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Persuasion, Page 23

Jane Austen


  Chapter 23

  One day only had passed since Anne's conversation with Mrs Smith; but akeener interest had succeeded, and she was now so little touched by MrElliot's conduct, except by its effects in one quarter, that it becamea matter of course the next morning, still to defer her explanatoryvisit in Rivers Street. She had promised to be with the Musgroves frombreakfast to dinner. Her faith was plighted, and Mr Elliot'scharacter, like the Sultaness Scheherazade's head, must live anotherday.

  She could not keep her appointment punctually, however; the weather wasunfavourable, and she had grieved over the rain on her friends'account, and felt it very much on her own, before she was able toattempt the walk. When she reached the White Hart, and made her way tothe proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving quite in time,nor the first to arrive. The party before her were, Mrs Musgrove,talking to Mrs Croft, and Captain Harville to Captain Wentworth; andshe 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 tokeep her there till they returned. She had only to submit, sit down,be outwardly composed, and feel herself plunged at once in all theagitations which she had merely laid her account of tasting a littlebefore the morning closed. There was no delay, no waste of time. Shewas deep in the happiness of such misery, or the misery of suchhappiness, instantly. Two minutes after her entering the room, CaptainWentworth said--

  "We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville, now, if youwill give me materials."

  Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he went to it, and nearlyturning his back to them all, was engrossed by writing.

  Mrs Musgrove was giving Mrs Croft the history of her eldest daughter'sengagement, and just in that inconvenient tone of voice which wasperfectly audible while it pretended to be a whisper. Anne felt thatshe did not belong to the conversation, and yet, as Captain Harvilleseemed thoughtful and not disposed to talk, she could not avoid hearingmany undesirable particulars; such as, "how Mr Musgrove and my brotherHayter had met again and again to talk it over; what my brother Hayterhad said one day, and what Mr Musgrove had proposed the next, and whathad occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the young people had wished,and what I said at first I never could consent to, but was afterwardspersuaded to think might do very well," and a great deal in the samestyle of open-hearted communication: minutiae which, even with everyadvantage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs Musgrove could notgive, could be properly interesting only to the principals. Mrs Croftwas attending with great good-humour, and whenever she spoke at all, itwas very sensibly. Anne hoped the gentlemen might each be too muchself-occupied to hear.

  "And so, ma'am, all these thing considered," said Mrs Musgrove, in herpowerful whisper, "though we could have wished it different, yet,altogether, we did not think it fair to stand out any longer, forCharles Hayter was quite wild about it, and Henrietta was pretty nearas bad; and so we thought they had better marry at once, and make thebest 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 observe," cried Mrs Croft. "Iwould rather have young people settle on a small income at once, andhave to struggle with a few difficulties together, than be involved ina long engagement. I always think that no mutual--"

  "Oh! dear Mrs Croft," cried Mrs Musgrove, unable to let her finish herspeech, "there is nothing I so abominate for young people as a longengagement. It is what I always protested against for my children. Itis all very well, I used to say, for young people to be engaged, ifthere is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months, oreven in twelve; but a long engagement--"

  "Yes, dear ma'am," said Mrs Croft, "or an uncertain engagement, anengagement which may be long. To begin without knowing that at such atime there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe andunwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they can."

  Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt its application toherself, felt it in a nervous thrill all over her; and at the samemoment 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, onequick, conscious look at her.

  The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same admitted truths,and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of a contrarypractice as had fallen within their observation, but Anne heard nothingdistinctly; it was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was inconfusion.

  Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now lefthis seat, and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, thoughit was from thorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that hewas inviting her to join him where he stood. He looked at her with asmile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, "Come to me, Ihave something to say;" and the unaffected, easy kindness of mannerwhich 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 fromwhere the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to CaptainWentworth's table, not very near. As she joined him, CaptainHarville's countenance re-assumed the serious, thoughtful expressionwhich seemed its natural character.

  "Look here," said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying asmall 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 wasnot done for her. Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking together atLyme, and grieving for him? I little thought then--but no matter.This was drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young German artistat the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat tohim, and was bringing it home for her; and I have now the charge ofgetting it properly set for another! It was a commission to me! Butwho else was there to employ? I hope I can allow for him. I am notsorry, indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes it;" (lookingtowards Captain Wentworth,) "he is writing about it now." And with aquivering lip he wound up the whole by adding, "Poor Fanny! she wouldnot have forgotten him so soon!"

