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Title: Persuasion

Author: Jane Austen

Release Date: June 5, 2008 [EBook

#105]
Last Updated: February 15, 2015

Language: English
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG

EBOOK PERSUASION ***

Produced by Sharon Partridge and

Martin Ward. HTML version
by Al Haines.

Persuasion
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by
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Jane Austen
(1818)

CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER

I II III IV
CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER
V VI VII VIII
CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER
IX X XI XII
CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER
XIII XIV XV XVI
CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER
XVII XVIII XIX XX
CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER
XXI XXII XXIII XXIV
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Chapter 1

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somer-

setshire, was a man who, for his own amuse-
ment, never took up any book but the Baronet-
age; there he found occupation for an idle hour,
and consolation in a distressed one; there his fac-
ulties were roused into admiration and respect,
by contemplating the limited remnant of the
earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations,
arising from domestic affairs changed naturally
into pity and contempt as he turned over the al-
most endless creations of the last century; and
there, if every other leaf were powerless, he
could read his own history with an interest which
never failed. This was the page at which the fa-
vourite volume always opened:
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"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 November 20, 1791."

Precisely such had the paragraph originally

stood from the printer's hands; but Sir Walter had
improved it by adding, for the information of
himself and his family, these words, after the
date of Mary's birth--"Married, December 16,
1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles Mus-
grove, Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of
Somerset," and by inserting most accurately the
day of the month on which he had lost his wife.

Then followed the history and rise of the an-

cient and respectable family, in the usual terms;
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how it had been first settled in Cheshire; how

mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high
sheriff, representing a borough in three success-
ive parliaments, exertions of loyalty, and dignity
of baronet, in the first year of Charles II, with all
the Marys and Elizabeths they had married;
forming altogether two handsome duodecimo
pages, and concluding with the arms and motto:-
-"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county of
Somerset," and Sir Walter's handwriting again in
this finale:--

"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot,

Esq., great grandson of the second 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
his youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine
man. Few women could think more of their per-
sonal appearance than he did, nor could the valet
of any new made lord be more delighted with the
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place he held in society. He considered the bless-

ing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a
baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united
these gifts, was the constant object of his
warmest respect and devotion.

His good looks and his rank had one fair claim
on his attachment; since to them he must have
owed a wife of very superior character to any
thing deserved by his own. Lady Elliot had been
an excellent woman, sensible and amiable;
whose judgement and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made
her Lady Elliot, had never required indulgence
afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, or
concealed his failings, and promoted his real re-
spectability for seventeen years; and though not
the very happiest being in the world herself, had
found enough in her duties, her friends, and her
children, to attach her to life, and make it no
matter of indifference to her when she was called
on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldest
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sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy for a

mother to bequeath, an awful charge rather, to
confide to the authority and guidance of a con-
ceited, silly father. She had, however, one very
intimate friend, a sensible, deserving woman,
who had been brought, by strong attachment to
herself, to settle close by her, in the village of
Kellynch; and on her kindness and advice, Lady
Elliot mainly relied for the best help and main-
tenance of the good principles and instruction
which she had been anxiously giving her
daughters.

This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry,

whatever might have been anticipated on that
head by their acquaintance. Thirteen years had
passed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they
were still near neighbours and intimate friends,
and one remained a widower, the other a widow.

That Lady Russell, of steady age and character,

and extremely well provided for, should have no
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thought of a second marriage, needs no apology

to the public, which is rather apt to be unreason-
ably discontented when a woman does marry
again, than when she does not; but Sir Walter's
continuing in singleness requires explanation. Be
it known then, that Sir Walter, like a good father,
(having met with one or two private disappoint-
ments in very unreasonable applications), prided
himself on remaining single for his dear daugh-
ters' sake. For one daughter, his eldest, he would
really have given up any thing, which he had not
been very much tempted to do. Elizabeth had
succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of
her mother's rights and consequence; and being
very handsome, and very like himself, her influ-
ence 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
little artificial importance, by becoming Mrs
Charles Musgrove; but Anne, with an elegance
of mind and sweetness of character, which must
have placed her high with any people of real
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understanding, was nobody with either father or

sister; her word had no weight, her convenience
was always to give way--she was only 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 Anne that she could fancy the mother to
revive again.

A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a

very pretty girl, but her bloom had vanished
early; and as even in its height, her father had
found little to admire in her, (so totally different
were her delicate features and mild dark eyes
from his own), there could be nothing in them,
now that she was faded and thin, to excite his es-
teem. He had never indulged much hope, he had
now none, of ever reading her name in any other
page of his favourite work. All equality of alli-
ance must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had
merely connected herself with an old country
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family of respectability and large fortune, and

had therefore given all the honour and received
none: Elizabeth would, one day or other, marry
suitably.

It sometimes happens that a woman is hand-

somer at twenty-nine than she was ten years be-
fore; and, generally speaking, if there has been
neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at
which scarcely any charm is lost. It was so with
Elizabeth, still the same handsome Miss Elliot
that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and
Sir Walter might be excused, therefore, in forget-
ting her age, or, at least, be deemed only half a
fool, for thinking himself and Elizabeth as
blooming as ever, amidst the wreck of the good
looks of everybody else; for he could plainly see
how old all the rest of his family and acquaint-
ance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse,
every face in the neighbourhood worsting, and
the rapid increase of the crow's foot about Lady
Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.
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Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in per-

sonal contentment. Thirteen years had seen her
mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and direct-
ing with a self-possession and decision which
could never have given the idea of her being
younger than she was. For thirteen years had she
been doing the honours, and laying down the do-
mestic law at home, and leading the way to the
chaise and four, and walking immediately after
Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms and
dining-rooms in the country. Thirteen winters'
revolving frosts had seen her opening every ball
of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded,
and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she
travelled up to London with her father, for a few
weeks' annual enjoyment of the great world. She
had the remembrance of all this, she had the con-
sciousness of being nine-and-twenty to give her
some regrets and some apprehensions; she was
fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as
ever, but she felt her approach to the years of
danger, and would have rejoiced to be certain of
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being properly solicited by baronet-blood within

the next twelvemonth or two. Then might she
again take up the book of books with as much
enjoyment as in her early youth, but now she
liked it not. Always to be presented with the date
of her own birth and see no marriage follow but
that of a youngest sister, made the book an evil;
and more than once, when her father had left it
open on the table near her, had she closed it, with
averted eyes, and pushed it away.

She had had a disappointment, moreover,

which that book, and especially the history of her
own family, must ever present the remembrance
of. The heir presumptive, the very William Wal-
ter Elliot, Esq., whose rights had been so gener-
ously supported by her father, had disappointed
her.

She had, while a very young girl, as soon as

she had known him to be, in the event of her
having no brother, the future baronet, meant to
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marry him, and her father had always meant that

she should. He had not been known to them as a
boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's death, Sir Wal-
ter had sought the acquaintance, and though his
overtures had not been met with any warmth, he
had persevered in seeking it, making allowance
for the modest drawing-back of youth; and, in
one of their spring excursions to London, when
Elizabeth was in her first bloom, Mr Elliot had
been forced into the introduction.

He was at that time a very young man, just en-

gaged in the study of the law; and Elizabeth
found him extremely agreeable, and every plan
in his favour was confirmed. He was invited to
Kellynch Hall; he was talked of and expected all
the rest of the year; but he never came. The fol-
lowing spring he was seen again in town, found
equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and
expected, and again he did not come; and the
next tidings were that he was married. Instead of
pushing his fortune in the line marked out for the
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heir of the house of Elliot, he had purchased in-

dependence by uniting himself to a rich woman
of inferior birth.

Sir Walter had resented it. As the head of the

house, he felt that he ought to have been consul-
ted, especially after taking the young man so
publicly by the hand; "For they must have been
seen together," he observed, "once at Tattersall's,
and twice in the lobby of the House of Com-
mons." His disapprobation was expressed, but
apparently very little regarded. Mr Elliot had at-
tempted no apology, and shewn himself as unso-
licitous of being longer noticed by the family, as
Sir Walter considered him unworthy of it: all ac-
quaintance between them had ceased.

This very awkward history of Mr Elliot was

still, after an interval of several years, felt with
anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the man for
himself, and still more for being her father's heir,
and whose strong family pride could see only in
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him a proper match for Sir Walter Elliot's eldest

daughter. There was not a baronet from A to Z
whom her feelings could have so willingly ac-
knowledged as an equal. Yet so miserably had he
conducted himself, that though she was at this
present time (the summer of 1814) wearing black
ribbons for his wife, she could not admit him to
be worth thinking of again. The disgrace of his
first marriage might, perhaps, as there was no
reason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring,
have been got over, had he not done worse; but
he had, as by the accustomary intervention of
kind friends, they had been informed, spoken
most disrespectfully of them all, most slightingly
and contemptuously of the very blood he be-
longed to, and the honours which were hereafter
to be his own. This could not be pardoned.

Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and

sensations; such the cares to alloy, the agitations
to vary, the sameness and the elegance, the
prosperity and the nothingness of her scene of
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life; such the feelings to give interest to a long,

uneventful residence in one country circle, to fill
the vacancies which there were no habits of util-
ity abroad, no talents or accomplishments for
home, to occupy.

But now, another occupation and solicitude of

mind was beginning to be added to these. Her
father was growing distressed for money. She
knew, that when he now took up the Baronetage,
it was to drive the heavy bills of his trades-
people, and the unwelcome hints of Mr Shep-
herd, his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch
property was good, but not equal to Sir Walter's
apprehension of the state required in its pos-
sessor. While Lady Elliot lived, there had been
method, moderation, and economy, which had
just kept him within his income; but with her had
died all such right-mindedness, and from that
period he had been constantly exceeding it. It
had not been possible for him to spend less; he
had done nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot was
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imperiously called on to do; but blameless as he

was, he was not only growing dreadfully in debt,
but was hearing 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 last spring in town; he had gone so far
even as to say, "Can we retrench? Does it 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, set seri-
ously to think what could be done, and had fi-
nally proposed these two branches of economy,
to cut off some unnecessary charities, and to re-
frain from new furnishing the drawing-room; to
which expedients she afterwards added the
happy thought of their taking no present down to
Anne, as had been the usual yearly custom. But
these measures, however good in themselves,
were insufficient for the real extent of the evil,
the whole of which Sir Walter found himself ob-
liged to confess to her soon afterwards. Elizabeth
had nothing to propose of deeper efficacy. She
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felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did her

father; and they were neither of them able to de-
vise any means of lessening their expenses
without compromising their dignity, or relin-
quishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.

There was only a small part of his estate that

Sir Walter could dispose of; but had every acre
been alienable, it would have made no differ-
ence. He had condescended to mortgage as far as
he had the power, but he would never condes-
cend to sell. No; he would never disgrace his
name so far. The Kellynch estate should be
transmitted whole and entire, as he had received
it.

Their two confidential friends, Mr Shepherd,

who lived in the neighbouring market town, and
Lady Russell, were called to advise them; and
both father and daughter seemed to expect that
something should be struck out by one or the
other to remove their embarrassments and reduce
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their expenditure, without involving the loss of

any indulgence of taste or pride.

Chapter 2

Mr Shepherd, a civil, cautious lawyer, who,

whatever might be his hold or his views on Sir
Walter, would rather have the disagreeable
prompted by anybody else, excused himself from
offering the slightest hint, and only begged leave
to recommend an implicit reference to the excel-
lent judgement of Lady Russell, from whose
known good sense he fully expected to have just
such resolute measures advised as he meant to
see finally adopted.
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Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on

the subject, and gave it much serious considera-
tion. She was a woman rather of sound than of
quick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to
any decision in this instance were great, from the
opposition of two leading principles. She was of
strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of
honour; but she was as desirous of saving Sir
Walter's feelings, as solicitous for the credit of
the family, as aristocratic in her ideas of what
was due to them, as anybody of sense and hon-
esty could well be. She was a benevolent, charit-
able, good woman, and capable of strong attach-
ments, most correct in her conduct, strict in her
notions of decorum, and with manners that were
held a standard of good-breeding. She had a cul-
tivated mind, and was, generally speaking, ra-
tional and consistent; but she had prejudices on
the side of ancestry; she had a value for rank and
consequence, which blinded her a little to the
faults of those who possessed them. Herself the
widow of only a knight, she gave the dignity of a
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baronet all its due; and Sir Walter, independent

of his claims as an old acquaintance, an attentive
neighbour, an obliging landlord, the husband of
her very dear friend, the father of Anne and her
sisters, was, as being Sir Walter, in her appre-
hension, entitled to a great deal of compassion
and consideration under his present difficulties.

They must retrench; that did not admit of a

doubt. But she was very anxious to have it done
with the least possible pain to him and Elizabeth.
She drew up plans of economy, she made exact
calculations, and she did what nobody else
thought of doing: she consulted Anne, who never
seemed considered by the others as having any
interest in the question. She consulted, and in a
degree was influenced by her in marking out the
scheme of retrenchment which was at last sub-
mitted to Sir Walter. Every emendation of
Anne's had been on the side of honesty against
importance. She wanted more vigorous meas-
ures, a more complete reformation, a quicker
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release from debt, a much higher tone of indif-

ference 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 these regu-
lations, in seven years he will be clear; and I
hope we may be able to convince him and Eliza-
beth, that Kellynch Hall has a respectability in it-
self which cannot be affected by these reduc-
tions; and that the true dignity of Sir Walter Elli-
ot will be very far from lessened in the eyes of
sensible people, by acting like a man of prin-
ciple. What will he be doing, in fact, but what
very many of our first families have done, or
ought to do? There will be nothing singular in
his case; and it is singularity which often makes
the worst part of our suffering, as it always does
of our conduct. I have great hope of prevailing.
We must be serious and decided; for after all, the
person who has contracted debts must pay them;
and though a great deal is due to the feelings of
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the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your

father, there is still more due to the character of
an honest man."

This was the principle on which Anne wanted

her father to be proceeding, his friends to be ur-
ging him. She considered it as an act of indis-
pensable duty to clear away the claims of credit-
ors with all the expedition which the most com-
prehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw
no dignity in anything short of it. She wanted it
to be prescribed, and felt as a duty. She rated
Lady Russell's influence highly; and as to the
severe degree of self-denial which her own con-
science prompted, she believed there might be
little more difficulty in persuading them to a
complete, than to half a reformation. Her know-
ledge of her father and Elizabeth inclined her to
think that the sacrifice of 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.
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How Anne's more rigid requisitions might

have been taken is of little consequence. Lady
Russell's had no success at all: could not be put
up with, were not to be borne. "What! every
comfort of life knocked off! Journeys, London,
servants, horses, table--contractions and restric-
tions every where! To live no longer with the de-
cencies even of a private gentleman! No, he
would sooner quit Kellynch Hall at once, than
remain in it on such disgraceful terms."

"Quit Kellynch Hall." The hint was immedi-

ately taken up by Mr Shepherd, whose interest
was involved in the reality of Sir Walter's re-
trenching, and who was perfectly persuaded that
nothing would be done without a change of
abode. "Since the idea had been started in the
very quarter which ought to dictate, he had no
scruple," he said, "in confessing his judgement to
be entirely on that side. It did not appear to him
that Sir Walter could materially alter his style of
living in a house which had such a character of
 27/561

hospitality and ancient dignity to support. In any

other place Sir Walter might judge for himself;
and would be looked up to, as regulating the
modes 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 doubt and indecision,
the great question of whither he should go was
settled, and the first outline of this important
change made out.

There had been three alternatives, London,

Bath, or another house in the country. All Anne's
wishes had been for the latter. A small house in
their own neighbourhood, where they might still
have Lady Russell's society, still be near Mary,
and still have the pleasure of sometimes seeing
the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was the object
of her ambition. But the usual fate of Anne atten-
ded her, in having something very opposite from
her inclination fixed on. She disliked Bath, and
 28/561

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 he could not be trusted
in London, and had been skilful enough to dis-
suade him from it, and make Bath preferred. It
was a much safer place for a gentleman in his
predicament: he might there be important at
comparatively little expense. Two material ad-
vantages of Bath over London had of course
been given all their weight: its more convenient
distance from Kellynch, only fifty miles, and
Lady Russell's spending some part of every
winter there; and to the very great satisfaction of
Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected
change had been for Bath, Sir Walter and Eliza-
beth were induced to believe that they should
lose neither consequence nor enjoyment by set-
tling there.
 29/561

Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear

Anne's known wishes. It would be too much to
expect Sir Walter to descend into a small house
in his own neighbourhood. Anne herself would
have found the mortifications of it more than she
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 a prejudice
and mistake arising, first, from the circumstance
of her having been three years at school there,
after her mother's death; and secondly, from her
happening to be not in perfectly good spirits the
only winter which she had afterwards spent there
with herself.

Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and

disposed to think it must suit them all; and as to
her young friend's health, by passing all the
warm months with her at Kellynch Lodge, every
danger would be avoided; and it was in fact, a
change which must do both health and spirits
good. Anne had been too little from home, too
 30/561

little seen. Her spirits were not high. A larger so-

ciety would improve them. She wanted her to be
more known.

The undesirableness of any other house in the

same neighbourhood for Sir Walter was certainly
much strengthened by one part, and a very ma-
terial part of the scheme, which had been happily
engrafted on the beginning. He was not only to
quit 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 Hall
was to be let. This, however, was a profound
secret, not to be breathed beyond their own
circle.

Sir Walter could not have borne the degrada-

tion of being known to design letting his house.
Mr Shepherd had once mentioned the word "ad-
vertise," but never dared approach it again. Sir
Walter spurned the idea of its being offered in
any manner; forbad the slightest hint being
 31/561

dropped of his having such an intention; and it

was only on the supposition of his being spon-
taneously solicited by some most unexception-
able applicant, on his 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 another excellent
one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir
Walter and his family were to remove from the
country. Elizabeth had been lately forming an in-
timacy, 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, who
understood the art of pleasing--the art of pleas-
ing, at least, at Kellynch Hall; and who had made
herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as to have
been already staying there more than once, in
spite of all that Lady Russell, who thought it a
 32/561

friendship quite out of place, could hint of cau-

tion and reserve.

Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influ-

ence with Elizabeth, and seemed to love her,
rather because she would love her, than because
Elizabeth deserved it. She had never received
from her more than outward attention, nothing
beyond the observances of complaisance; had
never succeeded in any point which she wanted
to carry, against previous inclination. She had
been repeatedly very earnest in trying to get
Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly
open to all the injustice and all the discredit of
the selfish arrangements which shut her out, and
on many lesser occasions had endeavoured to
give Elizabeth the advantage 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 decided opposition to
Lady Russell than in this selection of Mrs Clay;
turning from the society of so deserving a sister,
 33/561

to bestow her affection and confidence on one

who 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 compan-
ion; and a removal that would leave Mrs Clay
behind, and bring a choice of more suitable in-
timates within Miss Elliot's reach, was therefore
an object of first-rate importance.

Chapter 3

"I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter," said

Mr Shepherd one morning at Kellynch Hall, as
he laid down the newspaper, "that the present
 34/561

juncture is much in our favour. This peace will

be turning all our rich naval officers ashore.
They will be all wanting a home. Could not be a
better time, 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 to come 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 be to him;
rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken
ever so many before; 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 of
their methods of doing business; and I am free to
confess that they have very liberal notions, and
 35/561

are as likely to make desirable tenants as any set

of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir
Walter, what I would take leave to suggest is,
that if in consequence of any rumours getting
abroad of your intention; which must be contem-
plated as a possible thing, because we know how
difficult it is to keep the actions and designs of
one part of the world from the notice and curios-
ity of the other; consequence has its tax; I, John
Shepherd, might conceal any family-matters that
I chose, for nobody would think it worth their
while to observe me; but Sir Walter Elliot has
eyes upon him which it may be very difficult to
elude; and therefore, thus much I venture upon,
that it will not greatly surprise me if, with all our
caution, some rumour of the truth should get
abroad; in the supposition of which, as I was go-
ing to observe, since applications will unques-
tionably follow, I should think any from our
wealthy naval commanders particularly worth at-
tending to; and beg leave to add, that two hours
 36/561

will bring me over at any time, to save you the

trouble of replying."

Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards,

rising and pacing the room, he observed
sarcastically--

"There are few among the gentlemen of the

navy, I imagine, who would not be surprised to
find themselves in a house of this description."

"They would look around them, no doubt, and

bless their good fortune," said Mrs Clay, for Mrs
Clay was present: her father had driven her over,
nothing being of so much use to Mrs Clay's
health as a drive to Kellynch: "but I quite agree
with my father in thinking a sailor might be a
very desirable tenant. I have known a good deal
of the profession; and besides their liberality,
they are so neat and careful in all their ways!
These valuable pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if
you chose to leave them, would be perfectly safe.
 37/561

Everything in and about the house would be

taken such excellent care of! The gardens and
shrubberies would be kept in almost as high or-
der as they are now. You need not be afraid,
Miss Elliot, of your own sweet flower gardens
being neglected."

"As to all that," rejoined Sir Walter coolly,

"supposing I were induced to let my house, I
have by no means made up my mind as to the
privileges to be annexed to it. I am not particu-
larly disposed to favour a tenant. The park would
be open to him of course, and few navy officers,
or men of any other description, can have had
such a range; but what restrictions I might im-
pose on the use of the pleasure-grounds, is an-
other thing. I am not fond of the idea of my
shrubberies being always approachable; and I
should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her
guard with respect to her flower garden. I am
very little disposed to grant a tenant of Kellynch
 38/561

Hall any extraordinary favour, 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 everything plain and easy between
landlord and tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter, is
in pretty safe hands. Depend upon me for taking
care that no tenant has more than his just rights. I
venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be
half so jealous 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 equal claim with any other
set of men, for all the comforts and all the priv-
ileges which any home can give. Sailors work
 39/561

hard enough for their comforts, we must all

allow."

"Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is

very true," was Mr Shepherd's rejoinder, and
"Oh! certainly," was his daughter's; but Sir
Walter's remark was, soon afterwards--

"The profession has its utility, but I should be

sorry to see any friend of 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 of objection to it. First, as
being the means of bringing persons of obscure
birth into undue distinction, and raising men to
honours which their fathers and grandfathers
never dreamt of; and secondly, as it cuts up a
man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor
grows old sooner than any other man. I have
 40/561

observed it all my life. A man is in greater

danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise
of one whose father, his father might have dis-
dained to speak to, and of becoming prematurely
an object of disgust himself, than in any other
line. One day last spring, in town, I was in com-
pany with two men, striking instances of what I
am talking of; Lord St Ives, whose father we all
know to have been a country curate, without
bread to eat; I was to give place to Lord St Ives,
and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most
deplorable-looking personage you can imagine;
his face the colour of mahogany, rough and
rugged to the last degree; all lines and wrinkles,
nine grey hairs of a side, and nothing but a dab
of powder at top. 'In the name of heaven, who is
that old fellow?' said I to a friend of mine who
was standing near, (Sir Basil Morley). 'Old fel-
low!' cried Sir Basil, 'it is Admiral Baldwin.
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
 41/561

amazement; I shall not easily forget Admiral

Baldwin. I never saw quite so wretched an ex-
ample of what a sea-faring life can do; but to a
degree, I know it is the same with them all: they
are all knocked about, and exposed to every cli-
mate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be
seen. It is a pity they are not knocked on the head
at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's
age."

"Nay, Sir Walter," cried Mrs Clay, "this is be-

ing severe indeed. Have a little mercy on the
poor men. We are not all born to be handsome.
The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do
grow old betimes; I have observed it; they soon
lose the look of youth. But then, is not it the
same with many other professions, perhaps most
other? Soldiers, in active service, are not at all
better off: and even in the quieter professions,
there is a toil and a labour of the mind, if not of
the body, which seldom leaves a man's looks to
the natural effect of time. The lawyer plods,
 42/561

quite care-worn; the physician is up at all hours,

and travelling in all weather; and even the
clergyman--" she stopt a moment to consider
what might do for the clergyman;--"and even the
clergyman, you know is obliged to go into infec-
ted rooms, and expose his health and looks to all
the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as
I have long been convinced, though every pro-
fession is necessary and honourable in its turn, it
is only the lot of those who are not obliged to
follow any, who can live in a regular way, in the
country, choosing their own hours, following
their own pursuits, and living on their own prop-
erty, without the torment of trying for more; it is
only their lot, I say, to hold the blessings of
health and a good appearance to the utmost: I
know no other set of men but what lose
something of their personableness when they
cease to be quite young."

It seemed as if Mr Shepherd, in this anxiety to

bespeak Sir Walter's good will towards a naval
 43/561

officer as tenant, had been gifted with foresight;

for the very first application for the house was
from an Admiral Croft, with whom he shortly af-
terwards fell into company in attending the
quarter sessions at Taunton; and indeed, he had
received a hint of the Admiral from a London
correspondent. By the report which he hastened
over to Kellynch to make, Admiral Croft was a
native of Somersetshire, who having acquired a
very handsome fortune, was wishing to settle in
his own country, and had come down to Taunton
in order to look at some advertised places in that
immediate neighbourhood, which, however, had
not suited him; that accidentally hearing--(it was
just as he had foretold, Mr Shepherd observed,
Sir Walter's concerns could not be kept a
secret,)--accidentally hearing of the possibility of
Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding his
(Mr Shepherd's) connection with the owner, he
had introduced himself to him in order to make
particular inquiries, and had, in the course of a
pretty long conference, expressed as strong an
 44/561

inclination for the place as a man who knew it

only by description could feel; and given Mr
Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself,
every proof of his being a most responsible, eli-
gible tenant.

"And who is Admiral Croft?" was Sir Walter's

cold suspicious inquiry.

Mr Shepherd answered for his being of a

gentleman's family, and mentioned a place; and
Anne, after the little pause which followed,
added--

"He is a rear admiral of the white. He was in

the Trafalgar action, and has been in the East In-
dies since; he was stationed there, I believe, sev-
eral years."

"Then I take it for granted," observed Sir Wal-

ter, "that his face is about as orange as the cuffs
and capes of my livery."
 45/561

Mr Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Ad-

miral Croft was a very hale, hearty, well-looking
man, a little weather-beaten, to be sure, but not
much, and quite the gentleman in all his notions
and behaviour; not likely to make the smallest
difficulty about terms, only wanted a comfort-
able home, and to get into it as soon as possible;
knew he must pay for his convenience; knew
what rent a ready-furnished house of that con-
sequence might fetch; should not have been sur-
prised if Sir Walter had asked more; had inquired
about the manor; would be glad of the deputa-
tion, certainly, but made no great point of it; said
he sometimes took out a gun, but never killed;
quite the gentleman.

Mr Shepherd was eloquent on the subject;

pointing out all the circumstances of the
Admiral's family, which made him peculiarly de-
sirable as a tenant. He was a married man, and
without children; the very state to be wished for.
A house was never taken good care of, Mr
 46/561

Shepherd observed, without a lady: he did not

know, whether furniture might not be in danger
of suffering as much where there was no lady, as
where there were many children. A lady, without
a family, was the very best preserver of furniture
in the world. He had seen Mrs Croft, too; she
was at Taunton with the admiral, and had been
present almost all 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, and taxes,
than the Admiral himself, and seemed more con-
versant with business; and moreover, 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 did live
amongst us once; she told me so herself: sister to
the gentleman who lived a few years back at
Monkford. Bless me! what was his name? At this
moment I cannot recollect his name, though I
 47/561

have heard it so lately. Penelope, my dear, can

you help me to the name of the gentleman who
lived at Monkford: Mrs Croft's brother?"

But Mrs Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss

Elliot, that she did not hear the appeal.

"I have no conception whom you can mean,

Shepherd; I remember no gentleman resident at
Monkford since the time of old Governor Trent."

"Bless me! how very odd! I shall forget my

own name soon, I suppose. A name that I am so
very well acquainted with; knew the gentleman
so well by sight; seen him a hundred times; came
to consult me once, I remember, about a trespass
of one of his neighbours; farmer's man breaking
into his orchard; wall torn down; apples stolen;
caught in the fact; and afterwards, contrary to my
judgement, submitted to an amicable comprom-
ise. Very odd indeed!"
 48/561

After waiting another moment--

"You mean Mr Wentworth, I suppose?" said

Anne.

Mr Shepherd was all gratitude.

"Wentworth was the very name! Mr Went-

worth was the very man. He had the curacy of
Monkford, you know, Sir Walter, some time
back, for two or three years. Came there about
the year ---5, I take it. You remember him, I am
sure."

"Wentworth? Oh! ay,--Mr Wentworth, the cur-

ate of Monkford. You misled me by the term
gentleman. I thought you were speaking of some
man of property: Mr Wentworth was nobody, I
remember; quite unconnected; nothing to do with
the Strafford family. One wonders how the
names of many of our nobility become so
common."
 49/561

As Mr Shepherd perceived that this connexion

of the Crofts did them no service with Sir Wal-
ter, he mentioned it no more; returning, with all
his zeal, to dwell on the circumstances more in-
disputably in their favour; their age, and number,
and fortune; the high idea they had formed of
Kellynch Hall, and extreme solicitude for the ad-
vantage of renting it; making it appear as if they
ranked nothing beyond the happiness of being
the tenants of Sir Walter Elliot: an extraordinary
taste, certainly, could they have been supposed
in the secret of Sir Walter's estimate of the dues
of a tenant.

It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter

must ever look with an evil eye on anyone in-
tending to inhabit that house, and think them in-
finitely too well off in being permitted to rent it
on the highest terms, he was talked into allowing
Mr Shepherd to proceed in the treaty, and au-
thorising him to wait on Admiral Croft, who still
 50/561

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 world to feel, that a
more unobjectionable tenant, in all essentials,
than Admiral Croft bid fair to be, could hardly
offer. So far went his understanding; and his
vanity supplied a little additional soothing, in the
Admiral's situation in life, which was just high
enough, and not too high. "I have let my house to
Admiral Croft," would sound extremely well;
very much better than to any mere Mr--; a Mr
(save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,)
always needs a note of explanation. An admiral
speaks his own consequence, and, at the same
time, can never make a baronet look small. In all
their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot
must ever have the precedence.

Nothing could be done without a reference to

Elizabeth: but her inclination was growing so
 51/561

strong for a removal, that she was happy to have

it fixed and expedited by a tenant at hand; and
not a word to suspend decision was uttered by
her.

Mr Shepherd was completely empowered to

act; and no sooner had such an end been reached,
than Anne, who had been a most attentive listen-
er to the whole, left the room, to seek the com-
fort of cool air for her flushed cheeks; and as she
walked along a favourite grove, said, with a
gentle sigh, "A few months more, and he, per-
haps, may be walking here."
 52/561

Chapter 4

He was not Mr Wentworth, the former curate

of Monkford, however suspicious appearances
may be, but a Captain Frederick Wentworth, his
brother, who being made commander in con-
sequence of the action off St Domingo, and not
immediately employed, had come into Somerset-
shire, in the summer of 1806; and having no par-
ent living, found a home for half a year at Monk-
ford. He was, at that 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,
might have 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 were gradually acquainted, and
when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love. It
would be difficult to say which had seen highest
perfection in the other, or which had been the
 53/561

happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and

proposals, or he in having them accepted.

A short period of exquisite felicity followed,

and but a short one. Troubles soon arose. Sir
Walter, on being applied to, without actually
withholding his consent, or saying it should nev-
er be, gave it all the negative of great astonish-
ment, great coldness, great silence, and a pro-
fessed resolution of doing nothing for his daugh-
ter. He thought it a very degrading alliance; and
Lady Russell, though with more tempered and
pardonable pride, received it as a most unfortu-
nate one.

Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth,

beauty, and mind, to throw herself away at nine-
teen; involve herself at nineteen in an engage-
ment with a young man, who had nothing but
himself to recommend him, and no hopes of at-
taining affluence, but in the chances of a most
uncertain profession, and no connexions to
 54/561

secure even his farther rise in the profession,

would be, indeed, a throwing away, which she
grieved to think of! Anne Elliot, so young;
known to so few, to be snatched off by a stranger
without alliance or fortune; or rather sunk by him
into a state of most wearing, anxious, youth-
killing dependence! It must not be, if by any fair
interference of friendship, any representations
from one who had almost a mother's love, and
mother's rights, it would be prevented.

Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had

been lucky in his profession; but spending freely,
what had come freely, had realized nothing. But
he was confident that he should soon be rich: full
of life and ardour, he knew that he should soon
have a ship, and soon be on a station that would
lead to everything he wanted. He had always
been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Such
confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and be-
witching in the wit which often expressed it,
must have been enough for Anne; but Lady
 55/561

Russell saw it very differently. His sanguine

temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very
differently on her. She saw in it but an aggrava-
tion of the evil. It only added a dangerous char-
acter to himself. He was brilliant, he was head-
strong. Lady Russell had little taste for wit, and
of anything approaching to imprudence a horror.
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 pos-
sible to withstand her father's ill-will, though un-
softened by one kind word or look on the part of
her sister; but Lady Russell, whom she had al-
ways loved and relied on, could not, with such
steadiness of opinion, and such tenderness of
manner, be continually advising her in vain. She
was persuaded to believe the engagement a
wrong thing: indiscreet, improper, hardly cap-
able of success, and not deserving it. But it was
not a merely selfish caution, under which she
 56/561

acted, in putting an end to it. Had she not ima-

gined herself consulting his good, even more
than her own, she could hardly have given him
up. The belief of being prudent, and self-deny-
ing, principally for his advantage, was her chief
consolation, under the misery of a parting, a final
parting; and every consolation was required, for
she had to encounter all the additional pain of
opinions, on his side, totally unconvinced and
unbending, and of his feeling himself ill used by
so forced a relinquishment. He had left the coun-
try in consequence.

A few months had seen the beginning and the

end of their acquaintance; but not with a few
months ended Anne's share of suffering from it.
Her attachment and regrets had, for a long time,
clouded every enjoyment of youth, and an early
loss of bloom and spirits had been their lasting
effect.
 57/561

More than seven years were gone since this

little history of sorrowful interest had reached its
close; and time had softened down much, per-
haps nearly all of peculiar attachment to him, but
she had been too dependent on time alone; no aid
had been given in change of place (except in one
visit to Bath soon after the rupture), or in any
novelty or enlargement of society. No one had
ever come within the Kellynch circle, who could
bear a comparison with Frederick Wentworth, as
he stood in her memory. No second attachment,
the only thoroughly natural, happy, and suffi-
cient cure, at her time of life, had been possible
to the nice tone of her mind, the fastidiousness of
her taste, in the small limits of 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 more will-
ing mind in her younger sister; and Lady Russell
had lamented her refusal; for Charles Musgrove
was the eldest son of a man, whose landed prop-
erty and general importance were second in that
 58/561

country, only to Sir Walter's, and of good charac-

ter and appearance; and however Lady Russell
might have asked yet for something more, while
Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to
see her at twenty-two so respectably removed
from the partialities and injustice of her father's
house, and settled so permanently near herself.
But in this case, Anne had left nothing for advice
to do; and though Lady Russell, as satisfied as
ever with her own discretion, never wished the
past undone, she began now to have the anxiety
which borders on hopelessness for Anne's being
tempted, by some man of talents and independ-
ence, to enter a state for which she held her to be
peculiarly fitted by her warm affections and do-
mestic habits.

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 never al-
luded to; but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought
very differently from what she had been made to
 59/561

think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady Rus-

sell, she did not blame herself for having been
guided by her; but she felt that were any young
person, in similar circumstances, to apply to her
for counsel, they would never receive any of
such certain immediate wretchedness, such un-
certain future good. She was persuaded that un-
der every disadvantage of disapprobation at
home, and every anxiety attending his profes-
sion, all their probable fears, delays, and disap-
pointments, she should yet have been a happier
woman in maintaining 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 of all such solicitudes and
suspense been theirs, without reference to the ac-
tual results of their case, which, as it happened,
would have bestowed earlier prosperity than
could be reasonably calculated on. All his san-
guine expectations, all his confidence had been
justified. His genius and ardour had seemed to
foresee and to command his prosperous path. He
 60/561

had, very soon after their 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 step in 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 not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of
his constancy, she had no reason to believe him
married.

How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been!

how eloquent, at least, were her wishes on the
side of early warm attachment, and a cheerful
confidence in futurity, against that over-anxious
caution which seems to insult exertion and dis-
trust Providence! She had been forced into
prudence in her youth, she learned romance as
she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural
beginning.
 61/561

With all these circumstances, recollections and

feelings, she could not hear that Captain
Wentworth's sister was likely to live at Kellynch
without a revival of former pain; and many a
stroll, and many a sigh, were necessary to dispel
the agitation of the idea. She often told herself it
was folly, before she could harden her nerves
sufficiently to feel the continual discussion of the
Crofts and their business no evil. She was as-
sisted, however, by that perfect indifference and
apparent unconsciousness, among the only three
of her own friends in the secret of the past,
which seemed almost to deny any recollection of
it. She could do justice to the superiority of Lady
Russell's motives in this, over those of her father
and Elizabeth; she could honour all the better
feelings of her calmness; but the general air of
oblivion among them was highly important from
whatever it sprung; and in the event of Admiral
Croft's really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced
anew over the conviction which had always been
most grateful to her, of the past being known to
 62/561

those three only among her connexions, by

whom no syllable, she believed, would ever be
whispered, and in the trust that among his, the
brother only with whom he had been residing,
had received any information of their short-lived
engagement. That brother had been long re-
moved from the country and being a sensible
man, and, moreover, a single man at the time,
she had a fond dependence on no human
creature's having heard of it from him.

The sister, Mrs Croft, had then been out of

England, accompanying her husband on a for-
eign station, and her own sister, Mary, had been
at school while it all occurred; and never admit-
ted by the pride of some, and the delicacy of oth-
ers, to the smallest knowledge of it afterwards.

With these supports, she hoped that the ac-

quaintance between herself and the Crofts,
which, with Lady Russell, still resident in
Kellynch, and Mary fixed only three miles off,
 63/561

must be anticipated, need not involve any partic-

ular awkwardness.

Chapter 5

On the morning appointed for Admiral and

Mrs Croft's seeing Kellynch Hall, Anne found it
most natural to take her almost daily walk to
Lady Russell's, and keep out of the way till all
was over; when she found it most natural to be
sorry that she had missed the opportunity of see-
ing them.

This meeting of the two parties proved highly

satisfactory, and decided the whole business at
once. Each lady was previously well disposed for
an agreement, and saw nothing, therefore, but
 64/561

good manners in the other; and with regard to the

gentlemen, there was such an hearty good hu-
mour, such an open, trusting liberality on the
Admiral's side, as could not but influence Sir
Walter, who had besides been flattered into his
very best and most polished behaviour by Mr
Shepherd's assurances of his being known, by re-
port, to the Admiral, as a model of good
breeding.

The house and grounds, and furniture, were ap-

proved, the Crofts were approved, terms, time,
every thing, and every body, was right; and Mr
Shepherd's clerks were set to work, without there
having been a single preliminary difference to
modify of all that "This indenture sheweth."

Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Ad-

miral to be the best-looking sailor he had ever
met with, and went so far as to say, that if his
own man might have had the arranging of his
hair, he should not be ashamed of being seen
 65/561

with him any where; and the Admiral, with sym-

pathetic cordiality, observed to his wife as they
drove back through the park, "I thought we
should soon come to a deal, my dear, in spite of
what they told us at Taunton. The Baronet will
never set the Thames on fire, but there seems to
be no harm in him."--reciprocal compliments,
which would have been esteemed about equal.

The Crofts were to have possession at Mi-

chaelmas; and as Sir Walter proposed removing
to Bath in the course of the preceding month,
there was no time to be lost in making every de-
pendent arrangement.

Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not

be allowed to be of any use, or any importance,
in the choice of the house which they were going
to secure, was very unwilling to have her hurried
away so soon, and wanted to make it possible for
her to stay behind till she might convey her to
Bath herself after Christmas; but having
 66/561

engagements of her own which must take her

from Kellynch for several weeks, she was unable
to give the full invitation she wished, and Anne
though dreading the possible heats of September
in all the white glare of Bath, and grieving to
forego all the influence so sweet and so sad of
the autumnal months in the country, did not
think that, everything considered, she wished to
remain. It would be most right, and most wise,
and, therefore must involve least suffering to go
with the others.

