Chapter 27 if this open weather holds out much longer.
Said Mrs Jennings when they met at breakfast the following morning.
Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week.
It is a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure.
That is true,
Cried Marianne in a cheerful voice.
I had not thought of that.
This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.
It was a lucky recollection.
All her good spirits were restored by him.
It is charming weather for them indeed,
She continued as she sat down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance.
How much they must enjoy it.
But frost will soon set in and in all probability with severity.
Perhaps it may freeze tonight.
At any rate.
See you later.
I daresay we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week.
I,
My dear,
I'll warrant you we do.
Mary always has her own way.
And now.
.
.
Silently Conjectured Elena She will write to Coombe by this day's post.
But if she did,
The letter was written and sent away with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact.
Whatever the truth of it might be.
And as far as Eleanor was feeling from thorough contentment about it.
Yet while she saw Marianne in spirits,
She could not be very uncomfortable herself.
The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs.
Jennings' acquaintance to inform them of her being in town,
And Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind,
Watching the variations of the sky,
And imagining an alteration in the air.
Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning,
Eleanor?
I can hardly keep my hands warm,
Even in my mask.
Eleanor was alternately diverted and pained,
But Marianne persevered and saw every night in the brightness of the fire and every morning in the appearance of the atmosphere There are certain symptoms of approaching frost.
The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs Jennings' style of living.
And set of acquaintance.
And with her behaviour to themselves,
Which was invariably kind.
Everything in her household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan.
And expecting a few old city friends,
She visited no one to whom an introduction could at all discompose the feelings of her young companions.
Pleased to find herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had expected.
Eleanor was very willing to compound for the want of much real enjoyment from any of their evening parties.
Which formed only for cards,
Could have little to amuse her.
Colonel Brandon was with them almost every day.
He came to look at Marianne and talk to Eleanor,
Who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other daily occurrence.
But who saw at the same time,
With much concern,
His continued regard for her sister.
After about a week.
It became certain that Willoughby was also arrived.
His card was on the table when they came in from the morning's drive.
God!
" cried Marianne.
He has been here while we were out.
Eleanor,
Rejoiced to be assured of him being in London,
Now ventured to say.
.
.
Depend upon it,
He will call again tomorrow.
But Marianne seemed hardly to hear her,
And on Mrs Jennings' entrance,
Escaped with the precious car.
This event,
While it raised the spirits of Eleanor,
Restored to those of her sister,
All,
And more than all,
Their former agitation.
From this moment,
The expectation of seeing him every hour of the day made her unfit for anything.
She insisted on being left behind the next morning when the others went out.
Eleanor's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Barclay Street during their absence.
But a moment's glance at her sister when they returned was enough to inform her that Willoughby had paid no second visit there.
A note was just then brought in and laid on the table.
For me!
" cried Marianne,
Stepping hastily forward.
No,
Mom.
For my mistress.
You were expecting a letter then?
" said Eleanor,
Unable to be longer silent.
Yes,
A little,
Not much.
After a short pause,
Eleanor said,
You have no confidence in me,
Marianne.
Nay,
Elena,
This reproach from you.
You who have confidence in no one.
Me?
Returned Eleanor in some confusion.
Indeed Marianne,
I have nothing to tell.
Nor I,
Answered Marianne with energy.
We have neither of us anything to tell because you do not communicate and I conceal nothing.
Eleanor,
Distressed by this charge of reserving herself,
Knew not how to press for greater openness in Marianne.
The note was from Lady Middleton announcing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before and requesting the company of her mother and cousins the following evening.
The invitation was accepted,
But when the hour of appointment drew near,
Eleanor had some difficulty in persuading her sister to go.
For still she had seen nothing at Willoughby.
Sir John had contrived to collect around him nearly 20 young people and to amuse them with a ball.
Mr and Mrs Palmer were of the party.
From the former they received no mark of recognition on their entrance.
He looked at them slightly without seeming to know who they were.
And merely nodded to Mrs Jennings from the other side of the room.
Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered.
It was enough.
He was not there.
And she sat down equally able disposed to receive or communicate pleasure.
After they had been assembled about an hour,
Mr Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his surprise on seeing them in town.
Though Colonel Brandon had been first informed of their arrival at his house.
Never had Marianne been so willing to dance in her life as she was that evening,
And never so much fatigued by the exercise.
She complained of it as they returned to Barkley Street.