  "No," replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice. "That I can easilybelieve."

  "It was not in her nature. She doted on him."

  "It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved."

  Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, "Do you claim that for yoursex?" and she answered the question, smiling also, "Yes. We certainlydo not forget you as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our faterather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home,quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced onexertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of somesort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, andcontinual 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 toBenwick. He has not been forced upon any exertion. The peace turnedhim on shore at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in ourlittle family circle, ever since."

  "True," said Anne, "very true; I did not recollect; but what shall wesay now, Captain Harville? If the change be not from outwardcircumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature, man's nature,which has done the business for Captain Benwick."

  "No, no, it is not man's nature. I will not allow it to be more man'snature than woman's to be inconstant and forget those they do love, orhave loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true analogybetween our bodily frames and our mental; and that as our bodies arethe strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most roughusage, and riding out the heaviest weather."

  "Your feelings may be the strongest," replied Anne, "but the samespirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that
ours are the mosttender. 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 havedifficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to struggle with. Youare always labouring and toiling, exposed to every risk and hardship.Your home, country, friends, all quitted. Neither time, nor health,nor life, to be called your own. It would be hard, indeed" (with afaltering voice), "if woman's feelings were to be added to all this."

  "We shall never agree upon this question," Captain Harville wasbeginning to say, when a slight noise called their attention to CaptainWentworth's hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room. It wasnothing more than that his pen had fallen down; but Anne was startledat finding him nearer than she had supposed, and half inclined tosuspect that the pen had only fallen because he had been occupied bythem, striving to catch sounds, which yet she did not think he couldhave 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 amin very good anchorage here," (smiling at Anne,) "well supplied, andwant for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all. Well, Miss Elliot,"(lowering his voice,) "as I was saying we shall never agree, I suppose,upon this point. No man and woman, would, probably. But let meobserve that all histories are against you--all stories, prose andverse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fiftyquotations in a moment on my side the argument, and I do not think Iever opened a book in my life which had not something to say uponwoman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman'sfickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men."

  "Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples inbooks. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story.Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has beenin their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything."

  "But how shall we prove anything?"

  "We never shall. We never can expect to prove any thing upon such apoint. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof.We each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; andupon that bias build every circumstance in favour of it which hasoccurred within our own circle; many of which circumstances (perhapsthose very cases which strike us the most) may be precisely such ascannot be brought forward without betraying a confidence, or in somerespect saying what should not be said."

  "Ah!" cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling, "if I couldbut make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look athis wife and children, and watches the boat that he has sent them offin, as long as it is in sight, and then turns away and says, 'God knowswhether we ever meet again!' And then, if I could convey to you theglow of his soul when he does see them again; when, coming back after atwelvemonth's absence, perhaps, and obliged to put into another port,he calculates how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending todeceive himself, and saying, 'They cannot be here till such a day,' butall the while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing themarrive at last, as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours soonerstill! If I could explain to you all this, and all that a man can bearand do, and glories to do, for the sake of these treasures of hisexistence! 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 byyou, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I shouldundervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of myfellow-creatures! I should deserve utter contempt if I dared tosuppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman.No, I believe you capable of everything great and good in your marriedlives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to everydomestic forbearance, so long as--if I may be allowed theexpression--so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman youlove lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my ownsex (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that ofloving longest, when existence or when hope is gone."

  She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart wastoo full, her breath too much oppressed.

  "You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on herarm, quite affectionately. "There is no quarrelling with you. Andwhen I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied."

  Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs Croft was takingleave.

  "Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe," said she. "I amgoing home, and you have an engagement with your friend. To-night wemay have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party," (turning toAnne.) "We had your sister's card yesterday, and I understoodFrederick had a card too, though I did not see it; and you aredisengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?"

  Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and eithercould not or would not answer fully.

  "Yes," said he, "very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shallsoon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half aminute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at yourservice in half a minute."

  Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letterwith great rapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitatedair, which shewed impatience to be gone. Anne knew not how tounderstand it. She had the kindest "Good morning, God bless you!" fromCaptain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look! He had passedout of the room without a look!