Something occurred, however, to give her a

different duty. Mary, often a little unwell, and al-
ways thinking a great deal of her own com-
plaints, and always in the habit of claiming Anne
when anything was the matter, was indisposed;
and foreseeing that she should not have a day's
health all the autumn, entreated, or rather re-
quired her, for it was hardly entreaty, to come to
Uppercross Cottage, and bear her company as
 67/561

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 improp-

er style, is at least better than being 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 the scene of
it in the country, and her own dear country, read-
ily 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
Lady Russell took her, and that all the interven-
ing time should be divided between Uppercross
Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.
 68/561

So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell

was almost startled by the wrong 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, as a most
important and valuable assistant to the latter in
all the business before her. Lady Russell was ex-
tremely sorry that such a measure should have
been resorted to at all, wondered, grieved, and
feared; and the affront it contained to Anne, in
Mrs Clay's being of so much use, while Anne
could be of none, was a very sore aggravation.

Anne herself was become hardened to such af-

fronts; but she felt the imprudence of the ar-
rangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell. With
a great deal of quiet observation, and a know-
ledge, which she often wished less, of her
father's character, she was sensible that results
the most serious to his family from the intimacy
were more than possible. She did not imagine
that her father had at present an idea of the kind.
 69/561

Mrs Clay had freckles, and a projecting tooth,

and a clumsy wrist, which he was continually
making severe remarks upon, in her absence; but
she was young, and certainly altogether well-
looking, and possessed, in an acute mind and as-
siduous pleasing manners, infinitely more dan-
gerous attractions than any merely personal
might have been. Anne was so impressed by the
degree of their danger, that she could not excuse
herself from trying to make it perceptible to her
sister. She had little hope of success; but Eliza-
beth, who in the event of such a reverse would
be so much more to be pitied than herself, should
never, she thought, have reason to reproach her
for giving no warning.

She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Eliza-

beth could not conceive how such an absurd sus-
picion should occur to her, and indignantly
answered for each party's perfectly knowing their
situation.
 70/561

"Mrs Clay," said she, warmly, "never forgets

who she is; and as I am rather better acquainted
with her sentiments than you can be, I can assure
you, that upon the subject of marriage they are
particularly nice, and that she reprobates all in-
equality of condition and rank more strongly
than most people. And as to my father, I really
should not have thought that he, who has kept
himself single so long for our sakes, need be sus-
pected now. If Mrs Clay were a very beautiful
woman, I grant you, it might be wrong to have
her so much with me; not that anything in the
world, I am sure, would induce my father to
make a degrading match, but he might be
rendered unhappy. But poor Mrs Clay who, with
all her merits, can never have been reckoned tol-
erably pretty, I really think poor Mrs Clay may
be staying here in perfect safety. One would ima-
gine you had never heard my father speak of her
personal misfortunes, though I know you must
fifty times. That tooth of her's and those freckles.
Freckles do not disgust me so very much as they
 71/561

do him. I have known a face not materially dis-

figured by a few, but he abominates them. You
must have heard him notice Mrs Clay's freckles."

"There is hardly any personal defect," replied

Anne, "which an agreeable manner might not
gradually reconcile one to."

"I think very differently," answered Elizabeth,

shortly; "an agreeable manner may set off hand-
some features, but can never alter plain ones.
However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more
at stake on this point than anybody else can have,
I think it rather unnecessary in you to be ad-
vising me."

Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not

absolutely hopeless of doing good. Elizabeth,
though resenting the suspicion, might yet be
made observant by it.
 72/561

The last office of the four carriage-horses was

to draw Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to
Bath. The party drove off in very good spirits;
Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows
for all the afflicted tenantry and cottagers who
might have had a hint to show themselves, and
Anne walked up at the same time, in a sort of
desolate tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she
was to spend the first week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself.

Lady Russell felt this break-up of the family ex-
ceedingly. Their respectability was as dear to her
as her own, and a daily intercourse had become
precious by habit. It was painful to look upon
their deserted grounds, and still worse to anticip-
ate the new hands they were to fall into; and to
escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so
altered a village, and be out of the way when Ad-
miral and Mrs Croft first arrived, she had de-
termined to make her own absence from home
begin when she must give up Anne. Accordingly
 73/561

their removal was made together, and Anne was

set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage
of Lady Russell's journey.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village,

which a few years back had been completely in
the old English style, containing only two houses
superior in appearance 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 par-
sonage, enclosed in its own neat garden, with a
vine and a pear-tree trained round its casements;
but upon the marriage of the young 'squire, it had
received the improvement of a farm-house elev-
ated into a cottage, for his residence, and Upper-
cross Cottage, with its veranda, French windows,
and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch
the traveller's eye as the more consistent and
considerable aspect and premises of the Great
House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.
 74/561

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew

the ways of Uppercross as well as those of
Kellynch. The two families were so continually
meeting, so much in the habit of running in and
out of each other's house at all hours, that it was
rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone; but
being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits
was almost a matter of course. Though better en-
dowed than the elder sister, Mary had not Anne's
understanding nor temper. While well, and
happy, and properly attended to, she had great
good humour and excellent spirits; but any indis-
position sunk her completely. She had no re-
sources for solitude; and inheriting a consider-
able share of the Elliot self-importance, was very
prone to add to every other distress that of fancy-
ing herself 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 fine
girl." She was now lying on the faded sofa of the
pretty little drawing-room, the once elegant fur-
niture of which had been gradually growing
 75/561

shabby, under the influence of four summers and

two children; and, on Anne's appearing, greeted
her with--

"So, you are come at last! I began to think I

should never see you. I am so 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 me such a good account of yourself on
Thursday!"

"Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I

was very far from well at the time; and I do not
think I ever was so ill in my life as I have been
all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am
sure. Suppose I were to be seized 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 three times this
summer."
 76/561

Anne said what was proper, and enquired after

her husband. "Oh! Charles is 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 he has never come
back, and now it is almost one. I assure you, I
have not seen a soul 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 unmanageable that 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 the
Great House?"

"I can give you no account of them. I have not

seen one of them to-day, except Mr Musgrove,
 77/561

who just stopped and spoke through the window,

but without getting off his horse; and though I
told him how ill I was, not one of them have
been near me. It did not happen to suit the Miss
Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put them-
selves out of their way."

"You will see them yet, perhaps, before the

morning is gone. It is early."

"I never want them, I assure you. They talk and

laugh a great deal too much for me. Oh! Anne, I
am so very unwell! It was quite unkind of you
not to come on Thursday."

"My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable

account you sent me of yourself! You wrote in
the cheerfullest manner, and said you were per-
fectly well, and in no hurry for me; and that be-
ing the case, you must be aware that my wish
would be to remain with Lady Russell to the last:
and besides what I felt on her account, I have
 78/561

really been so busy, have had so much to do, that

I could not very conveniently have left Kellynch
sooner."

"Dear me! what can you possibly have to do?"

"A great many things, I assure you. More than

I can recollect in a moment; but I can tell you
some. I have been making a duplicate of the
catalogue of my father's books and pictures. I
have been several times in the garden with
Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him
understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for
Lady Russell. I have had all my own little con-
cerns to arrange, books and music to divide, and
all my trunks to repack, from not having under-
stood in time what was intended as to the wag-
gons: and one thing I have had to do, Mary, of a
more trying nature: going to almost every house
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."
 79/561

"Oh! well!" and after a moment's pause, "but

you have never asked me one word about our
dinner at the Pooles yesterday."

"Did you go then? I have made no enquiries,

because I concluded you must have been obliged
to give up the party."

"Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday;

nothing at all the matter with me till this morn-
ing. It would have been strange if I had not
gone."

"I am very glad you were well enough, and I

hope you had a pleasant party."

"Nothing remarkable. One always knows be-

forehand what the dinner will be, and who will
be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not hav-
ing a carriage of one's own. Mr and Mrs Mus-
grove took me, and we were so crowded! They
are both so very large, and take up so much
 80/561

room; and Mr Musgrove always sits forward. 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 on Anne's side produced
nearly a cure on Mary's. She could soon sit up-
right on the sofa, and began to hope she might be
able to leave it by dinner-time. Then, forgetting
to think of it, she was at the other end of the
room, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her
cold meat; and then she was well enough to pro-
pose a little walk.

"Where shall we go?" said she, when they

were ready. "I suppose you will not like to call at
the Great House before they have been to see
you?"

"I have not the smallest objection on that ac-

count," replied Anne. "I should never think of
 81/561

standing on such ceremony with people I know

so well as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves."

"Oh! but they ought to call upon you as soon

as possible. They ought to feel what is due to
you as my sister. However, we may as well go
and sit with them a little while, and when we
have that over, we can enjoy our walk."

Anne had always thought such a style of inter-

course highly imprudent; but she had ceased to
endeavour to check it, from believing that,
though there were on each side continual sub-
jects of offence, neither family could now do
without it. To the Great House accordingly they
went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned
square parlour, with a small carpet and shining
floor, to which the present daughters of the
house were gradually giving the proper air of
confusion by a grand piano-forte and a harp,
flower-stands and little tables placed in every
direction. Oh! could the originals of the portraits
 82/561

against the wainscot, could the gentlemen in

brown velvet and the ladies in blue satin have
seen what was going on, have been conscious of
such an overthrow of all order and neatness! The
portraits themselves seemed to be staring in
astonishment.
 The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a
state of alteration, perhaps of improvement. The
father and mother were in the old English style,
and the young people 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. Their children had more mod-
ern minds and manners. There was a numerous
family; but the only two grown up, excepting
Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies
of nineteen and twenty, who had brought from
school at Exeter all the usual stock of accom-
plishments, and were now like thousands of oth-
er young ladies, living to be fashionable, happy,
and merry. Their dress had every advantage,
their faces were rather pretty, their spirits ex-
tremely good, their manner unembarrassed and
pleasant; they were of consequence at home, and
favourites abroad. Anne always contemplated
them as some of the happiest creatures of her ac-
quaintance; but still, saved as we all are, by some
comfortable feeling of superiority from wishing
 84/561

for the possibility of exchange, she would not

have given up her own more elegant and cultiv-
ated mind for all their enjoyments; and envied
them nothing but that seemingly perfect good
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 of the Great
House family, which was generally, as Anne
very well knew, the least to blame. The half hour
was chatted away pleasantly enough; and she
was not at all surprised, at the end of it, to have
their walking party joined by both the Miss Mus-
groves, at Mary's particular invitation.
 85/561

Chapter 6

Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross,

to learn that a removal from one set of people to
another, though at a distance of only three miles,
will often include a total change of conversation,
opinion, and idea. She had never been staying
there before, without being struck by it, or
without wishing that other Elliots could have her
advantage in seeing how unknown, or uncon-
sidered there, were the affairs which at Kellynch
Hall were treated as of such general publicity
and pervading interest; yet, with all this experi-
ence, she believed she must now submit to feel
that another lesson, in the art of knowing our
own nothingness beyond our own circle, was be-
come necessary for her; for certainly, coming as
she did, with a heart full of the subject which had
been completely occupying both houses in
Kellynch for many weeks, she had expected
rather more curiosity and sympathy than she
found in the separate but very similar remark of
 86/561

Mr and Mrs Musgrove: "So, Miss Anne, Sir

Walter and your sister are gone; 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 we shall be in
Bath in the winter; but remember, papa, if we do
go, we must be in a good situation: none of your
Queen Squares for us!" or in the anxious supple-
ment from Mary, of--"Upon my word, I shall be
pretty well off, when you are all gone away to be
happy at Bath!"

She could only resolve to avoid such self-delu-

sion in future, and think with heightened gratit-
ude of the extraordinary blessing of having one
such truly sympathising 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 all the other common sub-
jects of housekeeping, neighbours, dress,
 87/561

dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be

very fitting, that every little social common-
wealth should dictate its own matters of dis-
course; and hoped, ere long, to become a not un-
worthy member of the one she was now trans-
planted into. With the prospect of spending at
least two months at Uppercross, it was highly in-
cumbent on her to clothe her imagination, her
memory, and all her ideas in as much of Upper-
cross as possible.

She had no dread of these two months. Mary

was not so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth,
nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers;
neither was there anything among the other com-
ponent 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 their mother, she had an object of in-
terest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.
 88/561

Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in

sense and temper he was undoubtedly superior to
his wife, but not of powers, or conversation, or
grace, to make the past, as they were connected
together, at all a dangerous contemplation;
though, at the same time, Anne could believe,
with Lady Russell, that a more equal match
might have greatly improved him; and that a wo-
man of real understanding might have given
more consequence to his character, and more
usefulness, rationality, and elegance to his habits
and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with
much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise
trifled away, without benefit from books or any-
thing else. He had very good spirits, which never
seemed much affected by his wife's occasional
lowness, bore with her unreasonableness some-
times to Anne's admiration, and upon the whole,
though there was very often a little disagreement
(in which she had sometimes more share than
she wished, being appealed to by both parties),
they might pass for a happy couple. They were
 89/561

always perfectly agreed in the want of more

money, and a strong inclination for a handsome
present from his father; but here, as on most top-
ics, he had the superiority, for while Mary
thought it a great shame that such a present was
not made, he always contended for his father's
having many other uses for his money, and a
right to spend it as he liked.

As to the management of their children, his

theory was much better than his wife's, and his
practice not so bad. "I could manage them very
well, if it were not for Mary's interference," was
what Anne often heard him say, and had a good
deal of faith in; but when listening in turn to
Mary's reproach of "Charles spoils the children
so that I cannot get 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 being treated with too
 90/561

much confidence by all parties, and being too

much in the secret of the complaints of each
house. Known to have some influence with her
sister, she was continually requested, or at least
receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was prac-
ticable. "I wish you could persuade Mary not to
be always fancying herself ill," was Charles's
language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke
Mary: "I do believe if Charles were to see me
dying, 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-
-a great deal worse than I ever own."

Mary's declaration was, "I hate sending the

children to the Great House, though their
grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for
she humours and indulges them to such a degree,
and gives them so much trash and sweet things,
that they are sure to come back sick and cross for
the rest of the day." And Mrs Musgrove took the
first opportunity of being alone with Anne, to
 91/561

say, "Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs

Charles had a little of your method with those
children. They are quite different creatures with
you! But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt!
It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way
of managing them. They are as fine healthy chil-
dren as ever were seen, poor little dears! without
partiality; but Mrs Charles knows no more how
they should be treated--! Bless me! how trouble-
some they are sometimes. I assure you, Miss
Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at our
house so often as I otherwise should. I believe
Mrs Charles is not quite pleased with my not in-
viting them oftener; but you know it is very bad
to have children with one that one is obligated to
be checking every moment; "don't do this," and
"don't do that;" or that one can only keep in tol-
erable order by more cake than is good for
them."

She had this communication, moreover, from

Mary. "Mrs Musgrove thinks all her servants so
 92/561

steady, that it would be high treason to call it in

question; but I am sure, without exaggeration,
that her upper house-maid and laundry-maid, in-
stead of being in their business, are gadding
about the village, all day long. I meet them
wherever I go; and I declare, I never go twice in-
to my nursery without seeing something of them.
If Jemima were not the trustiest, 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 never
interfering in any of my daughter-in-law's con-
cerns, for I know it would not do; but I shall tell
you, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set
things to rights, that I have no very good opinion
of Mrs Charles's nursery-maid: I hear strange
stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and
from my own knowledge, I can declare, she is
such a fine-dressing lady, that she is enough to
ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs Charles
quite swears by her, I know; but I just give you
 93/561

this hint, that you may be upon the watch; be-

cause, if you see anything amiss, you need not be
afraid of mentioning it."

Again, it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs Mus-

grove was very apt not to give her the preced-
ence that was her due, when they dined at the
Great House with other families; and she did not
see any reason why she was to be considered so
much at home as to lose her place. And one day
when Anne was walking with only the Mus-
groves, one of them after talking of rank, people
of rank, and jealousy of rank, said, "I have no
scruple of observing to you, how nonsensical
some persons are about their place, because all
the world knows how easy and indifferent you
are about it; but I wish anybody could give Mary
a hint that it would be a great deal better if she
were not so very tenacious, especially if she
would not be always putting herself forward to
take place of mamma. Nobody doubts her right
to have precedence of mamma, but it would be
 94/561

more becoming in her not to be always insisting

on it. It is not that mamma cares about it the least
in the world, but I know it is taken notice of by
many persons."

How was Anne to set all these matters to

rights? She could do little more than listen pa-
tiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each
to the other; give them all hints of the forbear-
ance necessary between such near neighbours,
and make those hints broadest which were meant
for her sister's benefit.

In all other respects, her visit began and pro-

ceeded very well. Her own spirits improved by
change of place and subject, by being removed
three miles from Kellynch; Mary's ailments
lessened by having a constant companion, and
their daily intercourse with the other family,
since there was neither superior affection, con-
fidence, nor employment in the cottage, to be in-
terrupted by it, was rather an advantage. It was
 95/561

certainly carried nearly as far as possible, for

they met every morning, and hardly ever spent
an evening asunder; but she believed they should
not have done so well without the sight of Mr
and Mrs Musgrove'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 no voice, no know-
ledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit by
and fancy themselves delighted, her performance
was little thought of, only out of civility, or to re-
fresh the others, as she was well aware. She
knew that when she played she was giving pleas-
ure only to herself; but this was no new sensa-
tion. Excepting one short period of her life, she
had never, since the age of fourteen, never since
the loss of her dear mother, known the happiness
of being listened to, or encouraged by any just
appreciation or real taste. In music she had been
always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr
 96/561

and Mrs Musgrove's fond partiality for their own

daughters' performance, and total indifference to
any other person's, gave her much more pleasure
for their sakes, than mortification for her own.

The party at the Great House was sometimes

increased by other company. The neighbourhood
was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by
everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and
more callers, more visitors by invitation and by
chance, than any other family. They were more
completely popular.

The girls were wild for dancing; and the even-

ings ended, occasionally, in an unpremeditated
little ball. There was a family of cousins within a
walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circum-
stances, who depended on the Musgroves for all
their pleasures: they would come at any time,
and help play at anything, or dance anywhere;
and Anne, very much preferring the office of
musician to a more active post, played country
 97/561

dances to them by the hour together; a kindness

which always recommended her musical powers
to the notice of Mr and Mrs Musgrove more than
anything else, and often drew this compliment;-
-"Well done, Miss Anne! very well done indeed!
Lord bless me! how those little fingers of yours
fly about!"

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas

came; and now Anne's heart must be in Kellynch
again. A beloved home made over to others; all
the precious rooms and furniture, groves, and
prospects, beginning to own other eyes and other
limbs! She could not think of much else on the
29th of September; and she had this sympathetic
touch in the evening from Mary, who, on having
occasion to note down the day of the month, ex-
claimed, "Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts
were to come to Kellynch? I am glad I did not
think of it before. How low it makes me!"
 98/561

The Crofts took possession with true naval

alertness, and were to be visited. Mary deplored
the necessity for herself. "Nobody knew how
much she should suffer. She should put it off as
long as she could;" but was not easy till she had
talked Charles into driving her over on an early
day, and was in a very animated, comfortable
state of imaginary agitation, when she came
back. Anne had very sincerely rejoiced in there
being no means of her going. She wished,
however to see the Crofts, and was glad to be
within when the visit was returned. They came:
the master of the house was not at home, but the
two sisters were together; and as it chanced that
Mrs Croft fell to the share of Anne, while the
Admiral sat by Mary, and made himself very
agreeable by his good-humoured notice of her
little boys, she was well able to watch for a like-
ness, and if it failed her in the features, to catch it
in the voice, or in the turn of sentiment and
expression.
 99/561

Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a

squareness, uprightness, and vigour of form,
which gave importance to her person. She had
bright dark eyes, good teeth, and altogether an
agreeable face; though her reddened and
weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of
her having been almost as much at sea as her
husband, made her seem to have lived some
years longer in the world than her real eight-and-
thirty. Her manners were open, easy, and de-
cided, like one who had no distrust of herself,
and no doubts of what to do; without any ap-
proach to coarseness, however, or any want of
good humour. Anne gave her credit, indeed, for
feelings of great consideration towards herself,
in all that related to Kellynch, and it pleased her:
especially, as she had satisfied herself in the very
first half minute, in the instant even of introduc-
tion, that there was not the smallest symptom of
any knowledge or suspicion on Mrs Croft's side,
to give a bias of any sort. She was quite easy on
that head, and consequently full of strength and
 100/561

courage, till for a moment electrified by Mrs

Croft's suddenly saying,--

"It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my

brother had the pleasure of being acquainted
with, when he was in this country."

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blush-

ing; but the age of emotion she certainly had not.

"Perhaps you may not have heard that he is

married?" added Mrs Croft.

She could now answer as she ought; and was

happy to feel, when Mrs Croft's next words ex-
plained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she
spoke, that she had said nothing which might not
do for either brother. She immediately felt how
reasonable it was, that Mrs Croft should be
thinking and speaking of Edward, and not of Fre-
derick; and with shame at her own forgetfulness
 101/561

applied herself to the knowledge of their former

neighbour's present state with proper interest.

The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they

were moving, she heard the Admiral say to
Mary--

"We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft's

here soon; I dare say you know him by name."

He was cut short by the eager attacks of the

little boys, clinging to him like an old friend, and
declaring he should not go; and being too much
engrossed by proposals of carrying them away in
his coat pockets, &c., to have another moment
for finishing or recollecting what he had begun,
Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she
could, that the same brother must still be in ques-
tion. She could not, however, reach such a de-
gree of certainty, as not to be anxious to hear
whether anything had been said on the subject at
 102/561

the other house, where the Crofts had previously

been calling.

The folks of the Great House were to spend the

evening of this day at the Cottage; and it being
now too late in the year for such visits to be
made on foot, the coach was beginning to be
listened for, when the youngest Miss Musgrove
walked in. That she was coming to apologize,
and that they should have to spend the evening
by themselves, was the first black idea; and
Mary was quite ready to be affronted, when
Louisa made all right by saying, that she only
came on foot, to leave more room for the harp,
which was bringing in the carriage.

"And I will tell you our reason," she added,

"and all about it. I am come on to give you no-
tice, that papa and mamma are out of spirits this
evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so
much of poor Richard! And we agreed it would
be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse
 103/561

her more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why

she is out of spirits. When the Crofts called this
morning, (they called here afterwards, did not
they?), they happened to say, that her brother,
Captain Wentworth, is just returned to England,
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, that
Wentworth, or something very like it, was the
name of poor Richard's captain at one time; I do
not know when or where, but a great while be-
fore he died, poor fellow! And upon looking
over his letters and things, she found it was so,
and is perfectly sure that this must be the very
man, and her head is quite full of it, and of poor
Richard! So we must be as merry as we can, that
she may not be dwelling upon such gloomy
things."

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of

family history were, that the Musgroves had had
the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless
 104/561

son; and the good fortune to lose him before he

reached his twentieth year; that he had been sent
to sea because he was stupid and unmanageable
on shore; that he had been very little cared for at
any time by his family, though quite as much as
he deserved; seldom heard of, and scarcely at all
regretted, when the intelligence of 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, by calling him
"poor Richard," been nothing better than a thick-
headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove,
who had never done anything to entitle himself
to more than the abbreviation of his name, living
or dead.

He had been several years at sea, and had, in

the course of those removals to which all mid-
shipmen are liable, and especially such midship-
men as every captain wishes to get rid of, been
 105/561

six months on board Captain Frederick

Wentworth's frigate, the Laconia; and from the
Laconia he had, under the influence of his cap-
tain, written the only two letters which his father
and mother had ever received from him during
the whole of his absence; that is to say, the only
two disinterested letters; all the rest had been
mere applications for money.

In each letter he had spoken well of his cap-

tain; but yet, so little were they in the habit of at-
tending to such matters, so unobservant and in-
curious were they as to the names of men or
ships, that it had made scarcely any impression
at the time; and that Mrs Musgrove should have
been suddenly struck, this very day, with a recol-
lection 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 the re-perusal of these letters,
 106/561

after so long an interval, her poor son gone for

ever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten,
had affected her spirits exceedingly, and thrown
her into greater grief for him than she had known
on first hearing of his death. Mr Musgrove was,
in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when
they reached the cottage, they were evidently in
want, first, of being listened to anew on this sub-
ject, and afterwards, of all the relief which cheer-
ful companions could give them.

To hear them talking so much of Captain

Wentworth, repeating his name so often, puzz-
ling over past years, and at last ascertaining that
it might, that it probably would, turn out to be
the very same Captain Wentworth whom they re-
collected meeting, once or twice, after their com-
ing back from Clifton--a very fine young man--
but they could not say whether it was seven or
eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to Anne's
nerves. She found, however, that it was one to
which she must inure herself. Since he actually
 107/561

was expected in the country, she must teach her-

self to be insensible on 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 poor Dick, and very
high respect for his character, stamped as it was
by poor Dick's having been six months under his
care, and mentioning him in strong, though not
perfectly well-spelt praise, as "a fine dashing
felow, only two perticular about the schoolmas-
ter," were bent on introducing themselves, and
seeking his acquaintance, as soon as they could
hear of his arrival.

The resolution of doing so helped to form the

comfort of their evening.
 108/561

Chapter 7

A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth

was known to be at Kellynch, and Mr Musgrove
had called on him, and come back warm in his
praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to
dine at Uppercross, by the end of another week.
It had been a great disappointment to Mr Mus-
grove to find that no earlier day could be fixed,
so impatient was he to shew his gratitude, by
seeing Captain Wentworth under his own roof,
and welcoming him to all that was strongest and
best in his cellars. But a week must pass; only a
week, in Anne's reckoning, and then, she sup-
posed, they must meet; and soon she began to
wish that she could feel secure even for a week.

Captain Wentworth made a very early return to

Mr Musgrove's civility, and she was all but call-
ing there in the same half hour. She and Mary
were actually setting forward for the Great
House, where, as she afterwards learnt, they
 109/561

must inevitably have found him, when they were

stopped by the eldest boy's being at that moment
brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The
child's situation put the visit entirely aside; but
she could not hear of her escape with indiffer-
ence, even in the midst of the serious anxiety
which they afterwards felt on his account.

His collar-bone was found to be dislocated,

and such injury received in the back, as roused
the most alarming ideas. It was an afternoon of
distress, and Anne had every thing to do at once;
the apothecary to send for, the father to have pur-
sued and informed, the mother to support and
keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the
youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering
one to attend and soothe; besides sending, as
soon as she recollected it, proper notice to the
other house, which brought her an accession
rather of frightened, enquiring companions, than
of very useful assistants.
 110/561

Her brother's return was the first comfort; he

could take best care of his wife; and the second
blessing was the arrival of the apothecary. Till he
came and had examined the child, their appre-
hensions were the worse for being vague; they
suspected great injury, but knew not where; but
now the collar-bone was soon replaced, and
though Mr Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed,
and looked grave, and spoke low words both to
the father and the aunt, still they were all to hope
the best, and to be able to part and eat their din-
ner in tolerable ease of mind; and then it was,
just before they parted, that the two young aunts
were able so far to digress from their nephew's
state, as to give the information of Captain
Wentworth's visit; staying five minutes behind
their father and mother, to endeavour to express
how perfectly delighted they were with him, how
much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable
they thought him than any individual among
their male acquaintance, who had been at all a
favourite before. How glad they had been to hear
 111/561

papa invite him to stay dinner, how sorry when

he said it was quite out of his power, and how
glad again when he had promised in reply to
papa and mamma's farther pressing invitations to
come and dine with them on the morrow--actu-
ally on the morrow; and he had promised it in so
pleasant a manner, as if he felt all the motive of
their attention just as he ought. And in short, he
had looked and said everything with such ex-
quisite grace, that they could assure them all,
their heads were both turned by him; and off
they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and ap-
parently more full of Captain Wentworth than of
little Charles.

The same story and the same raptures were re-

peated, when the two girls came with their fath-
er, through the gloom of the evening, to make
enquiries; and Mr Musgrove, no longer under the
first uneasiness about his heir, could add his con-
firmation and praise, and hope there would be
now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth
 112/561

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 leav-
ing the little boy," both father and mother were
in much too strong and recent alarm to bear the
thought; and Anne, in the joy of the escape,
could not help adding her warm protestations to
theirs.

Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, shewed

more of inclination; "the child was going on so
well, and he wished so much to be introduced to
Captain Wentworth, that, perhaps, he might join
them in the evening; he would not dine from
home, but he might walk in for half an hour."
But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife,
with "Oh! no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to
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 a work of time to
 113/561

ascertain that no injury had been done to the

spine; but Mr Robinson found nothing to in-
crease alarm, and Charles Musgrove began, con-
sequently, to feel no necessity for longer con-
finement. The child was to be kept in bed and
amused as quietly as possible; but what was
there for a father to do? This was quite a female
case, and it would be highly absurd in him, who
could be of no use at home, to shut himself up.
His father very much wished him to meet Cap-
tain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient
reason against it, he ought to go; and it ended in
his making a bold, public declaration, when he
came in from shooting, of his meaning to dress
directly, and dine at the other house.

"Nothing can be going on better than the

child," said he; "so I 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 not like to leave
 114/561

him yourself, but you see I can be of no use.

Anne will send for me if anything is the matter."

Husbands and wives generally understand

when opposition will be vain. Mary knew, from
Charles's manner of speaking, that he was quite
determined on going, 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 to hear--

"So you and I are to be left to shift by

ourselves, with this poor sick child; and not a
creature coming near us all the evening! I knew
how it would be. This is always my luck. If there
is anything disagreeable going on men are al-
ways sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad
as any of them. Very unfeeling! I must say it is
very unfeeling of him to be running away from
his poor little boy. Talks of his being going on so
well! How does he know that he is going on
well, or that there may not be a sudden change
 115/561

half an hour hence? I did not think Charles

would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to
go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the
poor mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and
yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else
to be about the child. My being the mother is the
very reason why my feelings should not be tried.
I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysteric-
al I was yesterday."

"But that was only the effect of the suddenness

of your alarm--of the shock. You will not be hys-
terical again. I dare say we shall have nothing to
distress us. I perfectly understand Mr Robinson's
directions, and have no fears; and indeed, Mary,
I cannot wonder at your husband. Nursing does
not belong to a man; it is not his province. A sick
child is always the mother's property: her own
feelings generally make it so."

"I hope I am as fond of my child as any moth-

er, but I do not know that I am of any more use
 116/561

in the sick-room than Charles, for I cannot be al-

ways scolding 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 have not nerves for the sort of thing."

"But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be

spending the whole evening away 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 might as well have told his father we
would all come. I am not more alarmed about
little Charles now than he is. I was dreadfully
alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different
to-day."

"Well, if you do not think it too late to give no-

tice for yourself, suppose you were to go, as well
as your husband. Leave little Charles to my care.
 117/561

Mr and Mrs Musgrove cannot think it wrong

while I remain with him."

"Are you serious?" cried Mary, her eyes

brightening. "Dear me! that's a very good
thought, very good, indeed. To be sure, I may
just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home-
-am I? and it only harasses me. You, who have
not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the
properest person. 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 shall certainly go; I am sure I
ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they
want me excessively to be acquainted with Cap-
tain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind be-
ing left alone. An excellent thought of yours, in-
deed, Anne. I will go and tell Charles, and get
ready directly. You can send for us, you know, at
a moment's notice, if anything is the matter; but I
dare say there will be nothing to alarm you. I
 118/561

should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel

quite at ease about my dear child."

The next moment she was tapping at her

husband's dressing-room door, and as Anne fol-
lowed 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 you are. If I were to shut
myself up for ever with the child, I should not be
able to persuade him to do anything he did not
like. Anne will stay; Anne undertakes to stay at
home and take care of him. It is Anne's own pro-
posal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a
great deal better, for I have not dined at the other
house since Tuesday."

"This is very kind of Anne," was her husband's

answer, "and I should be very glad to have you
 119/561

go; but it seems rather hard that she 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 manner being
soon sufficient to convince him, where convic-
tion was at least very agreeable, 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 be at rest for the
night, and kindly urged her to let him come and
fetch her, but she was quite unpersuadable; and
this being the case, she had ere long the pleasure
of seeing them set off together in high spirits.
They were gone, she hoped, to be happy,
however oddly constructed such happiness might
seem; as for herself, 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 the child; and what was it to her if
Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile dis-
tant, making himself agreeable to others?
 120/561

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 either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished
ever to see her again, he need not have waited till
this time; he would have done what she could
not but believe that in his place she should have
done long ago, when events had been early giv-
ing him the independence which alone had been
wanting.

Her brother and sister came back delighted

with their new acquaintance, and their visit in
general. There had been music, singing, talking,
laughing, all that was most agreeable; charming
manners in Captain Wentworth, no shyness or
reserve; they seemed all to know each other per-
fectly, and he was coming the very next morning
to shoot with Charles. He was to come to break-
fast, but not at the Cottage, though that had been
proposed at first; but then he had been pressed to
come to the Great House instead, and he seemed
 121/561

afraid of being in Mrs Charles Musgrove's way,

on account of the child, and therefore, somehow,
they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles's be-
ing to meet him to breakfast 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 acquaint-
ance, seeming to acknowledge such as she had
acknowledged, actuated, perhaps, by the same
view of escaping introduction when they were to
meet.

The morning hours of the Cottage were always

later than those of the other house, and on the
morrow the difference was so great that Mary
and Anne were not more than beginning break-
fast when Charles came in to say that they were
just setting off, that he was come for his dogs,
that his sisters were following with Captain
Wentworth; his sisters meaning to visit Mary and
the child, and Captain Wentworth proposing also
 122/561

to wait on her for a few minutes if not inconveni-

ent; and though Charles had answered for the
child's being in no such state as could make it in-
convenient, Captain Wentworth would not be
satisfied 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 after Charles's
preparation, the others appeared; they were in the
drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain
Wentworth's, a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard
his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that was
right, said something to the Miss Musgroves,
enough to mark an easy footing; the room
seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few
minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the
window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed
and was gone, the Miss Musgroves were gone
too, suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the
 123/561

village with the sportsmen: the room was

cleared, and Anne might finish her 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 had been once
more in the same room.

Soon, however, she began to reason with her-

self, and try to be feeling less. Eight years, al-
most eight years had passed, since all had been
given up. How absurd to be resuming the agita-
tion which such an interval had banished into
distance and indistinctness! What might not eight
years do? Events of every description, changes,
alienations, removals--all, all must be comprised
in it, and oblivion of the past-- how natural, how
 124/561

certain too! It included nearly a third part of her

own life.

Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to

retentive feelings eight years may be little more
than nothing.

Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was

this like wishing to avoid her? And the next mo-
ment she was hating herself for the folly which
asked the question.

On one other question which perhaps her ut-

most wisdom might not have prevented, she was
soon spared all suspense; for, after the Miss
Musgroves had returned and finished their visit
at the Cottage she had this spontaneous informa-
tion from Mary:--

"Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you,

Anne, though he was so attentive to me. Henri-
etta asked him what he thought of you, when
 125/561

they went away, and he said, 'You were so

altered he should not have known you again.'"

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. Doubt-
less it was so, and she could take no revenge, for
he was not altered, or not for the worse. She had
already acknowledged it to herself, 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 more
glowing, manly, open look, in no respect lessen-
ing his personal advantages. She had seen the
same Frederick Wentworth.

"So altered that he should not have known her

again!" These were words which could not but
 126/561

dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice

that she 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 an idea that
they would be carried round to her. He had
thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first
moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt. He had
not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill,
deserted and disappointed him; and worse, she
had shewn a feebleness of character in doing so,
which his own decided, confident temper could
not endure. She had given him up to oblige oth-
ers. It had been the effect of over-persuasion. It
had been weakness and timidity.

He had been most warmly attached to her, and

had never seen a woman since whom he thought
her equal; but, except from some natural
 127/561

sensation of curiosity, he had no desire of meet-

ing 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, fully intended to
settle as soon as he could be properly tempted;
actually looking round, ready to fall in love with
all the speed which a clear head and a quick taste
could allow. He had a heart for either of the Miss
Musgroves, if they could catch it; a heart, in
short, for any pleasing young woman who came
in his way, excepting Anne Elliot. This was his
only secret exception, when he said to his sister,
in answer to her suppositions:--

"Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a

foolish match. Anybody between fifteen and
thirty may have me for asking. A little beauty,
and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the
navy, and I am a lost man. Should not this be
 128/561

enough for a sailor, who has had no society

among women to make him nice?"

He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His

bright proud eye spoke the conviction that he
was nice; and Anne Elliot was not out of his
thoughts, when he more seriously described the
woman he should wish to meet with. "A strong
mind, with sweetness of manner," made the first
and the last of the description.

"That is the woman I want," said he. "So-

mething a little inferior I shall of course put up
with, but it must not be much. If I am a fool, I
shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the
subject more than most men."
 129/561

Chapter 8

From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne

Elliot were repeatedly in the same circle. They
were soon dining in company together at Mr
Musgrove's, for the little boy's state could no
longer supply his aunt with a pretence for absent-
ing herself; and this was but the beginning of
other dinings and other meetings.

Whether former feelings were to be renewed

must be brought to the proof; former times must
undoubtedly be brought to the recollection of
each; they could not but be reverted to; the year
of their engagement could not but be named by
him, in the little narratives or descriptions which
conversation called forth. His profession quali-
fied him, his disposition lead him, to talk; and
"That was in the year six;" "That happened be-
fore I went to sea in the year six," occurred in the
course of the first evening they spent together:
and though his voice did not falter, and though
 130/561

she had no reason to suppose his eye wandering

towards her while he spoke, Anne felt the utter
impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind,
that he could be unvisited by remembrance any
more than herself. There must be the same im-
mediate association of thought, though she was
very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain.

They had no conversation together, no inter-

course but what the commonest civility required.
Once so much to each other! Now nothing!
There had been a time, when of all the large
party now filling the drawing-room at Upper-
cross, they would have found it most difficult to
cease to speak to one another. With the excep-
tion, perhaps, of Admiral and Mrs Croft, who
seemed particularly attached and happy, (Anne
could allow no other exceptions even among the
married couples), there could have been no two
hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings
so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now
they were as strangers; nay, worse than
 131/561

strangers, for they could never become acquain-

ted. It was a perpetual estrangement.

When he talked, she heard the same voice, and

discerned the same mind. There was a very gen-
eral ignorance of all naval matters throughout the
party; and he was very much questioned, and es-
pecially by the two Miss Musgroves, who
seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him, as
to the manner of living on board, daily regula-
tions, food, hours, &c., and their surprise at his
accounts, at learning the degree of accommoda-
tion and arrangement which was practicable,
drew from him some pleasant ridicule, which re-
minded Anne of the early days when she too had
been ignorant, and she too had been accused of
supposing sailors to be living on board without
anything to eat, or any cook to dress it if there
were, or any servant to wait, or any knife and
fork to use.
 132/561

From thus listening and thinking, she was

roused by a whisper of Mrs Musgrove'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 say he would have
been just such another by this time."

Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly,

while Mrs Musgrove relieved her heart a little
more; and for a few minutes, therefore, could not
keep pace with the conversation of the others.

When she could let her attention take its natur-

al course again, she found the Miss Musgroves
just fetching the Navy List (their own navy list,
the first that had ever been at Uppercross), and
sitting down together to pore over it, with the
professed view of finding out the ships that Cap-
tain Wentworth had commanded.
 133/561

"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 the last man who com-
manded her. Hardly fit for service then. Reported
fit for home service 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 and then, with sending a few
hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be em-
ployed. But they have a great many to provide
for; and among the thousands that may just as
well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for
them to distinguish the very set who may be least
missed."

"Phoo! phoo!" cried the Admiral, "what stuff

these young fellows talk! Never was a better
 134/561

sloop than the Asp in her day. For an old built

sloop, you would not see her equal. Lucky fellow
to get her! He knows there must have been
twenty better men than himself applying for her
at the same time. Lucky fellow to get anything so
soon, with no more interest than his."

