Sense and Sensibility - Part 2 - Jane Austen

0:00to much for talking. Eleanor's heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward, and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation. Was there no one else in the carriage? No, mum, only they too. Do you know where they came from? They come straight from town as Miss Lucy, Mrs. Ferris told me. And are they going far the westward? Yes, mum, but not to buy long. They will soon be back again, and then they be sure and cool here. Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter, but Eleanor knew better than to expect them. She recognized the whole of Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed in a low voice to her mother that they were probably going down to Mr. Prats near Plymouth. Thomas's intelligence seemed over. Eleanor looked as if she wished to hear more. Did you see them off before you came away? A no, mum. The horses were just coming out, but I could not buy any longer. I was afraid of being late. And did Mrs. Ferris look well? Yes, mum. She said how she was very well, and to my mind

1:04she was always a very handsome young lady, and she seemed vastly contented. Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the tablecloth now alike needless were soon afterwards dismissed. Mary Anne had already sent to say that she should eat nothing more. Mrs. Dashwoods and Eleanor's appetites were equally lost. Had Margaret might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go without her dinner before. When the dessert and the wine were arranged and Mrs. Dashwood and Eleanor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found that she had erred in relying on Eleanor's representation of herself, and justly concluded that everything had been expressly softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered from Mary Anne. She found that she had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter,

2:08to think the attachment, which once she had so well understood, much sliter in reality, and she had been won't to believe, or then it was now proved to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay almost unkind to her Eleanor, that Mary Anne's affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in Eleanor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude. Eleanor now found the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found that in spite of herself she had always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy, that some resolution of his own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all.

3:10While he was now married, and she condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence. That he should be married soon, before, as she imagined, he could be in orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Lucy, in her self-providant care, in her haste to secure him, should overlook everything but the risk of delay. They were married, married in town, and now hastening down to her uncles. What had Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother's servant, on hearing Lucy's message? They would soon she supposed be settled at Delaford. Delaford, that place in which so much conspired to give her an interest, which she wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their parsnage house, saw in Lucy the active, contriving manager, igniting at once a desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her economical practices, pursuing her own interest in every thought,

4:16courting the favor of Colonel Brandon of Mrs. Jennings and of every wealthy friend. In Edward, she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see. Happy or unhappy. Nothing pleased her. She turned away her head from every sketch of him. Then or flatter herself that some one of their connections in London would write to them to announce the event and give farther particulars, but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no tidings. Though uncertain that anyone were to blame, she found fault with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent. When do you write to Colonel Brandon, Mom? Was an inquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on? I wrote to him my love last week, and rather expect to see than to hear from him again. I honestly pressed his coming to us, and to not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day. This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.

5:17Scarcely had she so determined it when the figure of a man on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopped at their gate. It was a gentleman. It was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more, and she trembled in expectation of it. But it was not Colonel Brandon, neither his heir nor his height. Were it possible she must say it must be Edward? She looked again. He had just dismounted. She could not be mistaken. It was Edward. She moved away and sat down. He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I will be calm. I will be mistress of myself. In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change color, saw them look at herself and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have given the world to be able to speak, and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behavior to him. But she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion. Not a syllable passed aloud.

6:18They all waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel path. In a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before them. His countenance as he entered the room was not too happy, even for Eleanor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and conscious that he married a no-kind one. Mrs. Dash would, however, conforming as she trusted to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be guided in everything. Met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy. She coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Eleanor's lips had moved with her mothers, when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken hands with him, too. But it was then too late, and with the countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather. Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her distress. And Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent

7:18on her to be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict silence. When Eleanor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put an end to, by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Farah's very well. In a hurried manner he replied in the affirmative. Another pause. Eleanor, resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said, Mrs. Farah's at Longstapel. At Longstapel, he replied with an air of surprise. And no, my mother is in town. "'I meant,' said Eleanor, taking up some work from the table, "'to inquire for Mrs. Edwood, Farah's.' She dared not look up, but her mother and Marianne both turned their eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and after some hesitation said, "'Perhaps you mean my brother? You mean Mrs. Robert Farah's?'