  She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he hadbeen writing, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, itwas himself. He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves,and instantly crossing the room to the writing table, he drew out aletter from under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with eyesof glowing entreaty fixed on her for a time, and hastily collecting hisgloves, was again out of the room, almost before Mrs Musgrove was awareof his being in it: the work of an instant!

  The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyondexpression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to "Miss A.E.--," was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been alsoaddressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which thisworld could do for her. Anything was possible, anything might bedefied rather than suspense. Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements ofher own at her own table; to their protection she must trust, andsinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the veryspot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the followingwords:

  "I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such meansas are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, halfhope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings aregone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more yourown than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Darenot say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has anearlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been,weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone havebrought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you notseen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had notwaited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I thinkyou must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instanthearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I candistinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others.Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You dobelieve that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believeit to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.

  "I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or followyour party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough todecide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."

  Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Half a
n hour'ssolitude and reflection might have tranquillized her; but the tenminutes only which now passed before she was interrupted, with all therestraints of her situation, could do nothing towards tranquillity.Every moment rather brought fresh agitation. It was overpoweringhappiness. And before she was beyond the first stage of fullsensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta all came in.

  The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then animmediate struggle; but after a while she could do no more. She begannot to understand a word they said, and was obliged to pleadindisposition and excuse herself. They could then see that she lookedvery ill, were shocked and concerned, and would not stir without herfor the world. This was dreadful. Would they only have gone away, andleft her in the quiet possession of that room it would have been hercure; but to have them all standing or waiting around her wasdistracting, and in desperation, she said she would go home.

  "By all means, my dear," cried Mrs Musgrove, "go home directly, andtake care of yourself, that you may be fit for the evening. I wishSarah was here to doctor you, but I am no doctor myself. Charles, ringand order a chair. She must not walk."

  But the chair would never do. Worse than all! To lose the possibilityof speaking two words to Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet,solitary progress up the town (and she felt almost certain of meetinghim) could not be borne. The chair was earnestly protested against,and Mrs Musgrove, who thought only of one sort of illness, havingassured herself with some anxiety, that there had been no fall in thecase; that Anne had not at any time lately slipped down, and got a blowon her head; that she was perfectly convinced of having had no fall;could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding her better atnight.

  Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled, and said--

  "I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly understood. Pray be sogood as to mention to the other gentlemen that we hope to see yourwhole party this evening. I am afraid there had been some mistake; andI wish you particularly to assure Captain Harville and CaptainWentworth, that we hope to see them both."

  "Oh! my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my word. CaptainHarville has no thought but of going."

  "Do you think so? But I am afraid; and I should be so very sorry.Will you promise me to mention it, when you see them again? You willsee them both this morning, I dare say. Do promise me."

  "To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if you see CaptainHarville anywhere, remember to give Miss Anne's message. But indeed,my dear, you need not be uneasy. Captain Harville holds himself quiteengaged, I'll answer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I daresay."

  Anne could do no more; but her heart prophesied some mischance to dampthe 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 herpower to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville. Anothermomentary vexation occurred. Charles, in his real concern and goodnature, would go home with her; there was no preventing him. This wasalmost cruel. But she could not be long ungrateful; he was sacrificingan engagement at a gunsmith's, to be of use to her; and she set offwith him, with no feeling but gratitude apparent.

  They were on Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something offamiliar sound, gave her two moments' preparation for the sight ofCaptain Wentworth. He joined them; but, as if irresolute whether tojoin or to pass on, said nothing, only looked. Anne could commandherself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively. The cheekswhich had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitatedwere decided. He walked by her side. Presently, struck by a suddenthought, Charles said--

  "Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street, orfarther up the town?"

  "I hardly know," replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.

  "Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place?Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take myplace, and give Anne your arm to her father's door. She is rather donefor this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought tobe at that fellow's in the Market Place. He promised me the sight of acapital gun he is just going to send off; said he would keep itunpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I donot turn back now, I have no chance. By his description, a good deallike the second size double-barrel of mine, which you shot with one dayround Winthrop."

