CHAPTER IX

linor, for some time after he left her, for some time even

after the sound of his carriage had died away, remained

too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing

in themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to

think even of her sister.

Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred

as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults,

excited a degree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by

them, which made her think of him as now separated for ever from

her family, with a tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she

soon acknowledged within herself―to his wishes than to his

merits. She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened

by circumstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by

that person of uncommonattraction, that open, affectionate, and

lively manner which it was no merit to possess; and by that still

ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even innocent to

indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before she could feel

his influence less.

When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she

found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to

the extent of her hopes. Elinor's heart was full. The past, the

present, the future, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her

mother's expected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of

spirits which kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her

only fearful of betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time,

however, in which that fear could affect her, for within half an

hour after Willoughby's leaving the house, she was again called

down stairs by the sound of another carriage.―Eager to save her

mother from every unnecessary moment's horrible suspense, she

ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just

in time to receive and support her as she entered it.

Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had

produced almost the conviction of Marianne's being no more, had

no voice to inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but she,

waiting neither for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful

relief;―and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was

in a moment as much overcome by her happiness, as she had been

before by her fears. She was supported into the drawing-room

between her daughter and her friend;―and there, shedding tears

of joy, though still unable to speak, embraced Elinor again and

again, turning from her at intervals to press Colonel Brandon's

hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude, and her

conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the moment.

He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.

As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see

Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was with

her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence,

unhappiness, and danger. Elinor's delight, as she saw what each

felt in the meeting, was only checked by an apprehension of its

robbing Marianne of farther sleep;―but Mrs. Dashwood could be

calm, could be even prudent, when the life of a child was at stake,

and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and

conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to

the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her. Mrs.

Dashwood would sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in

compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed. But the rest,

which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most

wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by

irritation of spirits. Willoughby, "poor Willoughby," as she now

allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she

would not but have heard his vindication for the world, and now

blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly

before. But her promise of relating it to her sister was invariably

painful. She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect

on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation

she could ever be happy with another; and for a moment wished

Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon,

reproved herself, felt that to his sufferings and his constancy far

more than to his rival's, the reward of her sister was due, and

wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.

The shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had been

much softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for

so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already

determined to set out for Cleveland on that very day, without

waiting for any further intelligence, and had so far settled her

journey before his arrival, that the Careys were then expected

every moment to fetch Margaret away, as her mother was

unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant

cheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to

be, as she repeatedly" title="ad.反复地；再三地">repeatedly declared herself, one of the happiest women

in the world. Elinor could not hear the declaration, nor witness its

proofs without sometimes wondering whether her mother ever

recollected Edward. But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate

account of her own disappointment which Elinor had sent her,

was led away by the exuberance of her joy to think only of what

would increase it. Marianne was restored to her from a danger in

which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment in

encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had

contributed to place her;―and in her recovery she had yet another

source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her,

as soon as any opportunity of private conference between them

occurred.

"At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my

happiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so

himself."

Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained,

surprised and not surprised, was all silent attention.

"You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your

composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to

my family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one

of you as the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be

the most happy with him of the two."

Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so,

because satisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration

of their age, characters, or feelings, could be given;―but her

mother must always be carried away by her imagination on any

interesting subject, and therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed

it off with a smile.

"He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It

came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well

believe, could talk of nothing but my child;―he could not conceal

his distress; I saw that it equalled my own, and he perhaps,

thinking that mere friendship, as the world now goes, would not

justify so warm a sympathy―or rather, not thinking at all, I

suppose―giving way to irresistible feelings, made me acquainted

with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne. He has

loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing her."

Here, however, Elinor perceived,―not the language, not the

professions of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of

her mother's active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful

to her, as it chose.

"His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that

Willoughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more

sincere or constant―which ever we are to call it―has subsisted

through all the knowledge of dear Marianne's unhappy

prepossession for that worthless young man!―and without

selfishness―without encouraging a hope!―could he have seen her

happy with another―Such a noble mind!―such openness, such

sincerity!―no one can be deceived in him."

"Colonel Brandon's character," said Elinor, "as an excellent

man, is well established."

"I know it is"―replied her mother seriously, "or after such a

warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, or even

to be pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such

active, such ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the

worthiest of men."

"His character, however," answered Elinor, "does not rest on

one act of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were

humanity out of the case, would have prompted him. To Mrs.

Jennings, to the Middletons, he has been long and intimately

known; they equally love and respect him; and even my own

knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very considerable;

and so highly do I value and esteem him, that if Marianne can be

happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to think our

connection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What answer

did you give him?―Did you allow him to hope?"

"Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself.

Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for

hope or encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an

irrepressible effusion to a soothing friend―not an application to a

parent. Yet after a time I did say, for at first I was quite

overcome―that if she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest

happiness would lie in promoting their marriage; and since our

arrival, since our delightful security, I have repeated it to him

more fully, have given him every encouragement in my power.

Time, a very little time, I tell him, will do everything;―Marianne's

heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby.―

His own merits must soon secure it."

"To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however, you have not yet

made him equally sanguine."

"No.―He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any

change in it under a great length of time, and even supposing her

heart again free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with

such a difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her.

There, however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much

beyond hers as to be an advantage, as to make his character and

principles fixed;―and his disposition, I am well convinced, is

exactly the very one to make your sister happy. And his person,

his manners too, are all in his favour. My partiality does not blind

me; he certainly is not so handsome as Willoughby―but at the

same time, there is something much more pleasing in his

countenance.―There was always a something,―if you

remember,―in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like."

Elinor could not remember it;―but her mother, without waiting

for her assent, continued,

"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more

pleasing to me than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind

I well know to be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their

gentleness, their genuine attention to other people, and their

manly unstudied simplicity is much more accordant with her real

disposition, than the liveliness―often artificial, and often ill-timed

of the other. I am very sure myself, that had Willoughby turned

out as really amiable, as he has proved himself the contrary,

Marianne would yet never have been so happy with him, as she

will be with Colonel Brandon."

She paused.―Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.

"At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me," added

Mrs. Dashwood, "even if I remain at Barton; and in all

probability,―for I hear it is a large village,―indeed there certainly

must be some small house or cottage close by, that would suit us

quite as well as our present situation."

Poor Elinor!―here was a new scheme for getting her to

Delaford!―but her spirit was stubborn.

"His fortune too!―for at my time of life you know, everybody

cares about that;―and though I neither know nor desire to know,

what it really is, I am sure it must be a good one."

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person,

and Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success

to her friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.
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