I said,
Mrs Jennings,
We know the reason of that very well.
If a certain person who shall be nameless had been.
.
.
You would not have been a.
.
.
Tired.
And to say the truth,
It was not very pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited.
Invited.
Cried Marianne.
So my daughter Middleton told me,
For it seems Sir John met him somewhere in the street this morning.
Marianne said no more,
But looked exceedingly hurt.
Impatient in this situation to be doing something that might lead to her sister's relief.
Eleanor resolved to write the next morning to her mother.
And hoped by awakening her fears for the health of Marianne to procure those enquiries which had been so long delayed.
And she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by perceiving after breakfast on the morrow.
That Marianne was again writing to Willoughby.
For she could not suppose it to be to any other person.
About the middle of the day,
Mrs Jennings went out by herself on business and Eleanor began her letter directly.
She was very earnest in her application to her mother relating all that had passed.
Her suspicions of Willoughby's inconstancy,
Urging her by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account of her real situation with respect to him.
Her letter was scarcely finished when a rat foretold a visitor.
And Colonel Brandon was announced.
Marianne,
Who had seen him from the window and who hated company of any kind,
Left the room before he entered.
He looked more than usually grave,
And sat for some time without saying a word.
Eleanor,
Persuaded he had some communication to make in which her sister was concerned,
Impatiently expected its opening.
After a pause of several minutes,
Their silence was broken by his asking her,
In a voice of some agitation,
When he was to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother.
Eleanor was not prepared for such a question and having no answer ready was obliged to adopt the simple and common expedient of asking what he meant.
He tried to smile as he said.
Your sister's engagement to Mr Willoughby is very generally known.
It cannot be generally known,
Turned Eleanor,
For her own family do not know it.
He looked surprised and said,
I beg your pardon.
I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent.
But I had not supposed any secrecy intended,
As they openly correspond and their marriage is universally taught.
How can that be?
By whom have you heard it mentioned?
By many.
By Mrs Jennings,
Mrs Palmer and the Middletons.
But still,
I might not have believed it if I had not.
When the servant at mean today.
Accidentally seen a letter in his hand directed to Mr Willoughby in your sister's writing.
I came to inquire,
But I was convinced before I could ask the question.
Is everything finally settled?
I believe I have been wrong in saying so much,
But I hardly know what to do and on your prudence I have the strongest dependence.
Tell me it's all absolutely resolved on.
At any attempt.
That in short concealment,
If concealment be possible.
Is all that remains.
These words which convey to Eleanor a direct avowal of his love for her sister affected her very much.
The real state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known to herself.
That in endeavouring to explain it,
She might be as liable to say too much as too little.
Yet as she was convinced that Marianne's affection for Willoughby could leave no hope,
Of Colonel Brandon's success.
Whatever the event of that affection might be.
And at the same time wish to shield her conduct from censure.
She thought it most prudent and kind after some consideration.
To say more than she really knew or believed.
She acknowledged,
Therefore,
That though she had never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with each other,
Of their mutual affection she had no doubt.
And of their correspondence she was not astonished to hear.
Colonel Brandon listened to her with silent attention.
And on her ceasing to speak.
He rose directly from his seat.
After saying in a voice of emotion.
To your sister I wish all imaginable happiness.
To Willoughby,
That he may endeavour to deserve her.
Then he took leave.
And went away.
Elena derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation.
To lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points.
She was left on the contrary.
With a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon's unhappiness.
And was prevented even from wishing it to remove.
By her anxiety for the very events of her life.
That must confirm it.
Chapter 28 Nothing occurred during the next three or four days to make Eleanor regret what she had done in applying to her mother.
For Willoughby neither cane nor rope.
They were engaged about the end of that time to attend Lady Middleton to a party,
From which Mrs Jennings was kept away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter.
And for this party,
Marianne,
Seemingly equally indifferent whether she went or stayed.
Prepared without one look of hope or one expression of pleasure.
She sat by the drawing room fire after tea without once stirring from her seat.
Lost in her own thoughts and insensible of her sister's presence.
And when at last they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the door.
.
.
She started as if she had forgotten that anyone was expected.
They arrived in due time at the place of destination and entered a room splendidly lit up.
Quite full of company and insufferably hot.
When they had paid their tribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house.
They were permitted to mingle in the crowd.
After some time spent in saying little and doing less,
Marianne and Eleanor,
Luckily succeeding to chairs,
Place themselves at no great distance from the table.