  There could not be an objection. There could be only the most properalacrity, a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reinedin and spirits dancing in private rapture. In half a minute Charleswas at the bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceedingtogether: and soon words enough had passed between them to decidetheir direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravelwalk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour ablessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which thehappiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow. Therethey exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had oncebefore seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by somany, many years of division and estrangement. There they returnedagain into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in theirre-union, than when it had been first projected; more tender, moretried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other's character, truth, andattachment; more equal to act, more justified in acting. And there, asthey slowly paced the gradual ascent, heedless of every group aroundthem, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers,flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children, they could indulge inthose retrospections and acknowledgements, and especially in thoseexplanations of what had directly preceded the present moment, whichwere so poignant and so ceaseless in interest. All the littlevariations of the last week were gone through; and of yesterday andtoday there could scarcely be an end.

  She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr Elliot had been the retardingweight, the doubt, the torment. That had begun to operate in the veryhour of first meeting her in Bath; that had returned, after a shortsuspension, to ruin the concert; and that had influenced him ineverything he had said and done, or omitted to say and do, in the lastfour-and-twenty hours. It had been gradually yielding to the betterhopes which her looks, or words, or actions occasionally encouraged; ithad been vanquished at last by those sentiments and those tones whichhad reached him while she talked with Captain Harville; and under theirresistible governance of which he had seized a sheet of paper, andpoured 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 beensupplanted. He never even believed himself to see her equal. Thusmuch indeed he was obliged to acknowledge: that he had been constantunconsciously, nay unintentionally; that he had meant to forget her,and believed it to be done. He had imagined himself indifferent, whenhe had only been angry; and he had been unjust to her merits, becausehe had been a sufferer from them. Her character was now fixed on hismind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest medium offortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to acknowledge that onlyat Uppercross had he learnt to do her justice, and only at Lyme had hebegun to understand himself. At Lyme, he had received lessons of morethan one sort. The passing admiration of Mr Elliot had at least rousedhim, and the scenes on the Cobb and at Captain Harville's had fixed hersuperiority.

  In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa Musgrove (theattempts of angry pride), he protested that he had for ever felt it tobe impossible; that he had not cared, could not care, for Louisa;though till that day, till the leisure for reflection which followedit, he had not understood the perfect excellence of the mind with whichLouisa's could so ill bear a comparison, or the perfect unrivalled holdit possessed over his own. There, he had learnt to distinguish betweenthe steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between thedarings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind. Therehe had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the woman he hadlost; and there begun to deplore
the pride, the folly, the madness ofresentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown inhis way.

  From that period his penance had become severe. He had no sooner beenfree from the horror and remorse attending the first few days ofLouisa's accident, no sooner begun to feel himself alive again, than hehad begun to feel himself, 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 mutualattachment. I was startled and shocked. To a degree, I couldcontradict this instantly; but, when I began to reflect that othersmight have felt the same--her own family, nay, perhaps herself--I wasno longer at my own disposal. I was hers in honour if she wished it.I had been unguarded. I had not thought seriously on this subjectbefore. I had not considered that my excessive intimacy must have itsdanger of ill consequence in many ways; and that I had no right to betrying whether I could attach myself to either of the girls, at therisk of raising even an unpleasant report, were there no other illeffects. I had been grossly wrong, and must abide the consequences."

  He found too late, in short, that he had entangled himself; and thatprecisely as he became fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa atall, he must regard himself as bound to her, if her sentiments for himwere what the Harvilles supposed. It determined him to leave Lyme, andawait her complete recovery elsewhere. He would gladly weaken, by anyfair means, whatever feelings or speculations concerning him mightexist; and he went, therefore, to his brother's, meaning after a whileto return to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.

  "I was six weeks with Edward," said he, "and saw him happy. I couldhave no other pleasure. I deserved none. He enquired after you veryparticularly; asked even if you were personally altered, littlesuspecting that to my eye you could never alter."

  Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a blunder for areproach. It is something for a woman to be assured, in hereight-and-twentieth year, that she has not lost one charm of earlieryouth; but the value of such homage was inexpressibly increased toAnne, by comparing it with former words, and feeling it to be theresult, not the cause of a revival of his warm attachment.

  He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of his ownpride, and the blunders of his own calculations, till at once releasedfrom Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelligence of herengagement with Benwick.

  "Here," said he, "ended the worst of my state; for now I could at leastput myself in the way of happiness; I could exert myself; I could dosomething. But to be waiting so long in inaction, and waiting only forevil, had been dreadful. Within the first five minutes I said, 'I willbe at Bath on Wednesday,' and I was. Was it unpardonable to think itworth my while to come? and to arrive with some degree of hope? Youwere single. It was possible that you might retain the feelings of thepast, as I did; and one encouragement happened to be mine. I couldnever doubt that you would be loved and sought by others, but I knew toa certainty that you had refused one man, at least, of betterpretensions than myself; and I could not help often saying, 'Was thisfor me?'"

  Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to be said, but theconcert still more. That evening seemed to be made up of exquisitemoments. The moment of her stepping forward in the Octagon Room tospeak to him: the moment of Mr Elliot's appearing and tearing heraway, and one or two subsequent moments, marked by returning hope orincreasing despondency, were dwelt on with energy.

  "To see you," cried he, "in the midst of those who could not be mywell-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 toinfluence you! Even if your own feelings were reluctant orindifferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his! Was itnot enough to make the fool of me which I appeared? How could I lookon without agony? Was not the very sight of the friend who sat behindyou, was not the recollection of what had been, the knowledge of herinfluence, the indelible, immoveable impression of what persuasion hadonce done--was it not all against me?"

  "You should have distinguished," replied Anne. "You should not havesuspected me now; the case is so different, and my age is so different.If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember that it was topersuasion 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. Inmarrying 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 benefit from the late knowledge I had acquired ofyour character. I could not bring it into play; it was overwhelmed,buried, lost in those earlier feelings which I had been smarting underyear after year. I could think of you only as one who had yielded, whohad 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 ofmisery. I had no reason to believe her of less authority now. Theforce of habit was to be added."

  "I should have thought," said Anne, "that my manner to yourself mighthave spared you much or all of this."

  "No, no! your manner might be only the ease which your engagement toanother man would give. I left you in this belief; and yet, I wasdetermined to see you again. My spirits rallied with the morning, andI felt that I had still a motive for remaining here."

  At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any one in that housecould have conceived. All the surprise and suspense, and every otherpainful part of the morning dissipated by this conversation, shere-entered the house so happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in somemomentary apprehensions of its being impossible to last. An intervalof meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective ofeverything dangerous in such high-wrought felicity; and she went to herroom, and grew steadfast and fearless in the thankfulness of herenjoyment.

  The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up, the companyassembled. It was but a card party, it was but a mixture of those whohad never met before, and those who met too often; a commonplacebusiness, too numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Annehad never found an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely in sensibilityand happiness, and more generally admired than she thought about orcared for, she had cheerful or forbearing feelings for every creaturearound her. Mr Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him.The Wallises, she had amusement in understanding them. Lady Dalrympleand Miss Carteret--they would soon be innoxious cousins to her. Shecared not for Mrs Clay, and had nothing to blush for in the publicmanners of her father and sister. With the Musgroves, there was thehappy chat of perfect ease; with Captain Harville, the kind-heartedintercourse of brother and sister; with Lady Russell, attempts atconversation, which a delicious consciousness cut short; with Admiraland Mrs Croft, everything of peculiar cordiality and fervent interest,which the same consciousness sought to conceal; and with CaptainWentworth, some moments of communications continually occurring, andalways the hope of more, and always the knowledge of his being there.

  It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently occupied inadmiring a fine display of greenhouse plants, that she said--

  "I have been thinking over the past, and trying impartially to judge ofthe right and wrong, I mean with regard to myself; and I must believethat I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectlyright in being guided by the friend whom you will love better than youdo now. To me, she was in the place of a parent. Do not mistake 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 theevent decides; and for myself, I certainly never should, in anycircumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice. But I mean,that I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had doneotherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the engagementthan I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered in myconscience. I have now, as far as su
ch a sentiment is allowable inhuman nature, nothing to reproach myself with; and if I mistake not, astrong 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--

  "Not yet. But there are hopes of her being forgiven in time. I trustto being in charity with her soon. But I too have been thinking overthe past, and a question has suggested itself, whether there may nothave 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 fewthousand pounds, and was posted into the Laconia, if I had then writtento you, would you have answered my letter? Would you, in short, haverenewed 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 ofit, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; but Iwas proud, too proud to ask again. I did not understand you. I shutmy eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice. This is arecollection which ought to make me forgive every one sooner thanmyself. 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 thegratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that Ienjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just rewards.Like other great men under reverses," he added, with a smile. "I mustendeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook beinghappier than I deserve."