8:19Mrs. Robert Farah's was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an accent of the utmost amazement, and though Eleanor could not speak, even her eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose from his seat and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to do. Took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the ladder to pieces, as he spoke, said in a hurried voice, "'Perhaps you don't know. You may not have heard that my brother was lately married to the youngest, to miss Lucy Steel.' His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Eleanor, who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where she was. "'Yes,' said he, "'they were married last week, and are now at doulish.' Eleanor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was opened burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked anywhere rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps

9:22saw or even heard her emotion. For immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room and walked out towards the village, leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation so wonderful and so sudden, a perplexity which they had no means of lessening, but by their own conjectures.' CHAPTER 49 Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free, and to what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily predetermined by all. For after experiencing the blessings of one imprudent engagement, contracted without his mother's consent, as he had already done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in the failure of that than the immediate contraction of another. His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask Eleanor to marry him, and considering that he was not altogether inexperienced

10:26in such a question, it might be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in need of encouragement and fresh air. How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly told. This only need be said, that when they all sat down to table at four o'clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his lady, engaged her mother's consent, and it was not only in the rapturous profession of the lover, but in the reality of reason and truth, one of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell his heart and raise his spirits. He was released without any reproach to himself, from an entanglement which had longed form to his misery, from a woman whom he had long ceased to love, and elevated at once to that security with another, which he must have thought of almost with despair as soon as he had lurched to consider it with desire.

11:28He was brought not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness, and the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful cheerfulness as his friends had never witnessed in him before. His heart was now open to Eleanor, in all its weaknesses, all its errors confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the philosophic dignity of twenty-four. He was a foolish, idle inclination on my side," said he. The consequence of ignorance of the world and one of employment. Had my brother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think—neigh, I am sure it would never have happened. Although I left long staple with what I thought at the time a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had any pursuit, any object, to engage my time and keep me at a distance from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancy detachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I must have done. But instead of having anything to do, instead of having any profession chosen for me, or

12:32being allowed to choose any myself, I returned home to be completely idle. And for the first twelve month afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which belonging to the university would have given me. For I was not entered at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had, therefore, nothing in the world to do but to fancy myself in love, and as my mother did not make my home in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my brother, and a slight new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to be very often at long staple, where I always felt myself at home, and was always sure of a welcome. And accordingly I spent the greatest part of my time there, from eighteen to nineteen. Lucy appeared everything that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least I thought so, then—and I had seen so little of other women that I could make no comparisons and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable piece of folly. The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness of the dashwords

13:35was such, so great as promised them all the satisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be comfortable, knew not how to love Edward nor praise Eleanor enough, how to be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy, nor how it once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation together, and yet enjoy as she wished the sight and society of both. Marianne could speak her happiness only by tears. Comparisons would occur, regrets would arise, and her joy, though sincere as her love for her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language. But Eleanor, how are her feelings to be described? From the moment of learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she was everything by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared her situation with what so lately it had been, she saw him honorably released from his former engagement, saw him instantly profiting by the release, to address herself

14:39and declare an affection as tender, as constant as she had ever supposed it to be. She was oppressed, she was overcome by her own felicity, and happily disposed as is the human mind to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it required several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree of tranquility to her heart. Edward was now fixed at the cottage for at least a week. For whatever other claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a week should be given up to the enjoyment of Eleanor's company, or suffice to say half what was to be said of the past, the present, and the future. For though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of incessent talking will dispatch more subjects than can really be in common between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is different. Between them no subject is finished, no communication is even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over. Lucy's marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all, formed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers, and Eleanor's particular knowledge of each

15:39party made it appear to her in every view as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable circumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together, and by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of whose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration. A girl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that brother had been thrown off by his family, it was beyond her comprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful affair. To her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle. Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing that perhaps at first accidentally meeting the vanity of the one had been so worked on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest. Eleanor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his opinion of what his own mediation and his brothers' affairs might have done if applied too in time. She repeated it to Edward. That was exactly like Robert, was his immediate observation.

16:45And that, he presently added, might perhaps be in his head when the acquaintance between them first began, and Lucy perhaps at first might think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs might afterwards arise. How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally at a loss with herself to make out. For it Oxford, where he had remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the smallest suspicion therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for what followed, and when it lasted burst on him in a letter from Lucy herself, he had been for some time he believed, half stupified between the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the letter into Eleanor's hand. Dear sir, being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of being as happy with him as I once used

17:46to think I might be with you, but I scorned to accept a hand while the heart was in others. Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship now makes proper. I can safely say, oh you know ill will, and I am sure you'll be too generous to do us any ill-offices. Your brother has gained my affections entirely, and we could not live without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are now on our way to Doolish for a few weeks, which place your dear brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain, your sincere well-wisher, friend and sister, new sea ferrets. I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first opportunity, please to destroy my scrolls, but the ring with my hair you are very welcome to keep. Eleanor Redd and returned it without any comment. I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition, said Edward, for worlds what I not have had a letter of hers seen by you in former days, in a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife,