They had not remained in this manor long.
Before Eleanor perceived Willoughby in earnest conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman.
She soon caught his eye and he immediately bowed.
But without attempting to speak to her or to approach Marianne.
Though he could not but see her.
Eleanor turned involuntarily to Marianne to see whether it could be unobserved by her.
At that moment,
She first perceived him.
And her whole countenance glowing with sudden delight.
She would have moved towards him instantly.
Had not her sister caught hold of her.
Good heavens!
She exclaimed.
He's there!
Why does he not look at me?
Why cannot I speak to him?
Pray,
Pray be composed.
Cried Eleanor.
Perhaps he has not observed you yet.
At last Willoughby turned round again and regarded them.
Marianne started up and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection held out her hand.
He approached,
And addressing himself rather to Eleanor than Marianne,
As if wishing to avoid her eyes.
Enquired in a hurried manner after Mrs Dashwood.
Ellen was unable to say a word.
Feelings of her sister were instantly expressed.
Her face was crimsoned over and she exclaimed in a voice of the greatest emotion.
Good God,
Willoughby,
What is the meaning of this?
Have you not received my letters?
Will you not shake hands with me?
He could not then avoid it.
But her touch seemed painful to him and he held her hand only for a moment.
During all this time he was evidently struggling for composure.
Eleanor watched his countenance and saw its expression becoming more tranquil.
After a moment's pause.
He spoke with calmness.
I did myself the honour of calling in Barclay Street last Tuesday.
And very much regretted I was not fortunate enough to find yourselves a Mrs Jennings at home.
Have you not received my note?
Cried Marianne in the wildest anxiety.
Tell me,
Willoughby,
For heaven's sake,
Tell me what is the matter?
He made no reply.
His complexion changed and all his embarrassment returned.
But he recovered himself again,
And after saying,
Yes,
I had the pleasure of receiving the information of your arrival in town.
Turned hastily away with a slight bow.
And joined his friends.
Marianne!
Now looking dreadfully white.
And unable to stand.
Sank into her chair and Eleanor expecting every moment to see her face.
Try to screen her from the observation of others.
Go to email and apply.
Marianne cried as soon as she could speak and forced him to come to me.
Tell him I must see him again.
I shall not have a moment's peace until this is explained.
Oh,
Go to him,
Eleanor.
No,
My dearest Marianne,
You must wait.
This is not a place for explanations.
Wait only till tomorrow.
With difficulty,
However,
Could Eleanor prevent Marianne from following him herself?
And to persuade her to check her agitation,
To wait at least till she might speak to him with more privacy and more affection.
Was impossible.
For Marianne continued incessantly to give way in her low voice to the misery of her feelings.
In a short time,
Eleanor saw Willoughby quit the room.
And telling Marianne he was gone,
Urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that evening.
As a fresh argument for her to be calm.
She instantly begged her sister to entreat Lady Middleton to take them home.
Lady Middleton,
On being informed that Marianne was unwell,
Was too polite to object for a moment to her wish of going away.
And making over her cards to a friend,
They departed as soon as the carriage could be found.
Marianne was in silent agony.
Too much oppressed even for tears.
But as Mrs Jennings was luckily not to come home.
They could go directly to their own room.
She was soon undressed and in bed.
Though she seemed to zealous of being alone,
Her sister had leisure enough for thinking over the past.
That some kind of engagement has subsisted between Willoughby and Marianne,
She could not doubt.
And that Willoughby was weary of it.
Seemed equally clear.
Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment could account for it.
Her indignation would have been still stronger than it was had she not witnessed that embarrassment which seemed to speak a consciousness of his own misconduct.
Absence might have weakened his regard,
But that such a regard had formerly existed.
Eleanor could not bring herself to doubt.
As for Marianne,
On the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already have given her,
She could not reflect without the deepest concern.
Her own situation gained in the comparison.
For while she could esteem Edward as much as ever.
However they might be divided in future,
Her mind might be always supported.
But every circumstance that could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby.
Chapter 29 Before the housemaid had lit their fire the next day,
Marianne.
.
.
Only half-dressed.
Was kneeling against one of the window seats for the sake of all the little light she could command from it.
And writing as fast as a continual flow of tears would permit her.
In this situation,
Eleanor,
Roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs,
First perceived her.
And said,
In a tone of the most considerate gentleness,
Marianne,
May I ask?