"I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you;" replied

Captain Wentworth, seriously. "I was as well sat-
isfied with my appointment as you can desire. It
was a great object with me at that time to be at
sea; a very great object, I wanted to be doing
something."

"To be sure you did. What should a young fel-

low like you do ashore for half a year together?
If a man had not a wife, he soon wants to be
afloat again."

"But, Captain Wentworth," cried Louisa, "how

vexed you must have been when you came to the
 135/561

Asp, to see what an old thing they had given

you."

"I knew pretty well what she was before that

day;" said he, smiling. "I had no more discover-
ies to make than you would have as to the fash-
ion and strength of any old pelisse, which you
had seen lent about among half your acquaint-
ance ever since you could remember, and which
at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself.
Ah! she was a dear old Asp to me. She did all
that I wanted. I knew she would. I knew that we
should either go to the bottom together, or that
she would be the making of me; and I never had
two days of foul weather all the time I was at sea
in her; and after taking privateers enough to be
very entertaining, I had the good luck in my pas-
sage home the next autumn, to fall in with the
very French frigate I wanted. I brought her into
Plymouth; and here another instance of luck. We
had not been six hours in the Sound, when a gale
came on, which lasted four days and nights, and
 136/561

which would have done for poor old Asp in half

the time; our touch with the Great Nation not
having much improved our condition. Four-and-
twenty hours later, and I should only have been a
gallant Captain Wentworth, in a small paragraph
at one corner of the newspapers; and being lost
in only a sloop, nobody would have thought
about me." Anne's shudderings were to herself
alone; but the Miss Musgroves could be as open
as they were sincere, in their exclamations of
pity and horror.

"And so then, I suppose," said Mrs Musgrove,

in a low voice, as if thinking aloud, "so then he
went away to the Laconia, and there he met with
our poor boy. Charles, my dear," (beckoning him
to her), "do ask Captain Wentworth where it was
he first met with your poor brother. I always
forgot."
 137/561

"It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had

been left ill at Gibraltar, with a recommendation
from his former captain to Captain Wentworth."

"Oh! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he

need not be afraid of mentioning poor Dick be-
fore me, for it would be rather a pleasure to hear
him talked of by such a good friend."

Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the

probabilities of the case, only nodded in reply,
and walked away.

The girls were now hunting for the Laconia;

and Captain Wentworth could not deny himself
the pleasure of taking the precious volume into
his own hands to save them the trouble, and once
more read aloud the little statement of her name
and rate, and present non-commissioned class,
observing over it that she too had been one of the
best friends man ever had.
 138/561

"Ah! those were pleasant days when I had the

Laconia! How fast I made money in her. A
friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise to-
gether off the Western Islands. Poor Harville,
sister! You know how much he wanted money:
worse than myself. He had a wife. Excellent fel-
low. I shall never forget his happiness. He felt it
all, so much for her sake. I wished for him again
the next summer, when I had still the same luck
in the Mediterranean."

"And I am sure, Sir," said Mrs Musgrove, "it

was a lucky day for us, when you were put cap-
tain into that ship. We shall never forget 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 rather in suspense, and as if
waiting for more.
 139/561

"My brother," whispered one of the girls;

"mamma is thinking of poor Richard."

"Poor dear fellow!" continued Mrs Musgrove;

"he was grown so steady, 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 this speech, a certain glance
of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome
mouth, which convinced Anne, that instead of
sharing in Mrs Musgrove's kind wishes, 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 any who un-
derstood him less than herself; in another mo-
ment he was perfectly collected and serious, and
almost instantly afterwards coming up to the
sofa, on which she and Mrs Musgrove were
 140/561

sitting, took a place by the latter, and entered in-

to conversation with her, in a low voice, about
her son, doing it with so much sympathy and nat-
ural grace, as shewed the kindest consideration
for all that was real and unabsurd in the parent's
feelings.

They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs

Musgrove had most readily made room for him;
they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove. It was
no insignificant barrier, indeed. Mrs Musgrove
was of a comfortable, substantial size, infinitely
more fitted by nature to express good cheer and
good humour, than tenderness and sentiment;
and while the agitations of Anne's slender form,
and pensive face, may be considered as very
completely screened, Captain Wentworth should
be allowed some credit for the self-command
with which he attended to her large fat sighings
over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody
had cared for.
 141/561

Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly

no necessary proportions. A large bulky figure
has as good a right to be in deep affliction, as the
most graceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair
or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions,
which reason will patronize in vain--which taste
cannot tolerate--which ridicule will seize.

The Admiral, after taking two or three refresh-

ing turns about the room with his hands behind
him, being called to order by his wife, now came
up to Captain Wentworth, and without any ob-
servation of what he might be interrupting, think-
ing only of his own thoughts, began with--

"If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last

spring, Frederick, you would have been asked to
give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson and her
daughters."

"Should I? I am glad I was not a week later

then."
 142/561

The Admiral abused him for his want of gal-

lantry. He defended himself; though professing
that he would never willingly admit any ladies
on board a ship of his, 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 of gallantry towards them. It is rather
from feeling how impossible it is, with all one's
efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make the ac-
commodations on board such as women ought to
have. There can be no want of gallantry, Admir-
al, in rating the claims of women to every per-
sonal comfort high, and this is what I do. I hate
to hear of women on board, or to see them on
board; and no ship under my command shall ever
convey a family of ladies anywhere, if I can help
it."

This brought his sister upon him.

 143/561

"Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you.-

-All idle refinement!--Women may be as com-
fortable on board, as in the best house in Eng-
land. I believe I have lived as much on board as
most women, and I know nothing superior to the
accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare I
have not a comfort or an indulgence about me,
even at Kellynch Hall," (with a kind bow to
Anne), "beyond what I always had in most of the
ships I have lived in; and they have been five
altogether."

"Nothing to the purpose," replied her brother.

"You were living with your husband, and were
the only woman on board."

"But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her

sister, her cousin, and three children, round from
Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this super-
fine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours
then?"
 144/561

"All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would

assist any brother officer's wife that I could, and
I would bring anything of Harville's from the
world's end, if he wanted it. But do not imagine
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 per-
haps. Such a number of women and children
have no right to be comfortable on board."

"My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly.

Pray, what would become of us poor sailors'
wives, who often want to be conveyed to one
port or another, after our husbands, if everybody
had your feelings?"

"My feelings, you see, did not prevent my tak-

ing Mrs Harville and all her family to
Plymouth."
 145/561

"But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine

gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies,
instead of rational creatures. We none of us ex-
pect to be in smooth water all our days."

"Ah! my dear," said the Admiral, "when he

had got a wife, he will sing a different tune.
When he is married, if we have the good luck to
live 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 his wife."

"Ay, that we shall."

"Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth.

"When once married people begin to attack me
with,--'Oh! you will think very differently, when
you are married.' I can only say, 'No, I shall not;'
and then they say again, 'Yes, you will,' and
there is an end of it."
 146/561

He got up and moved away.

"What a great traveller you must have been,

ma'am!" said Mrs Musgrove to Mrs Croft.

"Pretty well, ma'am in the fifteen years of my

marriage; though many women have done more.
I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and have
been once to the East Indies, and back again, and
only once; besides being in different places
about home: Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar.
But I never went beyond the Streights, and never
was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermuda
or Bahama, you know, the West Indies."

Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dis-

sent; she could not accuse herself of having ever
called them anything in the whole course of her
life.

"And I do assure you, ma'am," pursued Mrs

Croft, "that nothing can exceed the
 147/561

accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you

know, of the 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 can safely say, that the hap-
piest 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! I have al-
ways been blessed with excellent health, and no
climate disagrees with me. A little disordered al-
ways the first twenty-four hours of going to sea,
but never knew what sickness was afterwards.
The only time I ever really suffered in body or
mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself
unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the
winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when the
Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North
Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and
had all manner of imaginary complaints from not
knowing what to do with myself, or when I
should hear from him next; but as long as we
 148/561

could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I

never met with the smallest inconvenience."

"Aye, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am

quite of your opinion, Mrs Croft," was Mrs
Musgrove's hearty answer. "There is nothing so
bad as a separation. I am quite of your opinion. I
know what it is, for Mr Musgrove always attends
the assizes, and I am so glad when they are over,
and he is safe back again."

The evening ended with dancing. On its being

proposed, Anne offered her services, as usual;
and though her eyes would sometimes fill with
tears as she sat at the instrument, she was ex-
tremely glad to be employed, and desired noth-
ing in return but to be unobserved.

It was a merry, joyous party, and no one

seemed in higher spirits than Captain Went-
worth. She felt that he had every thing to elevate
him which general attention and deference, and
 149/561

especially the attention of all the young women,

could do. The Miss Hayters, the females of the
family of cousins already mentioned, were ap-
parently 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 between themselves could
have made it credible that they were not decided
rivals. If he were a little spoilt by such universal,
such eager admiration, who could wonder?

These were some of the thoughts which occu-

pied Anne, while her fingers were mechanically
at work, proceeding for half an hour together,
equally without error, and without conscious-
ness. Once she felt that he was looking at herself,
observing her altered features, perhaps, trying to
trace in them the ruins of the face which had
once charmed him; and once she knew that he
must have spoken of her; she was hardly aware
of it, till she heard the answer; but then she was
 150/561

sure of his having asked his partner whether

Miss Elliot never danced? 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 spoke to her. She had left the in-
strument on the dancing being over, and he had
sat down to try to make out an air which he
wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea 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 she immediately drew back with a
decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit
down again.

Anne did not wish for more of such looks and

speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious
grace, were worse than anything.
 151/561

Chapter 9

Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as

to a home, to stay as long as he liked, being as
thoroughly the object of the Admiral's fraternal
kindness as of his wife's. He had intended, on
first arriving, to proceed very soon into Shrop-
shire, and visit the brother settled in that country,
but the attractions of Uppercross induced him to
put this off. There was so much of friendliness,
and of flattery, and of everything most bewitch-
ing in his reception there; the old were so hospit-
able, the young so agreeable, that he could not
but resolve to remain where he was, and take all
the charms and perfections of Edward's wife
upon credit a little longer.
 152/561

It was soon Uppercross with him almost every

day. The Musgroves could hardly be more ready
to invite than he to come, particularly in the
morning, when he had no companion at home,
for the Admiral and Mrs Croft were generally
out of doors together, interesting themselves in
their new possessions, their grass, and their
sheep, and dawdling about in a way not endur-
able to a third person, or driving out in a gig,
lately added to their establishment.

Hitherto there had been but one opinion of

Captain Wentworth among the Musgroves and
their dependencies. It was unvarying, warm ad-
miration everywhere; but this intimate footing
was not more than established, when a certain
Charles Hayter returned among them, to be a
good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain
Wentworth very much in the way.

Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cous-

ins, and a very amiable, pleasing young man,
 153/561

between whom and Henrietta there had been a

considerable appearance of attachment previous
to Captain Wentworth's introduction. He was in
orders; and having a curacy in the neighbour-
hood, where residence was not required, lived at
his father's house, only two miles from Upper-
cross. A short absence from home had left his
fair one unguarded by his attentions at this critic-
al period, and when he came back he had the
pain of finding very altered manners, and of see-
ing Captain Wentworth.

Mrs Musgrove and Mrs Hayter were sisters.

They had each had money, but their marriages
had made a material difference in their degree of
consequence. Mr Hayter had some property of
his own, but it was insignificant compared with
Mr Musgrove's; and while the Musgroves were
in the first class of society in the country, the
young Hayters would, from their parents' inferi-
or, retired, and unpolished way of living, and
their own defective education, have been hardly
 154/561

in any class at all, but for their connexion with

Uppercross, this eldest 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 on one side, and no
envy on the other, and only such a consciousness
of superiority in the Miss Musgroves, as made
them pleased to improve their cousins. Charles's
attentions to Henrietta had been observed by her
father and mother without any disapprobation.
"It would not be a great match for her; but if
Henrietta liked him,"--and Henrietta did seem to
like him.

Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Cap-

tain Wentworth came; but from that time Cousin
Charles had been very much forgotten.
 155/561

Which of the two sisters was preferred by Cap-

tain Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far
as Anne's observation reached. Henrietta was
perhaps the prettiest, Louisa had the higher spir-
its; and she knew not now, whether the 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 in the discre-
tion of both their daughters, and of all the young
men who came near them, seemed to leave
everything to take its chance. There was not the
smallest appearance of solicitude or remark
about them in the Mansion-house; but it was dif-
ferent at the Cottage: the young couple there
were more disposed to speculate and wonder;
and Captain Wentworth had not been above four
or five times in the Miss Musgroves' company,
and Charles Hayter had but just reappeared,
when Anne had to listen to the opinions of her
brother and sister, as to which was the one liked
 156/561

best. Charles gave it for Louisa, Mary for Henri-

etta, but quite agreeing that to have him marry
either could be extremely delightful.

Charles "had never seen a pleasanter man in

his life; and from what he had once heard Cap-
tain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that
he had not made 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 future war; and he
was sure Captain Wentworth was as likely a man
to distinguish himself as any officer in the navy.
Oh! it would be a capital match for either of his
sisters."

"Upon my word it would," replied Mary. "Dear

me! If he should rise 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 not
 157/561

dislike 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 of Charles Hayter,
whose pretensions she wished to see put an end
to. She looked down very decidedly upon the
Hayters, and thought it would be quite a misfor-
tune to have the existing connection between the
families renewed--very sad for herself and her
children.

"You know," said she, "I cannot think him at

all a fit match for Henrietta; and considering the
alliances which the Musgroves have made, she
has no right to throw herself away. I do not think
any young woman has a right to make a choice
that may be disagreeable and inconvenient to the
principal part of her family, and be giving bad
connections to those who have not been used to
them. And, pray, who is Charles Hayter?
 158/561

Nothing but a country curate. A most improper

match for Miss Musgrove of Uppercross."

Her husband, however, would not agree with

her here; for besides having a regard for his
cousin, Charles Hayter was an eldest son, and he
saw things as an eldest son himself.

"Now you are talking nonsense, Mary," was

therefore his answer. "It would not be a great
match for Henrietta, but Charles has a very fair
chance, through the Spicers, of getting
something from the Bishop in the course of a
year or two; and you will please to remember,
that he is the eldest son; whenever my uncle dies,
he steps into very pretty property. The estate at
Winthrop is not less than two hundred and fifty
acres, besides the farm 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, and indeed it
could not be; he is the only one that could be
 159/561

possible; but he is a very good-natured, good sort

of a fellow; and whenever Winthrop comes into
his hands, he will make a different sort of place
of it, and live in a very different sort of way; and
with that property, he will never be a
contemptible man--good, freehold property. No,
no; Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles
Hayter; and if she has him, and Louisa can get
Captain Wentworth, I shall be very well
satisfied."

"Charles may say what he pleases," cried Mary

to Anne, as soon as he was out of the room, "but
it would be shocking to have Henrietta marry
Charles 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 put
him quite out of her head, and I have very little
doubt that he has. She took hardly any notice of
Charles Hayter yesterday. I wish you had been
there to see her behaviour. And as to Captain
Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it
 160/561

is nonsense to say so; for he certainly does like

Henrietta a great deal the best. But Charles is so
positive! I wish you had been with us yesterday,
for then you might have decided between us; and
I am sure you would have thought as I did, un-
less you had been determined to give it against
me."

A dinner at Mr Musgrove's had been the occa-

sion when all these things should have been seen
by Anne; but she had staid at home, under the
mixed plea of 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 being appealed 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 that he should know his
own mind early enough not to be endangering
the happiness of either sister, or impeaching his
 161/561

own honour, than that he should prefer Henrietta

to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta. Either of them
would, in all probability, make him an
affectionate, good-humoured wife. With regard
to Charles Hayter, she had delicacy which must
be pained by any lightness of conduct in a well-
meaning young woman, and a heart to sympath-
ize in any of the sufferings it occasioned; but if
Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature of
her feelings, the alteration could not be under-
stood too soon.

Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet

and mortify him in his cousin's behaviour. She
had too old a regard for him to be so wholly es-
tranged as might in two meetings extinguish
every past hope, and leave him nothing to do but
to keep away from Uppercross: but there was
such a change as became very alarming, when
such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be re-
garded as the probable cause. He had been ab-
sent only two Sundays, and when they parted,
 162/561

had left her interested, even to the height of his

wishes, in his prospect of soon quitting his
present curacy, and obtaining that of Uppercross
instead. It had then seemed the object nearest her
heart, that Dr Shirley, the rector, who for more
than forty years had been zealously discharging
all the duties of his office, but was now growing
too infirm for many of them, should be quite
fixed on engaging a curate; should make his cur-
acy quite as good as he could afford, and should
give Charles Hayter the promise of it. The ad-
vantage of his having to come only to Upper-
cross, instead of going six miles another way; of
his having, in every respect, a better curacy; of
his belonging to their dear Dr Shirley, and of
dear, good Dr Shirley's being relieved from the
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 to Henrietta. When he came back,
alas! the zeal of the business was gone by.
Louisa could not listen at all to his account of a
 163/561

conversation which he had just held with Dr

Shirley: she was at a window, looking out for
Captain Wentworth; and even Henrietta had at
best only a divided attention to give, and seemed
to have forgotten all the former doubt and soli-
citude of the negotiation.

"Well, I am very glad indeed: but I always

thought you would have it; I always thought you
sure. It did not appear to me that--in short, you
know, Dr Shirley must have a curate, and you
had secured his promise. Is he coming, Louisa?"

One morning, very soon after the dinner at the

Musgroves, at which Anne had not been present,
Captain Wentworth walked into the drawing-
room at the Cottage, where were only herself and
the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the
sofa.

The surprise of finding himself almost alone

with Anne Elliot, deprived his manners of their
 164/561

usual composure: he started, and could only say,

"I thought the Miss Musgroves had been here:
Mrs Musgrove told me I should find them here,"
before he walked to the window to recollect him-
self, and feel how he ought to behave.

"They are up stairs with my sister: they will be

down in a few moments, I dare say," had been
Anne's reply, in all the confusion that was natur-
al; 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
Captain Wentworth as well as herself.

He continued at the window; and after calmly

and politely saying, "I hope the little boy is bet-
ter," was silent.

She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa,

and remain there to satisfy her patient; and thus
they continued a few minutes, when, to her very
great satisfaction, she heard some other person
 165/561

crossing the little vestibule. She hoped, on turn-

ing her head, to see the master of the house; but
it proved to be one much less calculated for mak-
ing matters easy--Charles Hayter, probably not at
all better pleased by the sight of Captain Went-
worth than Captain Wentworth had been by the
sight of Anne.

She only attempted to say, "How do you do?

Will you not sit down? The others will be here
presently."

Captain Wentworth, however, came from his

window, apparently not ill-disposed for conver-
sation; but Charles Hayter soon put an end to his
attempts by seating himself near the table, and
taking up the newspaper; and Captain Went-
worth returned 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
 166/561

him by some one without, made his determined

appearance among them, and went straight to the
sofa to see what was going on, and put in his
claim to anything good that might be giving
away.

There being nothing to eat, he could only have

some play; and as his aunt would not let him
tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself
upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy
as she was about Charles, she could not shake
him off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated,
and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to
push him away, but the boy had the greater
pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

"Walter," said she, "get down this moment.

You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry
with you."
 "Walter," cried Charles Hayter, "why do you
not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt
speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin
Charles."

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself

in the state of being released from him; some one
was taking him from her, though he had bent
down her head so much, that his little sturdy
hands were unfastened from around her neck,
and he was resolutely borne away, before she
knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.

Her sensations on the discovery made her per-

fectly speechless. She could not even thank him.
She could only hang over little Charles, with
most disordered feelings. His kindness in step-
ping forward to her relief, the manner, the si-
lence in which it had passed, the little particulars
of the circumstance, with the conviction soon
 168/561

forced on her by the noise he was studiously

making with the child, that he meant to avoid
hearing her thanks, and rather sought to testify
that her conversation was the last of his wants,
produced such a confusion of varying, but very
painful agitation, as she could not recover from,
till enabled by the entrance of Mary and the Miss
Musgroves to make over her little patient to their
cares, and leave the room. She could not stay. It
might have been an opportunity of watching the
loves and jealousies of the four--they were now
altogether; but she could stay for none of it. It
was evident that Charles Hayter was not well in-
clined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a
strong impression of his having said, in a vext
tone of voice, after Captain Wentworth's interfer-
ence, "You ought to have minded me, Walter; I
told you not to teaze your aunt;" and could com-
prehend his regretting that Captain Wentworth
should do what he ought to have done himself.
But neither Charles Hayter's feelings, nor
anybody's feelings, could interest her, till she had
 169/561

a little better arranged her own. She was

ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being so
nervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it
was, and it required a long application of
solitude and reflection to recover her.

Chapter 10

Other opportunities of making her observations

could not fail to occur. Anne had soon been in
company with all the four together often enough
to have an opinion, though too wise to acknow-
ledge as much at home, where she knew it would
have satisfied neither husband nor wife; for
while she considered Louisa to be rather the fa-
vourite, she could not but think, as far as she
might dare to judge from memory and
 170/561

experience, that Captain Wentworth was not in

love with either. They were more in love with
him; yet there it was not love. It was a little fever
of admiration; but it might, probably must, end
in love with some. Charles Hayter seemed aware
of being slighted, and yet Henrietta had some-
times the air of being divided between them.
Anne longed for the power of representing to
them all what they were about, and of pointing
out some of the evils they were exposing them-
selves to. She did not attribute guile to any. It
was the highest satisfaction to her to believe
Captain Wentworth not in the least aware of the
pain he was occasioning. There was no triumph,
no pitiful triumph in his manner. He had, prob-
ably, never heard, and never thought of any
claims of Charles Hayter. He was only wrong in
accepting the attentions (for accepting must be
the word) of two young women at once.

After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter

seemed to quit the field. Three days had passed
 171/561

without his coming once to Uppercross; a most

decided change. He had even refused one regular
invitation to dinner; and having been found on
the occasion by Mr Musgrove with some large
books before him, Mr and Mrs Musgrove were
sure all could not be right, and talked, with grave
faces, of his studying himself to death. It was
Mary's hope and belief that he had received a
positive dismissal from Henrietta, and her hus-
band lived under the constant dependence of see-
ing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that
Charles Hayter was wise.

One morning, about this time Charles Mus-

grove and Captain Wentworth being gone a-
shooting together, as the sisters in the Cottage
were sitting quietly at work, 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 little grounds, and
 172/561

stopped for no other purpose than to say, that

they were going to take a long walk, and there-
fore concluded Mary could not like to go with
them; and when Mary immediately replied, with
some jealousy at not being supposed a good
walker, "Oh, yes, I should like to join you very
much, I am very fond of a long walk;" Anne felt
persuaded, by the looks of the two girls, that it
was precisely what they did not wish, and ad-
mired again the sort of necessity which the fam-
ily habits seemed to produce, of everything being
to be communicated, and everything being to be
done together, however undesired and inconveni-
ent. 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 useful in turning back with her sister, and
lessening the interference in any plan of their
own.
 173/561

"I cannot imagine why they should suppose I

should not like a long walk," said Mary, as she
went up stairs. "Everybody is always supposing
that I am not a good walker; and yet they would
not have been pleased, if we had refused to join
them. When people come in this manner on pur-
pose to ask us, how can one say no?"

Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen re-

turned. They had taken out a young dog, who
had spoilt their sport, and sent them back early.
Their time and strength, and spirits, were, there-
fore, exactly ready for this walk, and they
entered into it with pleasure. Could Anne have
foreseen such a junction, she would 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 forward together in
the direction chosen by the Miss Musgroves,
who evidently considered the walk as under their
guidance.
 174/561

Anne's object was, not to be in the way of any-

body; and where the narrow paths across the
fields made many separations necessary, to keep
with her brother and sister. Her pleasure in the
walk must arise from the exercise and the day,
from the view of the last smiles of the year upon
the tawny leaves, and withered hedges, and from
repeating to herself some few of the thousand
poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that sea-
son of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on
the mind of taste and tenderness, that season
which had drawn from every poet, worthy of be-
ing read, some attempt at description, or some
lines of feeling. She occupied her mind as much
as possible in such like musings and quotations;
but it was not possible, that when within reach of
Captain Wentworth's conversation with either of
the Miss Musgroves, she should not try to hear
it; yet she caught little very remarkable. It was
mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on
an intimate footing, might fall into. He was more
engaged with Louisa than with Henrietta. Louisa
 175/561

certainly put more forward for his notice than her

sister. This distinction appeared to increase, and
there was one speech of Louisa's which struck
her. After one of the many praises of the day,
which were continually bursting forth, Captain
Wentworth added:--

"What glorious weather for the Admiral and

my sister! They meant to take a 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 they
will upset to-day. Oh! it does happen very often,
I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of it;
she would as lieve be tossed out as not."

"Ah! You make the most of it, I know," cried

Louisa, "but if it were really so, I should do just
the same in her place. If I loved a man, as she
loves the Admiral, I would always be with him,
nothing should ever separate us, and I would
 176/561

rather be overturned by him, than driven safely

by anybody else."

It was spoken with enthusiasm.

"Had you?" cried he, catching the same tone;

"I honour you!" And there was silence between
them for a little while.

Anne could not immediately fall into a quota-

tion again. The sweet scenes of autumn were for
a while put by, unless some tender sonnet,
fraught with the apt analogy of the declining
year, with declining happiness, and the images of
youth and hope, and spring, all gone together,
blessed her memory. She roused herself to say,
as they struck by order into another path, "Is not
this one of the ways to Winthrop?" But nobody
heard, or, at least, nobody answered her.

Winthrop, however, or its environs--for young

men are, sometimes to be met with, strolling
 177/561

about near home--was their destination; and after

another half mile of gradual ascent through large
enclosures, where the ploughs at work, and the
fresh made path spoke the farmer counteracting
the sweets of poetical despondence, and meaning
to have spring again, they gained the summit of
the most considerable hill, which parted Upper-
cross and Winthrop, and soon commanded 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; an indifferent house,
standing low, and hemmed in by the barns and
buildings of a farm-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 along any path, or
 178/561

leaning against any gate, was ready to do as

Mary wished; but "No!" said Charles Musgrove,
and "No, no!" cried Louisa more eagerly, and
taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the
matter warmly.

Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly

declaring his resolution of calling on his aunt,
now that he was so near; and very evidently,
though more fearfully, trying to induce his wife
to go too. But this was one of the points on
which the lady shewed her strength; and when he
recommended the advantage of resting herself a
quarter of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so
tired, she resolutely answered, "Oh! no, indeed!
walking up that hill again would do her 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 was settled between Charles
 179/561

and his two sisters, that he and Henrietta should

just run down for a few minutes, to see their aunt
and cousins, while the rest of the party waited for
them at the top of the hill. Louisa seemed the
principal arranger of the plan; and, as she went a
little way with them, down the hill, still talking
to Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of look-
ing scornfully around her, and saying to Captain
Wentworth--

"It is very unpleasant, having such connexions!

But, I assure you, I have never been in the house
above twice in my life."

She received no other answer, than an artifi-

cial, assenting smile, followed by a contemptu-
ous glance, as he turned away, which Anne per-
fectly knew the meaning of.

The brow of the hill, where they remained, was

a cheerful spot: Louisa returned; and Mary, find-
ing a comfortable seat for herself on the step of a
 180/561

stile, was very well satisfied so long as the others

all stood about her; but when Louisa drew Cap-
tain Wentworth away, to try for a gleaning of
nuts in an adjoining hedge-row, and they were
gone by degrees quite out of sight and sound,
Mary was happy no longer; she quarrelled with
her own seat, was sure Louisa had got a much
better somewhere, and nothing could prevent her
from going to look for a better also. She turned
through the same gate, but could not see them.
Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry sunny
bank, under the hedge-row, in which she had no
doubt of their still being, in some spot or other.
Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not
do; she was sure Louisa had found 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 heard Captain Wentworth and
Louisa in the hedge-row, behind her, as if mak-
ing their way back along the rough, wild sort of
 181/561

channel, down the centre. They were speaking as

they drew near. Louisa's voice was the first dis-
tinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of
some eager speech. What Anne first heard was--

"And so, I made her go. I could not bear that

she should be frightened from the visit by such
nonsense. What! would I be turned back from
doing a thing that I had determined to do, and
that I knew to be right, by the airs and interfer-
ence of such a person, or of any person I may
say? No, I have no idea of being so easily per-
suaded. When I have made up my mind, I have
made it; and Henrietta seemed entirely to have
made up hers to call at Winthrop to-day; and yet,
she was as near giving it up, out of nonsensical
complaisance!"

"She would have turned back then, but for

you?"
 182/561

"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 you gave just now, which
did but confirm my own observations, the last
time I was in company with him, I need not af-
fect to have no comprehension of what is going
on. I see that more than a mere dutiful morning
visit to your aunt was in question; and woe
betide him, and her too, when it comes to things
of consequence, when they are placed in circum-
stances requiring fortitude and strength of mind,
if she have not resolution enough to resist idle
interference in such a trifle as this. Your sister is
an amiable creature; but yours is the character of
decision and firmness, I see. If you value her
conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your
own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt,
you have been always doing. It is the worst evil
of too yielding and indecisive a character, that no
influence over it can be depended on. You are
 183/561

never sure of a good impression being durable;

everybody may sway it. Let those who would be
happy be firm. Here is a nut," said he, catching
one down from an upper bough, "to exemplify: a
beautiful glossy nut, which, blessed with original
strength, has outlived all the storms of autumn.
Not a puncture, not a weak spot anywhere. This
nut," he continued, with playful solemnity,
"while so many of his brethren have fallen and
been trodden under foot, is still in possession of
all the happiness that a hazel nut can be sup-
posed capable of." Then returning to his former
earnest tone--"My first wish for all whom I am
interested in, is that they should be firm. If
Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy
in her November of life, she will cherish all her
present powers of mind."

He had done, and was unanswered. It would

have surprised Anne if Louisa could have readily
answered such a speech: words of such interest,
spoken with such serious warmth! She could
 184/561

imagine what Louisa was feeling. For herself,

she feared to move, lest she should be seen.
While she remained, a bush of low rambling
holly protected her, and they were moving on.
Before they were beyond her hearing, however,
Louisa spoke again.

"Mary is good-natured enough in many re-

spects," said she; "but she does sometimes pro-
voke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride-
-the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much
of the Elliot pride. We do so wish that Charles
had married Anne instead. I suppose you know
he wanted to marry Anne?"

After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth

said--

"Do you mean that she refused him?"

"Oh! yes; certainly."

 185/561

"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 ac-
cepted him. We should all have liked her a great
deal better; and papa and mamma always think 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 Lady Rus-
sell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to
refuse him."

The sounds were retreating, and Anne distin-

guished no more. Her own emotions still kept
her fixed. She had much to recover from, before
she could move. The listener's proverbial fate
was not absolutely hers; she had heard no evil of
herself, but she had heard a great deal of very
painful import. She saw how her own character
was considered by Captain Wentworth, and there
had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity
 186/561

about her in his manner which must give her ex-

treme agitation.

As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and

having found, and walked back with her to their
former station, by the stile, felt some comfort in
their whole party being immediately afterwards
collected, and once more in motion together. Her
spirits wanted the solitude and silence which
only numbers could give.

Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as

may be conjectured, Charles Hayter with them.
The minutiae of the business Anne could not at-
tempt to understand; even Captain Wentworth
did not seem admitted to perfect confidence
here; but that there had been a withdrawing on
the gentleman's side, and a relenting on the
lady's, and that they were now very glad to be to-
gether again, did not admit a doubt. Henrietta
looked a little ashamed, but very well pleased;--
Charles Hayter exceedingly happy: and they
 187/561

were devoted to each other almost from the first

instant of their all setting forward for
Uppercross.

Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain

Wentworth; nothing could be plainer; 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 of meadow
land, where there was ample space for all, they
were thus divided, forming three distinct parties;
and to that party of the three which boasted least
animation, and least complaisance, Anne neces-
sarily belonged. She joined Charles and Mary,
and was tired enough to be very glad of Charles's
other arm; but Charles, though in very good hu-
mour with her, was out of temper with his wife.
Mary had shewn herself disobliging to him, and
was now to reap the consequence, which con-
sequence was his dropping her arm almost every
moment to cut off the heads of some nettles in
the hedge with his switch; and when Mary began
 188/561

to complain of it, and lament her being ill-used,

according to custom, in being on the hedge side,
while Anne was never incommoded on the other,
he dropped the arms of both to hunt after a
weasel which he had a momentary glance of, and
they could hardly get him along at all.

This long meadow bordered a lane, which their

footpath, at the end of it was to cross, and when
the party had all reached the gate of exit, the car-
riage advancing in the same direction, which had
been some time heard, was just coming up, and
proved to be Admiral Croft's gig. He and his
wife had taken their intended drive, and were re-
turning home. Upon hearing how long a walk the
young people had engaged in, they kindly
offered a seat to any lady who might be particu-
larly tired; it would save her a full mile, and they
were going through Uppercross. The invitation
was general, and generally declined. The Miss
Musgroves were not at all tired, and Mary was
either offended, by not being asked before any of
 189/561

the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pride

could 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 Ad-
miral was putting his horse in motion again,
when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a
moment to say something to his sister. The
something might be guessed by its effects.

"Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried

Mrs Croft. "Do let us have the pleasure of taking
you home. Here is excellent room for three, I as-
sure 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 instinct-

ively beginning to decline, she was not allowed
to proceed. The Admiral's kind urgency came in
support of his wife's; they would not be refused;
they compressed themselves into the smallest
 190/561

possible space to leave her a corner, and Captain

Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her,
and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the
carriage.

Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage,

and felt that he had placed her there, that his will
and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his
perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to
give her rest. She was very much affected by the
view of his disposition towards her, which all
these things made apparent. This little circum-
stance seemed the completion of all that had
gone before. She understood him. He could not
forgive her, but he could not be unfeeling.
Though condemning her for the past, and consid-
ering it with high and unjust resentment, though
perfectly careless of her, and though becoming
attached to another, still he could not see her suf-
fer, without the desire of giving her relief. It was
a remainder of former sentiment; it was an im-
pulse of pure, though unacknowledged
 191/561

friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and

amiable heart, which she could not contemplate
without emotions so compounded of pleasure
and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.

Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of

her companions were at first unconsciously giv-
en. 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 has been running
after them, too, long enough, one would think, to
make up his mind. Ay, this comes of the peace.
If it were war now, he would have settled it long
ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to
make long courtships in time of war. How many
days was it, my dear, between the first time of
 192/561

my seeing you 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 an under-
standing, she would never be persuaded that we
could be happy together. I had known you by
character, however, long before."

"Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty

girl, and what were we to wait for besides? I do
not like having such things so long in hand. I
wish Frederick would spread a little more can-
vass, and bring us home one of these young
ladies to Kellynch. Then there would always be
company for them. And very nice young ladies
they both are; I hardly know one from the other."

"Very good humoured, unaffected girls, in-

deed," said Mrs Croft, in a tone of calmer praise,
such as made Anne suspect that her keener
 193/561

powers might not consider either of them as

quite worthy of her brother; "and a very respect-
able family. One could not be connected with
better people. My dear Admiral, that post! we
shall certainly take that post."

But by coolly giving the reins a better direction

herself they happily passed the danger; and by
once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand
they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-
cart; and Anne, with some amusement at their
style of driving, which she imagined no bad rep-
resentation of the general guidance of their af-
fairs, found herself safely deposited by them at
the Cottage.
 194/561

Chapter 11

The time now approached for Lady Russell's

return: the day was even fixed; and Anne, being
engaged to join her as soon as she was resettled,
was looking forward to an early removal to
Kellynch, and beginning to think how her own
comfort was likely to be affected by it.

It would place her in the same village with

Captain Wentworth, within half a mile of him;
they would have to frequent the same church,
and there must be intercourse between the two
families. This was against her; but on the other
hand, he spent so much of his time at Upper-
cross, that in removing thence she might be con-
sidered rather as leaving him behind, than as go-
ing towards him; and, upon the whole, she be-
lieved she must, on this interesting question, be
the gainer, almost as certainly as in her change of
domestic society, in leaving poor Mary for Lady
Russell.
 195/561

She wished it might be possible for her to

avoid ever seeing Captain Wentworth at the
Hall: those rooms had witnessed former meet-
ings which would be brought too painfully be-
fore her; but she was yet more anxious for the
possibility of Lady Russell and Captain Went-
worth never meeting anywhere. They did not like
each other, and no renewal of acquaintance now
could do any good; and were Lady Russell to see
them together, she might think that he had too
much self-possession, and she too little.

These points formed her chief solicitude in an-

ticipating her removal from Uppercross, where
she felt she had been stationed quite long
enough. Her usefulness to little Charles would
always give some sweetness to the memory of
her two months' visit there, but he was gaining
strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay
for.
 196/561

The conclusion of her visit, however, was di-

versified in a way which she had not at all ima-
gined. Captain Wentworth, after being unseen
and unheard of at Uppercross for two whole
days, appeared again among them to justify him-
self by a relation of what had kept him away.

A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, hav-

ing found him out at last, had brought intelli-
gence of Captain Harville's being settled with his
family at Lyme for the winter; of their being
therefore, quite unknowingly, within twenty
miles of each other. Captain Harville had never
been in good health since a severe wound which
he received two years before, and Captain
Wentworth's anxiety to see him had determined
him to go immediately to Lyme. He had been
there for four-and-twenty hours. His acquittal
was complete, his friendship warmly honoured, a
lively interest excited for his friend, and his de-
scription of the fine country about Lyme so feel-
ingly attended to by the party, that an earnest
 197/561

desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for

going thither was the consequence.

The young people were all wild to see Lyme.

Captain Wentworth talked of going there again
himself, it was only seventeen miles from Upper-
cross; though November, the weather was by no
means bad; and, in short, Louisa, who was the
most eager of the eager, having formed the resol-
ution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as
she liked, being now armed with the idea of mer-
it in maintaining her own way, bore down all the
wishes of her father and mother for putting 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 Mus-
grove, for the sake of his horses, would not con-
sent; and when it came to be rationally con-
sidered, a day in the middle of November would
 198/561

not leave much time for seeing a new place, after

deducting seven hours, as the nature of the coun-
try required, for going and returning. They were,
consequently, to stay the night there, and not to
be expected back till the next day's dinner. This
was felt to be a considerable amendment; and
though they all met at the Great House at rather
an early breakfast hour, and set off very punctu-
ally, it was so much past noon before the two
carriages, Mr Musgrove's coach containing the
four ladies, and Charles's curricle, in which he
drove Captain Wentworth, were descending the
long hill into Lyme, and entering upon the still
steeper street of the town itself, that it 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, the next thing to be
done was unquestionably to walk directly down
to the sea. They were come too late in the year
 199/561

for any amusement or variety which Lyme, as a

public 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 to admire in the buildings themselves,
the remarkable situation of the town, the princip-
al street almost hurrying into the water, the walk
to the Cobb, skirting round the pleasant little
bay, which, in the season, is animated with
bathing machines 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 it must be, who
does not see charms in the immediate environs of
Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The
scenes in its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with its
high grounds and extensive sweeps of country,
and still more, its sweet, retired bay, backed by
dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among
the sands, make it the happiest spot for watching
the flow of the tide, for sitting in unwearied
 200/561

contemplation; the woody varieties of the cheer-

ful village of Up Lyme; and, above all, Pinny,
with its green chasms between romantic rocks,
where the scattered forest trees and orchards of
luxuriant growth, declare that many a generation
must have passed away since the first partial fall-
ing of the cliff prepared the ground for such a
state, where a scene so wonderful and so lovely
is exhibited, as may more than equal any of the
resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of
Wight: these places must be visited, and visited
again, to make the worth of Lyme understood.