18:50now I have blushed over the pages of her writing, and I believe I may say that since the first half-year of our foolish business, this is the only letter I have received from her of which the substance made me any amends for the defect of the style. "'However it may have come about,' said Eleanor after a pause. "'They are certainly married, and your mother has brought on herself a most appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice, and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a year to do the very deed which he disinherited the other for intending to do. She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert's marrying Lucy, than she would have been by your marrying her. She will be more hurt by it, for Robert was always her favourite. She will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle forgive him much sooner. In what state the affair stood at present between them Edward knew not, for no communication

19:51with any of his family had yet been attempted by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy's letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do nothing till he were short of his fate with Moustachewood, and by his rapidity in seeking that fate it is to be supposed, in spite of the jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of the modesty with which he rated his own desserts, and the politeness with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he did, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject of twelfth-month after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and wives. That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off for the flourish of malice against him and her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to Eleanor, and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her character, had no scrupul in believing her capable of the utmost meanness

20:52of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had long been opened, even before his acquaintance with Eleanor began, to her ignorance and a want of liberality in some of her opinions, they had been equally imputed by him to her want of education. Until her last letter reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed, good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement, which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother's anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him. "'I thought it my duty,' said he, independent of my feelings, to give her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how can I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly, insisted on sharing my fate, whatever it might be, that anything but the most disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now I cannot comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancy advantage it could

21:57be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest regard, at you had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could not foresee that Colonel Brownen would give me a living. No, but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour, that her own family might in time relent. And at any rate she lost nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it fettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration among her friends, had if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would be better for her to marry you than be single. Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have been more natural than Lucy's conduct, nor more self-evident than the motive of it. Ellen were scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the impudence which compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy. Your behaviour was certainly very wrong, said she, because, to say nothing of my own conviction, our relations are all led away by it to fancy and expect what, as you then, situated,

23:02could never be. He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken confidence in the force of his engagement. I was simple enough to think that because my faith was plighted to another, there could be no danger in my being with you, and that the consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only a friendship, and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that I suppose I was wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency of it were no better than these. The danger is my own, I am doing no injury to anybody but myself. Ellen or smiled and shook her head. That word heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon's being expected at the cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him, but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented his giving him the living of Delaford. "'Which at present?' said he.

24:03After thanks so ungratiously delivered his mind where on the occasion he must think I have never forgiven him for offering. Now he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the place, but so little interest had he taken in the matter that he owed all his knowledge of the house, garden and gleab, extent of the parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes to Ellen or herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon and heard it with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject. One question after this only remained undecided between them, one difficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends, their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness certain, and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two thousand pounds, and Ellen were one, which, with Delaford living, was all that they could call their own. For it was impossible that Mrs. Dashwood should advance anything, and they were neither of them quite enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a year would supply them with the comforts of life.

25:06Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favorable change in his mother towards him, and on that he rested for the residue of their income. But Ellen or had no such dependence. For since Edward would be still unable to marry Miss Morton, and his choosing herself had been spoken of in Mrs. Faire's flattering language as only a lesser evil than his choosing Lucy's steel, she feared that Robert's offense would serve no other purpose than to enrich Fanny. About four days after Edward's arrival, Colonel Brandon appeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood's satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the privilege of first-comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every night to his old quarters at the park, from whence he usually returned in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers' first tet-tattet before breakfast. A three-weeks residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind which needed all the improvement in Marianne's looks, all

26:09the kindness of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother's language to make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he did revive. No rumor of Lucy's marriage had yet reached him. He knew nothing of what had passed, and the first hours of his visit were consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Everything was explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice in what he had done for Mr. Fares, since it eventually promoted the interest of Eleanor. It would be needless to say that the gentleman advanced in the good opinion of each other as they advanced to each other's acquaintance, for it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles and good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably have been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other attraction, but there being in love with two sisters, and two sisters fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate, which might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment. The letters from town, which a few days before, would have made every nerve in Eleanor's body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read with less emotion than mirth.