No,
Elena.
She replied,
After nothing you will soon know all.
The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said was immediately followed by a return of the same excessive affliction.
It was some minutes before she could go on with her letter and the frequent bursts of grief.
.
.
Which still obliged her at intervals to withhold her pen.
Were proofs enough of her feeling how more than probable it was she was writing for the last time to Willoughby.
Eleanor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power.
And she would have tried to soothe and tranquillise her more had not Marianne entreated her not to speak to her for the world.
The restless state of Marianne's mind not only prevented her from remaining in the room a moment after she was dressed,
It made her wander about the house till breakfast time.
Avoiding the sight of anybody.
At breakfast she neither ate nor attempted to eat anything.
And Ellen's attention was then all employed in endeavouring to engage Mrs Jennings' notice entirely to herself.
As this was a favourite meal with Mrs Jennings,
It lasted a considerable time,
And they were just setting themselves after it round the common working table.
When a letter was delivered to Marianne.
Which he eagerly caught from the servant and instantly ran out of the room.
Eleanor,
Who saw it,
Must come from Willoughby.
Felt immediately such a sickness at heart.
Has made her hardly able to hold up her head.
And sat in such a general tremor.
Has made her fear it impossible to escape Mrs Jennings' notice.
That good lady,
However,
Saw only that Marianne had received a letter from Willoughby.
Upon my word,
I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in all my life.
She said.
I hope from the bottom of my heart he won't keep her waiting much longer.
But it's quite grievous to see her look so ill at first.
Pray,
When are they to be married?
Eleanor obliged herself to answer such an attack as this,
And therefore,
Trying to smile,
Replied,
And have you really,
Mum,
Talked yourself into a persuasion of my sister's being engaged to Mr Willoughby?
I must beg you will not deceive yourself any longer.
Do assure you nothing would surprise me more than to hear of their being going to be married.
For shame,
For shame,
Miss Dashwood.
How can you talk so?
Don't we all know it must be a match?
That they were overhead and ears in love with each other from the first moment they met?
It's been known all over town this ever so long.
I tell everybody of it and so does Charlotte.
Indeed,
Mum.
Said Eleanor very seriously.
You are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report.
And you will find that you have,
Though you will not believe me now.
Mrs Jennings laughed again,
But Eleanor had not spirits to say more.
And eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written.
She hurried away to their room,
Where on opening the door.
.
.
She saw Marianne stretched on the bed,
Almost choked by grief.
One letter in her hand.
And two or three others.
Lying by her.
Eleanor Dumeer.
But without saying a word and seating herself on the bed.
She took her hand.
Kissed her affectionately several times.
Then gave way to a burst of tears which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne's.
The latter seem to feel all the tenderness of this behaviour.
And after some time thus spent in joint affliction,
She put all the letters into Eleanor's hands.
And then covering her face with her handkerchief,
Almost screamed with agony.
Ellen are watched by her.
Till the excess of suffering had somewhat spent itself.
Then turning eagerly to Willoughby's letter.
She read as follows.
Bond Street.
My dear madam.
I have just had the honour of receiving your letter.
I'm much concerned to find there was anything in my behaviour last night.
That did not meet your approbation.
And though I am quite at a loss to discover in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you,
And treat your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly unintentional.
My esteem for your whole family is very sincere.
But if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than I felt,
Or meant to express,
I shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that esteem.
That I should ever have meant to you more will allow to be impossible.
When you understand that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere.
And it will not be many weeks,
I believe.
Before this engagement is fulfilled.
It is with great regret.
I obey your commands of returning the letters,
Which I have been honoured from you.
And the lock of hair which you so obligingly bestowed upon me.
I am the Madam.
Your most obedient humble servant.
John Willoughby.
Though aware before she began the letter that it must bring a confession of this inconstancy and confirm their separation forever.
Eleanor was not aware that such language could be suffered to announce it.
Nor,
Could she have supposed,
Will it be capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate Phoenix?
As to send a letter which acknowledged no breach of faith,
Denied all peculiar fiction.
A letter of which every line was an insult.
And which proclaimed its writer to be deep in heart and feeling it.
She read it again and again.
But every perusal only served to increase her abhorrence of the man.
And so bitter were her feelings against him,
She dared not trust herself to speak,
Lest she might wound Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement as an escape from the worst of all evils.
A connection for life.
With an unprincipled man.
