creature; knowing that it would make you and my mother most



unhappy whenever it were explained to you, yet unable to prepare



you for it in the least.―It was told me,―it was in a manner forced



on me by the very person herself, whose prior engagement ruined



all my prospects; and told me, as I thought, with triumph.―This



person's suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by



endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply



interested;―and it has not been only once;―I have had her hopes



and exultation to listen to again and again.―I have known myself



to be divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one



circumstance that could make me less desire the connection.―



Nothing has proved him unworthy; nor has anything declared him



indifferent to me.―I have had to contend against the unkindness



of his sister, and the insolence of his mother; and have suffered the



punishment of an attachment, without enjoying its advantages.―



And all this has been going on at a time, when, as you know too



well, it has not been my only unhappiness.―If you can think me



capable of ever feeling―surely you may suppose that I have



suffered now. The composure of mind with which I have brought



myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I



have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and



painful exertion;―they did not spring up of themselves;―they did



not occur to relieve my spirits at first.―No, Marianne.―Then, if I



had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept



me entirely―not even what I owed to my dearest friends―from



openly shewing that I was very unhappy."―



Marianne was quite subdued.―



"Oh! Elinor," she cried, "you have made me hate myself for



ever.―How barbarous have I been to you!―you, who have been



my only comfort, who have borne with me in all my misery, who



have seemed to be only suffering for me!―Is this my gratitude?―



Is this the only return I can make you?―Because your merit cries



out upon myself, I have been trying to do it away."



The tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a



frame of mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in



obtaining from her whatever promise she required; and at her



request, Marianne engaged never to speak of the affair to any one



with the least appearance of bitterness;―to meet Lucy without



betraying the smallest increase of dislike to her;―and even to see



Edward himself, if chance should bring them together, without



any diminution of her usual cordiality.―These were great



concessions;―but where Marianne felt that she had injured, no



reparation could be too much for her to make.



She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.―



She attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject,



with an unchangingcomplexion, dissented from her in nothing,



and was heard three times to say, "Yes, ma'am."―She listened to



her praise of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another,



and when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward's affection, it cost her



only a spasm in her throat.―Such advances towards heroism in



her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself.



The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from



their brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the



dreadful affair, and bring them news of his wife.



"You have heard, I suppose," said he with great solemnity, as



soon as he was seated, "of the very shocking discovery that took



place under our roof yesterday."



They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for



speech.



"Your sister," he continued, "has suffered dreadfully. Mrs.



Ferrars too―in short it has been a scene of such complicated



distress―but I will hope that the storm may be weathered without



our being any of us quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in



hysterics all yesterday. But I would not alarm you too much.



Donavan says there is nothing materially to be apprehended; her



constitution is a good one, and her resolution equal to any thing.



She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an angel! She says she



never shall think well of anybody again; and one cannot wonder at



it, after being so deceived!―meeting with such ingratitude, where



so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence had been



placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that she



had asked these young women to her house; merely because she



thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-



behaved girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise



we both wished very much to have invited you and Marianne to be



with us, while your kind friend there, was attending her daughter.



And now to be so rewarded! 'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor



Fanny in her affectionate way, 'that we had asked your sisters



instead of them.'"



Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.



"What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to



her, is not to be described. While she with the truest affection had



been planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be



supposed that he could be all the time secretly engaged to another



person!―such a suspicion could never have entered her head! If



she suspected any prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in that



quarter. 'There, to be sure,' said she, 'I might have thought myself



safe.' She was quite in an agony. We consulted together, however,



as to what should be done, and at last she determined to send for



Edward. He came. But I am sorry to relate what ensued. All that



Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him put an end to the engagement,



assisted too as you may well suppose by my arguments, and



Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail. Duty, affection, every thing



was disregarded. I never thought Edward so stubborn, so



unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal designs,



in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle on



him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good



thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to



make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still



persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain



penury that must attend the match. His own two thousand pounds



she protested should be his all; she would never see him again;



and so far would she be from affording him the smallest



assistance, that if he were to enter into any profession with a view



of better support, she would do all in her power to prevent him



advancing in it."



Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped he r hands



together, and cried, "Gracious God! can this be possible!"



"Well may you wonder, Marianne," replied her brother, "at the



obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these. Your



exclamation is very natural."



Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her



promises, and forbore.



"All this, however," he continued, "was urged in vain. Edward



said very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined



manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give up his



engagement. He would stand to it, cost him what it might."



"Then," cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able



to be silent, "he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon,



Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have



thought him a rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as



well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is



not a better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a



good husband."



John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was



calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished to offend



anybody, especially anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied,



without any resentment,



"I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of



yours, madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving



young woman, but in the present case you know, the connection



must be impossible. And to have entered into a secret engagement



with a young man under her uncle's care, the son of a woman



especially of such very large fortune as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps,



altogether a little extraordinary. In short, I do not mean to reflect



upon the behaviour of any person whom you have a regard for,



Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs.



Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every



conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It



has been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and



I fear it will be a bad one."



Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's



heart wrung for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's



threats, for a woman who could not reward him.



"Well, sir," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did it end?"



"I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture:―



Edward is dismissed for ever from his mother's notice. He left her



house yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in



town, I do not know; for we of course can make no inquiry."



"Poor young man!―and what is to become of him?"



"What, indeed, ma'am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born



to the prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation



more deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds―how can a



man live on it?―and when to that is added the recollection, that



he might, but for his own folly, within three months have been in



the receipt of two thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton



has thirty thousand pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more



wretched condition. We must all feel for him; and the more so,



because it is totally out of our power to assist him."



"Poor young man!" cried Mrs. Jennings, "I am sure he should



be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell



him if I could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at



his own charge now, at lodgings and taverns."



Elinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward,



though she could not forbear smiling at the form of it.



"If he would only have done as well by himself," said John



Dashwood, "as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might



now have been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for



nothing. But as it is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist



him. And there is one thing more preparing against him, which



must be worse than all―his mother has determined, with a very



natural kind of spirit, to settle that estate upon Robert



immediately, which might have been Edward's, on proper



conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking over the



business."



"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings, "that is her revenge. Everybody has



a way of their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one



son independent, because another had plagued me."



Marianne got up and walked about the room.



"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,"



continued John, "than to see his younger brother in possession of



an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for



him sincerely."



A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion,



concluded his visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters



that he really believed there was no material danger in Fanny's



indisposition, and that they need not therefore be very uneasy



about it, he went away; leaving the three ladies unanimous in their



sentiments on the present occasion, as far at least as it regarded



Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the Dashwoods', and Edward's.



Marianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the



room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor,



and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very



spirited critique upon the party.

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