27:15Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful tale to vent her honest indignation against the gilting girl, and pour forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who she was sure had quite doated upon the worthless hussie, and was now by all accounts almost broken hearted at Oxford. "'I do think,' she continued, "'nothing was ever carried on so sly, for it was for two days before Lucy called and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the matter, not even Nancy, who, poor so, came crying to me the day after in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Fares, as well as not knowing how to get to plim it, for Lucy, it seems, borrowed all her money before she went off to be married, on purpose we supposed to make a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world. So I was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter, where she thinks of staying through your four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the doctor again. And I must say that Lucy's crossness not to take them along with them in the shares is worse than all.

28:15Poor Mr. Edward, I cannot get him out of my head. But he must send for him to baton and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him. Mr. Dashwood strains were more solemn. Mrs. Fares was the most unfortunate of women. Poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility, and he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful wonder. Robert's offense was unpardonable, but Lucy's was infinitely worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Fares, and even if she might hear after being used to forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been carried on between them was rationally treated as enormously heightening the crime. Because had any suspicion of it occurred to the others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage. Had he called on Alan Orton to join with him in regretting that Lucy's engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, then that she should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family. He thus continued.

29:16A Mrs. Fares has never yet mentioned Edward's name, which does not surprise us, but to our great astonishment, not a line has been received from him on the occasion. Perhaps however he has kept silent by his fear of offending, and I shall therefore give him a hint, by a line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her, shown to her mother, might not be taken a miss, for we all know the tenderness of Mrs. Fares' heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much to be on good terms with her children. This paragraph was of some importance to the prospect and conduct of Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister. A letter of proper submission, repeated he, would they have me beg my mother's pardon for Robertson gratitude to her, and breach of honour to me? I can make no submission. I am grown neither humble nor penitent by what has passed. I am grown very happy, but that would not interest. I know of no submission that is proper for me to make.

30:19''You may certainly ask to be forgiven,'' said Eleanor, because you have offended, and I should think you might now venture so far as to profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew on you your mother's anger. He agreed that he might. And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as impudent in her eyes as the first. He had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a letter of proper submission, and therefore to make it easier to him as he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by word of mouth than on paper. It was resolved that, instead of writing to Fanny, he should go to London, and personally entreat her good offices in his favour. ''And if they really do interest themselves,'' said Marianne, in her new character of Cander, in bringing about a reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely without merit. After a visit on Colonel Brandon's side of only three or four days, the two gentlemen

31:20quitted Barton together. They were to go immediately to Delaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future home, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements were needed to it. And from thence, after staying there a couple of nights, he was to proceed on his journey to town. CHAPTER FIFTY After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferris, just so violent and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son. Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of her life she had had two sons, but the crime and annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago had robbed her of one. The similar annihilation of Robert had left her for fortnight without any, and now, by the resuscitation of Edward, she had one again. In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not feel the continuance

32:20of his existence secure, till he had revealed his present engagement. For the publication of that circumstance he feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off as rapidly as before. If apprehensive caution therefore it was revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferris at first reasonably endeavored to dissuade him from marrying Mrs. Dashwood by every argument in her power. Told him that in Miss Morton he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune, and enforce the assertion by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the daughter of a private gentleman, with no more than three. But when she found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation, he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest from the experience of the past to submit. And therefore, after such an ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to prevent every suspicion of good will, she issued her decree of consent to the marriage of Edward and Eleanor.

33:21What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to be considered, and here it plainly appeared that, though Edward was now her only son, he was by no means her eldest. For while Robert was inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a year, not the smallest objection was made against Edward's taking orders for the sake of two hundred and fifty at the utmost. Nor was anything promised either for the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds which had been given with Fanny. It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected by Edward and Eleanor, Mrs. Ferris herself, by her shuffling excuses, seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more. With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them, they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with an eager desire for the accommodation of Eleanor, was making considerable improvements, and after waiting some time for their completion, after experiencing as usual, a thousand disappointments and delays from the unaccountable delatoriness of the workmen.

34:21Eleanor, as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying till everything was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton's Church, early in the autumn. The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the mansion-house, from once they could super-intend the progress of the parsinage, and direct everything as they liked on the spot. Could choose papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings' prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled, for she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their parsinage by michaelmas, and she found in Eleanor and her husband as she really believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had, in fact, nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, and rather better pastourage for their cows. They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations and friends. Mrs. Ferris came to inspect the happiness which she was almost ashamed of having authorized, and even the dash-woods were at the expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honor. I will not say that I am disappointed my dear sister, said John as they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaforthouse.