The party from Uppercross passing down by

the now deserted and melancholy looking 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 to-
wards the Cobb, equally their object in itself and
on Captain Wentworth's account: for in a small
house, near the foot of an old pier of unknown
 201/561

date, were the Harvilles settled. Captain Went-

worth turned in to call on his friend; the others
walked on, and he was to join them on the Cobb.

They were by no means tired of wondering and

admiring; and not even Louisa seemed to feel
that they had parted with Captain Wentworth
long, when they saw him coming after them,
with three companions, all well known already,
by description, to be Captain and Mrs Harville,
and a Captain Benwick, who was staying with
them.

Captain Benwick had some time ago been first

lieutenant of the Laconia; and the account which
Captain Wentworth had given of him, on his re-
turn from Lyme before, his warm praise of him
as an excellent young man and an officer, whom
he had always valued highly, which must have
stamped him well in the esteem of every listener,
had been followed by a little history of his
private life, which rendered him perfectly
 202/561

interesting in the eyes of all the ladies. He had

been 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 be-
ing great; promotion, too, came at last; but Fanny
Harville did not live to know it. She had died the
preceding summer while he was at sea. Captain
Wentworth believed it impossible for man to be
more attached to woman than poor Benwick had
been to Fanny Harville, or to be more deeply af-
flicted under the dreadful change. He considered
his disposition as of the sort which must suffer
heavily, uniting very strong feelings with quiet,
serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste
for reading, and sedentary pursuits. To finish the
interest of the story, the friendship between him
and the Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented
by the event which closed all their views of alli-
ance, and Captain Benwick was now living with
them entirely. Captain Harville had taken his
present house for half a year; his taste, and his
 203/561

health, and his fortune, all directing him to a res-

idence inexpensive, and by the sea; and the
grandeur of the country, and the retirement of
Lyme in the winter, appeared exactly adapted to
Captain Benwick's state of mind. The sympathy
and good-will excited towards Captain Benwick
was very great.

"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now

moved forward to meet the party, "he has not,
perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I
cannot 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, and be happy with another."

They all met, and were introduced. Captain

Harville was a tall, dark man, with a sensible, be-
nevolent countenance; a little lame; and from
strong features and want of health, looking much
older than Captain Wentworth. Captain Benwick
looked, and was, the youngest of the three, and,
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compared with either of them, a little man. He

had a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as
he ought to have, and drew back from
conversation.

Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain

Wentworth in manners, was a perfect gentleman,
unaffected, warm, and obliging. Mrs Harville, a
degree less polished than her husband, seemed,
however, to have the same good feelings; and
nothing could be more pleasant than their desire
of considering the whole party as friends of their
own, because the friends of Captain Wentworth,
or more kindly hospitable than their entreaties
for their all promising to dine with them. The
dinner, already ordered at the inn, was at last,
though unwillingly, accepted as a excuse; but
they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth
should have brought any such party to Lyme,
without considering it as a thing of course that
they should dine with them.
 205/561

There was so much attachment to Captain

Wentworth in all this, and such a bewitching
charm in a degree of hospitality so uncommon,
so unlike the usual style of give-and-take invita-
tions, and dinners of formality and display, that
Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by
an increasing acquaintance among 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 found rooms so small
as none but those who invite from the heart
could think capable of accommodating so many.
Anne had a moment's astonishment on the sub-
ject herself; but it was soon lost in the pleasanter
feelings which sprang from the sight of all the
ingenious contrivances and nice arrangements of
Captain Harville, to turn the actual space to the
best account, to supply the deficiencies of
lodging-house furniture, and defend the windows
 206/561

and doors against the winter storms to be expec-

ted. The varieties in the fitting-up of the rooms,
where the common necessaries provided by the
owner, in the common indifferent plight, were
contrasted with some few articles of a rare spe-
cies of wood, excellently worked up, and with
something curious and valuable from all the dis-
tant countries Captain Harville had visited, were
more than amusing to Anne; connected as it all
was with his profession, the fruit of its labours,
the effect of its influence on his habits, the pic-
ture of repose and domestic happiness it presen-
ted, made it to her a something more, or less,
than gratification.

Captain Harville was no reader; but he had

contrived excellent accommodations, and fash-
ioned very pretty shelves, for a tolerable collec-
tion of well-bound volumes, the property of Cap-
tain Benwick. His lameness prevented him from
taking much exercise; but a mind of usefulness
and ingenuity seemed to furnish him with
 207/561

constant employment within. He drew, he var-

nished, he carpentered, he glued; he made toys
for the children; he fashioned new netting-
needles and pins with improvements; and if
everything else was done, sat down to his large
fishing-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 of admiration and delight on the charac-
ter of the navy; their friendliness, their brotherli-
ness, their openness, their uprightness; protesting
that she was convinced of sailors having more
worth and warmth than any other set of men in
England; that they only knew how to live, and
they only deserved to be respected 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 of season," and the "no thoroughfare of
 208/561

Lyme," and the "no expectation of company,"

had brought many apologies from the heads of
the inn.

Anne found herself by this time growing so

much more hardened to being in Captain
Wentworth's company than she had at first ima-
gined could ever be, that the sitting down to the
same table with him now, and the interchange of
the common civilities attending on it (they never
got beyond), was become a mere nothing.

The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet

again till the morrow, but Captain 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 been agreed
that Captain Benwick had all the appearance of
being oppressed by the presence of so many
strangers. He ventured among them again,
however, though his spirits certainly did not
seem fit for the mirth of the party in general.
 209/561

While Captains Wentworth and Harville led

the talk on one side of the room, and by recur-
ring to former days, supplied anecdotes in
abundance to occupy and entertain the others, it
fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart with
Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of
her nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance
with him. He was shy, and disposed to abstrac-
tion; but the engaging mildness of her counten-
ance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had
their effect; and Anne was well repaid the first
trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young
man of considerable taste in reading, though
principally in poetry; and besides the persuasion
of having given him at least an evening's indul-
gence in the discussion of subjects, which his
usual companions had probably no concern in,
she had the hope of being of real use to him in
some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of
struggling against affliction, which had naturally
grown out of their conversation. For, though shy,
he did not seem reserved; it had rather the
 210/561

appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual

restraints; and having talked of poetry, the rich-
ness of the present age, and gone through a brief
comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets,
trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The
Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how
ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and
moreover, how the Giaour was to be pro-
nounced, he showed himself so intimately ac-
quainted with all the tenderest songs of the one
poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of
hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with
such tremulous feeling, the various lines which
imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by
wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he
meant to be understood, that she ventured to
hope he did not always read only poetry, and to
say, that she thought it was the misfortune of po-
etry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who
enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feel-
ings which alone could estimate it truly were the
 211/561

very feelings which ought to taste it but

sparingly.

His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased

with this allusion to his situation, she was em-
boldened to go on; and feeling in herself the
right of seniority of mind, she ventured to re-
commend a larger allowance of prose in his daily
study; and on being requested to particularize,
mentioned such works of our best moralists, such
collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of
characters of worth and suffering, as occurred to
her at the moment as calculated to rouse and for-
tify the mind by the highest precepts, and the
strongest examples of moral and religious
endurances.

Captain Benwick listened attentively, and

seemed grateful for the interest implied; and
though with a shake of the head, and sighs which
declared his little faith in the efficacy of any
books on grief like his, noted down the names of
 212/561

those she recommended, and promised to pro-

cure and read them.

When the evening was over, Anne could not

but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme
to preach patience and resignation to a young
man whom she had never seen before; nor could
she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that,
like many other great moralists and preachers,
she had been eloquent on a point in which her
own conduct would ill bear examination.

Chapter 12

Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the

earliest of the party the next morning, agreed to
stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They
 213/561

went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the

tide, which a fine south-easterly breeze was
bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a
shore admitted. They praised the morning; glor-
ied in the sea; sympathized in the delight of the
fresh-feeling breeze--and were silent; till Henri-
etta suddenly began again with--

"Oh! yes,--I am quite convinced that, with very

few exceptions, the sea-air always does good.
There can be no doubt of its having been of the
greatest service to Dr Shirley, after his illness,
last spring twelve-month. He declares himself,
that coming to Lyme for a month, did him more
good than all the medicine he took; and, that be-
ing by the sea, always makes him feel young
again. Now, I cannot help thinking it a pity that
he does not live entirely by the 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 could do, both for
himself and Mrs Shirley? She has cousins here,
 214/561

you know, and many acquaintance, which would

make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would
be glad to get to a place where she could have
medical attendance at hand, in case of his having
another seizure. Indeed I think it quite melan-
choly to have such excellent people as Dr and
Mrs Shirley, who have been doing good all their
lives, wearing out their last days in a place like
Uppercross, where, excepting our family, they
seem shut out from all the world. I wish his
friends would propose it to him. I really think
they ought. And, as to procuring a dispensation,
there could be no difficulty at his time of life,
and with his character. My only doubt is, wheth-
er anything could persuade him to leave his par-
ish. He is so very strict and scrupulous in his
notions; over-scrupulous I must say. Do not you
think, Anne, it is being over-scrupulous? Do not
you think it is quite a mistaken point of con-
science, when a clergyman sacrifices his health
for the sake of duties, which may be just as well
performed by another person? And at Lyme too,
 215/561

only seventeen miles off, he would be near

enough to hear, if people thought there was any-
thing to complain of."

Anne smiled more than once to herself during

this speech, and entered into the subject, as ready
to do good by entering into the feelings of a
young lady as of a young man, though here it
was good of a lower standard, for what could be
offered but general acquiescence? She said all
that was reasonable and proper on the business;
felt the claims of Dr Shirley to repose as she
ought; saw how very desirable it was that he
should have some active, respectable young man,
as a resident curate, and was even courteous
enough to hint at the advantage of such 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 Dr Shirley. I
have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman
 216/561

of the greatest influence with everybody! I al-

ways look upon her as able to persuade a person
to anything! I am afraid of her, as I have told you
before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very
clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish we
had such a neighbour at Uppercross."

Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of be-

ing grateful, and amused also that the course of
events and the new interests of Henrietta's views
should 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 another woman were at Uppercross, be-
fore all subjects suddenly ceased, on seeing
Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming towards
them. They came also for a stroll till breakfast
was likely to be ready; but Louisa recollecting,
immediately afterwards that she had something
to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back
with her into the town. They were all at her
disposal.
 217/561

When they came to the steps, leading upwards

from the beach, a gentleman, at the same mo-
ment preparing to come down, politely drew
back, and stopped to give them way. They ascen-
ded and passed him; and as they passed, Anne's
face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a
degree of earnest admiration, which she could
not be insensible of. She was looking remarkably
well; her very regular, very pretty features, hav-
ing the bloom and freshness of youth restored by
the fine wind which had been blowing on her
complexion, and by the animation of eye which
it had also produced. It was evident that the gen-
tleman, (completely a gentleman in manner) ad-
mired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth
looked round at her instantly in a way which
shewed his noticing of it. He gave her a moment-
ary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed
to say, "That man is struck with you, and even I,
at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot
again."
 218/561

After attending Louisa through her business,

and loitering about a little longer, they returned
to the inn; and Anne, in passing afterwards
quickly from her own chamber to their dining-
room, had nearly run against the very same gen-
tleman, as he came out of an adjoining apart-
ment. She had before conjectured him 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
his servant. Both master and man being in
mourning assisted the idea. It was now proved
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 he
thought 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, and though not handsome, had an agree-
able person. Anne felt that she should like to
know who he was.
 219/561

They had nearly done breakfast, when the

sound of a carriage, (almost the first they had
heard since entering Lyme) drew half the party
to the window. It was a gentleman's carriage, a
curricle, but only coming round from the stable-
yard to the front door; somebody must be going
away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.

The word curricle made Charles Musgrove

jump up that he might compare it with his own;
the servant in mourning roused Anne's curiosity,
and the whole six were collected to look, by the
time the owner of the curricle was to be seen is-
suing from the door amidst the bows and civilit-
ies of the household, and taking his seat, to drive
off.

"Ah!" cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and

with half a glance at Anne, "it is the very man
we passed."
 220/561

The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having

all kindly watched him as far up the hill as they
could, they returned to the breakfast table. The
waiter came into the room soon afterwards.

"Pray," said Captain Wentworth, immediately,

"can you tell us the name of the gentleman who
is just gone away?"

"Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot, a gentleman of large for-

tune, came in last night from 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 the name, before all this had
been got through, even by the smart rapidity of a
waiter.

"Bless me!" cried Mary; "it must be our cous-

in; it must be our Mr Elliot, it must, indeed!
 221/561

Charles, Anne, must not it? In mourning, you

see, just as our Mr Elliot must be. How very ex-
traordinary! In the very same inn 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 his servant say whether he be-
longed to the Kellynch family?"

"No, ma'am, he did not mention no particular

family; but he said his 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. Depend
upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants
take care to publish, wherever he goes. But,
Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! I wish I
had looked at him more. I wish we had been
aware in time, who it was, that he might have
been introduced to us. What a pity that we
should not have been introduced to each other!
 222/561

Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I

hardly looked at him, I was looking at the horses;
but I think he had something of the Elliot coun-
tenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me!
Oh! the great-coat was hanging over the panel,
and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise, I am sure,
I should have observed them, and the livery too;
if the servant had not been in mourning, one
should have known him by the livery."

"Putting all these very extraordinary circum-

stances together," said Captain Wentworth, "we
must consider it to be the arrangement of Provid-
ence, that you should not be introduced to your
cousin."

When she could command Mary's attention,

Anne quietly tried to convince her that their fath-
er and Mr Elliot had not, for many years, been on
such terms as to make the power of attempting
an introduction at all desirable.
 223/561

At the same time, however, it was a secret

gratification to herself to have seen her cousin,
and to know that the future owner of Kellynch
was undoubtedly a 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 much attend to their
having passed close by him in their earlier walk,
but she would have felt quite ill-used by Anne's
having actually run against him in the passage,
and received his very polite excuses, while she
had never been near him at all; no, that cousinly
little interview must remain a perfect secret.

"Of course," said Mary, "you will mention our

seeing Mr Elliot, the next time you write to Bath.
I think my father certainly ought to hear of it; do
mention all about him."

Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the

circumstance which she considered as not merely
unnecessary to be communicated, but as what
 224/561

ought to be suppressed. The offence which had

been given her father, many years back, she
knew; Elizabeth's particular share in it she sus-
pected; and that Mr Elliot's idea always produced
irritation in both was beyond a doubt. Mary nev-
er wrote to Bath herself; all the toil of keeping up
a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with
Elizabeth fell on Anne.

Breakfast had not been long over, when they

were joined by Captain and Mrs Harville and
Captain Benwick; with whom they had appoin-
ted to take their last walk about Lyme. They
ought to be setting off for Uppercross by one,
and in the meanwhile 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 in the street. Their
conversation the preceding evening did not disin-
cline him to seek her again; and they walked to-
gether some time, talking as before of Mr Scott
 225/561

and Lord Byron, and still as unable as before,

and as unable as any other two readers, to think
exactly alike of the merits of either, till
something occasioned an almost general change
amongst their party, and instead of Captain Ben-
wick, she had Captain Harville by her side.

"Miss Elliot," said he, speaking rather low,

"you have done a good deed in making that poor
fellow talk so much. I wish he could have such
company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be
shut up as he is; but what can 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 a young mourner--only
last summer, I understand."
 226/561

"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, just made into the
Grappler. I was at Plymouth dreading to hear of
him; he sent in letters, but the Grappler was un-
der orders for Portsmouth. There the news must
follow him, but who was to tell it? not I. I would
as soon have been run up to the yard-arm.
Nobody could do it, but that good fellow" (point-
ing to Captain 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 ab-
sence, but without waiting the return, travelled
night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed
off to the Grappler that instant, and never left the
poor fellow for a week. That's what he did, and
 227/561

nobody else could have saved poor James. You

may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us!"

Anne did think on the question with perfect de-

cision, and said as much in reply as her own feel-
ing could accomplish, or as his seemed able to
bear, for he was too much affected to renew the
subject, and when he spoke again, it was of
something totally different.

Mrs Harville's giving it as her opinion that her

husband would have quite walking enough by
the time he reached home, determined the direc-
tion of all the party in what was to be their last
walk; they would accompany them to their door,
and then return and set off themselves. By all
their calculations there was just time for this; but
as they drew near the Cobb, there was such a
general wish to walk along it once more, all were
so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so determ-
ined, that the difference of a quarter of an hour, it
was found, would be no difference at all; so with
 228/561

all the kind leave-taking, and all the kind inter-

change of invitations and promises which may
be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs
Harville at their own door, and still accompanied
by Captain Benwick, who seemed to cling to
them to the last, proceeded to make the proper
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 their present
view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as
long as attention was possible. It was soon
drawn, perforce another way.

There was too much wind to make the high

part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and
they agreed to get down the steps to the lower,
and all were contented to pass quietly and care-
fully down the steep flight, excepting Louisa; she
must be jumped down them by Captain Went-
worth. In all their walks, he had had to jump her
 229/561

from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to

her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet,
made him less willing upon the present occasion;
he did it, however. She was safely down, and in-
stantly, to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps
to be jumped down again. He advised her against
it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned
and talked in vain, she smiled and said, "I am de-
termined I will:" he put out his hands; she was
too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the
pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up
lifeless! There was no wound, no blood, no vis-
ible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she
breathed not, her face was like death. The horror
of the moment to all who stood around!

Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up,

knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with a
face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence.
"She is dead! she is dead!" screamed Mary,
catching hold of her husband, and contributing
with his own horror to make him immoveable;
 230/561

and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under

the conviction, lost her senses too, and would
have fallen on the steps, but for Captain Benwick
and Anne, who caught and supported her
between them.

"Is there no one to help me?" were the first

words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a
tone of despair, and as if all his own strength
were gone.

"Go to him, go to him," cried Anne, "for

heaven's sake go to him. I can support her my-
self. 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 himself from his
wife, they were both with him; and Louisa was
raised up and supported more firmly between
them, and everything was done that Anne had
 231/561

prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth,

staggering against the wall for his support, ex-
claimed 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 saying only--"True, true, a surgeon
this instant," was darting away, when Anne
eagerly suggested--

"Captain Benwick, would not it be better for

Captain Benwick? He knows where a surgeon is
to be found."

Every one capable of thinking felt the advant-

age of the idea, and in a moment (it was all done
in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had
resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to
 232/561

the brother's care, and was off for the town with
the utmost rapidity.

As to the wretched party left behind, it could

scarcely be said which of the three, who were
completely rational, was suffering most: Captain
Wentworth, Anne, or Charles, who, really a very
affectionate brother, hung over Louisa with sobs
of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one
sister, to see the other in a state as insensible, or
to witness the hysterical agitations of his wife,
calling on him for help which he could not give.

Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal,

and thought, which instinct supplied, to Henri-
etta, still tried, at intervals, to suggest comfort to
the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate
Charles, to assuage the feelings of Captain Went-
worth. Both seemed to look to her for directions.
 233/561

"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 to-

wards her.

"Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes,

I am sure: carry her gently to the inn."

"Yes, yes, to the inn," repeated Captain Went-

worth, comparatively collected, and eager to be
doing something. "I will carry her myself. Mus-
grove, take care of the others."

By this time the report of the accident had

spread among the workmen and boatmen about
the Cobb, and many were collected near them, to
be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight
of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young
ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first re-
port. To some of the best-looking of these good
 234/561

people Henrietta was consigned, for, though par-

tially revived, she was quite helpless; and in this
manner, Anne walking by her side, and Charles
attending to his wife, they set forward, treading
back with feelings unutterable, the ground,
which so lately, so very lately, and so light of
heart, they had passed along.

They were not off the Cobb, before the Har-

villes met them. Captain Benwick had been seen
flying by their house, with a countenance which
showed something to be wrong; and they had set
off immediately, informed and directed as they
passed, towards the spot. Shocked as Captain
Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that
could be instantly useful; and a look between
him and his wife decided what was to be done.
She must be taken to their house; all must go to
their house; and await the surgeon's arrival there.
They would not listen to scruples: he was
obeyed; they were all beneath his roof; and while
Louisa, under Mrs Harville's direction, was
 235/561

conveyed up stairs, and given possession of her

own bed, assistance, cordials, restoratives were
supplied by her husband to all who needed them.

Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon

closed them again, without apparent conscious-
ness. This had been a proof of life, however, of
service to her sister; and Henrietta, though per-
fectly incapable of being in the same room with
Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of hope and
fear, from a return of her own insensibility.
Mary, too, was growing calmer.

The surgeon was with them almost before it

had seemed possible. They were sick with hor-
ror, while he examined; but he was not hopeless.
The head had received a severe contusion, but he
had seen greater injuries recovered from: he was
by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.

That he did not regard it as a desperate case,

that he did not say a few hours must end it, was
 236/561

at first felt, beyond the hope of most; and the ec-

stasy of such a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and
silent, after a few fervent ejaculations of gratit-
ude to Heaven had been offered, may be
conceived.

The tone, the look, with which "Thank God!"

was uttered by Captain Wentworth, Anne was
sure could never be forgotten by her; nor the
sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table,
leaning over it with folded arms and face con-
cealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings
of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to
calm them.

Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no in-

jury but to the head.

It now became necessary for the party to con-

sider what was best to be done, as to their gener-
al situation. They were now able to speak to each
other and consult. That Louisa must remain
 237/561

where she was, however distressing to her

friends to be involving the Harvilles in such
trouble, did not admit a doubt. Her removal was
impossible. The Harvilles silenced all scruples;
and, as much as they could, all gratitude. They
had looked forward and arranged everything be-
fore the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick
must give up his room to them, and get another
bed elsewhere; and the whole was settled. They
were only concerned that the house could ac-
commodate no more; and yet perhaps, by "put-
ting the children away in the maid's room, or
swinging a cot somewhere," they could hardly
bear to think of not finding room for two or three
besides, supposing they might wish to stay;
though, with regard to any attendance on Miss
Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness
in leaving her to Mrs Harville's care entirely.
Mrs Harville was a very experienced nurse, and
her nursery-maid, who had lived with her long,
and gone about with her everywhere, was just
such another. Between these two, she could want
 238/561

no possible attendance by day or night. And all

this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling
irresistible.

Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth

were the three in consultation, and for a little
while it was only an interchange of perplexity
and terror. "Uppercross, the necessity of some
one's going to Uppercross; the news to be con-
veyed; how it could be broken to Mr and Mrs
Musgrove; the lateness of the morning; an hour
already gone since they ought to have been off;
the impossibility of being in tolerable time." At
first, they were capable of nothing more to the
purpose than such exclamations; but, after a
while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself,
said--

"We must be decided, and without the loss of

another minute. Every minute is valuable. Some
one must resolve on being off for Uppercross in-
stantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go."
 239/561

Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of

not going away. He would be as little incum-
brance as possible to Captain and Mrs Harville;
but as to leaving his 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 to think differ-
ently. The usefulness of her staying! She who
had not been able to remain in Louisa's room, or
to look at her, without sufferings which made her
worse than helpless! She was forced to acknow-
ledge that she could do no good, yet was still un-
willing to be away, till, touched by the thought
of her father and mother, she gave it up; she con-
sented, she was anxious to be at home.

The plan had reached this point, when Anne,

coming quietly down from Louisa's room, could
not but hear what followed, for the parlour door
was open.
 240/561

"Then it is settled, Musgrove," cried Captain

Wentworth, "that you stay, and that I take care of
your sister home. But as to the rest, as to the oth-
ers, if one stays to assist Mrs Harville, I think it
need be only one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of
course, wish to get back to her children; but if
Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as
Anne."

She paused a moment to recover from the emo-

tion of hearing herself so spoken of. 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 seemed
almost restoring the past. She coloured deeply,
and he recollected himself and moved 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. A bed on the
 241/561

floor in Louisa's room would be sufficient for

her, if Mrs Harville would but think so."

One thing more, and all seemed arranged.

Though it was rather desirable that Mr and Mrs
Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some
share of delay; yet the time required by the Up-
percross horses to take them back, would be a
dreadful extension of suspense; and Captain
Wentworth proposed, and Charles Musgrove
agreed, that it would be much better for him to
take a chaise from the inn, and leave Mr
Musgrove's carriage and horses to be sent home
the next morning early, when there would be the
farther advantage of sending an account of
Louisa's night.

Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get

everything ready on his part, and to be soon fol-
lowed 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 so
 242/561

vehement, complained so much of injustice in

being expected to go away instead of Anne;
Anne, who was nothing to Louisa, while she was
her sister, and had the best right to stay in
Henrietta's stead! Why was not she to be as use-
ful as Anne? And to go home without Charles,
too, without her husband! No, it was too 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 for it; the change of Mary for Anne was
inevitable.

Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to

the jealous and ill-judging claims of Mary; but so
it must be, and they set off for the town, Charles
taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick at-
tending to her. She gave a moment's recollection,
as they hurried along, to the little circumstances
which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the
morning. There she had listened to Henrietta's
schemes for Dr Shirley's leaving Uppercross;
 243/561

farther on, she had first seen Mr Elliot; a moment

seemed all that could now be given to any one
but Louisa, or those who were wrapt up in her
welfare.

Captain Benwick was most considerately at-

tentive to her; and, united as they all seemed by
the distress of the day, she felt an increasing de-
gree of good-will towards him, and a pleasure
even in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the oc-
casion 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 his evident surprise and vexation at the sub-
stitution of one sister for the other, the change in
his countenance, the astonishment, the expres-
sions begun and suppressed, with which Charles
was listened to, made but a mortifying reception
of Anne; or must at least convince her that she
was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa.
 244/561

She endeavoured to be composed, and to be

just. Without emulating the feelings of an Emma
towards her Henry, she would have attended on
Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of
regard, for his sake; and she hoped he would not
long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink
unnecessarily from the office of a friend.

In the meanwhile she was in the carriage. He

had handed them both in, and placed himself
between them; and in this manner, under these
circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion
to Anne, she quitted Lyme. How the long stage
would pass; how it was to affect their manners;
what was to be their sort of intercourse, she
could not foresee. It was all quite natural,
however. He was devoted to Henrietta; always
turning towards her; and when he spoke at all, al-
ways with the view of supporting her hopes and
raising her spirits. In general, his voice and man-
ner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta
from agitation seemed the governing principle.
 245/561

Once only, when she had been grieving over the

last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the Cobb, bitterly
lamenting that it 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 done as I ought! But so eager and
so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!"

Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to

him now, to question the justness of his own pre-
vious opinion as to the universal felicity and ad-
vantage of firmness of character; and whether it
might not strike him that, like all other qualities
of the mind, it should have its proportions and
limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him
to feel that a persuadable temper might some-
times be as much in favour of happiness as a
very resolute character.
 246/561

They got on fast. Anne was astonished to re-

cognise the same hills and the same objects so
soon. Their actual speed, heightened by some
dread of the conclusion, made the road appear
but half as long as on the day before. It was
growing quite dusk, however, before they were
in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there
had been total silence among them for some
time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a
shawl over her face, giving the hope of her hav-
ing cried herself to sleep; when, as they were go-
ing up their last hill, Anne found herself all at
once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In a low,
cautious voice, he said:--

"I have been considering what we had best do.

She must not appear at first. She could not stand
it. I have been thinking whether you had not bet-
ter remain in the carriage with her, while I go in
and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove. Do you
think this is a good plan?"
 247/561

She did: he was satisfied, and said no more.

But the remembrance of the appeal remained a
pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of
deference for her judgement, a great pleasure;
and when it became a sort of parting proof, its
value did not lessen.

When the distressing communication at Upper-

cross was over, and he had seen the father and
mother quite as composed as could be hoped,
and the daughter all the better for being with
them, he announced his intention of returning in
the same carriage to Lyme; and when the horses
were baited, he was off.
 (End of volume one.)

Chapter 13

The remainder of Anne's time at Uppercross,

comprehending only two days, was spent en-
tirely at the Mansion House; and she had the sat-
isfaction of knowing herself extremely useful
there, both as an immediate companion, and as
assisting in all those arrangements for the future,
which, in Mr and Mrs Musgrove'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 symp-
toms worse than before had appeared. Charles
came a few hours afterwards, to bring a later and
 249/561

more particular account. He was tolerably cheer-

ful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but
everything was going on as well as the nature of
the case admitted. In speaking of the Harvilles,
he seemed unable to satisfy his own sense of
their kindness, especially of Mrs Harville's exer-
tions as a nurse. "She really left nothing for
Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to
go early to their inn last night. Mary had been
hysterical again this morning. When he came
away, she was going to walk out with Captain
Benwick, which, he hoped, would do her good.
He almost wished she had been prevailed on to
come home the day before; but the truth was,
that Mrs Harville left nothing for anybody to
do."

Charles was to return to Lyme the same after-

noon, and his father had at first half a mind to go
with him, but the ladies could not consent. It
would be going only to multiply trouble to the
others, and increase his own distress; and a much
 250/561

better scheme followed and was acted upon. A

chaise was sent for from Crewkherne, and
Charles conveyed back a far more useful person
in the old nursery-maid of the family, one who
having brought up all the children, and seen the
very last, the lingering and long-petted Master
Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now
living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings
and 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 dear
Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting Sarah
thither, had occurred before to Mrs Musgrove
and Henrietta; but without Anne, it would hardly
have been resolved on, and found practicable so
soon.

They were indebted, the next day, to Charles

Hayter, for all the minute knowledge of Louisa,
which it was so essential to obtain every twenty-
four hours. He made it his business to go to
Lyme, and his account was still encouraging.
 251/561

The intervals of sense and consciousness were

believed to be stronger. Every report agreed in
Captain Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme.

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 one another." And so much was said in this
way, that Anne thought she could not do better
than impart among them the general inclination
to which she was privy, 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 the inn, or get into
lodgings, as it suited, and there remain till dear
Louisa could be moved. They must be taking off
some trouble from the good people she was with;
they might at least relieve Mrs Harville from the
care of her own children; and in short, they were
so happy in the decision, that Anne was de-
lighted with what she had done, and felt that she
could not spend her last morning at Uppercross
 252/561

better than in assisting their preparations, and

sending them off at an early hour, though her be-
ing left to the solitary range of the house was the
consequence.

She was the last, excepting the little boys at the

cottage, she was the very last, 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 a
change indeed!

If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again.

More than former happiness would be restored.
There could not be a doubt, to her mind there
was none, of what would follow her recovery. A
few months hence, and the room now so deser-
ted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self,
might be filled again with all that was happy and
gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosper-
ous love, all that was most unlike Anne Elliot!
 253/561

An hour's complete leisure for such reflections

as these, on a dark November day, a small thick
rain almost blotting out the very few objects ever
to be discerned from the windows, was enough
to make the sound of Lady Russell's carriage ex-
ceedingly welcome; and yet, though desirous to
be gone, 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 the misty glasses the last humble tene-
ments of the village, without a saddened heart.
Scenes had passed in Uppercross which made it
precious. It stood the record of many sensations
of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of
some instances of relenting feeling, some breath-
ings of friendship and reconciliation, which
could never be looked for again, and which
could never cease to be dear. She left it all be-
hind her, all but the recollection that such things
had been.
 254/561

Anne had never entered Kellynch since her

quitting Lady Russell's house in September. It
had not been necessary, and the few occasions of
its being possible 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 apartments of the Lodge, and to gladden
the eyes of its mistress.

There was some anxiety mixed with Lady

Russell's joy in meeting her. She knew who had
been frequenting Uppercross. But happily, either
Anne was improved in plumpness and looks, or
Lady Russell fancied her so; and Anne, in re-
ceiving her compliments on the occasion, had the
amusement of connecting them with the silent
admiration of her cousin, and of hoping that she
was to be blessed with a second spring of youth
and beauty.

When they came to converse, she was soon

sensible of some mental change. The subjects of
 255/561

which her heart had been full on leaving

Kellynch, and which she had felt slighted, and
been compelled to smother among the Mus-
groves, were now become but of secondary in-
terest. She had lately lost sight even of her father
and 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 her satisfaction in the house in Cam-
den Place, which had been taken, and her regret
that Mrs Clay should still be with them, Anne
would have been ashamed to have it known how
much more she was thinking of Lyme and
Louisa Musgrove, and all her acquaintance there;
how much more interesting to her was the home
and the friendship of the Harvilles and Captain
Benwick, than her own father's house in Camden
Place, or her own sister's intimacy with Mrs
Clay. She was actually forced to exert herself to
meet Lady Russell with anything like the appear-
ance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by
nature the first claim on her.
 256/561

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 five minutes the day before, when a full
account of the whole had burst on her; but still it
must be talked of, she must make enquiries, she
must regret the imprudence, lament the result,
and Captain Wentworth's name must be men-
tioned 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's eye, till she had adopted the expedient
of telling her briefly what she thought of the at-
tachment between him and Louisa. When this
was told, his name distressed her no longer.

Lady Russell had only to listen composedly,

and wish them happy, but internally her heart
revelled in angry pleasure, in pleased contempt,
that the man who at twenty-three had seemed to
understand somewhat of the value of an Anne
 257/561

Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be

charmed by a Louisa Musgrove.

The first three or four days passed most

quietly, with no circumstance to mark them ex-
cepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme,
which found their way to Anne, 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 no longer, 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, have you courage
to go with me, and pay a visit in that house? It
will be some trial to us both."

Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary,

she truly felt as she said, in observing--

"I think you are very likely to suffer the most

of the two; your feelings are less reconciled to
 258/561

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 opinion of the Crofts,
and considered her father so very fortunate in his
tenants, felt the parish to be so sure of a good ex-
ample, and the poor of the best attention and re-
lief, that however sorry and ashamed for the ne-
cessity of the removal, she could not but in con-
science feel that they were gone who deserved
not to stay, and that Kellynch Hall had passed in-
to better hands than its owners'. These convic-
tions must unquestionably have their own pain,
and severe was its kind; but they precluded that
pain which Lady Russell would suffer in enter-
ing the house again, and returning through the
well-known apartments.

In such moments Anne had no power of saying

to herself, "These rooms ought to belong only to
us. Oh, how fallen in their destination! How
 259/561

unworthily occupied! An ancient family to be so

driven away! Strangers filling their place!" No,
except when she thought of her mother, and re-
membered where she had been used to sit and
preside, she had no sigh of that description to
heave.

Mrs Croft always met her with a kindness

which gave her the pleasure of fancying herself a
favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving
her in that house, there was particular attention.

The sad accident at Lyme was soon the pre-

vailing topic, and on comparing their latest ac-
counts of the invalid, it appeared that each lady
dated her intelligence from the same hour of yes-
termorn; that Captain Wentworth had been in
Kellynch yesterday (the first time since the acci-
dent), had brought Anne the last note, which she
had not been able to trace the exact steps of; had
staid a few hours and then returned again to
Lyme, and without any present intention of
 260/561

quitting it any more. He had enquired after her,

she found, particularly; had expressed his hope
of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her exer-
tions, and had spoken of those exertions as great.
This was handsome, and gave her more pleasure
than almost anything else could have done.

As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be can-

vassed only in one style by a couple of steady,
sensible women, whose judgements had to work
on ascertained events; and it was perfectly de-
cided that it had been the consequence of much
thoughtlessness and much imprudence; that its
effects were most alarming, and that it was
frightful to think, how long Miss Musgrove's re-
covery might yet be doubtful, and how liable she
would still remain to suffer from the concussion
hereafter! The Admiral wound it up summarily
by exclaiming--

"Ay, a very bad business indeed. A new sort of

way this, for a young fellow to be making love,
 261/561

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 were irresistible.

"Now, this must be very bad for you," said he,

suddenly rousing from a little reverie, "to be
coming and finding us here. I had not recollected
it before, I declare, but it must be very bad. But
now, do not stand upon ceremony. Get up and go
over all the rooms in the house if you like it."

"Another time, Sir, I thank you, not now."

"Well, whenever it suits you. You can slip in

from the shrubbery at any time; and there you
will find we keep our umbrellas hanging up by
that door. A good place is not it? But," (checking
 262/561

himself), "you will not think it a good place, for

yours were always kept in the butler's room. Ay,
so it always is, I believe. One man's ways may be
as good as another's, but we all like our own
best. And so you must judge for yourself, wheth-
er it would be better for you to go about the
house or not."

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

gratefully.

"We have made very few changes either," con-

tinued the Admiral, after thinking a moment.
"Very few. We told you about the laundry-door,
at Uppercross. That has been a very great im-
provement. The wonder was, how any family
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 Shep-
herd thinks it the greatest improvement the house
ever had. Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice
to say, that the few alterations we have made
 263/561

have been all 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-glasses from my dressing-
room, which was your father's. A very good
man, and very much the gentleman I am sure:
but I should think, Miss Elliot," (looking with
serious reflection), "I should think he must be
rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such a
number of looking-glasses! oh Lord! there was
no getting away from one's self. So I got Sophy
to lend me a hand, and we soon shifted their
quarters; and now I am quite snug, with my little
shaving glass 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 the Admiral, fear-
ing he might not have been civil enough, took up
the subject again, to say--
 264/561

"The next time you write to your good father,

Miss Elliot, pray give him my compliments and
Mrs Croft's, and say that we are settled here quite
to our liking, and have no fault at all to find with
the place. The breakfast-room chimney smokes a
little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is
due north and blows hard, which may not happen
three times a winter. And take it altogether, now
that we have been into most of the houses here-
abouts and can judge, there is not one that we
like better than this. Pray say so, with my com-
pliments. He will be glad to hear it."

Lady Russell and Mrs Croft were very well

pleased with each other: but the acquaintance
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
for a few weeks, to visit their connexions in the
north of the county, and probably might not be at
home again before Lady Russell would be re-
moving to Bath.
 265/561

So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Cap-

tain Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing
him in company with her friend. Everything was
safe enough, and she smiled over the many
anxious feelings she had wasted on the subject.

Chapter 14

Though Charles and Mary had remained at

Lyme much longer after Mr and Mrs Musgrove'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 as possible after
their return to Uppercross they drove over to the
Lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit up;
but her head, though clear, was exceedingly
weak, and her nerves susceptible to the highest
 266/561

extreme of tenderness; and though she might be

pronounced to be altogether doing very well, it
was still impossible to say when she might be
able to bear the removal home; and her father
and mother, who must return in time to receive
their younger children for the Christmas holi-
days, had hardly a hope of being allowed to
bring her with them.

They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs

Musgrove had got Mrs Harville's children away
as much as she could, every possible supply
from Uppercross had been furnished, to lighten
the inconvenience to the Harvilles, while the
Harvilles had been wanting them to come to din-
ner every day; and in short, it seemed to have
been only a struggle on each side as to which
should be most disinterested and hospitable.

Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as

was evident by her staying so long, she had
found more to enjoy than to suffer. Charles
 267/561

Hayter had been at Lyme oftener than suited her;

and when they dined with the Harvilles there had
been only a maid-servant to wait, and at first Mrs
Harville had always given Mrs Musgrove pre-
cedence; but then, she had received so very
handsome an apology from her on finding out
whose daughter she was, and there had been so
much going on every day, there had been so
many walks between their lodgings and the Har-
villes, 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 taken to Charmouth too, and she had
bathed, and she had gone to church, and there
were a great many more people to look at in the
church at Lyme than at Uppercross; and all this,
joined to the sense of being so very useful, had
made really an agreeable fortnight.

Anne enquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's

face was clouded directly. Charles laughed.
 268/561

"Oh! Captain Benwick is very well, I believe,

but he is a very odd young man. I do not know
what he would be at. We asked him to come
home with us for a day or two: Charles under-
took to give him some shooting, and he seemed
quite delighted, and, for my part, I thought it was
all settled; when behold! on Tuesday night, he
made a very awkward sort of excuse; 'he never
shot' and he had 'been quite misunderstood,' and
he had promised this and he had promised that,
and the end of it was, I found, that he did not
mean to come. I suppose he was afraid of finding
it dull; but upon my word I should have thought
we were lively enough at the Cottage for such a
heart-broken man as Captain Benwick."

Charles laughed again and said, "Now Mary,

you know very well how it really was. It was all
your doing," (turning to Anne.) "He fancied that
if he went with us, he should find you close by:
he fancied everybody to be living in Uppercross;
and when he discovered that Lady Russell lived
 269/561

three miles off, his heart failed him, and he had

not courage to come. That is the fact, upon my
honour. Mary knows it is."

