who had never met before,and those who met too often; a commonplace business, too numerous for intimacy,too small for variety; but Anne had never found an evening shorter. Glowing andlovely in sensibility and happiness, and more generally admired than shethought about or cared for, she had cheerful or forbearing feelings for everycreature around her. Mr Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him.The Wallises, she had amusement in understanding them. Lady Dalrymple and MissCarteret—they would soon be innoxious cousins to her. She cared not forMrs Clay, and had nothing to blush for in the public manners of her father andsister. With the Musgroves, there was the happy chat of perfect ease; withCaptain Harville, the kind-hearted intercourse of brother and sister; with LadyRussell, attempts at conversation, which a delicious consciousness cut short;with Admiral and Mrs Croft, everything of peculiar cordiality and ferventinterest, which the same consciousness sought to conceal; and with CaptainWentworth, some moments of communications continually occurring, and always thehope of more, and always the knowledge of his being there.

It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently occupied in admiring afine display of greenhouse plants, that she said—

“I have been thinking over the past, and trying impartially to judge ofthe right and wrong, I mean with regard to myself; and I must believe that Iwas right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in beingguided by the friend whom you will love better than you do now. To me, she wasin the place of a parent. Do not mistake me, however. I am not saying that shedid not err in her advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which adviceis good or bad only as the event decides; and for myself, I certainly nevershould, in any circumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice. But Imean, that I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done otherwise,I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement than I did even ingiving it up, because I should have suffered in my conscience. I have now, asfar as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, nothing to reproachmyself with; and if I mistake not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of awoman’s portion.”

He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking again at her, replied, asif in cool deliberation—

“Not yet. But there are hopes of her being forgiven in time. I trust tobeing in charity with her soon. But I too have been thinking over the past, anda question has suggested itself, whether there may not have been one personmore my enemy even than that lady? My own self. Tell me if, when I returned toEngland in the year eight, with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into theLaconia, if I had then written to you, would you have answered my letter? Wouldyou, in short, have renewed the engagement then?”

“Would I!” was all her answer; but the accent was decisive enough.

“Good God!” he cried, “you would! It is not that I did notthink of it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; butI was proud, too proud to ask again. I did not understand you. I shut my eyes,and would not understand you, or do you justice. This is a recollection whichought to make me forgive every one sooner than myself. Six years of separationand suffering might have been spared. It is a sort of pain, too, which is newto me. I have been used to the gratification of believing myself to earn everyblessing that I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and justrewards. Like other great men under reverses,” he added, with a smile.“I must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brookbeing happier than I deserve.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

Who can be in doubt of what followed? When any two young people take it intotheir heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry theirpoint, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely tobe necessary to each other’s ultimate comfort. This may be bad moralityto conclude with, but I believe it to be truth; and if such parties succeed,how should a Captain Wentworth and an Anne Elliot, with the advantage ofmaturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one independent fortune betweenthem, fail of bearing down every opposition? They might in fact, have bornedown a great deal more than they met with, for there was little to distressthem beyond the want of graciousness and warmth. Sir Walter made no objection,and Elizabeth did nothing worse than look cold and unconcerned. CaptainWentworth, with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high in his professionas merit and activity could place him, was no longer nobody. He was nowesteemed quite worthy to address the daughter of a foolish, spendthriftbaronet, who had not had principle or sense enough to maintain himself in thesituation in which Providence had placed him, and who could give his daughterat present but a small part of the share of ten thousand pounds which must behers hereafter.

Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection for Anne, and no vanityflattered, to make him really happy on the occasion, was very far from thinkingit a bad match for her. On the contrary, when he saw more of Captain Wentworth,saw him repeatedly by daylight, and eyed him well, he was very much struck byhis personal claims, and felt that his superiority of appearance might be notunfairly balanced against her superiority of rank; and all this, assisted byhis well-sounding name, enabled Sir Walter at last to prepare his pen, with avery good grace, for the insertion of the marriage in the volume of honour.

The only one among them, whose opposition of feeling could excite any seriousanxiety was Lady Russell. Anne knew that Lady Russell must be suffering somepain in understanding and relinquishing Mr Elliot, and be making some strugglesto become truly acquainted with, and do justice to Captain Wentworth. Thishowever was what Lady Russell had now to do. She must learn to feel that shehad been mistaken with regard to both; that she had been unfairly influenced byappearances in each; that because Captain Wentworth’s manners had notsuited her own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting them to indicate acharacter of dangerous impetuosity; and that because Mr Elliot’s mannershad precisely pleased her in their propriety and correctness, their generalpoliteness and suavity, she had been too quick in receiving them as the certainresult of the most correct opinions and well-regulated mind. There was nothingless for Lady Russell to do, than to admit that she had been pretty completelywrong, and to take up a new set of opinions and of hopes.