35:24That would be saying too much, for certainly you have been one of the most fortunate young women in the world as it is. But I confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother. His property here, his place, his house, everything is in such respectable and excellent condition. At his woods, I have not seen such timber anywhere in Dorsucher, as there is now standing in Delaforthanger. And though perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for you to have them now frequently staying with you. For as Colonel Brandon seems great to deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen, for when people are much thrown together and see little of anybody else, and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage and so forth. In short, you may as well give her a chance. You understand me. But though Mrs. Ferris did come to see them, and always treated them with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by her real favor and preference. That was due to the folly of Robert and the cunning of his wife, and it was earned by

36:25them before many months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of his deliverance from it. For her respectful humility, asaduous attentions and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferris to his choice, and reestablished him completely in her favor. The whole of Lucy's behavior in the affair and the prosperity which crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance of what an earnest and unseacing attention to self-interest, however its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately visited her in Bartlett's buildings, it was only with the view imputed to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the engagement, and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle the matter. In that point, however, and that only he erred, for though Lucy soon gave him hopes that

37:28his eloquence would convince her in time, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when they parted, which could only be removed by another half-hours discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came gradually to talk only of Robert, a subject on which he had always more to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest even equal to his own. And in short, it became speedily evident to both that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying privately without his mother's consent. What immediately followed is known. They passed some months in great happiness at dollars, for she had many relations and old acquaintances to cut, and he drew several plans for magnificent cottages, and from thence returning to town, procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferris by the simple expedient of asking it, which, at Lucy's instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness, at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert, and Lucy, who

38:32had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have turned stressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpartened. But perseverance and humility have conduct in messages, in self-condemnation for Robert's offense, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its graciousness, and led soon afterwards by rapid degrees to the highest state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs. Ferris as either Robert or Fanny, and while Edward was never cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Eleanor, though superior to her unfortunate birth, was spoken of as an intruder. She was in everything considered, and always openly acknowledged to be a favorite child. They settled in town, received very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferris, were on the best terms imaginable with the dash-woods, and setting aside the jealousies and ill will continually subsist between Fanny and Lucy, in which their husbands of course took apart, as well as the frequent domestic disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed the harmony in which they all lived together.

39:34What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son might have puzzled many people to find out, and what Robert had done to succeed to it might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however, justified in its effects, if not in its cause, for nothing ever appeared in Robert's style of living or of talking, to give his suspicion of his regretting the extent of his income, has either leaving his brother too little, or bringing himself too much, and if Edward might be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in ever particular, from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange. Eleanor's marriage divided her as little from her family as could be well contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless, for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure in the frequency of her visits at Delaford, for her wish of bringing Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though rather more liberal than what John had expressed.

40:37It was now her darling object. Prussia says was the company of her daughter to her, she desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her valued friend, and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was equally the wish of Edward and Eleanor. They each felt his sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne by general consent, was to be the reward of all. With such a confederacy against her, with a knowledge so intimate of his goodness, with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at last, though long after it was observable to everybody else, burst on her, what could she do? Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract by her conduct her most favorite maxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give her hand to another. And that other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the event of a former

41:38attachment, whom two years before she had considered too old to be married, and who still sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel wastecoat. But so it was, instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting, instead of remaining even forever with her mother, and finding her only pleasures and retirement and study, as afterwards in her more calm and sober judgement she had determined on, she found herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the patroness of a village. Colonel Brandon was now as happy as all those who best loved him believed he deserved to be. In Marianne he was consoled for every past affliction. Her regard in her society restored his mind to animation and his spirits to cheerfulness, and that Marianne found her own happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves, and her whole heart became in time, as much devoted

42:40to her husband, as it had once been to Willaby. Willaby could not hear her marriage without a pang, and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith. Who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that he had behaved with honor towards Marianne, he might have once been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere and he'd not be doubted, nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was forever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted in a habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on, for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humor, nor his home always uncomfortable, and in his breed of horses and dogs and its sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity. For Marianne, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her loss, he always retained that

43:43decided regard which interested him in everything that befell her, and made her his secret standard of perfection and woman, and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him and after days, as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon. Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without attempting a removal to Delaforne, and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being supposed to have a lover. Between Barton and Delaforne, there was that constant communication which strong family affection would naturally dictate, and among the merits and the happiness of Eleanor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that those sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands. End of sense and sensibility.