But Mary did not give into it very graciously,

whether from not considering Captain 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 than herself,
must be left to be guessed. Anne's good-will,
however, was not to be lessened by what she
heard. She boldly acknowledged herself
flattered, and continued her enquiries.

"Oh! he talks of you," cried Charles, "in such

terms--" Mary interrupted him. "I declare,
Charles, I never heard him mention Anne twice
all the time I was there. I declare, Anne, he never
talks of you at all."

"No," admitted Charles, "I do not know that he

ever does, in a general way; but however, it is a
 270/561

very clear thing that he admires you exceedingly.

His head is full of some books that he is reading
upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk
to you about them; he has found out something
or other in one of them which he thinks--oh! I
cannot pretend to remember it, but it was
something very fine--I overheard him telling
Henrietta all about it; and then 'Miss Elliot' was
spoken of in the highest terms! Now Mary, I de-
clare it was so, I heard it myself, and you were in
the other room. 'Elegance, sweetness, beauty.'
Oh! there was no end of Miss Elliot's charms."

"And I am sure," cried Mary, warmly, "it was a

very little to his credit, if he did. Miss Harville
only died last June. Such a heart is very little
worth having; is it, Lady Russell? I am sure you
will agree with me."

"I must see Captain Benwick before I decide,"

said Lady Russell, smiling.
 271/561

"And that you are very likely to do very soon, I

can tell you, ma'am," said Charles. "Though he
had not nerves for coming away with us, and set-
ting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit
here, he will make his way over to Kellynch one
day by himself, you may depend on it. I told him
the distance and the road, and I told him of the
church's being so very well worth seeing; for as
he has a taste for those sort of things, I thought
that would be a good excuse, and he listened
with all his understanding and soul; and I am
sure from his manner that you will have him
calling here soon. 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, "I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I
 272/561

have been seeing him every day this last

fortnight."

"Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall

be very happy to see Captain 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 walked with
me, sometimes, from one end of the sands to the
other, without saying a word. He is not at all a
well-bred young man. I am sure you will not like
him."

"There we differ, Mary," said Anne. "I think

Lady Russell would like him. I think she would
be so much pleased with his mind, that she
would very soon see no deficiency in his
manner."

"So do I, Anne," said Charles. "I am sure Lady

Russell would like him. He is just Lady Russell's
 273/561

sort. Give him a book, and he will read all day

long."

"Yes, that he will!" exclaimed Mary, taunt-

ingly. "He will sit poring over his book, and not
know when a person speaks to him, or when one
drops one's scissors, or anything that happens.
Do you think Lady Russell would 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 have admitted
of such difference of conjecture, steady and mat-
ter of fact as I may call myself. I have really a
curiosity to see the person who can give occasion
to such directly opposite notions. I wish he may
be induced to call here. And when he does,
Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opin-
ion; but I am determined not to judge him
beforehand."

"You will not like him, I will answer for it."

 274/561

Lady Russell began talking of something else.

Mary spoke with animation of their meeting
with, or rather missing, Mr Elliot so
extraordinarily.

"He is a man," said Lady Russell, "whom I

have no wish to see. His declining to be on cor-
dial terms with the head of his family, has left a
very strong impression in his disfavour with
me."

This decision checked Mary's eagerness, and

stopped her short in the midst of the Elliot
countenance.

With regard to Captain Wentworth, though

Anne hazarded no enquiries, there was voluntary
communication sufficient. His spirits had been
greatly recovering lately as might be expected.
As Louisa improved, he had improved, and he
was now quite a different creature from what he
had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa;
 275/561

and was so extremely fearful of any ill con-

sequence to her from an interview, that he did
not press for it at all; and, on the contrary,
seemed to have 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 persuade Captain Benwick to go
with him; but, as Charles maintained to the last,
Captain Benwick seemed much more disposed to
ride over to Kellynch.

There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and

Anne were both occasionally thinking of Captain
Benwick, from this time. Lady Russell could not
hear the door-bell without feeling that it might be
his herald; nor could Anne return from any stroll
of solitary indulgence in her father's grounds, or
any visit of charity in the village, without won-
dering whether she might see him or hear of him.
Captain Benwick came not, however. He was
either less disposed for it than Charles had ima-
gined, or he was too shy; and after giving him a
 276/561

week's indulgence, Lady Russell determined him

to be unworthy of the interest 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 noise of Uppercross, and lessen that of Lyme.
Henrietta remained with Louisa; but all the rest
of the family were again in their usual quarters.

Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments

to them once, when Anne could not but feel that
Uppercross was already quite alive again.
Though neither Henrietta, nor Louisa, nor
Charles Hayter, nor Captain Wentworth were
there, the room presented as strong a contrast as
could be wished to the last state she had seen it
in.

Immediately surrounding Mrs Musgrove were

the little Harvilles, whom she was sedulously
 277/561

guarding from the tyranny of the two children

from the Cottage, expressly arrived to amuse
them. On one side was a table occupied by some
chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper;
and on the other were tressels and trays, bending
under the weight of brawn and cold pies, where
riotous boys were holding high revel; the whole
completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which
seemed determined to be heard, in spite of all the
noise of the others. Charles and Mary also came
in, of course, during their visit, and Mr Mus-
grove made a point of paying his respects to
Lady Russell, and sat down close to her for ten
minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but
from the clamour of the children on his knees,
generally in vain. It was a fine family-piece.

Anne, judging from her own temperament,

would have deemed such a domestic hurricane a
bad restorative of the nerves, which Louisa's ill-
ness must have so greatly shaken. But Mrs Mus-
grove, who got Anne near her on purpose to
 278/561

thank her most cordially, again and again, for all

her attentions to them, concluded a short recapit-
ulation of what she had suffered herself by ob-
serving, 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 cheerful-
ness at home.

Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother

could even think of her being able to join their
party at home, before her brothers and sisters
went to school again. The Harvilles had prom-
ised to come with her and stay at Uppercross,
whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was
gone, for the present, to see his brother in
Shropshire.

"I hope I shall remember, in future," said Lady

Russell, as soon as they were reseated in the car-
riage, "not to call at Uppercross in the Christmas
holidays."
 279/561

Everybody has their taste in noises as well as

in other matters; and sounds are quite innoxious,
or most distressing, by their sort rather than their
quantity. When Lady Russell not long after-
wards, was entering Bath on a wet afternoon, and
driving through the long course of streets from
the Old Bridge to Camden Place, 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 of pat-
tens, she made no complaint. No, these were
noises which belonged to the winter pleasures;
her spirits rose under their influence; and like
Mrs Musgrove, she was feeling, though not say-
ing, that after being long in the country, nothing
could be so good for her as a little quiet
cheerfulness.

Anne did not share these feelings. She per-

sisted in a very determined, though very silent
disinclination for Bath; caught the first dim view
of the extensive buildings, smoking in rain,
 280/561

without any wish of seeing them better; felt their

progress through the streets to be, however dis-
agreeable, yet too rapid; for who would be glad
to see her when she arrived? And looked back,
with fond regret, to the bustles of Uppercross
and the seclusion of Kellynch.

Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a

piece of news of some interest. Mr Elliot was in
Bath. He had called in Camden Place; had called
a second time, a third; had been pointedly attent-
ive. If Elizabeth and her father did not deceive
themselves, had been taking much pains to seek
the acquaintance, and proclaim the value of the
connection, as he had formerly taken pains to
shew neglect. This was very wonderful if it were
true; and Lady Russell was in a state of very
agreeable curiosity and perplexity about Mr Elli-
ot, already recanting the sentiment she had so
lately expressed to Mary, of his being "a man
whom she had no wish to see." She had a great
wish to see him. If he really sought to reconcile
 281/561

himself like a dutiful branch, he must be forgiv-

en for having dismembered himself from the pa-
ternal tree.

Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by

the circumstance, but she felt that she would
rather see Mr Elliot again than not, which was
more than she could say for many other persons
in Bath.

She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady

Russell then drove to her own lodgings, in
Rivers Street.
 282/561

Chapter 15

Sir Walter had taken a very good house in

Camden Place, a lofty dignified situation, such
as becomes a man of consequence; and both he
and Elizabeth were settled there, much to their
satisfaction.

Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipat-

ing an imprisonment of many months, and
anxiously saying to herself, "Oh! when shall I
leave you again?" A degree of unexpected cordi-
ality, however, in the welcome she received, did
her good. Her father and sister were glad to see
her, for the sake of shewing her the house and
furniture, and met her with kindness. Her making
a fourth, when they sat down to dinner, was no-
ticed as an advantage.

Mrs Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling,

but her courtesies and smiles were more a matter
of course. Anne had always felt that she would
 283/561

pretend what was 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 the causes. They had no in-
clination to listen to her. After laying out for
some compliments of being deeply regretted in
their old neighbourhood, which Anne could not
pay, they had only a few faint enquiries to make,
before the talk must be all their own. Uppercross
excited no interest, Kellynch very little: it was all
Bath.

They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath

more than answered their expectations in every
respect. Their house was undoubtedly the best in
Camden Place; their drawing-rooms had many
decided advantages over all the others which
they had either seen or heard of, and the superi-
ority was not less in the style of the fitting-up, or
the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance was
exceedingly sought after. Everybody was want-
ing to visit them. They had drawn back from
 284/561

many introductions, and still were perpetually

having cards left by people of whom they knew
nothing.

Here were funds of enjoyment. Could Anne

wonder that her father and sister were happy?
She might not wonder, but she must sigh that her
father should feel no degradation in his change,
should see nothing to regret in the duties and
dignity of the resident landholder, should find so
much to be vain of in the littlenesses of a town;
and she must sigh, and smile, and wonder too, as
Elizabeth threw open the folding-doors and
walked with exultation from one drawing-room
to the other, boasting of their space; at the pos-
sibility of that woman, who had been mistress of
Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud of
between 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
 285/561

pardoned, they were delighted with him. He had

been in Bath about a fortnight; (he had passed
through Bath in November, in his way to Lon-
don, when the intelligence of Sir Walter's being
settled there had of course reached him, though
only twenty-four hours in the place, but he had
not been able to avail himself of it;) but he had
now been a fortnight in Bath, and his first object
on arriving, had been to leave his card in Cam-
den Place, following it up by such assiduous en-
deavours to meet, and when they did meet, by
such great openness of conduct, such readiness
to apologize for the past, such solicitude to be re-
ceived as a relation again, that their former good
understanding was completely re-established.

They had not a fault to find in him. He had ex-

plained away all the appearance of neglect on his
own side. It had originated in misapprehension
entirely. He had never had an idea of throwing
himself off; he had feared that he was thrown
off, but knew not why, and delicacy had kept
 286/561

him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken dis-

respectfully or carelessly of the family and the
family honours, 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 unfeudal tone of the present day. He was
astonished, indeed, but his character and general
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 of
reconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a
relation and heir-presumptive, was a strong proof
of his opinions on the subject.

The circumstances of his marriage, too, were

found to admit of much extenuation. This was an
article not to be entered on by himself; but a very
intimate friend of his, a Colonel Wallis, a highly
respectable man, perfectly the gentleman, (and
not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter added), who
was living in very good style in Marlborough
Buildings, and had, at his own particular request,
 287/561

been admitted to their acquaintance through Mr

Elliot, had mentioned one or two things relative
to the marriage, which made a material differ-
ence in the discredit of it.

Colonel Wallis had known Mr Elliot long, had

been well acquainted also with his wife, had per-
fectly understood the whole story. She was cer-
tainly not a woman of family, but well educated,
accomplished, rich, and excessively in love with
his friend. There had been the charm. She had
sought him. Without that attraction, not all her
money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Wal-
ter was, moreover, assured of her having been a
very fine woman. Here was a great deal to soften
the business. A very fine woman with a large
fortune, in love with him! Sir Walter seemed to
admit it as complete apology; and though Eliza-
beth could not see the circumstance in quite so
favourable a light, she allowed it be a great
extenuation.
 288/561

Mr Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with

them once, evidently delighted by the distinction
of being asked, for they gave no dinners in gen-
eral; delighted, in short, by every proof of
cousinly notice, and placing his whole happiness
in being on intimate terms in Camden Place.

Anne listened, but without quite understanding

it. Allowances, large allowances, she knew, must
be made for the ideas of those who spoke. She
heard it all under embellishment. All that soun-
ded extravagant or irrational in the progress of
the reconciliation might have no origin but in the
language of the relators. Still, however, she had
the sensation of there being something more than
immediately appeared, in Mr Elliot's wishing,
after an interval of so many years, to be well re-
ceived by them. In a worldly view, he had noth-
ing to gain by being on terms with Sir Walter;
nothing to risk by a state of variance. In all prob-
ability he was already the richer of the two, and
the Kellynch estate would as surely be his
 289/561

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 solu-
tion; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's sake. There
might really have been a liking formerly, though
convenience and accident had drawn him a dif-
ferent way; and now that he could afford to
please himself, he might mean to pay his ad-
dresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly very
handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and
her character might never have been penetrated
by Mr Elliot, knowing her but in public, and
when very young himself. How her temper and
understanding might bear the investigation of his
present keener time of life was another concern
and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly did she
wish that he might not be too nice, or too observ-
ant if Elizabeth were his object; and that Eliza-
beth was disposed to believe herself so, and that
her friend Mrs Clay was encouraging the idea,
seemed apparent by a glance or two between
 290/561

them, while Mr Elliot's frequent visits were

talked of.

Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of

him at Lyme, but without being much attended
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 of him.
They were describing him themselves; Sir Wal-
ter especially. He did justice to his very gentle-
manlike appearance, his air of elegance and fash-
ion, his good shaped face, his sensible eye; but,
at the same time, "must lament his being very
much under-hung, a defect which time seemed to
have increased; nor could he pretend to say that
ten years had not altered almost every feature for
the worse. Mr Elliot appeared to think that he
(Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done
when they last parted;" but Sir Walter had "not
been able to return the compliment entirely,
which had embarrassed him. He did not mean to
complain, however. Mr Elliot was better to look
 291/561

at than most men, and he had no objection to be-

ing seen with him anywhere."

Mr Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough

Buildings, were talked of the whole evening.
"Colonel Wallis had been so impatient to be in-
troduced to them! and Mr Elliot so anxious that
he should!" and there was a Mrs Wallis, at
present known only to them by description, as
she was in daily expectation of her confinement;
but Mr Elliot spoke of her as "a most charming
woman, quite worthy of being known in Camden
Place," and as soon as she recovered they were
to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought much of
Mrs Wallis; she was said to be an excessively
pretty woman, beautiful. "He longed to see her.
He hoped she might make some amends for the
many very plain faces he was continually
passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the
number of its plain women. He did not mean to
say that there were no pretty women, but the
number of the plain was out of all proportion. He
 292/561

had frequently observed, as he walked, that one

handsome face would be followed by thirty, or
five-and-thirty frights; and once, as he had stood
in a shop on Bond Street, he had counted eighty-
seven women go by, one after another, without
there being a tolerable face among them. It had
been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost,
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 the men! 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 anything tolerable, by the effect which a
man of decent appearance produced. He had nev-
er walked anywhere arm-in-arm with Colonel
Wallis (who was a fine military figure, though
sandy-haired) without observing that every
woman's eye was upon 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 Mrs Clay united in hinting that
 293/561

Colonel Wallis's companion might have as good

a figure as Colonel Wallis, and certainly was not
sandy-haired.

"How is Mary looking?" said Sir Walter, in the

height of his good humour. "The last time I saw
her she had a red nose, but I hope that may not
happen every day."

"Oh! no, that must have been quite accidental.

In general she has been in very good health and
very good looks since Michaelmas."

"If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in

sharp winds, and grow coarse, I would send her a
new hat and pelisse."

Anne was considering whether she should ven-

ture to suggest that a gown, or a cap, would not
be liable to any such misuse, when a knock at the
door suspended everything. "A knock at the
door! and so late! It was ten o'clock. Could it be
 294/561

Mr Elliot? They knew he was to dine in Lans-

down Crescent. It was possible that he might
stop in his way home to ask them how they did.
They could think of no one else. Mrs Clay de-
cidedly thought it Mr Elliot's knock." Mrs Clay
was right. With all the state which a butler and
foot-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 drew a little back,
while the others received his compliments, and
her sister his apologies for calling at so unusual
an hour, but "he could not be so near without
wishing to know that neither she nor her friend
had taken cold the day before," &c. &c; which
was all as politely done, and as politely taken, as
possible, but her part must follow then. Sir Wal-
ter talked of his youngest daughter; "Mr Elliot
must give him leave to present him to his young-
est daughter" (there was no occasion for remem-
bering Mary); and Anne, smiling and blushing,
 295/561

very becomingly shewed to Mr Elliot the pretty

features which he had by no means forgotten,
and instantly saw, with amusement at his little
start of surprise, that he had not been at all aware
of who she was. He looked completely aston-
ished, but not more astonished than pleased; his
eyes brightened! and with the most perfect alac-
rity he welcomed the relationship, alluded to the
past, and entreated to be received as an acquaint-
ance already. He was quite as good-looking as he
had appeared at Lyme, his countenance im-
proved by speaking, and his manners were so ex-
actly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy,
so particularly agreeable, that she could compare
them in excellence to only one person's manners.
They were not the same, but they were, perhaps,
equally good.

He sat down with them, and improved their

conversation very much. There could be no
doubt of his being a sensible man. Ten minutes
were enough to certify that. His tone, his
 296/561

expressions, his choice of subject, his knowing

where to stop; it was all the operation of a sens-
ible, discerning mind. As soon as he could, he
began to talk to her of Lyme, wanting to com-
pare opinions respecting the place, but especially
wanting to speak of the circumstance of their
happening 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 an opportunity of paying his respects to
her. She gave him a short account of her party
and business at Lyme. His regret increased as he
listened. He had spent his whole solitary evening
in the room adjoining theirs; had heard voices,
mirth continually; thought they must be a most
delightful set of people, longed to be with them,
but certainly without the smallest suspicion of
his possessing the shadow of a right to introduce
himself. If he had but asked who the party were!
The name of Musgrove would have told him
enough. "Well, it would serve to cure him of an
absurd practice of never asking a question at an
 297/561

inn, which he had adopted, when quite a young

man, on the principal of its being very ungenteel
to be curious.

"The notions of a young man of one or two and

twenty," said he, "as to what is necessary in man-
ners to make him quite the thing, are more ab-
surd, I believe, than those of any other set of be-
ings in the world. The folly of the means they of-
ten employ is only to be equalled by the folly of
what they have in view."

But he must not be addressing his reflections

to Anne alone: he knew it; he was soon diffused
again among the others, and it was only at inter-
vals that he could return to Lyme.

His enquiries, however, produced at length an

account of the scene she had been engaged in
there, soon after his leaving the place. Having al-
luded to "an accident," he must hear the whole.
When he questioned, Sir Walter and Elizabeth
 298/561

began to question also, but the difference in their

manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could
only compare Mr Elliot to Lady Russell, in the
wish of really comprehending what had passed,
and in the degree of concern for what she must
have suffered in witnessing it.

He staid an hour with them. The elegant little

clock on the mantel-piece had struck "eleven
with its silver sounds," and the watchman was
beginning to be heard at a distance telling the
same tale, before Mr Elliot or any of them
seemed to feel that he had been there long.

Anne could not have supposed it possible that

her first evening in Camden Place could have
passed so well!
 299/561

Chapter 16

There was one point which Anne, on returning

to her family, would have been more thankful to
ascertain even than Mr Elliot's being in love with
Elizabeth, which was, her father's not being in
love with Mrs Clay; and she was very far from
easy about it, when she had been at home a few
hours. On going down to breakfast the next
morning, she found there had just been a decent
pretence on the lady's side of meaning to leave
them. She could imagine Mrs Clay to have said,
that "now Miss Anne was come, she could not
suppose herself at all wanted;" for Elizabeth was
replying in a sort of whisper, "That must not be
any reason, indeed. I assure you I feel it none.
She is nothing to me, compared with you;" and
she was in full time to hear her father say, "My
dear madam, this must not be. As yet, you have
seen nothing of Bath. You have been here only
to be useful. You must not run away from us
now. You must stay to be acquainted with Mrs
 300/561

Wallis, the beautiful Mrs Wallis. To your fine

mind, I well know the sight of beauty is a real
gratification."

He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that

Anne was not surprised to see Mrs Clay stealing
a glance at Elizabeth and herself. Her counten-
ance, perhaps, might express some watchfulness;
but the praise of the fine mind did not appear to
excite a thought in her sister. The lady could not
but yield to such joint entreaties, and promise to
stay.

In the course of the same morning, Anne and

her father chancing to be alone together, 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 im-
proved; clearer, fresher. Had she been using any
thing in particular?" "No, nothing." "Merely
Gowland," he supposed. "No, nothing at all."
"Ha! he was surprised at that;" and added,
 301/561

"certainly you cannot do better than to continue

as you are; you cannot be better than well; or I
should recommend Gowland, the constant use of
Gowland, during the spring months. Mrs Clay
has been using it at my recommendation, and
you see what it has done for her. You see how it
has carried away her freckles."

If Elizabeth could but have heard this! Such

personal praise might have struck her, especially
as it did not appear to Anne that the freckles
were at all lessened. But everything must take its
chance. The evil of a marriage would be much
diminished, if Elizabeth were also to marry. As
for herself, she might always command a home
with Lady Russell.

Lady Russell's composed mind and polite man-

ners were put to some trial on this point, in her
intercourse in Camden Place. The sight of Mrs
Clay in such favour, and of Anne so overlooked,
was a perpetual provocation to her there; and
 302/561

vexed her as much when she was away, as a per-

son in Bath who drinks the water, gets all the
new publications, and has a very large acquaint-
ance, has time to be vexed.

As Mr Elliot became known to her, she grew

more charitable, or more indifferent, towards the
others. His manners were an immediate recom-
mendation; and on conversing with him she
found the solid so fully supporting the superfi-
cial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, al-
most ready to exclaim, "Can this be Mr Elliot?"
and could not seriously picture to herself a more
agreeable or estimable man. Everything united in
him; good understanding, correct opinions,
knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. He
had strong feelings of family attachment and
family honour, without pride or weakness; he
lived with the liberality of a man of fortune,
without display; he judged for himself in
everything essential, without defying public
opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He was
 303/561

steady, observant, moderate, candid; never run

away with by spirits or by selfishness, which
fancied itself strong feeling; and yet, with a sens-
ibility to what was amiable and lovely, and a
value for all the felicities of domestic life, which
characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent
agitation seldom really possess. She was sure
that he had not been happy in marriage. Colonel
Wallis said it, and Lady Russell saw it; but it had
been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor (she
began pretty soon to suspect) to prevent his
thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction in
Mr Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs Clay.

It was now some years since Anne had begun

to learn that she and her excellent friend could
sometimes think differently; and it did not sur-
prise her, therefore, that Lady Russell should see
nothing suspicious or inconsistent, nothing to re-
quire more motives than appeared, in Mr Elliot's
great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady Russell's
view, it was perfectly natural that Mr Elliot, at a
 304/561

mature time of life, should feel it a most desir-

able object, and what would very generally re-
commend him among all sensible people, to be
on good terms with the head of his family; the
simplest process in the world of time upon a
head naturally clear, and only erring in the hey-
day of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to
smile about it, and at last to mention "Elizabeth."
Lady Russell listened, and looked, and made
only this cautious reply:--"Elizabeth! very well;
time will explain."

It was a reference to the future, which Anne,

after a little observation, felt she must submit to.
She could determine nothing at present. In that
house Elizabeth must be first; and she was in the
habit of such general observance as "Miss Elli-
ot," that any particularity of attention seemed al-
most impossible. Mr Elliot, too, it must be re-
membered, had not been a widower seven
months. A little delay on his side might be very
excusable. In fact, Anne could never see the
 305/561

crape round his hat, without fearing that she was

the inexcusable one, in attributing to him such
imaginations; for though his marriage had not
been very happy, still it had existed so many
years that she could not comprehend a very rapid
recovery from the awful impression of its being
dissolved.

However it might end, he was without any

question their pleasantest acquaintance in Bath:
she saw nobody equal to him; and it was a great
indulgence now and then to talk to him about
Lyme, which he seemed to have as lively a wish
to see again, and to see more of, as herself. They
went through the particulars of their first meeting
a great many times. He gave her to understand
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 perceived was greater
 306/561

than hers. It was not merely complaisance, it

must be a liking to the cause, which made him
enter warmly into her father and sister's soli-
citudes on a subject which she thought unworthy
to excite them. The Bath paper one morning an-
nounced 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 (in Anne's opinion, most un-
fortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and the
agony was how to introduce themselves
properly.

Anne had never seen her father and sister be-

fore in contact with nobility, and she must ac-
knowledge herself disappointed. She had hoped
better things from their high ideas of their own
situation in life, and was reduced to form a wish
which she had never foreseen; a wish that they
had more pride; for "our cousins Lady
 307/561

Dalrymple and Miss Carteret;" "our cousins, the

Dalrymples," sounded in her ears all day long.

Sir Walter had once been in company with the

late viscount, but had never seen any of the rest
of the family; and the difficulties of the case
arose from there having been a suspension of all
intercourse by letters of ceremony, ever since the
death of that said late viscount, when, in con-
sequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at
the same time, there had been an unlucky omis-
sion at Kellynch. No letter of condolence had
been sent to Ireland. The neglect had been vis-
ited on the head of the sinner; for when poor
Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence
was received at Kellynch, and, consequently,
there was but too much reason to apprehend that
the Dalrymples considered the relationship as
closed. How to have this anxious business set to
rights, and be admitted as cousins again, was the
question: and it was a question which, in a more
rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr
 308/561

Elliot thought unimportant. "Family connexions

were always worth preserving, good company al-
ways worth seeking; Lady Dalrymple had taken
a house, for three months, in Laura Place, and
would be living in style. She had been at Bath
the year before, and Lady Russell had heard her
spoken of as a charming woman. It was very de-
sirable 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 fine letter of
ample explanation, regret, and entreaty, to his
right honourable cousin. Neither Lady Russell
nor Mr Elliot could admire the letter; but it did
all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of
scrawl from the Dowager Viscountess. "She was
very much honoured, and should be happy in
their acquaintance." The toils of the business
were over, the sweets began. They visited in
Laura Place, they had the cards of Dowager
 309/561

Viscountess Dalrymple, and the Honourable

Miss Carteret, to be arranged wherever they
might be most visible: and "Our cousins in Laura
Place,"--"Our cousin, 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 were nothing. There was
no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or
understanding. Lady Dalrymple had acquired the
name of "a charming woman," because she had a
smile and a civil answer for everybody. Miss
Carteret, with still less to say, was so plain and
so awkward, that she would never have been tol-
erated in Camden Place but for her birth.

Lady Russell confessed she had expected

something better; but yet "it was an acquaintance
worth having;" and when Anne ventured to
speak her opinion of them to Mr Elliot, he agreed
 310/561

to their being nothing in themselves, but still

maintained that, as a family connexion, as good
company, as those who would collect good com-
pany around them, they had their value. Anne
smiled and said,

"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 I
call good company."

"You are mistaken," said he gently, "that is not

good company; that is the best. Good company
requires only birth, education, and manners, and
with regard to education is not very nice. Birth
and good manners are essential; but a little learn-
ing is by no means a dangerous thing in good
company; on the contrary, it will do very well.
My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not sat-
isfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin" (sitting
down by her), "you have a better right to be fasti-
dious than almost any other woman I know; but
 311/561

will it answer? Will it make you happy? Will it

not be wiser to accept the society of those good
ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy all the advant-
ages of the connexion as far as possible? You
may depend upon it, that they will move in the
first set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank,
your being known to be related to them will have
its use in fixing your family (our family let me
say) in that degree of consideration which we
must all wish for."

"Yes," sighed Anne, "we shall, indeed, be

known to be related to them!" then recollecting
herself, and not wishing to be answered, she ad-
ded, "I certainly do think there has been by far
too much trouble taken to procure the acquaint-
ance. I suppose" (smiling) "I have more pride
than any of you; but I confess it does vex me,
that we should be so solicitous to have the rela-
tionship acknowledged, which we may be very
sure is a matter of perfect indifference to them."
 312/561

"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 in Bath; Sir Walter Elliot and his family
will always be worth knowing: always accept-
able as acquaintance."

"Well," said Anne, "I certainly am proud, too

proud to enjoy a welcome which depends so en-
tirely upon place."

"I love your indignation," said he; "it is very

natural. But here you are in Bath, and the object
is to be established here with all the credit and
dignity which ought to belong to Sir Walter Elli-
ot. You talk of being proud; I am called proud, I
know, and I shall not wish to believe myself oth-
erwise; for our pride, if investigated, would have
the same object, I have no 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 one else in the room)
 313/561

"in one point, I am sure, we must feel alike. We

must feel that every addition to your father's so-
ciety, among his equals or superiors, may be of
use in diverting his thoughts from those who are
beneath him."

He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs

Clay had been lately occupying: a sufficient ex-
planation of what he particularly meant; and
though Anne could not believe in their having
the same sort of pride, she was pleased with him
for not liking Mrs Clay; and her conscience ad-
mitted that his wishing to promote her father's
getting great acquaintance was more than excus-
able in the view of defeating her.
 314/561

Chapter 17

While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assidu-

ously pushing their good fortune in Laura 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 being an old school-
fellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on
her attention of past kindness and present suffer-
ing. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs Smith, had shewn
her kindness in one of those periods of her life
when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone
unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a
mother whom she had dearly loved, feeling her
separation from home, and suffering as a girl of
fourteen, of strong sensibility and not high spir-
its, must suffer at such a time; and Miss
Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still
from the want of near relations and a settled
home, remaining another year at school, had
 315/561

been useful and good to her in a way which had

considerably lessened her misery, and could nev-
er be remembered with indifference.

Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not

long afterwards, was said to have 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 in a 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 in-
volved. She had had difficulties of every sort to
contend with, and in addition to these distresses
had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever,
which, finally settling in her legs, had made her
for the present a cripple. She had come to Bath
on that account, and was now in lodgings near
the hot baths, living in a very humble way, un-
able even to afford herself the comfort of a
 316/561

servant, and of course almost excluded from

society.

Their mutual friend answered for the satisfac-

tion which a visit from Miss Elliot would give
Mrs Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in
going. She mentioned nothing of what she had
heard, or what she intended, at home. It would
excite no proper interest there. She only consul-
ted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into
her sentiments, and was most happy to convey
her as near to Mrs Smith's lodgings in Westgate
Buildings, as Anne chose to be taken.

The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-estab-

lished, their interest in each other more than re-
kindled. The first ten minutes had its awkward-
ness and its emotion. Twelve years were gone
since they had parted, and each presented a
somewhat different person from what the other
had imagined. Twelve years had changed Anne
from the blooming, silent, unformed girl of
 317/561

fifteen, to the elegant little woman of seven-and-

twenty, with every beauty except bloom, and
with manners as consciously right as they were
invariably gentle; and twelve years had trans-
formed the fine-looking, well-grown Miss
Hamilton, in all the glow of health and confid-
ence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helpless
widow, receiving the visit of her former protegee
as a favour; but all that was uncomfortable in the
meeting had soon passed away, and left only the
interesting charm of remembering former partial-
ities and talking over old times.

Anne found in Mrs Smith the good sense and

agreeable manners which she had almost ven-
tured to depend on, and a disposition to converse
and be cheerful beyond her expectation. Neither
the dissipations of the past--and she had lived
very much in the world--nor the restrictions of
the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed
to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.
 318/561

In the course of a second visit she talked with

great openness, and Anne's astonishment in-
creased. She could scarcely imagine a more
cheerless situation in itself than Mrs Smith's. She
had been very fond of her husband: she had bur-
ied him. She had been used to affluence: it was
gone. She had no child to connect her with life
and happiness again, no relations to assist in the
arrangement of perplexed affairs, no health to
make all the rest supportable. Her accommoda-
tions were limited to a noisy parlour, and a dark
bedroom behind, with no possibility of moving
from one to the other without assistance, which
there was only one servant in the house to afford,
and she never quitted the house but to be con-
veyed into the warm bath. Yet, in spite of all
this, Anne had reason to believe that she had mo-
ments only of languor and depression, to hours
of occupation and enjoyment. How could it be?
She watched, observed, reflected, and finally de-
termined that this was not a case of fortitude or
of resignation only. A submissive spirit might be
 319/561

patient, a strong understanding would supply res-

olution, but here was something more; here was
that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be
comforted, that power of turning readily from
evil to good, and of finding employment which
carried her out of herself, which was from nature
alone. It was the choicest gift of Heaven; and
Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances
in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems
designed to counterbalance almost every other
want.

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 first reaching Bath. Then she had, in-
deed, been a pitiable object; for she had caught
cold on the journey, and had hardly taken pos-
session of her lodgings before she was again
confined to her bed and suffering under severe
and constant pain; and all this among strangers,
with the absolute necessity of having a regular
 320/561

nurse, and finances at that moment particularly

unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She had
weathered it, however, and could truly say that it
had done her good. It had increased her comforts
by making her feel herself to be in good hands.
She had seen too much of the world, to expect
sudden or disinterested attachment anywhere, but
her illness had proved to her that her landlady
had a character to preserve, and would not use
her ill; and she had been particularly fortunate in
her nurse, as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by
profession, and who had always a home in that
house when unemployed, chanced to be at liberty
just in time to attend her. "And she," said Mrs
Smith, "besides nursing me most admirably, has
really proved an invaluable 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 these little thread-
cases, pin-cushions and card-racks, which you
always find me so busy about, and which supply
me with the means of doing a little good to one
 321/561

or two very poor families in this neighbourhood.

She had a large acquaintance, of course profes-
sionally, among those who can afford to buy, and
she disposes of my merchandise. She always
takes the right time for applying. Everybody's
heart is open, you know, when they have re-
cently escaped from severe pain, or are recover-
ing the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thor-
oughly understands when to speak. She is a
shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Hers is a
line for seeing human nature; and she has a fund
of good sense and observation, which, as a com-
panion, make her infinitely superior to thousands
of those who having only received 'the best edu-
cation in the world,' know nothing worth attend-
ing to. Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse
Rooke has half an hour's leisure to bestow on
me, she is sure to have something to relate that is
entertaining and profitable: something that
makes one know one's species better. One likes
to hear what is going on, to be au fait as to the
newest modes of being trifling and silly. To me,
 322/561

who live so much alone, her conversation, I as-

sure you, is a treat."

Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure,

replied, "I can easily believe it. Women of that
class have great opportunities, and if they are in-
telligent may be well worth listening to. Such
varieties of human nature as they are in the habit
of witnessing! And it is not merely in its follies,
that they are well read; for they see it occasion-
ally under every circumstance that can be most
interesting or affecting. What instances must
pass before them of ardent, disinterested, self-
denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, pa-
tience, resignation: of all the conflicts and all the
sacrifices that ennoble us 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
 323/561

trial; but generally speaking, it is its weakness

and not its strength that appears in a sick cham-
ber: it is selfishness and impatience rather than
generosity and fortitude, that one hears of. There
is so little real friendship in the world! and un-
fortunately" (speaking low and tremulously)
"there are so many who 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 worse of the world than
she hoped it deserved. It was but a passing emo-
tion however with 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 Mrs
Wallis of Marlborough Buildings; a mere pretty,
silly, expensive, fashionable woman, I believe;
 324/561

and of course will have nothing to report but of

lace and finery. I mean to make my profit of Mrs
Wallis, however. She has plenty of money, and I
intend she shall buy all the high-priced things I
have in hand now."

Anne had called several times on her friend,

before the existence of such a person 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, with a
sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple for the
same evening, and Anne was already engaged, to
spend that evening in Westgate Buildings. She
was not sorry for the excuse. They were only
asked, she was sure, because Lady Dalrymple
being kept at home by a bad cold, was glad to
make use of the relationship which had been so
pressed on her; and she declined on her own ac-
count with great alacrity--"She was engaged to
spend the evening with an old schoolfellow."
They were not much interested in anything
 325/561

relative to Anne; but still there were questions

enough asked, to make it understood what this
old schoolfellow was; and Elizabeth was disdain-
ful, and Sir Walter severe.

"Westgate Buildings!" said he, "and who is

Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate
Buildings? A Mrs Smith. A widow Mrs Smith;
and who was her husband? One of five thousand
Mr Smiths whose names are to be met with
everywhere. And what is her attraction? That she
is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne El-
liot, you have the most extraordinary taste!
Everything that revolts other people, low com-
pany, paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associ-
ations are inviting to you. But surely you may
put off this old lady till to-morrow: she is not so
near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to
see another day. What is her age? Forty?"

"No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty; but I do not

think I can put off my engagement, because it is
 326/561

the only evening for some time which will at

once suit her and myself. She goes into the warm
bath to-morrow, and for the rest of the week, you
know, we are engaged."

"But what does Lady Russell think of this ac-

quaintance?" asked Elizabeth.

"She sees nothing to blame in it," replied

Anne; "on the contrary, she approves it, and has
generally taken me when I have called on Mrs
Smith."

"Westgate Buildings must have been rather

surprised by the appearance of a carriage drawn
up near its pavement," observed Sir Walter. "Sir
Henry 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
a Miss Elliot. A widow Mrs Smith lodging in
Westgate Buildings! A poor widow barely able
to live, between thirty and forty; a mere Mrs
 327/561

Smith, an every-day Mrs Smith, of all people and

all names in the world, to be the chosen friend of
Miss Anne Elliot, and to be preferred by her to
her own family connections among the nobility
of England and Ireland! Mrs Smith! Such a
name!"

Mrs Clay, who had been present while all this

passed, now thought it advisable to leave the
room, and Anne could have said much, and did
long to say a little in defence of her friend's not
very dissimilar claims to theirs, but her sense of
personal respect to her father prevented her. She
made no reply. She left it to himself to recollect,
that Mrs Smith was not the only widow in Bath
between thirty and forty, with little to live on,
and no surname of dignity.

Anne kept her appointment; the others kept

theirs, and of course she heard the next morning
that they had had a delightful evening. She had
been the only one of the set absent, for Sir
 328/561

Walter and Elizabeth had not only been quite at

her ladyship's service themselves, but had actu-
ally been happy to be employed by her in col-
lecting others, and had been at the trouble of in-
viting both Lady Russell and Mr Elliot; and Mr
Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wal-
lis early, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged all
her evening engagements in order to wait on her.
Anne had the whole history of all that such an
evening could supply from Lady Russell. To her,
its greatest interest must be, in having been very
much talked of between her friend and Mr Elliot;
in having been wished for, 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
extraordinary young woman; in her temper, man-
ners, mind, a model of female excellence. He
could meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of
her merits; and Anne could not be given to un-
derstand so much by her friend, could not know
 329/561

herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man,

without many of those agreeable sensations
which her friend meant to create.

Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her

opinion of Mr Elliot. She was as much con-
vinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of
his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate
the number of weeks which would free him from
all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and
leave him at liberty to exert his most open
powers of pleasing. She would not speak to
Anne with half the certainty she felt on the sub-
ject, she would venture on little more than hints
of what might be hereafter, of a possible attach-
ment on his side, of the desirableness of the alli-
ance, supposing such attachment to be real and
returned. Anne heard her, and made no violent
exclamations; she only smiled, blushed, and
gently shook her head.
 330/561

"I am no match-maker, as you well know,"

said Lady Russell, "being much too well aware
of the uncertainty of all human events and calcu-
lations. I only mean that if Mr Elliot should some
time hence pay his addresses to you, and if you
should be disposed to accept him, I think there
would be every possibility of your being happy
together. A most suitable connection everybody
must consider it, but I think it might be a very
happy one."

"Mr Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man,

and in many respects I think highly of him," said
Anne; "but we should not suit."

Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in re-

joinder, "I own that to be able 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 her
virtues, would be the highest possible
 331/561

gratification to me. You are your mother's self in

countenance and disposition; and if I might be
allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situ-
ation and name, and home, presiding and bless-
ing in the same spot, and only superior to her in
being more highly valued! My dearest Anne, it
would give me more delight than is often felt at
my time 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 pic-
ture excited. For a few moments her imagination
and her heart were bewitched. The idea of be-
coming what her mother had been; of having the
precious name of "Lady Elliot" first revived in
herself; of being restored to Kellynch, calling it
her home again, her home for ever, was a charm
which she could not immediately resist. Lady
Russell said not another word, willing to leave
the matter to its own operation; and believing
that, could Mr Elliot at that moment with propri-
ety have spoken for himself!--she believed, in
short, what Anne did not believe. The same im-
age of Mr Elliot speaking for himself brought
Anne to composure again. The charm of
Kellynch and of "Lady Elliot" all faded away.
She never could accept him. And it was not only
that her feelings were still adverse to any man
save one; her judgement, on a serious
 333/561

consideration of the possibilities of such a case,

was against Mr Elliot.

Though they had now been acquainted a

month, she could not be satisfied that she 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
a man 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 trans-
gressed; but yet she would have been afraid to
answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if
not the present. The names which occasionally
dropt of former associates, the allusions to
former practices and pursuits, suggested suspi-
cions not favourable of what he had been. She
saw that there had been bad habits; that Sunday
travelling had been a common thing; that there
had been a period 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
 334/561

think very differently, who could answer for the

true sentiments of a clever, cautious man, grown
old enough to appreciate a fair character? How
could it ever be ascertained that his mind was
truly cleansed?

Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but

he was not open. There was never any burst of
feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at
the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a
decided imperfection. Her early impressions
were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-
hearted, the eager character beyond all others.
Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still.
She felt that she could so much more depend
upon the sincerity of those who sometimes
looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of
those whose presence of mind never varied,
whose tongue never slipped.

Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various

as were the tempers in her father's house, he
 335/561

pleased them all. He endured too well, stood too

well with every body. He had spoken to her with
some degree of openness of Mrs Clay; had ap-
peared completely to see what Mrs Clay was
about, and to hold her in contempt; 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 nothing to excite dis-
trust. She could not imagine a man more exactly
what he ought to be than Mr Elliot; nor did she
ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than the hope of
seeing him receive the hand of her beloved Anne
in Kellynch church, in the course of the follow-
ing autumn.
 336/561

Chapter 18

It was the beginning of February; and Anne,

having been a month in Bath, was growing very
eager for news from Uppercross and Lyme. She
wanted to hear much more than Mary had com-
municated. It was three weeks since she had
heard at all. She only knew that Henrietta was at
home again; and that Louisa, though considered
to be recovering fast, was still in Lyme; and she
was thinking of them all very intently one even-
ing, when a thicker letter than usual from Mary
was delivered to her; and, to quicken the pleas-
ure and surprise, with Admiral and Mrs Croft's
compliments.

The Crofts must be in Bath! A circumstance to

interest her. They were people whom her heart
turned to very naturally.
 337/561

"What is this?" cried Sir Walter. "The Crofts

have arrived in Bath? 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 vis-
ited Admiral Croft, however, at any rate. I know
what is due to my tenant."

Anne could listen no longer; she could not

even have told how the poor Admiral's complex-
ion escaped; her letter engrossed her. It had been
begun several days back.

"February 1st.

"My dear Anne,--I make no apology for my si-

lence, because I know how little people think of
 338/561

letters in such a place as Bath. You must be a

great deal too happy to care for Uppercross,
which, as you well know, affords little to write
about. We have had a very dull Christmas; Mr
and Mrs Musgrove have not had one dinner party
all the 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 I had not. The house was cleared yester-
day, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be
surprised to hear they have never gone home.
Mrs Harville must be an odd mother to part with
them so long. I do not understand it. They are not
at all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs Mus-
grove seems to like them quite as well, if not bet-
ter, than her grandchildren. What dreadful
weather we have had! It may not be felt in Bath,
with your nice pavements; but in the country it is
of some consequence. I have not had a creature
call on me since the second week in January, ex-
cept Charles Hayter, who had been calling much
oftener than was welcome. Between ourselves, I
 339/561

think it a great pity Henrietta did not remain at

Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a
little out of his way. The carriage is gone to-day,
to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to-morrow. We
are not asked to dine with them, however, till the
day after, Mrs Musgrove is so afraid of her being
fatigued by the journey, which is not very likely,
considering the care that will be taken of her;
and it would be much more convenient to me to
dine there to-morrow. I am glad you find Mr El-
liot so agreeable, and wish I could be acquainted
with him too; but I have my usual luck: I am al-
ways out of the way when any thing desirable is
going on; always the last of my family to be no-
ticed. What an immense time Mrs Clay has been
staying with Elizabeth! Does she never mean to
go away? But perhaps if she were to leave the
room vacant, we might not be invited. Let me
know what you think of this. I do not expect my
children to be asked, you know. I can leave them
at the Great House very well, for a month or six
weeks. I have this moment heard that the Crofts
 340/561

are going to Bath almost immediately; they think

the Admiral gouty. Charles heard it quite by
chance; they have not had the civility to give me
any notice, or of offering to take anything. I do
not think they improve at all as neighbours. We
see nothing of them, and this is really an instance
of gross inattention. Charles joins me in love,
and everything proper. Yours affectionately,

"Mary M---.

"I am sorry to say that I am very far from well;

and Jemima has just told me that the butcher
says there is a bad sore-throat very much about. I
dare say I shall catch it; and my sore-throats, you
know, are always worse than anybody's."

So ended the first part, which had been after-

wards put into an envelope, containing nearly as
much more.
 341/561

"I kept my letter open, that I might send you

word how Louisa bore her journey, and now I
am extremely glad I did, having a great deal to
add. In the first place, I had a note from Mrs
Croft yesterday, offering to convey anything to
you; a very kind, friendly note indeed, addressed
to me, just as it ought; I shall therefore be able to
make my letter as long as I like. The Admiral
does not 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 neighbour-
hood cannot spare such a pleasant family. But
now for Louisa. I have something to communic-
ate that will astonish you not a little. She and the
Harvilles came on Tuesday very safely, and in
the evening we went to ask her how she did,
when we were rather surprised not to find Cap-
tain Benwick of the party, for he had been in-
vited as well as the Harvilles; and what do you
think was the reason? Neither more nor less than
 342/561

his being in love with Louisa, and not choosing

to venture to Uppercross till he had had an an-
swer from Mr Musgrove; for it was all settled
between him and her before she came away, and
he had written to her father by Captain Harville.
True, upon my honour! Are not you astonished?
I shall be surprised at least if you ever received a
hint of it, for I never did. Mrs Musgrove protests
solemnly that she knew nothing of the matter.
We are all very well pleased, however, for
though it is not equal to her marrying Captain
Wentworth, it is infinitely better than Charles
Hayter; and Mr Musgrove has written his con-
sent, and Captain Benwick is expected to-day.
Mrs Harville says her husband feels a good deal
on his poor sister's account; but, however, Louisa
is a great favourite with both. Indeed, Mrs Har-
ville and I quite agree that we love her the better
for having nursed her. Charles wonders what
Captain Wentworth will say; but if you remem-
ber, I never thought him attached to Louisa; I
never could see anything of it. And this is the
 343/561

end, you see, of Captain Benwick's being sup-

posed to be an admirer of yours. How Charles
could take such a thing into his head was always
incomprehensible to me. I hope he 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 for the news. She had never
in her life been more astonished. Captain Ben-
wick and Louisa Musgrove! It was almost too
wonderful for belief, and it was with the greatest
effort that she could remain in the room, pre-
serve an air of calmness, and answer the com-
mon questions of the moment. Happily for her,
they were not many. 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 might suit Miss Elliot
 344/561

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 be gouty."

"Gout and decrepitude!" said Sir Walter. "Poor

old gentleman."

"Have they any acquaintance here?" asked

Elizabeth.

"I do not know; but I can hardly suppose that,

at Admiral Croft's time of life, and in his profes-
sion, he should not have many acquaintance in
such a place as this."
 345/561

"I suspect," said Sir Walter coolly, "that Ad-

miral Croft will be best known in Bath as the
renter of Kellynch Hall. Elizabeth, may we ven-
ture to present him and his wife in Laura Place?"

"Oh, no! I think not. Situated as we are with

Lady Dalrymple, cousins, we ought to be very
careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance
she might not approve. If we were not related, it
would not signify; but as cousins, she would feel
scrupulous as to any proposal of ours. We had
better leave the Crofts to find their own level.
There are several odd-looking men walking
about here, 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; when Mrs Clay had paid her
tribute of more decent attention, in an enquiry
after Mrs Charles Musgrove, and her fine little
boys, Anne was at liberty.
 346/561

In her own room, she tried to comprehend it.

Well might Charles wonder how Captain Went-
worth would feel! Perhaps he had quitted the
field, had given Louisa up, had ceased to love,
had found he did not love her. She could not en-
dure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything
akin to ill usage between him and his friend. She
could not endure that such a friendship as theirs
should be severed unfairly.

Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! The

high-spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove,
and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Cap-
tain Benwick, seemed each of them everything
that would not suit the other. Their minds most
dissimilar! Where could have been the attrac-
tion? The answer soon presented itself. It had
been in situation. They had been thrown together
several weeks; they had been living in the same
small family party: since Henrietta's coming
away, they must have been depending almost en-
tirely on each other, and Louisa, just recovering
 347/561

from illness, had been in an interesting state, and

Captain Benwick was not inconsolable. That was
a point which Anne had not been able to avoid
suspecting before; and instead of drawing the
same conclusion as Mary, from the present
course of events, they served only to confirm the
idea of his having felt some dawning of tender-
ness toward herself. She did not mean, however,
to derive much more from it to gratify her vanity,
than Mary might have allowed. She was per-
suaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman
who had listened and seemed to feel for him
would have received the same compliment. He
had an affectionate heart. He must love
somebody.

She saw no reason against their being happy.

Louisa had fine naval fervour to begin 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
was probably learnt already; of course they had
 348/561

fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa

Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste,
and sentimental reflection 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 have influenced her fate.

The conclusion of the whole was, that if the

woman who had been sensible of Captain
Wentworth's merits could be allowed to prefer
another man, there was nothing in the engage-
ment to excite lasting wonder; and if Captain
Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing
to be regretted. No, it was not regret which made
Anne's heart beat in spite of herself, and brought
the colour into her cheeks when she thought of
Captain Wentworth unshackled and free. She
had some feelings which she was ashamed to in-
vestigate. They were too much like joy, senseless
joy!
 349/561

She longed to see the Crofts; but when the

meeting took place, it was evident that no ru-
mour of the news had yet reached them. The visit
of ceremony was paid and 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 Sir Walter's satisfac-
tion. He was not at all ashamed of the acquaint-
ance, and did, in fact, think and talk a great deal
more about the Admiral, than the Admiral ever
thought or talked about him.

The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath

as they wished for, and considered their inter-
course with the Elliots as a mere matter of form,
and not in the least likely to afford them any
pleasure. They brought with them their country
habit of being almost always together. He was
ordered to walk to keep off the gout, and Mrs
Croft seemed to go shares with him in
 350/561

everything, and to walk for her life to do him

good. Anne saw them wherever she went. Lady
Russell took her out in her carriage almost every
morning, and she never failed to think of them,
and never failed to see them. Knowing their feel-
ings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of
happiness to her. She always watched them as
long as she could, delighted to fancy she under-
stood what they might be talking of, as they
walked along in happy independence, or equally
delighted to see the Admiral's hearty shake of the
hand when he encountered an old friend, and ob-
serve their eagerness of conversation when occa-
sionally forming into a little knot of the navy,
Mrs Croft looking as intelligent and keen as any
of the officers around her.

Anne was too much engaged with Lady Rus-

sell to be often walking herself; but it so
happened that one morning, about a week or ten
days after the Croft's arrival, it suited her best to
leave her friend, or her friend's carriage, in the
 351/561

lower part of the town, and return alone to Cam-

den Place, and in walking up Milsom Street she
had the good fortune to meet with the Admiral.
He was standing by himself at a printshop win-
dow, with his hands behind him, in earnest con-
templation of some print, and she not only might
have passed him unseen, but was obliged to
touch as well as address him before she could
catch his notice. When he did perceive and ac-
knowledge her, however, it was done with all his
usual frankness and good humour. "Ha! is it
you? Thank you, thank you. This is treating me
like a friend. Here I am, you see, staring at a pic-
ture. I can never get by this shop without stop-
ping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat!
Do look at it. Did you ever see the like? What
queer fellows your fine painters must be, to think
that anybody would venture their lives in such a
shapeless old cockleshell as that? And yet here
are two gentlemen stuck up in it mightily at their
ease, and looking about them at the rocks and
mountains, as if they were not to be upset the
 352/561

next moment, which they certainly must be. I

wonder where that boat was built!" (laughing
heartily); "I would not venture over a horsepond
in it. Well," (turning away), "now, where are you
bound? Can I go anywhere for you, or with you?
Can I be of any use?"

"None, I thank you, unless you will give me

the pleasure of your company the little way our
road lies together. I am going home."

"That I will, with all my heart, and farther, too.

Yes, yes we will have a 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 a woman there. Lord!
what a boat it is!" taking a last look at the pic-
ture, as they began to be in motion.
 353/561

"Did you say that you had something to tell

me, sir?"

"Yes, I have, presently. But here comes a

friend, Captain Brigden; I shall only say, 'How
d'ye do?' as we pass, however. I shall not stop.
'How d'ye do?' Brigden stares to see anybody
with me but my wife. She, poor soul, is tied by
the leg. She has a blister on one of her 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 of
them! 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 will tell you the whole story another time.
There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his
grandson. Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to
you; he takes you for my wife. 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 meeting with
 354/561

some old friend or other; the streets full of them

every morning; sure to have plenty of chat; and
then we get away from them all, and shut
ourselves in our lodgings, and draw in our chairs,
and are as snug as if we were at Kellynch, ay, or
as we used to be even at North Yarmouth and
Deal. We do not like our lodgings here the
worse, I can tell you, for putting us in mind of
those we first had at North Yarmouth. The wind
blows through one of the cupboards just in the
same way."

When they were got a little farther, Anne ven-

tured to press again for what he had to commu-
nicate. She hoped when clear of Milsom Street to
have her curiosity gratified; but she was still ob-
liged to wait, for the Admiral had made up his
mind 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 soon as they were fairly ascending Bel-
mont, he began--
 355/561

"Well, now you shall hear something that will

surprise you. But first of all, you must tell me the
name of the young lady I am going to talk about.
That young lady, you know, that we have all
been so concerned for. The Miss Musgrove, that
all this has been happening to. Her Christian
name: I always forget her Christian name."

Anne had been ashamed to appear to compre-

hend so soon as she really did; but now she could
safely suggest the name of "Louisa."

"Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the

name. I wish young ladies had not such a number
of fine Christian names. I should never be out if
they were all 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 only wonder 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 to right.
 356/561

But even then there was something odd in their

way of going on. Instead of staying at Lyme, he
went off to Plymouth, and then he went off to
see Edward. When we came back from Mine-
head he was gone down to Edward's, and there
he has been ever since. We have seen nothing of
him since November. Even Sophy could not un-
derstand it. But now, the matter has taken the
strangest turn of all; for this young lady, the
same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry
Frederick, 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."
 357/561

"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. He is only a command-
er, it is true, made last summer, and these are bad
times for getting on, but he has not another fault
that I know of. An excellent, good-hearted fel-
low, I assure you; a very active, zealous officer
too, which is more than you would think for, per-
haps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him
justice."

"Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should

never augur want of spirit from Captain
Benwick's manners. I thought them particularly
pleasing, and I will answer for it, they would
generally please."

"Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but

James Benwick is rather too piano for me; and
 358/561

though very likely it is all our partiality, Sophy

and I cannot help thinking Frederick's manners
better than his. There is something about Freder-
ick more to our taste."

Anne was caught. She had only meant to op-

pose the too common idea of spirit and gentle-
ness being incompatible with each other, not at
all to represent Captain Benwick's manners as
the very best that could possibly be; and, after a
little hesitation, she was beginning to say, "I was
not entering into any comparison of the two
friends," but the Admiral interrupted her with--

"And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere

bit of gossip. We have it from Frederick himself.
His sister had a letter from him yesterday, in
which he tells us of it, and he had just had it in a
letter from Harville, written upon the spot, from
Uppercross. I fancy they are all at Uppercross."
 359/561

This was an opportunity which Anne could not

resist; she said, therefore, "I hope, Admiral, I
hope there is nothing in the style of Captain
Wentworth's letter to make you and Mrs Croft
particularly uneasy. It did seem, last autumn, as
if there were an attachment between him and
Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may be under-
stood to have worn out on each side equally, and
without violence. I hope his letter does not
breathe the spirit of an ill-used man."

"Not at all, not at all; there is not an oath or a

murmur from beginning to end."

Anne looked down to hide her smile.

"No, no; Frederick is not a man to whine and

complain; he has too much spirit for that. If the
girl likes another man better, it is very fit she
should have him."
 360/561

"Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope

there is nothing in Captain Wentworth's manner
of writing to make you suppose he thinks himself
ill-used by his friend, which might appear, you
know, without its being absolutely said. I should
be very sorry that such a friendship as has sub-
sisted between him and Captain Benwick should
be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circum-
stance of this sort."

"Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is noth-

ing at all of that nature in the letter. He does not
give the least fling at Benwick; does not so much
as say, 'I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own
for wondering at it.' No, you would not guess,
from his way of writing, that he had ever thought
of this Miss (what's her name?) for himself. He
very handsomely hopes they will be happy to-
gether; and there is nothing very unforgiving in
that, I think."
 361/561

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 therefore satisfied herself with common-
place remarks or quiet attention, and the Admiral
had it all his own way.

"Poor Frederick!" said he at last. "Now he

must begin all over again with somebody else. I
think we must get him to Bath. Sophy must
write, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are
pretty girls enough, I am sure. It would be of no
use to go to Uppercross again, for that other Miss
Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the
young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we
had better try to get him to Bath?"
 362/561

Chapter 19

While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with

Anne, and expressing his wish of getting Captain
Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was
already on his way thither. Before Mrs Croft had
written, he was arrived, and the very next time
Anne walked out, she saw him.

Mr Elliot was attending his two cousins and

Mrs Clay. They were in Milsom Street. It began
to rain, not much, but enough to make shelter de-
sirable for women, and quite enough to make it
very desirable for Miss Elliot to have the advant-
age of being conveyed home in Lady
Dalrymple's carriage, which was seen waiting at
a little distance; she, Anne, and Mrs Clay, there-
fore, turned into Molland's, while Mr Elliot
stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request her assist-
ance. He soon joined them again, successful, of
course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to
 363/561

take them home, and would call for them in a

few minutes.

Her ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and

did not hold more than four with any comfort.
Miss Carteret was with her mother; consequently
it was not reasonable to expect accommodation
for all the three Camden Place ladies. There
could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Whoever
suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none,
but it occupied a little time to settle the point of
civility between the other two. The rain was a
mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere in prefer-
ring a walk with Mr Elliot. But the rain was also
a mere trifle to Mrs Clay; she would hardly al-
low it even to drop at all, and her boots were so
thick! much thicker than Miss Anne's; and, in
short, her civility rendered her quite as anxious
to be left to walk with Mr Elliot as Anne could
be, and it was discussed between them with a
generosity so polite and so determined, that the
others were obliged to settle it for them; Miss
 364/561

Elliot maintaining that Mrs Clay had a little cold

already, and Mr Elliot deciding on appeal, 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 dis-
tinctly, Captain Wentworth walking down the
street.

Her start was perceptible only to herself; but

she instantly felt that she was the greatest sim-
pleton in the world, the most unaccountable and
absurd! For a few minutes she saw nothing be-
fore her; it was all confusion. She was lost, and
when she had scolded back her senses, she found
the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr
Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union
Street on a commission of Mrs Clay's.
 365/561

She now felt a great inclination to go to the

outer door; she wanted to see if it rained. Why
was she to suspect herself of another motive?
Captain Wentworth must be out of sight. She left
her seat, she would go; one half of her should not
be always so much wiser than the other half, or
always suspecting the other of 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 a party of
gentlemen and ladies, evidently his acquaint-
ance, and whom he must have joined a little be-
low Milsom Street. He was more obviously
struck and confused by the sight of her than she
had ever observed before; he looked quite red.
For the first time, since their renewed acquaint-
ance, she felt that she was betraying the least
sensibility of the two. She had the advantage of
him in the 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
 366/561

agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between

delight and misery.

He spoke to her, and then turned away. The

character of his manner was embarrassment. She
could not have called it either cold or friendly, or
anything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, he came to-

wards her, and spoke again. Mutual enquiries on
common subjects passed: neither of them, prob-
ably, much the wiser for what they heard, and
Anne continuing fully sensible of his being less
at ease than formerly. They had by dint of being
so very much together, got to speak to each other
with a considerable portion of apparent indiffer-
ence and calmness; but he could not do it now.
Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed
him. There was consciousness of some sort or
other. He looked very well, not as if he had been
suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of
Uppercross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of
 367/561

Louisa, and had even a momentary look of his

own arch significance as he named her; but yet it
was Captain Wentworth not comfortable, not
easy, not able to feign that he was.

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to ob-

serve that Elizabeth would not know him. She
saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw
him, that there was complete internal recognition
on each side; she was convinced that he was
ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance,
expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her
sister turn away with unalterable coldness.

Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss El-

liot was growing very impatient, now drew up;
the servant came in to announce it. It was begin-
ning to rain 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 Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss
Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend,
 368/561

unattended but by the servant, (for there was no

cousin returned), were walking off; and Captain
Wentworth, watching them, turned again to
Anne, and by manner, rather than words, was of-
fering his services to her.

"I am much obliged to you," was her answer,

"but I am not going with them. The carriage
would not accommodate so many. I walk: I
prefer walking."

"But it rains."

"Oh! very little, Nothing that I regard."

After a moment's pause he said: "Though I

came only yesterday, I have equipped myself
properly for Bath already, you see," (pointing to
a new umbrella); "I wish you would make use of
it, if you are determined to walk; though I think
it would be more prudent to let me get you a
chair."
 369/561

She was very much obliged to him, but de-

clined it all, repeating her conviction, 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 am sure."

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr El-

liot walked in. Captain Wentworth recollected
him perfectly. There was no difference between
him and the man who had stood on the steps at
Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in
the air and look and manner of the privileged re-
lation and friend. He came in with eagerness, ap-
peared to see and think only of her, apologised
for his stay, was grieved to have kept her wait-
ing, and anxious to get her away without further
loss of time and before the rain increased; and in
another moment they walked off together, her
arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance,
and a "Good morning to you!" being all that she
had time for, as she passed away.
 370/561

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of

Captain Wentworth's party 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. He is always with them;
half lives in the family, I believe. What a very
good-looking man!"

"Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him

once at the Wallises, says he is the most agree-
able man she ever was in company with."

"She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty,

when one comes to look at her. It is not the fash-
ion to say so, but I confess I admire her more
than her sister."

"Oh! so do I."
 371/561

"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 have walked by her side
all the way to Camden Place, without saying a
word. She had never found it so difficult to listen
to him, though nothing could exceed his soli-
citude and care, and though his subjects were
principally such as were wont to be always inter-
esting: praise, warm, just, and discriminating, of
Lady Russell, and insinuations highly rational
against Mrs Clay. But just now she could think
only of Captain Wentworth. She could not un-
derstand his present feelings, whether he were
really suffering much from disappointment or
not; and till that point were settled, she could not
be quite herself.
 372/561

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time;

but alas! alas! she must confess to herself that
she was not wise yet.

Another circumstance very essential for her to

know, was how long he meant to be in Bath; he
had not mentioned it, or she could not recollect
it. He might be only 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, Lady Russell would in all
likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recol-
lect him? How would it all be?

She had already been obliged to tell Lady Rus-

sell that Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain
Benwick. It had cost her something to encounter
Lady Russell's surprise; and now, if she were by
any chance to be thrown into company with Cap-
tain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge of the
matter might add another shade of prejudice
against him.
 373/561

The following morning Anne was out with her

friend, and for the first hour, in an incessant and
fearful sort of watch for him in vain; but at last,
in returning down Pulteney Street, she distin-
guished him on the right hand pavement at such
a distance as to have him in view the greater part
of the street. There were many other men about
him, many groups walking the same way, but
there was no mistaking him. She looked instinct-
ively at Lady Russell; but not from any mad idea
of her recognising him so soon as she did herself.
No, it was not to be supposed that Lady Russell
would perceive him till they were nearly oppos-
ite. She looked at her however, from time to
time, anxiously; and when the moment ap-
proached which must point him out, though not
daring to look again (for her own countenance
she knew was unfit to be seen), she was yet per-
fectly conscious of Lady Russell's eyes being
turned exactly in the direction for him--of her be-
ing, in short, intently observing him. She could
thoroughly comprehend the sort of fascination he
 374/561

must possess over Lady Russell's mind, the diffi-

culty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes, the
astonishment she must be feeling that eight or
nine years should have passed over him, and in
foreign climes and in active service too, without
robbing him of one personal grace!

At last, Lady Russell drew back her head.

"Now, how would she speak of him?"

"You will wonder," said she, "what has been

fixing my eye so long; but I was looking after
some window-curtains, which Lady Alicia and
Mrs Frankland were telling me of last night.
They described the drawing-room window-cur-
tains of one of the houses on this side of the way,
and this part of the street, as being the hand-
somest and best hung of any in Bath, but could
not recollect the exact number, and I have been
trying to find out which it could be; but I confess
I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer their
description."
 375/561

Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity

and disdain, either at her friend or herself. The
part which provoked her most, was that in all this
waste of foresight and caution, she should have
lost the right moment for seeing whether he saw
them.

A day or two passed without producing any-

thing. The theatre or the rooms, where he was
most likely to be, were not fashionable enough
for the Elliots, whose evening amusements were
solely in the elegant stupidity of private parties,
in which they were getting more and more en-
gaged; and Anne, wearied of such a state of stag-
nation, sick of knowing nothing, and fancying
herself stronger because her strength was not
tried, was quite impatient for the concert even-
ing. It was a concert for the benefit of a person
patronised by Lady Dalrymple. 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 few minutes
 376/561

conversation with him again, she fancied she

should be satisfied; and as to the power of ad-
dressing him, she felt all over courage if the op-
portunity occurred. Elizabeth had turned from
him, Lady Russell overlooked him; her nerves
were strengthened by these circumstances; she
felt that she owed him attention.

She had once partly promised Mrs Smith to

spend the evening with her; but in a short hurried
call she excused herself and put it off, with the
more decided promise of a longer visit on the
morrow. Mrs Smith gave a most good-humoured
acquiescence.

"By all means," said she; "only tell me all

about it, when you do come. Who is your party?"

Anne named them all. Mrs Smith made no

reply; but when she was leaving her said, and
with an expression half serious, half arch, "Well,
I heartily wish your concert may answer; and do
 377/561

not fail me to-morrow if you can come; for I be-

gin to have a foreboding that I may not have
many more visits from you."

Anne was startled and confused; but after

standing in a moment's suspense, was obliged,
and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.

Chapter 20

Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs Clay,

were the earliest of all their party 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 hardly were they
so settled, when the door opened again, and Cap-
tain Wentworth walked in alone. Anne was the
 378/561

nearest to him, and making yet a little advance,

she instantly 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
near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite of
the formidable father and sister in the back
ground. Their being in the back ground was a
support to Anne; she knew nothing of their
looks, and felt equal to everything which she be-
lieved right to be done.

While they were speaking, a whispering

between her father and Elizabeth caught her ear.
She could not distinguish, but she must guess the
subject; and on Captain Wentworth's making a
distant bow, she comprehended that her father
had judged so well as to give him that simple ac-
knowledgement of acquaintance, and she was
just in time by a side glance to see a slight curt-
sey from Elizabeth herself. This, though late, and
reluctant, and ungracious, was yet better than
nothing, and her spirits improved.
 379/561

After talking, however, of the weather, and

Bath, and the concert, their conversation began
to flag, and so little was said at last, that she was
expecting him to go every moment, but he did
not; he seemed in no hurry to leave her; and
presently with renewed spirit, with a little smile,
a little glow, he said--

"I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme.

I am afraid you must have suffered from the
shock, and the more from its not overpowering
you at the time."

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 too painful, but in
a moment, half smiling again, added, "The day
has produced some effects however; has had
some consequences which must be considered as
the very reverse of frightful. When you had the
 380/561

presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would

be the properest person to fetch a surgeon, you
could have little idea of his being eventually one
of those most concerned in her recovery."

"Certainly I could have none. But it appears--I

should hope it would be a very happy match.
There are on both sides good principles and good
temper."

"Yes," said he, looking not exactly forward;

"but there, I think, ends the resemblance. With
all my soul I wish them happy, and rejoice over
every circumstance in favour of it. They have no
difficulties to contend with at home, no opposi-
tion, no caprice, no delays. The Musgroves are
behaving like themselves, most honourably and
kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to
promote their daughter's comfort. All this is
much, very much in favour of their happiness;
more than perhaps--"
 381/561

He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to

occur, and to give him some taste of that emotion
which was reddening Anne's cheeks and fixing
her eyes on the 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 essen-
tial than mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a
very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not defi-
cient in understanding, but Benwick is
something more. He is a clever man, a reading
man; and I confess, that I do consider his attach-
ing himself to her with some surprise. Had it
been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love
her, because he believed her to be preferring
him, it would have been another thing. But I
have no reason to suppose 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 his situation! with a heart
pierced, wounded, almost broken! Fanny
 382/561

Harville was a very superior creature, and his at-

tachment to her was indeed attachment. A man
does not recover from such a devotion of the
heart to such a woman. He ought not; he does
not."

Either from the consciousness, however, that

his friend had recovered, or from other con-
sciousness, he went no farther; and Anne who, in
spite of the agitated voice in which the latter part
had been uttered, and in spite of all the various
noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of
the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking
through, had distinguished every word, was
struck, gratified, confused, and beginning to
breathe very quick, and feel an hundred things in
a moment. It was impossible for her to enter on
such a subject; and yet, after a pause, feeling the
necessity of speaking, and having not the smal-
lest wish for a total change, she only deviated so
far as to say--
 383/561

"You were a good while at Lyme, I think?"

"About a fortnight. I could not leave it till

Louisa's doing well was quite ascertained. I had
been too deeply concerned in the mischief to be
soon at peace. It had been my doing, solely mine.
She would not have been obstinate if I had not
been weak. The country round Lyme is very fine.
I walked and 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 in Lyme to inspire
such a feeling. The horror and distress you were
involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spir-
its! I should have thought your last impressions
of Lyme must have been strong disgust."
 384/561

"The last hours were certainly very painful,"

replied Anne; "but when pain is over, the re-
membrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One
does not love a place the less for having suffered
in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but
suffering, which was by no means the case at
Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress dur-
ing the last two hours, and previously there had
been a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty
and beauty! I have travelled so little, that every
fresh place would be interesting to me; but there
is real beauty at Lyme; and in short" (with a faint
blush at some recollections), "altogether my im-
pressions of the place are very agreeable."

As she ceased, the entrance door opened again,

and the very party appeared for whom they were
waiting. "Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,"
was the rejoicing sound; and with all the eager-
ness compatible with anxious elegance, Sir Wal-
ter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet
her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted
 385/561

by Mr Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had

happened to arrive nearly at the same instant, ad-
vanced into the room. The others joined them,
and it was a group in which Anne found herself
also necessarily included. She was divided from
Captain Wentworth. Their interesting, almost too
interesting conversation must be broken up for a
time, but slight was the penance compared with
the happiness which brought it on! She had
learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feel-
ings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings than
she dared to think of; and she gave herself up to
the demands of the party, to the needful civilities
of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated
sensations. She was in good humour with all.
She had received ideas which disposed her to be
courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one,
as being less happy than herself.

The delightful emotions were a little subdued,

when on stepping back from the group, to be
joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that
 386/561

he was gone. She was just in time to see him turn

into the Concert Room. He was gone; he had dis-
appeared, she felt a moment's regret. But "they
should meet again. He would look for her, he
would find her out before the evening were over,
and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asun-
der. She was in need of a little interval for
recollection."

Upon Lady Russell's appearance soon after-

wards, the whole party was collected, and all that
remained was to marshal themselves, and pro-
ceed into the Concert Room; and be of all the
consequence in their power, draw as many eyes,
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 the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple be-
fore her, had nothing to wish for which did not
 387/561

seem within her reach; and Anne--but it would

be an insult to the nature of Anne's felicity, to
draw any comparison between it and her sister's;
the origin of one all selfish vanity, of the other
all generous attachment.

Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the bril-

liancy of the room. Her happiness was from
within. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks
glowed; but she knew nothing about it. She was
thinking only of the last half hour, and as they
passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range
over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions,
and still more his manner and look, had been
such as she could see in only one light. His opin-
ion of Louisa Musgrove's inferiority, an opinion
which he had seemed solicitous to give, his won-
der at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a first,
strong attachment; sentences begun which he
could not finish, his half averted eyes and more
than half expressive glance, all, all declared that
he had a heart returning to her at least; that
 388/561

anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and

that they were succeeded, not merely by friend-
ship and regard, but by the tenderness of the
past. Yes, some share of the tenderness of the
past. She could not contemplate the change as
implying less. He must love her.

These were thoughts, with their attendant vis-

ions, which occupied and flurried her too much
to leave her any power of observation; and she
passed along the room without having a glimpse
of him, without even trying to discern him.
When their places were determined on, and they
were all properly arranged, she looked round to
see if he should happen to be in the same part of
the room, but he 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 among those on
 389/561

the foremost, and Mr Elliot had manoeuvred so

well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel
Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss Elliot, sur-
rounded by 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 the evening; it was just oc-
cupation enough: she had feelings for the tender,
spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and
patience for the wearisome; and had never liked
a concert better, at least during the first act.
Towards the close of it, in the interval succeed-
ing an Italian song, she explained the words of
the song to Mr Elliot. They had a concert bill
between them.

"This," said she, "is nearly the sense, or rather

the meaning of the words, for certainly the sense
of an Italian love-song must not be talked of, but
it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for I do
 390/561

not pretend to understand the language. I am a

very poor Italian scholar."

"Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know noth-

ing of the matter. You have only knowledge
enough of the language to translate at sight these
inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into
clear, comprehensible, elegant English. You
need not say anything more of your ignorance.
Here is complete proof."

"I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I

should be sorry to be examined by a real
proficient."

"I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Cam-

den Place so long," replied he, "without knowing
something of Miss Anne Elliot; and I do regard
her as one who is too modest for the world in
general to be aware of half her accomplishments,
and too highly accomplished for modesty to be
natural in any other woman."
 391/561

"For shame! for shame! this is too much flat-

tery. I forget what we are to have next," turning
to the bill.

"Perhaps," said Mr Elliot, speaking low, "I

have had a longer acquaintance with your char-
acter than you are aware of."

"Indeed! How so? You can have been acquain-

ted with it only since I came to Bath, excepting
as you might hear me previously spoken of in
my own family."

"I knew you by report long before you came to

Bath. I had heard you described by those who
knew you intimately. I have been acquainted
with you by character 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 can withstand the
 392/561

charm of such a mystery. To have been de-

scribed long ago to a recent acquaintance, by
nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne was all
curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him
eagerly; but in vain. He delighted in being asked,
but he would not tell.

"No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not

now. He would mention no names now; but
such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He
had many years ago received such a description
of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him with the
highest idea of her merit, and excited the
warmest curiosity to know her."

Anne could think of no one so likely to have

spoken with partiality of her many years 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 ask
the question.
 393/561

"The name of Anne Elliot," said he, "has long

had an interesting 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 immedi-
ately behind her, which rendered every thing else
trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were
speaking.

"A well-looking man," said Sir Walter, "a very

well-looking man."

"A very fine young man indeed!" said Lady

Dalrymple. "More air than one often sees in
Bath. Irish, I dare say."

"No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaint-

ance. Wentworth; Captain Wentworth of the
 394/561

navy. His sister married my tenant in Somerset-

shire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch."

Before Sir Walter had reached this point,

Anne's eyes had caught the right direction, and
distinguished Captain Wentworth standing
among a cluster of men at a little distance. As
her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn
from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as if
she had been one moment too late; and as long as
she dared observe, he did not look again: but the
performance was recommencing, and she was
forced to seem to restore her attention to the or-
chestra and look straight forward.

When she could give another glance, he had

moved away. He could not have come nearer to
her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut
in: but she would rather have caught his eye.
 395/561

Mr Elliot's speech, too, distressed her. She had

no longer any inclination 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 a period of
nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them
did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was
one of the few who did not choose to move. She
remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell;
but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr Elli-
ot; and she did not mean, whatever she might
feel on Lady Russell's account, to shrink from
conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave
her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady
Russell's countenance that she had seen him.

He did not come however. Anne sometimes

fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he
never came. The anxious interval wore away un-
productively. The others returned, the room
filled again, benches were reclaimed and
 396/561

repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of

penance was to be sat out, another hour of music
was to give delight or the gapes, as real or af-
fected taste for it prevailed. To Anne, it chiefly
wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. She
could not quit that room in peace without seeing
Captain Wentworth once more, without the inter-
change of one friendly look.

In re-settling themselves there were now many

changes, the result of which was favourable for
her. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again,
and Mr Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss
Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit
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 had been before, much more within
reach of a passer-by. She could not do so,
without comparing herself with Miss Larolles,
the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it,
and not with much happier effect; though by
 397/561

what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early

abdication in her next neighbours, she found her-
self at the very end of the bench before the con-
cert closed.

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at

hand, when Captain Wentworth was again 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
enough to speak to her. She felt that something
must be the matter. The change was indubitable.
The difference between his present air and what
it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly
great. Why was it? She thought of her father, of
Lady Russell. Could there have been any un-
pleasant glances? He began by speaking of the
concert gravely, more like the Captain Went-
worth of Uppercross; owned himself disappoin-
ted, had expected singing; and in short, must
confess that he should not be sorry when it was
over. Anne replied, and spoke in defence of the
 398/561

performance so well, and yet in allowance for his

feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance im-
proved, and he replied again with almost a smile.
They talked for a few minutes more; the im-
provement held; he even looked down towards
the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth
occupying; when at that moment a touch on her
shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came
from Mr Elliot. He begged her pardon, but she
must be applied to, to explain Italian again. Miss
Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea
of what was next to be sung. Anne could not re-
fuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness
with a more suffering spirit.

A few minutes, though as few as possible,

were inevitably consumed; and when her own
mistress again, when able to turn and look as she
had done before, she found herself accosted by
Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet hurried
sort of farewell. "He must wish her good night;
 399/561

he was going; he should get home as fast as he

could."

"Is not this song worth staying for?" said

Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made
her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

"No!" he replied impressively, "there is noth-

ing worth my staying for;" and he was gone
directly.

Jealousy of Mr Elliot! It was the only intelli-

gible motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her
affection! Could she have believed it a week ago;
three hours ago! For a moment the gratification
was exquisite. But, alas! there were very differ-
ent thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy
to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him?
How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their
respective situations, would he ever learn of her
real sentiments? It was misery to think of Mr
Elliot's attentions. Their evil was incalculable.
 400/561

Chapter 21

Anne recollected with pleasure the next morn-

ing her promise of going to Mrs Smith, meaning
that it should engage her from home at the time
when Mr Elliot would 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 his attentions, she
owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compas-
sion. She could not help thinking much of the ex-
traordinary circumstances attending their ac-
quaintance, of the right which he seemed to have
to interest her, by everything in situation, by his
own sentiments, by his early prepossession. It
was altogether very extraordinary; flattering, but
 401/561

painful. There was much to regret. How she

might have felt had there been no Captain Went-
worth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for
there was a Captain Wentworth; and be the con-
clusion of the present suspense good or bad, her
affection would be his for ever. Their union, she
believed, could not divide her more from other
men, than their final separation.