In her earnest meditations on the content of the letter.
On the depravity of that mind which could dictate it.
Eleanor forgot the immediate distress of her sister.
Forgot she had three letters on her lap yet unread.
And so entirely forgot how long she'd been in the room.
That went on hearing a carriage drive up to the door.
She went to the window to see who could be coming so unreasonably early.
And was all astonishment to perceive Mrs Jennings' chariot.
Which he knew had not been ordered until once.
Determined not to quit Marianne,
Elena hurried away to excuse herself from attending Mrs Jennings on account of her sister being indisposed.
Mrs Jennings admitted that he excused,
Most readily.
And Eleanor,
After seeing her safe off,
Returned to Marianne,
Whom she found attempting to rise from the bed.
And whom she reached just in time to prevent her falling on the floor.
Faint and giddy she was from a long want of proper rest and food.
A glass of wine Eleanor procured for her directly.
And she was at last able to express some sense of her kindness by saying.
.
.
Poor Eleanor,
How unhappy I make you.
I do wish,
Replied Eleanor.
There were anything I could do which might be of comfort to you.
This was too much for Marianne,
Who could only exclaim in the anguish of her heart.
Oh Eleanor,
I am miserable indeed!
Exert yourself,
Dean Marianne.
Bye,
Delena.
If you would not kill yourself and all who love you.
Think of your mother.
Think of her misery while you suffer.
For her sake,
You must exert yourself.
Cannot!
I cannot!
Cried Marianne.
How easy for those who have no sorrow of their own to talk for exertion.
Happy Eleanor,
You cannot have an idea of what I suffer.
Do you call me Happy Marianne?
See you then,
Nana.
If you knew.
And can you believe me to be so,
While I see you so wretched?
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Marianne threw her arms around her sister's neck.
I know you feel for me.
But you must be happy.
Edward loves you.
What can do away such happiness as that?
Many,
Many circumstances.
Said Eleanor solemnly.
No,
Cried Marianne wildly.
He loves you and only you.
You can have no grief.
I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.
And you will never see me otherwise.
Said Marianne.
Mine is a misery which nothing can do away.
You must not talk so,
Marianne.
Much as you suffer now,
Think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his character had been delayed to a later period.
If your engagement had been carried for months and months as it might have been before he chose to put an end to it,
Every additional day of unhappy confidence on your side would have made the blow more dreadful.
Engagement.
Cried Marianne.
There's been no engagement,
He's broken no faith with me.
But he told you that he loved you.
Yes!
No never absolutely.
It was every day implied but never professedly declared.
Sometimes I thought it had been.
But it never was.
Yet you wrote to him.
Yes?
Could that be wrong after all that had passed?
Ellen has said no more,
And turning again to the three letters which now raised a much stronger curiosity than before.
She directly ran over the contents of all the books.
The first,
Which was what her sister had sent him on their arrival in town,
Was to this effect.
Barclay Street,
January.
How surprised you will be,
Willoughby,
On receiving this.
And I think you will feel something more than surprised when you know I'm in town.
An opportunity of coming thither,
Though with Mrs Jennings was a temptation we could not resist.
I wish you may receive this in time to come here tonight.
But I will not paint it black.
At any rate,
I shall expect you tomorrow.
For the present,
Adieu.
Her second note,
Which had been written on the morning after the dance of the Middletons,
Was in these words.
I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before yesterday,
Nor my astonishment in not having received any answer to a note which I sent you about a week ago.
Pray call again as soon as possible and explain the reason for my having expected this in vain.
We were last night at Lady Middleton's where there was a dance.
I've been told you were asked to be one of the party,
But could it be so?
You must be very much altered indeed since we parted,
If that could be the case,
And you not there.
I will not suppose this possible and I hope very soon to receive your personal assurance of it being otherwise.
Marianne.
The contents of her last note to him.
Were these.
What am I to imagine,
Willoughby,
By your behaviour last night?
I was prepared to meet you with a pleasure which our separation naturally produced.
I was repulsed indeed.
I have passed a wretched night,
Endeavoring to excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting.
Though I have not been able to perform any reasonable apology for your behaviour,
I'm perfectly ready to hear your justification of it.
You have perhaps been purposely deceived in something concerning me,
Which may have lowered me in your opinion.
Tell me what it is and I shall be satisfied in being able to satisfy you.
It would grieve me indeed to be obliged to think ill of you.