There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in the discernment ofcharacter, a natural penetration, in short, which no experience in others canequal, and Lady Russell had been less gifted in this part of understanding thanher young friend. But she was a very good woman, and if her second object wasto be sensible and well-judging, her first was to see Anne happy. She lovedAnne better than she loved her own abilities; and when the awkwardness of thebeginning was over, found little hardship in attaching herself as a mother tothe man who was securing the happiness of her other child.

Of all the family, Mary was probably the one most immediately gratified by thecircumstance. It was creditable to have a sister married, and she might flatterherself with having been greatly instrumental to the connexion, by keeping Annewith her in the autumn; and as her own sister must be better than herhusband’s sisters, it was very agreeable that Captain Wentworth should bea richer man than either Captain Benwick or Charles Hayter. She had somethingto suffer, perhaps, when they came into contact again, in seeing Anne restoredto the rights of seniority, and the mistress of a very pretty landaulette; butshe had a future to look forward to, of powerful consolation. Anne had noUppercross Hall before her, no landed estate, no headship of a family; and ifthey could but keep Captain Wentworth from being made a baronet, she would notchange situations with Anne.

It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally satisfied with hersituation, for a change is not very probable there. She had soon themortification of seeing Mr Elliot withdraw, and no one of proper condition hassince presented himself to raise even the unfounded hopes which sunk with him.

The news of his cousin Anne’s engagement burst on Mr Elliot mostunexpectedly. It deranged his best plan of domestic happiness, his best hope ofkeeping Sir Walter single by the watchfulness which a son-in-law’s rightswould have given. But, though discomfited and disappointed, he could still dosomething for his own interest and his own enjoyment. He soon quitted Bath; andon Mrs Clay’s quitting it soon afterwards, and being next heard of asestablished under his protection in London, it was evident how double a game hehad been playing, and how determined he was to save himself from being cut outby one artful woman, at least.

Mrs Clay’s affections had overpowered her interest, and she hadsacrificed, for the young man’s sake, the possibility of scheming longerfor Sir Walter. She has abilities, however, as well as affections; and it isnow a doubtful point whether his cunning, or hers, may finally carry the day;whether, after preventing her from being the wife of Sir Walter, he may not bewheedled and caressed at last into making her the wife of Sir William.

It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Elizabeth were shocked and mortifiedby the loss of their companion, and the discovery of their deception in her.They had their great cousins, to be sure, to resort to for comfort; but theymust long feel that to flatter and follow others, without being flattered andfollowed in turn, is but a state of half enjoyment.

Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady Russell’s meaning to loveCaptain Wentworth as she ought, had no other alloy to the happiness of herprospects than what arose from the consciousness of having no relations tobestow on him which a man of sense could value. There she felt her owninferiority very keenly. The disproportion in their fortune was nothing; it didnot give her a moment’s regret; but to have no family to receive andestimate him properly, nothing of respectability, of harmony, of good will tooffer in return for all the worth and all the prompt welcome which met her inhis brothers and sisters, was a source of as lively pain as her mind could wellbe sensible of under circumstances of otherwise strong felicity. She had buttwo friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs Smith. Tothose, however, he was very well disposed to attach himself. Lady Russell, inspite of all her former transgressions, he could now value from his heart.While he was not obliged to say that he believed her to have been right inoriginally dividing them, he was ready to say almost everything else in herfavour, and as for Mrs Smith, she had claims of various kinds to recommend herquickly and permanently.

Her recent good offices by Anne had been enough in themselves, and theirmarriage, instead of depriving her of one friend, secured her two. She wastheir earliest visitor in their settled life; and Captain Wentworth, by puttingher in the way of recovering her husband’s property in the West Indies,by writing for her, acting for her, and seeing her through all the pettydifficulties of the case with the activity and exertion of a fearless man and adetermined friend, fully requited the services which she had rendered, or evermeant to render, to his wife.

Mrs Smith’s enjoyments were not spoiled by this improvement of income,with some improvement of health, and the acquisition of such friends to beoften with, for her cheerfulness and mental alacrity did not fail her; andwhile these prime supplies of good remained, she might have bid defiance evento greater accessions of worldly prosperity. She might have been absolutelyrich and perfectly healthy, and yet be happy. Her spring of felicity was in theglow of her spirits, as her friend Anne’s was in the warmth of her heart.Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in CaptainWentworth’s affection. His profession was all that could ever make herfriends wish that tenderness less, the dread of a future war all that could dimher sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor’s wife, but she must pay thetax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible, moredistinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance.

Finis

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