Prettier musings of high-wrought love and

eternal constancy, could never have passed along
the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with
from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It
was almost enough to spread purification and
perfume all the way.

She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her

friend seemed this morning particularly obliged
to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expec-
ted her, though it had been an appointment.
 402/561

An account of the concert was immediately

claimed; and Anne's recollections of the concert
were quite happy enough to animate her features
and make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she
could tell she told most gladly, but the all was
little for one who had been there, and unsatis-
factory for such an enquirer as Mrs Smith, who
had already heard, through the short cut of a
laundress and a waiter, rather more of the gener-
al success and produce of the evening than Anne
could relate, and who now asked in vain for sev-
eral particulars of the company. Everybody of
any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well
know by name to Mrs Smith.

"The little Durands were there, I conclude,"

said she, "with their 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 in the room."
 403/561

"The Ibbotsons, were they there? and the two

new beauties, with the tall Irish 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, I know; and you must
have seen her. She must have been in your own
circle; for as you went with Lady Dalrymple,
you were in the seats of grandeur, round the or-
chestra, of course."

"No, that was what I dreaded. It would have

been very unpleasant to me in every respect. But
happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be
farther off; and we were exceedingly well
placed, that is, for hearing; I must not say for
seeing, because I appear to have seen very little."

"Oh! you saw enough for your own amuse-

ment. I can understand. There is a sort of
 404/561

domestic enjoyment to be known even in a

crowd, and this you had. You were a large party
in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond."

"But I ought to have looked about me more,"

said Anne, conscious while she spoke that there
had in fact been no want of looking about, that
the object only had been deficient.

"No, no; you were better employed. You need

not tell me that you had a pleasant 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 the concert it was
conversation."

Anne half smiled and said, "Do you see that in

my eye?"

"Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly in-

forms me that you were in company last night
with the person whom you think the most
 405/561

agreeable in the world, the person who interests

you at this present time more than all the rest of
the world put together."

A blush overspread Anne's cheeks. She could

say nothing.

"And such being the case," continued Mrs

Smith, after a short pause, "I hope you believe
that I do know how to value your kindness in
coming to me this morning. It is really very good
of you to come and sit with me, when you must
have so many pleasanter demands upon your
time."

Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the

astonishment and confusion excited by her
friend's penetration, unable to imagine how any
report of Captain Wentworth could have reached
her. After another short silence--
 406/561

"Pray," said Mrs Smith, "is Mr Elliot aware of

your acquaintance with me? Does he know that I
am in Bath?"

"Mr Elliot!" repeated Anne, looking up sur-

prised. A moment's reflection shewed her the
mistake she had been under. She caught it in-
stantaneously; and recovering her courage with
the feeling of safety, soon added, more com-
posedly, "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 we met."

"I was not at all aware of this. You never men-

tioned it before. Had I known it, I would have
had the pleasure of talking to him about you."

"To confess the truth," said Mrs Smith, assum-

ing her usual air of cheerfulness, "that is exactly
the pleasure I want you to have. I want you to
 407/561

talk about me to Mr Elliot. I want your interest

with him. He can be of essential service to me;
and if you would have the goodness, my dear
Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself, of
course it is done."

"I should be extremely happy; I hope you can-

not doubt my willingness to be of even the
slightest use to you," replied Anne; "but I suspect
that you are considering me as having a higher
claim on Mr Elliot, a greater right to influence
him, than is really the case. I am sure you have,
somehow or other, imbibed such a notion. You
must consider me only as Mr Elliot's relation. If
in that light there is anything which you suppose
his cousin might fairly ask of him, I beg you
would not hesitate to employ me."

Mrs Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and

then, smiling, said--
 408/561

"I have been a little premature, I perceive; I

beg your pardon. I ought to have waited for offi-
cial information. But now, my dear Miss Elliot,
as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I
may speak. Next week? To be sure by next week
I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build
my own selfish schemes on Mr Elliot's good
fortune."

"No," replied Anne, "nor next week, nor next,

nor next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you
are thinking of will be settled any week. I am not
going to marry Mr Elliot. I should like to know
why you imagine I am?"

Mrs Smith looked at her again, looked earn-

estly, smiled, shook her head, and exclaimed--

"Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I

do wish I knew what you were at! I have a great
idea that you do not design to be cruel, when the
right moment occurs. Till it does come, you
 409/561

know, we women never mean to have anybody.

It is a thing of course among us, that every man
is refused, till he offers. But why should you be
cruel? Let me plead for my--present friend I can-
not call him, but for my former friend. Where
can you look for a more suitable match? Where
could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agree-
able man? Let me recommend Mr Elliot. I am
sure you hear nothing but good of him from Col-
onel Wallis; and who can know him better than
Colonel Wallis?"

"My dear Mrs Smith, Mr Elliot's wife has not

been dead much above half a year. He ought not
to be supposed to be paying his addresses to any
one."

"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. Do not
forget me when you are married, that's all. Let
him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he
 410/561

will think little of the trouble required, which it

is very natural for him now, with so many affairs
and engagements of his own, to avoid and get rid
of as he can; very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine
out of a hundred would do the same. Of course,
he cannot be aware of the importance to me.
Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you
will be very happy. Mr Elliot has sense to under-
stand the value of such a woman. Your peace
will not be shipwrecked as mine has been. You
are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his
character. He will not be led astray; he will not
be misled by others to his ruin."

"No," said Anne, "I can readily believe all that

of my cousin. He seems to have a calm decided
temper, not at all open to dangerous impressions.
I consider him with great respect. I have no reas-
on, from any thing that has fallen within my ob-
servation, to do otherwise. But I have not known
him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be
known intimately soon. Will not this manner of
 411/561

speaking of him, Mrs Smith, convince you that

he is nothing to 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 has any thought
of doing), I shall not accept him. I assure you I
shall not. I assure you, Mr Elliot had not the
share which you have been supposing, in
whatever pleasure the concert of last night might
afford: not Mr Elliot; it is not Mr Elliot that--"

She stopped, regretting with a deep blush that

she had implied so much; but less would hardly
have been sufficient. Mrs Smith would hardly
have believed so soon in Mr Elliot's failure, but
from the perception of there being a somebody
else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and with
all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond; and
Anne, eager to escape farther notice, was impa-
tient to know why Mrs Smith should have fan-
cied she was to marry Mr Elliot; where she could
 412/561

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, "upon finding how much you were to-
gether, and feeling it to be the most probable
thing 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 in the 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 called yesterday?"

"No. Was not it Mrs Speed, as usual, or the

maid? I observed no one in particular."
 413/561

"It was my friend Mrs Rooke; Nurse Rooke;

who, by-the-bye, had a great curiosity to see you,
and was delighted to be in the way to let you in.
She came away from Marlborough Buildings
only on Sunday; and she it was who told me you
were to marry Mr Elliot. She had had it from
Mrs Wallis herself, which did not seem bad au-
thority. She sat an hour with me on Monday
evening, and gave me the whole history." "The
whole history," repeated Anne, laughing. "She
could not make a very long history, I think, of
one such little article of unfounded news."

Mrs Smith said nothing.

"But," continued Anne, presently, "though

there is no truth in my having this claim on Mr
Elliot, I should be extremely happy to be of use
to you in any way that I could. Shall I mention to
him your being in Bath? Shall I take any
message?"
 414/561

"No, I thank you: no, certainly not. In the

warmth of the moment, and under a mistaken
impression, I might, perhaps, have endeavoured
to interest you in some circumstances; but not
now. No, I thank you, I have nothing to trouble
you 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."
 415/561

"Indeed! Then do tell me what he was at that

time of life. I have a great curiosity to know
what Mr Elliot was as a very young man. Was he
at all such as he appears now?"

"I have not seen Mr Elliot these three years,"

was Mrs Smith's answer, given so gravely that it
was impossible to pursue the subject farther; and
Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an in-
crease of curiosity. They were both silent: Mrs
Smith very thoughtful. At last--

"I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot," she

cried, in her natural tone of cordiality, "I beg
your pardon for the short answers I have been
giving you, but I have been uncertain what I
ought to do. I have been doubting and consider-
ing as to what I ought to tell you. There were
many things to be taken into the account. One
hates to be officious, to be giving bad impres-
sions, making mischief. Even the smooth surface
of family-union seems worth preserving, though
 416/561

there may be nothing durable beneath. However,

I have determined; I think I am right; I think you
ought to be made acquainted with Mr Elliot's real
character. Though I fully believe that, at present,
you have not the smallest intention of accepting
him, there is no saying what may happen. You
might, some time or other, be differently affected
towards him. Hear the truth, therefore, now,
while you are unprejudiced. Mr Elliot is a man
without heart or conscience; a designing, wary,
cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself;
whom for his own interest or ease, would be
guilty of any cruelty, or any treachery, that could
be perpetrated without risk of his general charac-
ter. He has no feeling for others. Those whom he
has been the chief cause of leading into ruin, he
can neglect and desert without the smallest com-
punction. He is totally beyond the reach of any
sentiment of justice or compassion. Oh! he is
black at heart, hollow and black!"
 Anne's astonished air, and exclamation of won-
der, made her pause, and in a 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 you what I have found him. Facts shall
speak. He was the intimate friend of my dear
husband, who trusted and loved him, and thought
him as good as himself. The intimacy had been
formed before our marriage. I found them most
intimate friends; and I, too, became excessively
pleased with Mr Elliot, and entertained the
highest opinion of him. At nineteen, you know,
one does not think very seriously; but Mr Elliot
appeared to me quite as good as others, and
much more agreeable than most others, and we
were almost always together. We were princip-
ally in town, living in very good style. He was
then the inferior in circumstances; he was then
the poor one; he had chambers in the Temple,
 418/561

and it was as much as he could do to support the

appearance of a gentleman. He had always a
home with us whenever he chose it; he was al-
ways welcome; he was like a brother. My poor
Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit
in the world, would have divided his last farthing
with him; and I know that his purse was open to
him; I know that he often assisted him."

"This must have been about that very period of

Mr Elliot's life," said Anne, "which has always
excited my particular curiosity. It must have
been about the same time that he became known
to my father and sister. I never knew him myself;
I only heard of him; but there was a something in
his conduct then, with regard to my father and
sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his
marriage, which I never could quite reconcile
with present times. It seemed to announce a dif-
ferent sort of man."
 419/561

"I know it all, I know it all," cried Mrs Smith.

"He had been introduced to Sir Walter and your
sister before I was acquainted with him, but I
heard him speak of them for ever. I know he was
invited and encouraged, and I know he did not
choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps, on
points which you would little expect; and as to
his marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I
was privy to all the fors and againsts; I was the
friend to whom he confided his hopes and plans;
and though I did not know his wife previously,
her inferior situation in society, indeed, rendered
that impossible, yet I knew her all her life after-
wards, or at least till within the last two years of
her life, and can answer any question you may
wish to put."

"Nay," said Anne, "I have no particular en-

quiry to make about her. I have always under-
stood they were not a happy couple. But I should
like to know why, at that time of his life, he
should slight my father's acquaintance as he did.
 420/561

My father was certainly disposed to take very

kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr Elli-
ot 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 process than the
law. He was determined to make it by marriage.
He was determined, at least, 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 and sister, in their civilities and
invitations, were designing a match between the
heir and the young lady, and it was impossible
that such a match should have answered his ideas
of wealth and independence. That was his motive
for drawing back, I can assure you. He told me
the whole story. He had no concealments with
me. It was curious, that having just left you be-
hind me in Bath, my first and principal acquaint-
ance on marrying should be your cousin; and
that, through him, I should be continually
 421/561

hearing of your father and sister. He described

one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affectionately
of the other."

"Perhaps," cried Anne, struck by a sudden

idea, "you sometimes spoke of me to Mr Elliot?"

"To be sure I did; very often. I used to boast of

my own Anne Elliot, and vouch 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. I could
not comprehend how. What wild imaginations
one forms where dear self is concerned! How
sure to be mistaken! But I beg your pardon; I
have interrupted you. Mr Elliot married then
completely for money? The circumstances,
 422/561

probably, which first opened your eyes to his

character."

Mrs Smith hesitated a little here. "Oh! those

things are too common. When one lives in the
world, a man or woman's marrying for money is
too common to strike one as it ought. I was very
young, and associated only with the young, 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 sorrow
have given me other notions; but at that period I
must own I saw nothing reprehensible in what
Mr Elliot was doing. 'To do the best for himself,'
passed as a duty."

"But was not she a very low woman?"

"Yes; which I objected to, but he would not re-

gard. Money, money, was all that he wanted. Her
father was a grazier, her grandfather had been a
butcher, but that was all nothing. She was a fine
 423/561

woman, had had a decent education, was brought

forward by some cousins, thrown by chance into
Mr Elliot's company, and fell in love with him;
and not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his
side, with respect to her birth. All his caution
was spent in being secured of the real amount of
her fortune, before he committed himself.
Depend upon 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 the Kellynch estate was something,
but all the honour of the family he held as cheap
as dirt. I have often heard him declare, that if
baronetcies were saleable, anybody should have
his for fifty pounds, arms and motto, name and
livery included; but I will not pretend to repeat
half that I used to hear him say on that subject. It
would not be fair; and yet you ought to have
proof, for what is all this but assertion, and you
shall have proof."
 424/561

"Indeed, my dear Mrs Smith, I want none,"

cried Anne. "You have asserted nothing contra-
dictory to what Mr Elliot appeared to be some
years ago. 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 into my bedroom, and bringing me the
small inlaid box which you will find on the up-
per shelf of the closet."

Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on

it, did as she was desired. The box was brought
and placed before her, and Mrs Smith, sighing
over it as she unlocked it, said--

"This is full of papers belonging to him, to my

husband; a small portion only of what I had to
 425/561

look over when I lost him. The letter I am look-

ing for was one written by Mr Elliot to him be-
fore our marriage, and happened to be saved;
why, one can hardly imagine. But he was care-
less and immethodical, like other men, about
those things; and when I came to examine his pa-
pers, I found it with others still more trivial, from
different people scattered here and there, while
many letters and memorandums of real import-
ance had been destroyed. Here it is; I would not
burn it, because being even then very little satis-
fied with Mr Elliot, I was determined to preserve
every document of former intimacy. I have now
another motive for being glad that I can produce
it."

This was the letter, directed to "Charles Smith,

Esq. Tunbridge Wells," and dated from London,
as far back as July, 1803:--

"Dear Smith,--I have received yours. Your

kindness almost overpowers me. I wish nature
 426/561

had made such hearts as yours more common,

but I have lived three-and-twenty years in the
world, and have seen none like it. At present, be-
lieve me, I have no need of your services, being
in cash again. Give me joy: I have got rid of Sir
Walter and Miss. They are gone back to
Kellynch, and almost made me swear to visit
them this summer; but my first visit to Kellynch
will be with a surveyor, to tell me how to bring it
with best advantage to the hammer. The baronet,
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 decent equi-
valent 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 I can 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."
 427/561

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 the exact terms, I have a
perfect impression of the general meaning. But it
shows you the man. Mark his professions to my
poor husband. Can any thing be stronger?"

Anne could not immediately get over the shock

and mortification of finding such words applied
to her father. She was obliged to recollect that
her seeing the letter was a violation of the laws
of honour, that no one ought to be judged or to
be known by such testimonies, that no private
correspondence could bear the eye of others, be-
fore she could recover calmness enough to return
the letter which she had been meditating over,
and say--
 428/561

"Thank you. This is full proof undoubtedly;

proof of every thing you were saying. 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 will shew him as he is
now. I cannot produce written proof again, but I
can give as authentic oral testimony as you can
desire, of what he is now wanting, and what he is
now doing. He is no hypocrite now. He truly
wants to marry you. His present attentions to
your family are very sincere: quite from the
heart. I will give you my authority: his friend
Colonel Wallis."

"Colonel Wallis! you are acquainted with

him?"
 429/561

"No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a

line as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of
consequence. The stream is as good as at first;
the little rubbish it collects in the turnings is eas-
ily moved away. Mr Elliot talks unreservedly to
Colonel Wallis of his views on you, which said
Colonel Wallis, I imagine to be, in himself, a
sensible, careful, discerning sort of character; but
Colonel Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to
whom he tells things which he had better not,
and he repeats it all to her. She in the overflow-
ing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to her
nurse; and the nurse knowing my acquaintance
with you, very naturally brings it all to me. On
Monday evening, my good friend Mrs Rooke let
me thus much into the secrets of Marlborough
Buildings. When I talked of a whole history,
therefore, you see I was not romancing so much
as you supposed."

"My dear Mrs Smith, your authority is defi-

cient. This will not do. Mr Elliot's having any
 430/561

views on me will not in the least account for the

efforts he made towards a reconciliation with my
father. That was all prior to my coming to Bath. I
found them on the most friendly terms when I
arrived."

"I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but--"

"Indeed, Mrs Smith, we must not expect to get

real information in such a line. Facts or opinions
which are to pass through the hands of so many,
to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignor-
ance in another, can hardly have much truth
left."

"Only give me a hearing. You will soon be

able to judge of the general credit due, by listen-
ing to some particulars which you can yourself
immediately contradict or confirm. Nobody sup-
poses that you were his first inducement. He had
seen you indeed, before he came to Bath, and ad-
mired you, but without knowing it to be you. So
 431/561

says my historian, at least. Is this true? Did he

see you last summer or autumn, 'somewhere
down in the west,' to use her own words, without
knowing it to be you?"

"He certainly did. So far it is very true. At

Lyme. I happened to be at Lyme."

"Well," continued Mrs Smith, triumphantly,

"grant my friend the credit due to the establish-
ment of the first point asserted. He saw you then
at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceed-
ingly pleased to meet with you again in Camden
Place, as Miss Anne Elliot, and from that mo-
ment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in
his visits there. But there was another, and an
earlier, which I will now explain. If there is any-
thing in my story which you know to be either
false or improbable, stop me. My account states,
that your sister's friend, the lady now staying
with you, whom I have heard you mention, came
to Bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long
 432/561

ago as September (in short when they first came

themselves), and has been staying there ever
since; that she is a clever, insinuating, handsome
woman, poor and plausible, and altogether such
in situation and manner, as to give a general
idea, among Sir Walter's acquaintance, of her
meaning to be Lady Elliot, and as general a sur-
prise that Miss Elliot should be apparently, blind
to the danger."

Here Mrs Smith paused a moment; but Anne

had not a word to say, and she continued--

"This was the light in which it appeared to

those who knew the family, long before you re-
turned to it; and Colonel Wallis had his eye upon
your father enough to be sensible of it, though he
did not then visit in Camden Place; but his re-
gard for Mr Elliot gave him an interest in watch-
ing all that was going on there, and when Mr El-
liot came to Bath for a day or two, as he
happened to do a little before Christmas, Colonel
 433/561

Wallis made him acquainted with the appearance

of 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 to the value of a baronetcy. Upon all
points of blood and connexion he is a completely
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 gradually
learning to pin his happiness upon the con-
sequence he is heir to. I thought it coming on be-
fore our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a con-
firmed feeling. He cannot bear the idea of not be-
ing Sir William. You may guess, therefore, that
the news he heard from his friend could not be
very agreeable, and you may guess what it pro-
duced; the resolution of coming back to Bath as
soon as possible, and of fixing himself here for a
time, with the view of renewing his former ac-
quaintance, and recovering such a footing in the
family as might give him the means of ascertain-
ing the degree of his danger, and of
 434/561

circumventing the lady if he found it material.

This was agreed upon between the two friends as
the only thing to be done; and Colonel Wallis
was to assist in every way that he could. He was
to be introduced, and Mrs Wallis was to be intro-
duced, and everybody was to be introduced. Mr
Elliot came back accordingly; and on application
was forgiven, as you know, and re-admitted into
the family; and there it was his constant object,
and his only object (till your arrival added anoth-
er motive), to watch Sir Walter and Mrs Clay.
He omitted no opportunity of being with them,
threw himself in their way, called at all hours;
but I need not 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 accord with what I have known, or
could imagine. There is always something of-
fensive in the details of cunning. The
 435/561

manoeuvres of selfishness and duplicity must

ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which
really surprises me. I know those who would be
shocked by such a representation of Mr Elliot,
who would have difficulty in believing it; but I
have never been satisfied. I have always wanted
some other motive for his conduct than appeared.
I should like to know his present opinion, as to
the probability of the event he has been in dread
of; whether he considers the danger to be lessen-
ing or not."

"Lessening, I understand," replied Mrs Smith.

"He thinks Mrs Clay afraid of him, aware that he
sees through her, and not daring to proceed as
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
present influence. Mrs Wallis has an amusing
idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the
marriage articles when you and Mr Elliot marry,
that your father is not to marry Mrs Clay. A
 436/561

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 not prevent his marrying any-
body else.' And, indeed, to own the truth, I do
not think nurse, in her heart, is a very strenuous
opposer of Sir Walter's making a second match.
She must be allowed to be a favourer of matri-
mony, you know; and (since self will intrude)
who can say that she may not have some flying
visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through
Mrs Wallis's recommendation?"

"I am very glad to know all this," said Anne,

after a little thoughtfulness. "It will be more
painful to me in some respects to be in company
with him, but I shall know better what to do. My
line of conduct will be more direct. Mr Elliot is
evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly man,
who has never had any better principle to guide
him than selfishness."
 437/561

But Mr Elliot was not done with. Mrs Smith

had been carried away from her first direction,
and Anne had forgotten, in the interest of her
own family concerns, how much had been ori-
ginally implied against him; but her attention
was now called to the explanation of those first
hints, and she listened to a recital which, if it did
not perfectly justify the unqualified bitterness of
Mrs Smith, proved him to have been very unfeel-
ing in his conduct towards her; very deficient
both in justice and compassion.

She learned that (the intimacy between them

continuing unimpaired by Mr Elliot's marriage)
they had been as before always together, and Mr
Elliot had led his friend into expenses much bey-
ond his fortune. Mrs Smith did not want to take
blame to herself, and was most tender of throw-
ing any on her husband; but Anne could collect
that their income had never been equal to their
style of living, and that from the first there had
been a great deal of general and joint
 438/561

extravagance. From his wife's account of him she

could discern Mr Smith to have been a man of
warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and
not strong understanding, much more amiable
than his friend, and very unlike him, led by him,
and probably despised by him. Mr Elliot, raised
by his marriage to great affluence, and disposed
to every gratification of pleasure and vanity
which could be commanded without involving
himself, (for with all his self-indulgence he had
become a prudent man), and beginning to be
rich, just as his friend ought to have found him-
self to be poor, seemed to have had no concern at
all for that friend's probable finances, but, on the
contrary, had been prompting and encouraging
expenses which could end only in ruin; and the
Smiths accordingly had been ruined.

The husband had died just in time to be spared

the full knowledge of it. They had previously
known embarrassments enough to try the friend-
ship of their friends, and to prove that Mr Elliot's
 439/561

had better not be tried; but it was not till his

death that the wretched state of his affairs was
fully known. With a confidence in Mr Elliot's re-
gard, more creditable to his feelings than his
judgement, Mr Smith had appointed him the ex-
ecutor of his will; but Mr Elliot would not act,
and the difficulties and distress which this refus-
al had heaped on her, in addition to the inevitable
sufferings of her situation, had been such as
could not be related without anguish of spirit, or
listened to without corresponding indignation.

Anne was shewn some letters of his on the oc-

casion, answers to urgent applications from Mrs
Smith, which all breathed the same stern resolu-
tion of not engaging in a fruitless trouble, and,
under a cold civility, the same hard-hearted in-
difference to any of the evils it might bring on
her. It was a dreadful 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 to listen to; all the
 440/561

particulars of past sad scenes, all the minutiae of

distress upon distress, which in former conversa-
tions had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on
now with a natural indulgence. Anne could per-
fectly comprehend the exquisite relief, and was
only the more inclined to wonder at the compos-
ure of her friend's usual state of mind.

There was one circumstance in the history of

her grievances of particular irritation. She had
good reason to believe that some property of her
husband in the West Indies, which had been for
many years under a sort of sequestration for the
payment of its own incumbrances, might be re-
coverable by proper measures; and this property,
though not large, would be enough to make her
comparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir
in it. Mr Elliot would do nothing, and she could
do nothing herself, equally disabled from person-
al exertion by her state of bodily weakness, and
from employing others by her want of money.
She had no natural connexions to assist her even
 441/561

with their counsel, and she could not afford to

purchase the assistance of the law. This was a
cruel aggravation of actually straitened means.
To feel that she ought to be in better circum-
stances, that a little trouble in the right place
might do it, and to fear that delay might be even
weakening her claims, was hard to bear.

It was on this point that she had hoped to en-

gage Anne's good offices with Mr Elliot. She had
previously, in the anticipation of their marriage,
been very apprehensive of losing her friend by it;
but on being assured that he could have made no
attempt of that nature, since he did not even
know her to be in Bath, it immediately occurred,
that something might be done in her favour by
the influence of the woman he loved, and she
had been hastily preparing to interest Anne's
feelings, as far as the observances due to Mr
Elliot's character would allow, when Anne's re-
futation of the supposed engagement changed the
face of everything; and while it took from her the
 442/561

new-formed hope of succeeding in the object of

her first anxiety, left her at least the comfort of
telling the whole story her own way.

After listening to this full description of Mr El-

liot, Anne could not but express some surprise at
Mrs Smith's having spoken of him so favourably
in the beginning of their conversation. "She had
seemed to recommend and praise him!"

"My dear," was Mrs Smith's reply, "there was

nothing else to be done. I considered your marry-
ing him as certain, though he might not yet have
made the offer, and I could no more speak the
truth of him, than if he had been your husband.
My heart bled for you, as I talked of happiness;
and yet he is sensible, he is agreeable, and with
such a woman as you, it was not absolutely
hopeless. He was very unkind to his first wife.
They were wretched together. But she was too
ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had never
 443/561

loved her. I was willing to hope that you must

fare better."

Anne could just acknowledge within herself

such a possibility of having been induced to
marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of
the misery which must have followed. It was just
possible that she might have been persuaded by
Lady Russell! 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 one of the concluding
arrangements of this important conference,
which carried them through the greater part of
the morning, was, that Anne had full liberty to
communicate to her friend everything relative to
Mrs Smith, in which his conduct was involved.
 444/561

Chapter 22

Anne went home to think over all that she had

heard. In one point, her feelings were relieved by
this knowledge of Mr Elliot. There was no
longer anything of tenderness due to him. He
stood as opposed to Captain Wentworth, in all
his own unwelcome obtrusiveness; and the evil
of his attentions last night, the irremediable mis-
chief he might have done, was considered with
sensations unqualified, unperplexed. Pity for him
was all over. But this was the only point of relief.
In every other respect, in looking around her, or
penetrating forward, she saw more to distrust and
to apprehend. She was concerned for the disap-
pointment and pain Lady Russell would be feel-
ing; for the mortifications which must be
hanging over her father and sister, and had all the
distress of foreseeing many evils, without
 445/561

knowing how to avert any one of them. She was

most thankful for her own knowledge of him.
She had never considered herself as entitled to
reward for not slighting an old friend like Mrs
Smith, but here was a reward indeed springing
from it! Mrs Smith had been able to tell her what
no one else could have done. Could the know-
ledge have been extended through her family?
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 much com-
posure as possible; and after all, her greatest
want of composure would be in that quarter of
the mind which could not be opened to Lady
Russell; in that flow of anxieties and fears which
must be all to herself.

She found, on reaching home, that she had, as

she intended, escaped seeing Mr Elliot; that he
had called and paid them a long morning visit;
 446/561

but hardly had she congratulated herself, and felt

safe, when she heard that he was coming again 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 an invitation. Poor man! I
was really in pain for him; for your hard-hearted
sister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty."

"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I have been rather too

much used to the game to be soon overcome by a
gentleman's hints. However, when I found how
excessively he was regretting that he should miss
my father this morning, I gave way immediately,
for I would never really omit an opportunity of
bringing him and Sir Walter together. They ap-
pear to so much advantage in company with each
 447/561

other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr Elliot

looking up with so much respect."

"Quite delightful!" cried Mrs Clay, not daring,

however, to turn her eyes towards Anne. "Ex-
actly 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 such ideas! But, upon my word, I
am scarcely sensible of his attentions being bey-
ond those of other men."

"My dear Miss Elliot!" exclaimed Mrs Clay,

lifting her hands and eyes, 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 did invite him, you know. I
sent him away with smiles. When I found he was
really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for
 448/561

the whole day to-morrow, I had compassion on

him."

Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in

being able to shew such pleasure as she did, in
the expectation and in the actual arrival of the
very person whose presence must really be inter-
fering with her prime object. It was impossible
but that Mrs Clay must hate the sight of Mr Elli-
ot; and yet she could assume a most obliging,
placid look, and appear quite satisfied with the
curtailed license of devoting herself only half as
much to Sir Walter as she would have done
otherwise.

To Anne herself it was most distressing to see

Mr Elliot enter the room; and quite painful to
have him approach and speak to her. She had
been used before to feel that he could not be al-
ways quite sincere, but now she saw insincerity
in everything. His attentive deference to her fath-
er, contrasted with his former language, was
 449/561

odious; and when she thought of his cruel con-

duct towards Mrs 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 man-

ners as might provoke a remonstrance on his
side. It was a great object to her to escape all en-
quiry or eclat; but it was her intention to be as
decidedly cool to him as might be compatible
with their relationship; and to retrace, as quietly
as she could, the few steps of unnecessary intim-
acy she had been gradually led along. She was
accordingly 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 have heard her formerly
praised; wanted very much to be gratified by
more solicitation; but the charm was broken: he
found that the heat and animation of a public
room was necessary to kindle his modest
 450/561

cousin's vanity; he found, at least, that it was not

to be done now, by any of those attempts which
he could hazard among the too-commanding
claims of the others. He little surmised that it
was a subject acting now exactly against his in-
terest, bringing immediately to her thoughts all
those parts of his conduct which were least
excusable.

She had some satisfaction in finding that he

was really going out of Bath the next morning,
going early, and that he would be gone the great-
er part of two days. He was invited again to
Camden Place the very evening of his return; but
from Thursday to Saturday evening his absence
was certain. It was bad enough that a Mrs Clay
should be always before her; but that a deeper
hypocrite should be added to their party, seemed
the destruction of everything like peace and
comfort. It was so humiliating to reflect on the
constant deception practised on her father and
Elizabeth; to consider the various sources of
 451/561

mortification preparing for them! Mrs Clay's

selfishness was not so complicate nor so revolt-
ing as his; and Anne would have compounded
for the marriage at once, with all its evils, to be
clear of Mr Elliot's subtleties in endeavouring to
prevent it.

On Friday morning she meant to go very early

to Lady Russell, and accomplish the necessary
communication; and she would have gone dir-
ectly after breakfast, but that Mrs Clay was also
going out on some obliging purpose of saving
her sister trouble, which determined her to wait
till she might be safe from such a companion.
She saw Mrs Clay fairly off, therefore, before
she began to talk of spending the morning in
Rivers Street.

"Very well," said Elizabeth, "I have nothing to

send but my love. Oh! you may as well take back
that tiresome book she would lend me, and pre-
tend I have read it through. I really cannot be
 452/561

plaguing myself for ever with all the new poems

and states of the nation that come out. Lady Rus-
sell quite bores one with her new publications.
You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress
hideous the other night. I used to think she had
some taste in dress, but I was ashamed of her at
the concert. Something so formal and arrangé in
her air! and she sits so upright! My best love, of
course."

"And mine," added Sir Walter. "Kindest re-

gards. And you may say, that I mean to call upon
her soon. Make a civil message; but I shall only
leave my card. Morning visits are never fair by
women at her time of life, who make themselves
up so little. If she would only wear rouge she
would not be afraid of being seen; but last time I
called, I observed the blinds were let down
immediately."

While her father spoke, there was a knock at

the door. Who could it be? Anne, remembering
 453/561

the preconcerted visits, at all hours, of Mr Elliot,

would have expected him, but for his known en-
gagement seven miles off. After the usual period
of suspense, the usual sounds of approach were
heard, and "Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove"
were ushered into the room.

Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by

their appearance; but Anne was really glad to see
them; and the others were not so sorry but that
they could put 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 in that house, Sir Wal-
ter and Elizabeth were able to rise in cordiality,
and do the honours of it very well. They were
come to Bath for a few days with Mrs Musgrove,
and were at the White Hart. So much was pretty
soon understood; but till Sir Walter and Eliza-
beth were walking Mary into the other drawing-
room, and regaling themselves with her admira-
tion, Anne could not draw upon Charles's brain
 454/561

for a regular history of their coming, or an ex-

planation of some smiling hints of particular
business, which had been ostentatiously dropped
by Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion
as to whom their party consisted of.

She then found that it consisted of Mrs Mus-

grove, Henrietta, and Captain Harville, beside
their two selves. He gave her a very plain, intelli-
gible account of the whole; a narration in which
she saw a great deal of most characteristic pro-
ceeding. The scheme had received its first im-
pulse by Captain Harville's wanting to come to
Bath on business. He had begun to talk of it a
week ago; and by way of doing something, as
shooting was over, Charles had proposed coming
with him, and Mrs Harville had seemed to like
the idea of it very 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 everything seemed to be in suspense,
or at an end. But then, it had been taken up by
 455/561

his father and mother. His mother had some old

friends in Bath whom she wanted to see; it was
thought a good opportunity for Henrietta to come
and buy wedding-clothes for herself and her sis-
ter; and, in short, it ended in being his mother's
party, that everything might be comfortable and
easy to Captain Harville; and he and Mary were
included in it by way of general convenience.
They had arrived late the night before. Mrs Har-
ville, her children, and Captain Benwick, re-
mained with Mr Musgrove and Louisa at
Uppercross.

Anne's only surprise was, that affairs should be

in forwardness enough for Henrietta's wedding-
clothes to be talked of. She had imagined such
difficulties of fortune to exist there as must pre-
vent the marriage from being near at hand; but
she learned from Charles that, very recently,
(since Mary's last letter to herself), Charles
Hayter had been applied to by a friend to hold a
living for a youth who could not possibly claim
 456/561

it under many years; and that on the strength of

his present income, with almost a certainty of
something more permanent long before the term
in question, the two families had consented to
the young people's wishes, and that their mar-
riage was likely to take place in a few months,
quite as soon as Louisa's. "And a very good liv-
ing it was," Charles added: "only five-and-
twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine
country: fine part of Dorsetshire. In the centre of
some of the best preserves in the kingdom, sur-
rounded by three great proprietors, each more
careful and jealous than the other; and to two of
the three at least, Charles Hayter might get a spe-
cial recommendation. Not that he will value it as
he ought," he observed, "Charles is too cool
about sporting. That's the worst of him."

"I am extremely glad, indeed," cried Anne,

"particularly glad that this should happen; and
that of two sisters, who both deserve equally
well, and who have always been such good
 457/561

friends, the pleasant prospect of one should not

be dimming those of the other--that they should
be so equal in their prosperity and comfort. I
hope your father and mother are quite happy
with 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
with money--two daughters at once--it cannot be
a very agreeable operation, and it streightens him
as to many things. However, I do not mean to
say they have not a right to it. It is very fit they
should have daughters' shares; and I am sure he
has always been a very kind, liberal father to me.
Mary does not above half like Henrietta's match.
She never did, you know. But she does not do
him justice, nor think enough about Winthrop. I
cannot make her attend to the value of the prop-
erty. It is a very fair match, as times go; and I
have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall
not leave off now."
 458/561

"Such excellent parents as Mr and Mrs Mus-

grove," exclaimed Anne, "should be happy in
their children's marriages. They do everything to
confer happiness, I am sure. What a blessing to
young people to be in such hands! Your father
and mother seem so totally free from all those
ambitious feelings which have led to so much
misconduct and misery, both in young and old. I
hope you think Louisa perfectly recovered
now?"

He answered rather hesitatingly, "Yes, I be-

lieve I do; very much recovered; but she is
altered; there is no running or jumping about, no
laughing or dancing; it is quite different. If one
happens only to shut the door a little hard, she
starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick in the
water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading
verses, or whispering to her, all day long."
 459/561

Anne could not help laughing. "That cannot be

much to your taste, I know," said she; "but I do
believe him to be an excellent young man."

"To be sure he is. Nobody doubts it; and I hope

you do not think I am so illiberal as to want
every man to have the same objects and pleas-
ures as myself. 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 as well as read. He is a brave
fellow. I got more acquainted with him last
Monday than ever I did before. We had a famous
set-to at rat-hunting all the morning in my
father's great barns; and he played his part so
well that I have liked him the better ever since."

Here they were interrupted by the absolute ne-

cessity of Charles's following the others to ad-
mire mirrors and china; but Anne had heard
enough to understand the present state of Upper-
cross, and rejoice in its happiness; and though
 460/561

she sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none of

the ill-will of envy in it. She would certainly
have risen to their blessings if she could, but she
did not want to lessen theirs.

The visit passed off altogether in high good

humour. Mary was in excellent spirits, enjoying
the gaiety and the change, and so well satisfied
with the journey in her mother-in-law's carriage
with four horses, and with her own complete in-
dependence of Camden Place, that she was ex-
actly in a temper to admire everything as she
ought, and enter most readily into all the superi-
orities of the house, as they were detailed to her.
She had no demands on her father or sister, and
her consequence was just enough increased by
their handsome drawing-rooms.

Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a

good deal. She felt that Mrs Musgrove and all
her party ought to be asked to dine with them;
but she could not bear to have the difference of
 461/561

style, the reduction of servants, which a dinner

must betray, witnessed by those who had been
always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It
was a struggle between propriety and vanity; but
vanity got the better, and then Elizabeth was
happy again. These were her internal persua-
sions: "Old fashioned notions; country hospital-
ity; we do not profess to give dinners; few
people in Bath do; Lady Alicia never does; did
not even ask her own sister's family, though they
were here a month: and I dare say it would be
very inconvenient to Mrs Musgrove; put her
quite out of her way. I am sure she would rather
not come; she cannot feel easy with us. I will ask
them all for an evening; that will be much better;
that will be a novelty and a treat. They have not
seen two such drawing rooms before. They will
be delighted to come to-morrow evening. It shall
be a regular party, small, but most elegant." And
this satisfied Elizabeth: and when the invitation
was given to the two present, and promised for
the absent, Mary was as completely satisfied.
 462/561

She was particularly asked to meet Mr Elliot,

and be introduced to Lady Dalrymple and Miss
Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged
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
of the morning; and Anne walked off with
Charles and Mary, to go and see her and Henri-
etta directly.

Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must

give way for the present. They all three called in
Rivers Street for a couple of minutes; but Anne
convinced herself that a day's delay of the inten-
ded communication could be of no consequence,
and hastened forward to the White Hart, to see
again the friends and companions of the last au-
tumn, with an eagerness of good-will which
many associations contributed to form.

They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter

within, and by themselves, and Anne had the
 463/561

kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was ex-

actly in that state of recently-improved views, of
fresh-formed happiness, which made her full of
regard and interest for everybody she had ever
liked before at all; and Mrs Musgrove's real af-
fection had been won by her usefulness when
they were in distress. It was a heartiness, and a
warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in
the more, from the sad want of such blessings at
home. She was entreated to give them as much
of her time as possible, invited for every day and
all day long, or rather claimed as part of the fam-
ily; and, in return, she naturally fell into all her
wonted ways of attention and assistance, and on
Charles's leaving them together, was listening to
Mrs Musgrove's history of Louisa, and to
Henrietta's of herself, giving opinions on busi-
ness, and recommendations to shops; with inter-
vals of every help which Mary required, from al-
tering her ribbon to settling her accounts; from
finding her keys, and assorting her trinkets, to
trying to convince her that she was not ill-used
 464/561

by anybody; which Mary, well amused as she

generally was, in her station at a window over-
looking the entrance to the Pump Room, could
not but have her moments of imagining.