But if I am to do it,
If I am to learn that you are not what we have hitherto believed you.
.
.
That your regard for us all was insincere.
That your behaviour to me was intended only to deceive.
Let it be told as soon as possible.
If your sentiments are no longer what they were,
You will return my notes and the lock of hair which is in your possession.
Marianne.
That such letters so full of affection and confidence could have been so answered.
Eleanor,
For Willoughby's sake.
Would have been unwilling to believe.
But her condemnation of him did not blind her to the impropriety of their having been written at all.
And she was silently grieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs of tenderness when Marianne,
Perceiving that she'd finished the letters,
Observe to her they contain nothing but what anyone would have written in the same situation.
I failed myself.
She added,
To be as solemnly engaged to him as if the strictest legal covenant aboundest to each other.
I can believe it.
Said Elena,
But unfortunately he did not feel the same.
He did feel the same,
Eleanor.
I was once dear to him as my own soul could wish.
This lock of hair,
Which now he so readily gave up,
Was begged of me with the most earnest supplication.
Have you forgot the morning we parted too when you told me it might be many weeks before we meet again?
His distress,
I can never forget his distress.
For a moment or two,
Marianne could say no more.
But when this emotion had passed away,
She added in a firmer tone.
Eleanor.
I have been cruelly used,
But not by Willoughby.
Dearest Marianne,
Who but himself?
By whom can he have been instigated?
By all the world,
Rather than by his own heart.
I could rather believe every creature of my acquaintance,
Lie together to ruin me in his opinion.
Than believe is nature capable of such cruelty.
This woman of whom he writes.
May have been so barbarous to belie me.
Eleanor would not contend and only replied.
Whoever may have been so detestably your enemy,
Let them be cheated of their malignant triumph,
My dear sister.
By seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own innocence and good intentions supports your spirit.
No,
No,
Cried Marianne.
Misery such as mine has no pride.
I care not.
Who knows that I'm wretched?
But for my mother's sake and mine.
But taste it anyway.
I would do more than for my own.
Said Marianne.
But to appear happy when I'm so miserable.
Who can require it?
Again they were both silent.
Marianne seated at the foot of the bed with her head leaning against one of its posts.
Again took up Willoughby's letter.
And after shuddering over every sentence exclaimed,
Is too much.
I wanna be you.
Could this be yours?
So cruel.
Whatever he might have heard against me,
Ought he to have suspended his belief?
The lock of hair which is so obligingly bestowed on me.
That is unpardonable.
Willoughby,
Where was your heart when you wrote those words?
Eleanor,
Can he be justified?
No,
Marianne,
In no possible way.
And yet this woman,
Who is she?
Whom did I ever hear of him talk of a young and attractive woman among his female acquaintance?
Another pause ensued.
Marianne was greatly agitated and it ended thus.
Eleanor,
I must go home.
I must go and comfort Mama.
Can we be gone tomorrow?
It would be impossible to go tomorrow.
We owe Mrs Jennings much more than civility,
And civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a hasty removal as that.
Well then,
Another day or two perhaps,
But I cannot stay here long.
I cannot stay to endure the questions,
Remarks of all these people.
The Middletons,
The Palmers.
How am I to bear their pity?
Eleanor advised her sister to lie down again.
And for a moment she did so.
But in restless pain of mind and body,
She moved from one posture to another.
To growing more and more hysterical.
Her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at all.
Some lavender drops,
However,
Which she was at length persuaded to take.
Were of use.
And from that time till Mrs Jennings returned,
Marianne continued on the bed.
Quiet.
And motionless.
Chapter 30 Mrs.
Jennings came immediately to their room on her return and opened the door and walked in with a look of real concern.
How do you do,
My dear?
Said she in a voice of great compassion to Marianne,
Who turned away her face without attempting to answer.
How is she,
Miss Dashwood?
She looks very bad.
No one.
It is but too true.
He is to be married very soon.
Are good for nothing.
Mrs Taylor told me of it half an hour ago and she was told of it by a particular friend of Miss Grey herself.
Well,
Said I,
All I can say is if it is true he has used a young lady of my acquaintance abominably ill.
If ever I meet him again,
I will give him such a dressing as he has not had this many a day.
But there is one comfort,
My dear Miss Marianne.
He's not the only young man in the world worth having.
And with your pretty face,
You'll never want admirers.
Well,
Poor thing.
I won't disturb her any longer,
For she better have her cry out at once and have done with it.
The Parrys and Sandersons are coming tonight and that might amuse her.
Then she went away,
Walking on tiptoe out of the room,
As if she supposed her young friend's affliction could be increased by noise.
Marianne,
To the surprise of her sister,
Determined on dining with them.
Elena even advised her against it.
But no,
She would go down.
She could bear it very well.
When there,
Though looking most wretchedly,
She ate more and was calmer than her sister had expected.
Had she tried to speak,
Or had she been conscious of half Mrs Jennings' well-meant but ill-judged attentions?
This calmness could not have been maintained.
But not a syllable escaped her lips,
And the abstraction of her thoughts preserved her in ignorance of everything that was passing before her.
Eleanor who did justice to Mrs Jennings' kindness,
Though its effusions were often distressing.
Made her those acknowledgements.
And returned her those civilities which her sister could not make or return for herself.
Their good friend saw Marianne was unhappy.
She treated her,
Therefore,
With all the indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the last day of its holidays.
Had not Eleanor,
In the sad countenance of her sister,
Seen a check to all mirth,
She could have been entertained by Mrs Jennings's endeavours to cure a disappointment in love.
Buy a variety of sweetmeats and olives and a good fire.
As soon,
However,
As the consciousness of all this was forced by continual repetition on Marianne.
She could stay no longer.
With a hasty exclamation of misery and a sign to her sister not to follow.
Marianne directly got up and hurried out of the room.
Cool,
So.
.
.
Cried Mrs Jennings as soon as she was gone,
How it grieves me to see her.
Well,
It is the oddest thing to me that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill.
But when there is plenty of money on one side and next to none on the other,
Lord bless you,
They care no more about such things.
The lady then,
Miss Grey,
I think you called her,
Is very rich.
Asked Eleanor.
And by all accounts it won't come before it's wanted,
No wonder,
Dashing about with his hurricane and hunters.
It don't satisfy talking,
But when a young man,
Be he who he will,
Comes and makes love to a pretty girl and promises marriage,
He has no business to fly off from his word only because he grows poor and a rich girl is ready to have him.
Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is?
Is she said to be amiable?
I never heard any harm of her indeed.
I hardly ever heard her mentioned,
Except that Mrs.
Taylor did say this morning she believed Mr.
And Mrs.
Ellison would not be sorry to have Miss Gray married.
For she and Mrs.
Ellison could never agree.
And who are the Addisons?
Ask Eleanor.
Her guardians,
My dear.
But now she's of age and may choose for herself.
And a pretty choice she's made.
What now?
After pausing a moment.
Your poor sister has gone to her room,
I suppose,
To moan by herself.
Is there nothing one can get to comfort her?
Well,
By and by we shall have a few friends and that will amuse her a little.
Dear mum,
This kindness is quite unnecessary.
Said Elena.
Marianne,
I dare say,
Will not leave her room again this evening.
I shall persuade her if I can to go early to bed,
For I'm sure she wants rest.
Aye,
I believe that'll be the best for her.
Lord,
No wonder she's been looking so bad and cast down.
This last week or two.
For this matter,
I suppose,
Has been hanging over her head as long as that.
And so the letter that came today finished it.
Lord,
How concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when they hear.
If I had had my senses about me,
I might have called in Conduit Street in my way home.
And told them of it.
But I shall see them tomorrow.
It would be unnecessary,
I'm sure,
" said Helena,
For you to caution Mrs.
Palmer and Sir John against ever naming Mr.
Willoughby or making the slightest allusion to what has passed before my sister.
Their own good nature must point to them the real cruelty of appearing to know anything about it when she's present.
And the less that ever may be said to myself on the subject,
The more my feelings will be spared,
As you,
My dear madam,
Will easily believe.
Oh Lord,
Yes,
That I do indeed.
It must be terrible for you to hear it talked of.
And as for your sister,
I'm sure I would not mention a word about it to her for the world.
For my part,
I think the less said about such things,
The better.
The sooner it's blown over and forgot.
And what good does talking ever do,
You know?
In this affair.
Said Eleanor.
It can only do harm.
For it's been attended by circumstances which,
For the sake of everyone concerned in it,
Make it unfit to become the public conversation.
I must do this justice to Mr.
Willoughby.
He's broken no positive engagement with my sister.
My dear,
Don't pretend to defend him.
A positive engagement indeed,
After taking her all over Allenham House and fixing on the very rooms they were to live in hereafter.