A morning of thorough confusion was to be

expected. A large party in an hotel ensured a
quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five
minutes brought a note, the next a parcel; and
Anne had not been there half an hour, when their
dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more
than half filled: a party of steady old friends
were seated around Mrs Musgrove, and Charles
came back with Captains Harville and Went-
worth. The appearance of the latter could not be
more than the surprise of the moment. It was im-
possible for her to have forgotten to feel that this
arrival of their common friends must be soon
bringing them together again. Their last meeting
had been most important in opening his feelings;
she had derived from it a delightful conviction;
but she feared from his looks, that the same
 465/561

unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him

away from the Concert Room, still governed. He
did not seem to want to be near enough for
conversation.

She tried to be calm, and leave things to take

their course, and tried to dwell much on this ar-
gument of rational dependence:--"Surely, if there
be constant attachment on each side, our hearts
must understand each other ere long. We are not
boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by
every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly
playing with our own happiness." And yet, a few
minutes afterwards, she felt as if their being in
company with each other, under their present cir-
cumstances, could only be exposing them to in-
advertencies and misconstructions of the most
mischievous kind.

"Anne," cried Mary, still at her window, "there

is Mrs Clay, I am sure, standing under the colon-
nade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them turn
 466/561

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 El-

liot, I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine
this morning, and does not come back till to-
morrow."

As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth

was looking at her, the consciousness of which
vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret
that she had said so much, simple as it was.

Mary, resenting that she should be supposed

not to know her own cousin, began talking very
warmly about the family features, and protesting
still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling
again upon Anne to come and look for herself,
but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be
cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned,
 467/561

however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent

glances pass between two or three of the lady
visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in
the secret. It was evident that the report concern-
ing her had spread, and a short pause succeeded,
which seemed to ensure that it would now spread
farther.

"Do come, Anne," cried Mary, "come and look

yourself. You will be too late if you do not make
haste. They are parting; they are shaking hands.
He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed!
You seem to have forgot all about Lyme."

To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own

embarrassment, Anne did move quietly to the
window. She was just in time to ascertain that it
really was Mr Elliot, which she had never be-
lieved, before he disappeared on one side, as Mrs
Clay walked quickly off on the other; and check-
ing the surprise which she could not but feel at
such an appearance of friendly conference
 468/561

between two persons of totally 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 may be 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, hav-

ing civilly seen them off, and then 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 have been to the theatre, and
secured a box for to-morrow night. A'n't I a good
boy? I know you love a play; and there is room
for us all. It holds nine. I have engaged Captain
Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I
am sure. We all like a play. Have not I done
well, mother?"
 469/561

Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly begin-

ning to express her perfect readiness for the play,
if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when
Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming--

"Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of

such a thing? Take a box for to-morrow night!
Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden
Place to-morrow night? and that we were most
particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and
her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal
family connexions, on purpose to be introduced
to them? How can you be so forgetful?"

"Phoo! phoo!" replied Charles, "what's an

evening party? Never worth remembering. Your
father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if
he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like,
but I shall go to the play."

"Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abomin-

able if you do, when you promised to go."
 470/561

"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 unpar-

donable to fail. We were asked on purpose to be
introduced. There was always such a great con-
nexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves.
Nothing ever happened on either side that was
not announced immediately. We are quite near
relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom
you ought so particularly to be acquainted with!
Every attention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider, my
father's heir: the future representative of the
family."

"Don't talk to me about heirs and representat-

ives," cried Charles. "I am not one of those who
neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising
sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father,
I should think it scandalous to go for the sake of
his heir. What is Mr Elliot to me?" The careless
 471/561

expression was life to Anne, who saw that Cap-

tain Wentworth was all attention, looking and
listening with his whole soul; and that the last
words brought his enquiring eyes from Charles
to herself.

Charles and Mary still talked on in the same

style; he, half serious and half jesting, maintain-
ing the scheme for the play, and she, invariably
serious, most warmly opposing it, and not omit-
ting to make it known that, however determined
to go to Camden Place herself, she should not
think herself very well used, if they went to the
play without her. Mrs Musgrove interposed.

"We had better put it off. Charles, you had

much better go back and change the box for
Tuesday. It would be a pity to be divided, and we
should be losing Miss Anne, too, if there is a
party at her father's; and I am sure neither Henri-
etta nor I should care at all for the play, if Miss
Anne could not be with us."
 472/561

Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kind-

ness; and quite as much so for the opportunity 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. I have no
pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too
happy to change it for 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 words were listened to, and
daring not even to try to observe their effect.

It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday

should be the day; Charles only reserving the ad-
vantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting
that he would go to the play to-morrow if
nobody else would.

Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to

the fire-place; probably for the sake of walking
 473/561

away from it soon afterwards, and taking a sta-

tion, with less bare-faced design, by Anne.

"You have not been long enough in Bath," said

he, "to enjoy the evening parties of the place."

"Oh! no. The usual character of them has noth-

ing for me. I am no card-player."

"You were not formerly, I know. You did not

use to like cards; but time makes many changes."

"I am not yet so much changed," cried Anne,

and stopped, fearing she hardly knew what mis-
construction. After waiting a few moments he
said, and as 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 to ponder over in a
calmer hour; for while still hearing the sounds he
 474/561

had uttered, she was startled to other subjects by

Henrietta, eager to make use of the present leis-
ure for getting out, and calling on her compan-
ions to lose no time, lest somebody else should
come in.

They were obliged to move. Anne talked of be-

ing perfectly ready, and tried to look it; but she
felt that could Henrietta have known the regret
and reluctance of her heart in quitting that chair,
in preparing to quit the room, she would have
found, in all her own sensations for her cousin,
in the very security of his affection, wherewith to
pity her.

Their preparations, however, were stopped

short. Alarming sounds were heard; other visit-
ors approached, and the door was thrown open
for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whose entrance
seemed to give a general chill. Anne felt an in-
stant oppression, and wherever she looked saw
symptoms of the same. The comfort, the
 475/561

freedom, the gaiety of the room was over,

hushed into cold composure, determined silence,
or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of
her father and sister. How mortifying to feel that
it was so!

Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular.

Captain Wentworth was acknowledged again by
each, by Elizabeth more graciously than before.
She even addressed 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 few minutes in saying the proper
nothings, she began to give the invitation which
was to comprise all the remaining dues of the
Musgroves. "To-morrow evening, to meet a few
friends: no formal party." It was all said very
gracefully, and the cards with which she had
provided herself, the "Miss Elliot at home," were
laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehens-
ive smile to all, and one smile and one card more
decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was,
 476/561

that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to

understand the importance 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 her drawing-room. The card
was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Eliza-
beth arose and disappeared.

The interruption had been short, though severe,

and ease and animation returned to most of those
they left as the door shut them out, but not to
Anne. She could 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 grat-
ification, of polite acknowledgement rather than
acceptance. She knew him; she saw disdain in
his eye, and could not venture to believe that he
had determined to accept such an offering, as an
atonement for all the insolence of the past. Her
spirits sank. He held the card in his hand after
they were gone, as if deeply considering it.
 477/561

"Only think of Elizabeth's including every-

body!" whispered Mary very audibly. "I do not
wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted! You
see he cannot put the card out of his hand."

Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and

his mouth form itself into a momentary expres-
sion of contempt, and turned away, that she
might neither see nor hear more to vex her.

The party separated. The gentlemen had their

own pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own
business, and they met no more while Anne be-
longed to them. She was earnestly begged to re-
turn 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 to more, and fit only
for home, where she might be sure of being as si-
lent as she chose.

Promising to be with them the whole of the

following morning, therefore, she closed the
 478/561

fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to

Camden Place, there to spend the evening chiefly
in listening to the busy arrangements of Eliza-
beth and Mrs Clay for the morrow's party, the
frequent enumeration of the persons invited, and
the continually improving detail of all the embel-
lishments which were to make it the most com-
pletely elegant of its kind in Bath, while harass-
ing herself with the never-ending question, of
whether Captain Wentworth would come or not?
They were reckoning him as certain, but with her
it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for
five minutes together. She generally thought he
would come, because she generally thought he
ought; but it was a case which she could not so
shape into any positive act of duty or discretion,
as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very op-
posite feelings.

She only roused herself from the broodings of

this restless agitation, to let Mrs Clay know that
she had been seen with Mr Elliot three hours
 479/561

after his being supposed to be out of Bath, for

having watched in vain for some intimation of
the interview from the lady herself, she determ-
ined to mention it, and it seemed to her there was
guilt in Mrs Clay's face as she listened. It was
transient: cleared away in an instant; but Anne
could imagine she read there the consciousness
of having, by some complication of mutual trick,
or some overbearing authority of his, been ob-
liged to attend (perhaps for half an hour) to his
lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir
Walter. She exclaimed, however, with a very tol-
erable imitation of nature:--

"Oh! dear! very true. Only think, Miss Elliot,

to my great surprise I met with Mr Elliot in Bath
Street. I was never more astonished. He turned
back and walked with me to the Pump Yard. He
had been prevented setting off for Thornberry,
but I really forget by what; for I was in a hurry,
and could not much attend, and I can only an-
swer for his being determined not to be delayed
 480/561

in his return. He wanted to know how early he

might be admitted to-morrow. He was full of 'to-
morrow,' and it is very evident that I have been
full of it too, ever since I entered the house, and
learnt the extension of your plan and all that had
happened, or my seeing him could never have
gone so entirely out of my head."

Chapter 23

One day only had passed since Anne's conver-

sation with Mrs Smith; but a keener interest had
succeeded, and she was now so little touched by
Mr Elliot's conduct, except by its effects in one
quarter, that it became a matter of course the
next morning, still to defer her explanatory visit
in Rivers Street. She had promised to be with the
 481/561

Musgroves from breakfast to dinner. Her faith

was plighted, and Mr Elliot's character, like the
Sultaness Scheherazade's head, must live another
day.

She could not keep her appointment punctu-

ally, however; the weather was unfavourable,
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. When she
reached the White Hart, and made her way to the
proper apartment, she found herself neither arriv-
ing quite in time, nor the first to arrive. The party
before her were, Mrs Musgrove, talking to Mrs
Croft, and Captain Harville to Captain Went-
worth; and she immediately heard that Mary and
Henrietta, too impatient to wait, had gone out the
moment it had cleared, but would be back again
soon, and that the strictest injunctions had been
left with Mrs Musgrove to keep her there till
they returned. She had only to submit, sit down,
be outwardly composed, and feel herself plunged
 482/561

at once in all the agitations which she had merely

laid her account of tasting a little before the
morning closed. There was no delay, no waste of
time. She was deep in the happiness of such
misery, or the misery of such happiness, in-
stantly. Two minutes after her entering the room,
Captain Wentworth said--

"We will write the letter we were talking of,

Harville, now, if you will give me materials."

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he

went to it, and nearly turning his back to them
all, was engrossed by writing.

Mrs Musgrove was giving Mrs Croft the his-

tory of her eldest daughter's engagement, and
just in that inconvenient tone of voice which was
perfectly audible while it pretended to be a whis-
per. Anne felt that she did not belong to the con-
versation, and yet, as Captain Harville seemed
thoughtful and not disposed to talk, she could not
 483/561

avoid hearing many undesirable particulars; such

as, "how Mr Musgrove and my brother Hayter
had met again and again to talk it over; what my
brother Hayter had said one day, and what Mr
Musgrove had proposed the next, and what had
occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the young
people had wished, and what I said at first I nev-
er could consent to, but was afterwards per-
suaded to think might do very well," and a great
deal in the same style of open-hearted commu-
nication: minutiae which, even with every ad-
vantage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs
Musgrove could not give, could be properly in-
teresting only to the principals. Mrs Croft was at-
tending with 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 Mrs Musgrove, in her powerful whisper,
"though we could have wished it different, yet,
 484/561

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 as bad;
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
better than a long engagement."

"That is precisely what I was going to ob-

serve," cried Mrs Croft. "I would rather have
young people settle on a small income at once,
and have to struggle with a few difficulties to-
gether, than be involved in a long engagement. I
always think that no mutual--"

"Oh! dear Mrs Croft," cried Mrs Musgrove,

unable to let her finish her speech, "there is noth-
ing I so abominate for young people as a long
engagement. It is what I always protested against
for my children. It is all very well, I used to say,
for young people to be engaged, if there is a
 485/561

certainty of their being able to marry in six

months, or even in twelve; but a long
engagement--"

"Yes, dear ma'am," said Mrs Croft, "or an un-

certain engagement, an engagement which may
be long. To begin without knowing that at such a
time there will be the means of marrying, I hold
to be very unsafe and unwise, 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 eyes instinctively glanced towards the distant
table, Captain Wentworth's pen ceased to move,
his head was raised, pausing, listening, and he
turned round the 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, and enforce them with
 486/561

such examples of the ill effect of a contrary prac-

tice as had fallen within their observation, but
Anne heard nothing distinctly; it was only a buzz
of words in her ear, her mind was in confusion.

Captain Harville, who had in truth been hear-

ing none of it, now left his seat, and moved to a
window, and Anne seeming to watch him,
though it was from thorough absence of mind,
became gradually sensible that he was inviting
her to join him where he stood. He looked at her
with a smile, and a little motion of the head,
which expressed, "Come to me, I have
something to say;" and the unaffected, easy kind-
ness of manner which denoted the feelings of an
older acquaintance than he really was, strongly
enforced the invitation. She roused herself and
went to him. The window at which he stood was
at the other end of the room from where the two
ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain
Wentworth's table, not very near. As she joined
him, Captain Harville's countenance re-assumed
 487/561

the serious, thoughtful expression which seemed

its natural character.

"Look here," said he, unfolding a parcel in his

hand, and displaying 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 walking together at
Lyme, and grieving for him? I little thought
then--but no matter. This was drawn at the Cape.
He met with a clever young German artist at the
Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my
poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home
for her; and I have now the charge of getting it
properly set for another! It was a commission to
me! But who else was there to employ? I hope I
can allow for him. I am not sorry, indeed, to
make it over to another. He undertakes it;"
 488/561

(looking towards Captain Wentworth,) "he is

writing about it now." And with a quivering lip
he wound up the whole by adding, "Poor Fanny!
she would not have forgotten him so soon!"

"No," replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice.

"That I can easily 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 your sex?" and she
answered the question, smiling also, "Yes. We
certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget
us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather 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 have always a
profession, pursuits, business of some sort or
 489/561

other, to take you back into the world immedi-

ately, and continual occupation and change soon
weaken impressions."

"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 the very moment,
and he has been living with us, in our little fam-
ily circle, ever since."

"True," said Anne, "very true; I did not recol-

lect; but what shall we say now, Captain Har-
ville? If the change be not from outward circum-
stances, it must be from within; it must be
nature, man's nature, which has done the busi-
ness for Captain Benwick."

"No, no, it is not man's nature. I will not allow

it to be more man's nature than woman's to be in-
constant and forget those they do love, or have
 490/561

loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true

analogy between our bodily frames and our men-
tal; and that as our bodies are the strongest, so
are our feelings; capable of bearing most rough
usage, and riding out the heaviest weather."

"Your feelings may be the strongest," replied

Anne, "but the same spirit of analogy will au-
thorise me to assert that ours are the most tender.
Man is more robust than woman, but he is not
longer lived; which exactly explains my view of
the nature of their attachments. Nay, it would be
too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You
have difficulties, and privations, and dangers
enough to struggle with. You are always labour-
ing and toiling, exposed to every risk and hard-
ship. Your home, country, friends, all quitted.
Neither time, nor health, nor life, to be called
your own. It would be hard, indeed" (with a fal-
tering voice), "if woman's feelings were to be ad-
ded to all this."
 491/561

"We shall never agree upon this question,"

Captain Harville was beginning to say, when a
slight noise called their attention to Captain
Wentworth's hitherto perfectly quiet division of
the room. It was nothing more than that his pen
had fallen down; but Anne was startled at finding
him nearer than she had supposed, and half in-
clined to suspect that the pen had only fallen be-
cause 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 in very good anchorage
here," (smiling at Anne,) "well supplied, and
want for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all.
 492/561

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 all histories are against
you--all stories, prose and verse. If I had such a
memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quo-
tations in a moment on my side the argument,
and I do not think I ever opened a book in my
life which had not something to say upon
woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all
talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will
say, these were all written by men."

"Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no ref-

erence to examples in books. Men have had
every advantage of us in telling their own story.
Education has been theirs in so much higher a
degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not
allow books to prove anything."

"But how shall we prove anything?"

 493/561

"We never shall. We never can expect to prove

any thing upon such a point. It is a difference of
opinion which does not admit of proof. We each
begin, probably, with a little bias towards our
own sex; and upon that bias build every circum-
stance in favour of it which has occurred within
our own circle; many of which circumstances
(perhaps those very cases which strike us the
most) may be precisely such as cannot be
brought forward without betraying a 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 compre-
hend what a man suffers when he takes a last
look at his wife and children, and watches the
boat that he has sent them off in, as long as it is
in sight, and then turns away and says, 'God
knows whether we ever meet again!' And then, if
I could convey to you the glow of his soul when
he does see them again; when, coming back after
 494/561

a twelvemonth's absence, perhaps, and obliged to

put into another port, he calculates how soon it
be possible to get them there, pretending to de-
ceive himself, and saying, 'They cannot be here
till such a day,' but all the 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 could explain 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 of such
men as have hearts!" pressing his own with
emotion.

"Oh!" cried Anne eagerly, "I hope I do justice

to all that is felt by you, and by those who re-
semble you. God forbid that I should undervalue
the warm and faithful feelings of any of my
fellow-creatures! I should deserve utter contempt
if I dared to suppose that true attachment and
constancy were known only by woman. No, I be-
lieve you capable of everything great and good
 495/561

in your married lives. I believe you equal to

every important exertion, and to every domestic
forbearance, so long as--if I may be allowed the
expression--so long as you have an object. I
meanwhile the woman you love lives, and lives
for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex
(it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet
it), is that of loving longest, when existence or
when hope is gone."

She could not immediately have uttered anoth-

er sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too
much oppressed.

"You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville,

putting his hand on her arm, quite affectionately.
"There is no quarrelling with you. And when I
think of Benwick, my tongue is tied."

Their attention was called towards the others.

Mrs Croft was taking leave.
 496/561

"Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I

believe," said she. "I am going home, and you
have an engagement with your friend. To-night
we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at
your party," (turning to Anne.) "We had your
sister's card yesterday, and I understood Freder-
ick 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 not or would not an-
swer fully.

"Yes," said he, "very true; here we separate,

but Harville and I shall soon be after you; that is,
Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a minute. I
know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at
your service in half a minute."

Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth,

having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was
 497/561

indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated

air, which shewed impatience to be gone. Anne
knew not how to understand it. She had the kind-
est "Good morning, God bless you!" from Cap-
tain Harville, but from him not 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 been writing, when foot-
steps were heard returning; the door opened, it
was himself. He begged their pardon, but he had
forgotten his gloves, and instantly crossing the
room to the writing table, he drew out a letter
from under the scattered paper, placed it before
Anne with eyes of glowing entreaty fixed on her
for a time, and hastily collecting his gloves, was
again out of the room, almost before Mrs Mus-
grove was aware of his being in it: the work of
an instant!
 498/561

The revolution which one instant had made in

Anne, was almost beyond expression. 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 also addressing
her! On the contents of that letter depended all
which this world could do for her. Anything was
possible, anything might be defied rather than
suspense. Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements
of her own at her own table; to their protection
she must trust, and sinking into the chair which
he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot
where he had leaned and written, her eyes de-
voured the following words:

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak

to you by such means as are within my reach.
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.
Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious
 499/561

feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you

again with a heart even more your own than
when you almost broke it, eight years and a half
ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than
woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have
loved none but you. Unjust I may have been,
weak and resentful I have been, but never incon-
stant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For
you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen
this? Can you fail to have understood my
wishes? I had not waited even these ten days,
could I have read your feelings, as I think you
must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I
am every instant hearing something which over-
powers me. You sink your voice, but I can dis-
tinguish the tones of that voice when they would
be lost on others. Too good, too excellent
creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do be-
lieve that there is true attachment and constancy
among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most
undeviating, in F. W.
 "I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall re-
turn hither, or follow your party, as soon as pos-
sible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide
whether I enter your father's house this evening
or never."

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered

from. Half an hour's solitude and reflection
might have tranquillized her; but the ten minutes
only which now passed before she was interrup-
ted, with all the restraints of her situation, could
do nothing towards tranquillity. Every moment
rather brought fresh agitation. It was overpower-
ing happiness. And before she was beyond the
first stage of full sensation, Charles, Mary, and
Henrietta all came in.

The absolute necessity of seeming like herself

produced then an immediate struggle; but after a
while she could do no more. She began not to
 501/561

understand a word they said, and was obliged to

plead indisposition and excuse herself. They
could then see that she looked very ill, were
shocked and concerned, and would not stir
without her for the world. This was dreadful.
Would they only have gone away, and left her in
the quiet possession of that room it would have
been her cure; but to have them all standing or
waiting around her was distracting, and in des-
peration, she said she would go home.

"By all means, my dear," cried Mrs Musgrove,

"go home directly, and take care of yourself, that
you may be fit for the evening. I wish Sarah was
here to doctor you, but I am no doctor myself.
Charles, ring and order a chair. She must not
walk."

But the chair would never do. Worse than all!

To lose the possibility of speaking two words to
Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet,
solitary progress up the town (and she felt almost
 502/561

certain of meeting him) could not be borne. The

chair was earnestly protested against, and Mrs
Musgrove, who thought only of one sort of ill-
ness, having assured herself with some anxiety,
that there had been no fall in the case; that Anne
had not at any time lately slipped down, and got
a blow on her head; that she was perfectly con-
vinced of having had no fall; could part with her
cheerfully, and depend on finding her better at
night.

Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne

struggled, and said--

"I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly un-

derstood. Pray be so good as to mention to the
other gentlemen that we hope to see your whole
party this evening. I am afraid there had been
some mistake; and I wish you particularly to as-
sure Captain Harville and Captain Wentworth,
that we hope to see them both."
 503/561

"Oh! my dear, it is quite understood, I give you

my word. Captain Harville has no thought but of
going."

"Do you think so? But I am afraid; and I

should be so very sorry. Will you promise me to
mention it, when you see them again? You will
see them both this morning, I dare say. Do prom-
ise me."

"To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if

you see Captain Harville anywhere, remember to
give Miss Anne's message. But indeed, my dear,
you need not be uneasy. Captain Harville holds
himself quite engaged, I'll answer for it; and
Captain Wentworth the same, I dare say."

Anne could do no more; but her heart proph-

esied some mischance to damp the perfection of
her felicity. It could not be very lasting,
however. Even if he did not come to Camden
Place himself, it would be in her power to send
 504/561

an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.

Another momentary vexation occurred. Charles,
in his real concern and good nature, would go
home with her; there was no 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 familiar sound, gave
her two moments' preparation for the sight of
Captain Wentworth. He joined them; but, as if ir-
resolute whether to join or to pass on, said noth-
ing, only looked. Anne could command herself
enough to receive that look, and not repulsively.
The cheeks which had been pale now glowed,
and the movements which had hesitated were de-
cided. He walked by her side. Presently, struck
by a sudden thought, Charles said--
 505/561

"Captain Wentworth, which way are you go-

ing? Only to Gay Street, or farther 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 this morning, and
must not go so far without help, and I ought to be
at that fellow's in the Market Place. He promised
me the sight of a capital gun he is just going to
send off; said he would keep it unpacked to the
last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I
do not turn back now, I have no chance. By his
description, a good deal like the second size
double-barrel of mine, which you shot with one
day round Winthrop."
 506/561

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 spirits dancing in private rapture. In half a
minute Charles was at the bottom of Union
Street again, and the other two proceeding to-
gether: and soon words enough had passed
between them to decide their direction towards
the comparatively quiet and retired gravel walk,
where the power of conversation would make the
present hour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for
all the immortality which the happiest recollec-
tions of their own future lives could bestow.
There they exchanged again those feelings and
those promises which had once before seemed to
secure everything, but which had been followed
by so many, many years of division and es-
trangement. There they returned again into the
past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their
re-union, than when it had been first projected;
more tender, more tried, more fixed in a know-
ledge of each other's character, truth, and
 507/561

attachment; more equal to act, more justified in

acting. And there, as they slowly paced the
gradual ascent, heedless of every group around
them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bust-
ling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-
maids and children, they could indulge in those
retrospections and acknowledgements, and espe-
cially in those explanations of what had directly
preceded the present moment, which were so
poignant and so ceaseless in interest. All the
little variations of the last week were gone
through; and of yesterday and today there could
scarcely be an end.

She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr Elli-

ot had been the retarding weight, the doubt, the
torment. That had begun to operate in the very
hour of first meeting her in Bath; that had re-
turned, after a short suspension, to ruin the con-
cert; and that had influenced him in everything
he had said and done, or omitted to say and do,
in the last four-and-twenty hours. It had been
 508/561

gradually yielding to the better hopes which her

looks, or words, or actions occasionally encour-
aged; it had been vanquished at last by those sen-
timents and those tones which had reached him
while she talked with Captain Harville; and un-
der the irresistible governance of which he had
seized a sheet of paper, and poured out his
feelings.

Of what he had then written, nothing was to be

retracted or qualified. He persisted in having
loved none but her. She had never been sup-
planted. He never even believed himself to see
her equal. Thus much indeed he was obliged to
acknowledge: that he had been constant uncon-
sciously, nay unintentionally; that he had meant
to forget her, and believed it to be done. He had
imagined himself indifferent, 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 his mind as perfec-
tion itself, maintaining the loveliest medium of
 509/561

fortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to

acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he
learnt 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 admiration of Mr Elliot had at least
roused him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at
Captain Harville's had fixed her superiority.

In his preceding attempts to attach himself to

Louisa Musgrove (the attempts of angry pride),
he protested that he had for ever felt it to be im-
possible; that he had not cared, could not care,
for Louisa; though till that day, till the leisure for
reflection which followed it, he had not under-
stood the perfect excellence of the mind with
which Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison, or
the perfect unrivalled hold it possessed over his
own. There, he had learnt to distinguish between
the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of
self-will, between the darings of heedlessness
and the resolution of a collected mind. There he
 510/561

had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the

woman he had lost; and there begun to deplore
the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment,
which had kept him from trying to regain her
when thrown in his way.

From that period his penance had become

severe. He had no sooner been free from the hor-
ror and remorse attending the first few days of
Louisa's accident, no sooner begun to feel him-
self alive again, than he had begun to feel him-
self, though alive, not at liberty.

"I found," said he, "that I was considered by

Harville an engaged man! That neither Harville
nor his wife entertained a doubt of our mutual at-
tachment. I was startled and shocked. To a de-
gree, I could contradict this instantly; but, when I
began to reflect that others might have felt the
same--her own family, nay, perhaps herself--I
was no longer at my own disposal. I was hers in
honour if she wished it. I had been unguarded. I
 511/561

had not thought seriously on this subject before.

I had not considered that my excessive intimacy
must have its danger of ill consequence in many
ways; and that I had no right to be trying whether
I could attach myself to either of the girls, at the
risk of raising even an unpleasant report, were
there no other ill effects. I had been grossly
wrong, and must abide the consequences."

He found too late, in short, that he had en-

tangled himself; and that precisely as he became
fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa at all,
he must regard himself as bound to her, if her
sentiments for him were what the Harvilles sup-
posed. It determined him to leave Lyme, and
await her complete recovery elsewhere. He
would gladly weaken, by any fair means,
whatever feelings or speculations concerning
him might exist; and he went, therefore, to his
brother's, meaning after a while to return to
Kellynch, and act as circumstances might
require.
 512/561

"I was six weeks with Edward," said he, "and

saw him happy. I could have no other pleasure. I
deserved none. He enquired after you very par-
ticularly; asked even if you were personally
altered, little suspecting that to my eye you could
never alter."

Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleas-

ing a blunder for a reproach. It is something for a
woman to be assured, in her eight-and-twentieth
year, that she has not lost one charm of earlier
youth; but the value of such homage was inex-
pressibly increased to Anne, by comparing it
with former words, and feeling it 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, and the blunders of
his own calculations, till at once released from
Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelli-
gence of her engagement with Benwick.
 513/561

"Here," said he, "ended the worst of my state;

for now I could at least put myself in the way of
happiness; I could exert myself; I could do
something. But to be waiting so long in inaction,
and waiting only for evil, had been dreadful.
Within the first five minutes I said, 'I will be at
Bath on Wednesday,' and I was. Was it unpar-
donable to think it worth my while to come? and
to arrive with some degree of hope? You were
single. It was possible that you might retain the
feelings of the past, as I did; and one encourage-
ment happened to be mine. I could never doubt
that you would be loved and sought by others,
but I knew to a certainty that you had refused
one man, at least, of better pretensions than my-
self; and I could not help often saying, 'Was this
for me?'"

Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded

much to be said, but the concert still more. That
evening seemed to be made up of exquisite mo-
ments. The moment of her stepping forward in
 514/561

the Octagon Room to speak to him: the moment

of Mr Elliot's appearing and tearing her away,
and one or two subsequent moments, marked by
returning hope or increasing despondency, were
dwelt on with energy.

"To see you," cried he, "in the midst of those

who could not be my well-wishers; to see your
cousin close by you, conversing and smiling, and
feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties of
the match! To consider it as the certain wish of
every being who could hope to influence you!
Even if your own feelings were reluctant or in-
different, to consider what powerful supports
would be his! Was it not enough to make the fool
of me which I appeared? How could I look on
without agony? Was not the very sight of the
friend who sat behind you, was not the recollec-
tion of what had been, the knowledge of her in-
fluence, the indelible, immoveable impression of
what persuasion had once done--was it not all
against me?"
 515/561

"You should have distinguished," replied

Anne. "You should not have suspected me now;
the case is so different, and my age is so differ-
ent. If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion
once, remember that it was to persuasion exerted
on the side of safety, not of risk. When I yielded,
I thought it was to duty, but no duty could be
called in aid here. In marrying a man indifferent
to me, all risk would have been incurred, and all
duty violated."

"Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus," he

replied, "but I could not. I could not derive bene-
fit from the late knowledge I had acquired of
your 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 had
been influenced by any one rather than by me. I
saw you with the very person who had guided
you in that year of misery. I had no reason to
 516/561

believe her of less authority now. The force of

habit was to be added."

"I should have thought," said Anne, "that my

manner to yourself might have spared you much
or all of this."

"No, no! your manner might be only the ease

which your engagement to another man would
give. I left you in this belief; and yet, I was de-
termined to see you again. My spirits rallied with
the morning, and I felt that I had still a motive
for remaining here."

At last Anne was at home again, and happier

than any one in that house could have conceived.
All the surprise and suspense, and every other
painful part of the morning dissipated by this
conversation, she re-entered the house so happy
as to be obliged to find an alloy in some mo-
mentary apprehensions of its being impossible to
last. An interval of meditation, serious and
 517/561

grateful, was the best corrective of everything

dangerous in such high-wrought felicity; and she
went to her room, and grew steadfast and fear-
less in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.

The evening came, the drawing-rooms were

lighted up, the company assembled. It was 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 intim-
acy, too small for variety; but Anne had never
found an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely in
sensibility and happiness, and more generally ad-
mired than she thought about or cared for, she
had cheerful or forbearing feelings for every
creature around her. Mr Elliot was there; she
avoided, but she could pity him. The Wallises,
she had amusement in understanding them. Lady
Dalrymple and Miss Carteret--they would soon
be innoxious cousins to her. She cared not for
Mrs Clay, and had nothing to blush for in the
public manners of her father and sister. With the
 518/561

Musgroves, there was the happy chat of perfect

ease; with Captain Harville, the kind-hearted in-
tercourse of brother and sister; with Lady Rus-
sell, attempts at conversation, which a delicious
consciousness cut short; with Admiral and Mrs
Croft, everything of peculiar cordiality and fer-
vent interest, which the same consciousness
sought to conceal; and with Captain Wentworth,
some moments of communications continually
occurring, and always the hope of more, and al-
ways the knowledge of his being there.

It was in one of these short meetings, each ap-

parently occupied in admiring a fine display of
greenhouse plants, that she said--

"I have been thinking over the past, and trying

impartially to judge of the right and wrong, I
mean with regard to myself; and I must believe
that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I
was perfectly right in being guided by the friend
whom you will love better than you do now. To
 519/561

me, she was in the place of a parent. Do not mis-

take me, however. I am not saying that she did
not err in her advice. It was, perhaps, one of
those cases in which advice is good or bad only
as the event decides; and for myself, I certainly
never should, in any circumstance of tolerable
similarity, give such advice. But I mean, 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 in
giving it up, because I should have suffered in
my conscience. I have now, as far as such a sen-
timent is allowable in human nature, nothing to
reproach myself with; and if I mistake not, a
strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's
portion."

He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and

looking again at her, replied, as if in cool
deliberation--
 520/561

"Not yet. But there are hopes of her being for-

given in time. I trust to being in charity with her
soon. But I too have been thinking over the past,
and a question has suggested itself, whether there
may not have been one person more my enemy
even than that lady? My own self. Tell me if,
when I returned to England in the year eight,
with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into
the Laconia, if I had then written to you, would
you have answered my letter? Would you, 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 not think of it, or desire it, as what
could alone crown all my other success; but I
was proud, too proud to ask again. I did not un-
derstand you. I shut my eyes, and would not un-
derstand you, or do you justice. This is a recol-
lection which ought to make me forgive every
 521/561

one sooner than myself. Six years of separation

and suffering might have been spared. It is a sort
of pain, too, which is new to me. I have been
used to the gratification of believing myself to
earn every blessing that I enjoyed. I have valued
myself on honourable toils and just rewards.
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 brook being
happier than I deserve."

Chapter 24

Who can be in doubt of what followed? When

any two young people take it into their heads to
marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to
carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so
 522/561

imprudent, or ever so little likely to be necessary

to each other's ultimate comfort. This may be
bad morality to 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 of maturity of mind, conscious-
ness of right, and one independent fortune
between them, fail of bearing down every oppos-
ition? They might in fact, have borne down a
great deal more than they met with, for there was
little to distress them beyond the want of gra-
ciousness and warmth. Sir Walter made no ob-
jection, and Elizabeth did nothing worse than
look cold and unconcerned. Captain Wentworth,
with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as
high in his profession as merit and activity could
place him, was no longer nobody. He was now
esteemed quite worthy to address the daughter of
a foolish, spendthrift baronet, who had not had
principle or sense enough to maintain himself in
the situation in which Providence had placed
him, and who could give his daughter at present
 523/561

but a small part of the share of ten thousand

pounds which must be hers hereafter.

Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection

for Anne, and no vanity flattered, to make him
really happy on the occasion, was very far from
thinking it 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 by his personal claims,
and felt that his superiority of appearance might
be not unfairly balanced against her superiority
of rank; and all this, assisted by his well-sound-
ing name, enabled Sir Walter at last to prepare
his pen, with a very 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 serious anxiety was
Lady Russell. Anne knew that Lady Russell must
be suffering some pain in understanding and re-
linquishing Mr Elliot, and be making some
 524/561

struggles to become truly acquainted with, and

do justice to Captain Wentworth. This however
was what Lady Russell had now to do. She must
learn to feel that she had been mistaken with re-
gard to both; that she had been unfairly influ-
enced by appearances in each; that because Cap-
tain Wentworth's manners had not suited her
own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting
them to indicate a character of dangerous im-
petuosity; and that because Mr Elliot's manners
had precisely pleased her in their propriety and
correctness, their general politeness and suavity,
she had been too quick in receiving them as the
certain result of the most correct opinions and
well-regulated mind. There was nothing less for
Lady Russell to do, than to admit that she had
been pretty completely wrong, 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 of character, a natural
penetration, in short, which no experience in
 525/561

others can equal, and Lady Russell had been less

gifted in this part of understanding than her
young friend. But she was a very good woman,
and if her second object was to be sensible and
well-judging, her first was to see Anne happy.
She loved Anne better than she loved her own
abilities; and when the awkwardness of the be-
ginning was over, found little hardship in attach-
ing herself as a mother to the man who was se-
curing the happiness of her other child.

Of all the family, Mary was probably the one

most immediately gratified by the circumstance.
It was creditable to have a sister married, and she
might flatter herself with having been greatly in-
strumental to the connexion, by keeping Anne
with her in the autumn; and as her own sister
must be better than her husband's sisters, it was
very agreeable that Captain Wentworth should
be a richer man than either Captain Benwick or
Charles Hayter. She had something to suffer,
perhaps, when they came into contact again, in
 526/561

seeing Anne restored to the rights of seniority,

and the mistress of a very pretty landaulette; but
she had a future to look forward to, of powerful
consolation. Anne had no Uppercross Hall be-
fore her, no landed estate, no headship of a fam-
ily; and if they could but keep Captain Went-
worth from being made a baronet, she would not
change situations with Anne.

It would be well for the eldest sister if she were

equally satisfied with her situation, for a change
is not very probable there. She had soon the mor-
tification of seeing Mr Elliot withdraw, and no
one of proper condition has since presented him-
self to raise even the unfounded hopes which
sunk with him.

The news of his cousin Anne's engagement

burst on Mr Elliot most unexpectedly. It de-
ranged his best plan of domestic happiness, his
best hope of keeping Sir Walter single by the
watchfulness which a son-in-law's rights would
 527/561

have given. But, though discomfited and disap-

pointed, he could still do something for his own
interest and his own enjoyment. He soon quitted
Bath; and on Mrs Clay's quitting it soon after-
wards, and being next heard of as established un-
der his protection in London, it was evident how
double a game he had been playing, and how de-
termined he was to save himself from being cut
out by one artful woman, at least.

Mrs Clay's affections had overpowered her in-

terest, and she had sacrificed, for the young
man's sake, the possibility of scheming longer
for Sir Walter. She has abilities, however, as
well as affections; and it is now 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 be wheedled
and caressed at last into making her the wife of
Sir William.
 528/561

It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Eliza-

beth were shocked and mortified by the loss of
their companion, and the discovery of their de-
ception in her. They had their great cousins, to
be sure, to resort to for comfort; but they must
long feel that to flatter and follow others, without
being flattered and followed in turn, is but a state
of half enjoyment.

Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady

Russell's meaning to love Captain Wentworth as
she ought, had no other alloy to the happiness of
her prospects than what arose from the con-
sciousness of having no relations to bestow on
him which a man of sense could value. There she
felt her own inferiority very keenly. The dispro-
portion in their fortune was nothing; it did not
give her a moment's regret; but to have no family
to receive and estimate him properly, nothing of
respectability, of harmony, of good will to offer
in return for all the worth and all the prompt wel-
come which met her in his brothers and sisters,
 529/561

was a source of as lively pain as her mind could

well be sensible of under circumstances of other-
wise strong felicity. She had but two friends in
the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs
Smith. To those, however, he was very well dis-
posed to attach himself. Lady Russell, in spite 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 in origin-
ally dividing them, he was ready to say almost
everything else in her favour, and as for Mrs
Smith, she had claims of various kinds to recom-
mend her quickly and permanently.

Her recent good offices by Anne had been

enough in themselves, and their marriage, in-
stead of depriving her of one friend, secured her
two. She was their earliest visitor in their settled
life; and Captain Wentworth, by putting her 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 petty
 530/561

difficulties of the case with the activity and exer-

tion of a fearless man and a determined friend,
fully requited the services which she had
rendered, or ever meant to render, to his wife.

Mrs Smith's enjoyments were not spoiled by

this improvement of income, with some im-
provement of health, and the acquisition of such
friends to be often with, for her cheerfulness and
mental alacrity did not fail her; and while these
prime supplies of good remained, she might have
bid defiance even to greater accessions of
worldly prosperity. She might have been abso-
lutely rich and perfectly healthy, and yet be
happy. Her spring of felicity was in the glow 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 Captain
Wentworth's affection. His profession was all
that could ever make her friends wish that ten-
derness less, the dread of a future war all that
could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a
 531/561

sailor's wife, but she must pay the tax of quick

alarm for belonging to that profession which is,
if possible, more distinguished in its domestic
virtues than in its national importance.

Finis

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of Persuasion, by Jane Austen
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