Eleanor,
For her sister's sake,
Could not press the subject further.
After a short silence on both sides,
Mrs Jennings,
With all her natural hilarity,
Burst forth again.
Well,
My dear,
It is a true saying about an ill wind,
For it will be all the better for Colonel Brandon.
He will have her at last.
Ay,
That he will.
I hope he will come tonight.
It will be all to one a better match for your sister.
2,
000 a year without debt or drawback.
Except the little love child,
Indeed.
I'd forgotten her.
But she may be prenticed out at small cost and then what does that signify?
If we can but put Willoughby out of Marianne's head.
Aye,
If we can do that,
Mom.
Said Eleanor.
We shall do very well with or without Colonel Brandon.
Then rising,
She went away to join Marianne,
Whom she found as she expected,
In her own room.
Leaning in silent misery over the small remains of a fire.
You had better leave me.
Was all the notice her sister received from her.
I will leave you.
Said Eleanor,
If you will go to bed.
But this she at first refused to do.
Her sister's earnest though gentle persuasion,
However,
Soon softened Marianne to compliance.
And Eleanor saw her lay her aching head on the pillow.
And as she hoped in a way to getting some quiet rest.
Before she left her.
In the drawing room she was soon joined by Mrs Jennings with a wine glass full of something in her hand.
My dear.
Said she,
Entering.
I've just recollected I've got some of the finest old wine in the house that was ever tasted,
So I brought a glass of it for your sister.
Damn,
Mom.
Apply DELENA.
How good you are.
But I've just left Marianne in bed and I hope almost asleep.
And as I think nothing will be of so much service to her as rest.
If you give me leave,
I'll drink the wine myself.
Mrs Jennings,
Though regretting she had not been five minutes earlier.
Was satisfied with the compromise.
And Eleanor,
As she swallowed the chief of it,
Reflected its healing powers on a disappointed heart.
Might be as reasonably tried on herself.
As on her sister.
Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea.
And by his manner of looking round the room for Marianne,
Eleanor immediately fancied he neither expected nor wished to see her there.
And in short,
That he was already aware of what occasioned her absence.
Mrs Jennings was not struck by the same thought.
For soon after his entrance she walked across the room to the tea table where Eleanor presided and whispered Your colonel looks as grave as ever you see.
He knows nothing of it.
Do tell him,
My dear.
He shortly afterward drew a chair close to hers,
And with a look which perfectly assured her of his good information,
Inquired after her sister.
Marianne is not well.
Said she.
She has been indisposed all day and we have persuaded her to go to bed.
Perhaps then.
He hesitatingly replied,
What I heard this morning may be.
.
.
There may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at first.
What did you hear?
That's a gentleman whom I knew to be engaged,
But how shall I tell you?
If you know it already,
As surely as you must,
I may be spared.
You mean.
Answered Eleanor with forced calmness.
Mr.
Willoughby's Marriage with Miss Grey Yes,
We do know it all.
Where did you hear it?
In a stationer's shop in Palmau where I had business.
Two ladies were waiting for their carriage and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match.
The name of Willoughby.
John Willoughby,
Frequently repeated,
First caught my attention,
And what followed was a positive assertion that everything was now finally settled.
Respecting his marriage with Miss Grey.
It would be impossible to describe what I felt.
The communicative lady I learned on inquiry was a Mrs.
Ellison,
And that,
As I have been informed,
Is the name of Miss Grey's guardian.
It is.
Sat Sri Akal.
But have you likewise heard Miss Grey has £50,
000?
In that,
If anything,
We might find an explanation.
It may be so,
But Willoughby is capable.
At least,
I think.
He stopped a moment,
Then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself.
And your sister.
How did she?
Her sufferings have been very severe.
Sit it in.
Till yesterday I believe she never doubted his regard.
And even now,
Perhaps.
But I am always convinced he never was really attached to her.
He's being very deceitful and in some points there seems a hardness of heart about him.
Said Colonel Brandon.
There is indeed.
But your sister does not consider it quite as you do.
You know her disposition.
Sit down.
And may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could.
Colonel Brandon made no answer,
And soon afterwards the subject was necessarily dropped.
Mrs Jennings,
Who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon's side,
As might have become a man in the bloom of youth.
Of hope and happiness.
Saw him with amazement.
Remain the whole evening.
More serious and thoughtful.
Than ever.
