 CHAPTER XXIX of Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The ball was over, and the breakfast was soon over, too. The last kiss was given, and William was gone. Mr. Crawford had, as he foretold, been very punctual, and short and pleasant had been the meal. After seeing William to the last moment, Fanny walked back to the breakfast room with a very sad and heart, to grieve over the melancholy change, and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in peace, conceiving perhaps that the deserted chair of each young man might exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remaining cold pork bones and mustard in William's plate might but divide her feelings with the broken eggshells in Mr. Crawford's. She sat and cried, connamore, as her uncle intended, but it was connamore fraternal and no other. William was gone, and she now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and selfish solicitudes unconnected with him. Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even think of her aunt Norris in the meagerness and cheerlessness of her own small house without reproaching herself for some little want of attention to her when they had last been together. Much less could her feelings acquit her of having done and said and thought everything by William that was due to him for a whole fortnight. It was a heavy melancholy day. Soon after the second breakfast, Edmund bade them good-bye for a week, and mounted his horse for Peterborough, and then all were gone. Nothing remained of last night but remembrances, which she had nobody to share in. She talked to her aunt Bertram. She must talk to somebody of the ball, but her aunt had seen so little of what had passed and had so little curiosity that it was heavy work. Lady Bertram was not certain of anybody's dress or anybody's place at supper but her own. She could not recollect what it was that she had heard about one of the Miss Maddox's, or what it was that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny. She was not sure whether Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford or of William when he said he was the finest young man in the room. Somebody had whispered something to her. She had forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be. And these were her longest speeches and clearest communications. The rest was only a languid. Yes, yes, very well. Did you—did he? I did not see that. I should not know one from the other. This was very bad. It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp answers would have been. But she being gone home with all the supernumeric jellies to nurse a sick maid, there was peace and good humour in their little party, though it could not boast much beside. The evening was heavy like the day. I cannot think what is the matter with me, said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things were removed. I feel quite stupid. It must be sitting up so late last night. Fanny, you must do something to keep me awake. I cannot work. Fetch the cards. I feel so very stupid. The cards were brought, and Fanny played at Cribbage with her aunt till bedtime, and Sir Thomas was reading to himself no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond the reckonings of the game. And that makes thirty-one, four and a hand and eight in Crib. You are to deal, Mum. Shall I deal for you?" Fanny thought and thought again of the difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing-room and out of the drawing-room, and everywhere. Now it was langer, and all but solitude. A good night's rest improved her spirits. She could think of William the next day more cheerfully, and as the morning afforded her an opportunity of talking over Thursday night with Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford in a very handsome style, with all the heightenings of imagination, and all the laughs of playfulness, which are so essential to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards bring her mind without much effort into its everyday state, and easily conformed to the tranquility of the present quiet week. They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a whole day together, and he was gone on whom the comfort and cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal chiefly depended. But this must be learned to be endured. He would soon be always gone, and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, and even answer them without such wretched feelings as she had formerly known. We miss our two young men. Was Sir Thomas's observation on both the first and second day, as they formed their very reduced circle after dinner, and in consideration of fanny swimming eyes, nothing more was said on the first day than to drink their good health, but on the second it led to something farther. William was kindly commended, and his promotion hoped for. And there is no reason to suppose. But that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent. As to Edmund we must learn to do without him. This will be the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done. Yes, said Lady Bertram. But I wish he was not going away. They are all going away, I think. I wish they would stay at home. This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just applied for permission to go to town with Mariah, and as Sir Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the permission should be granted, Lady Bertram, though in her own good nature she would not have prevented it, was lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia's return, which would otherwise have taken place about this time. A great deal of good sense followed on Sir Thomas's side, tending to reconcile his wife to the arrangement. Everything that a considerate parent ought to feel was advanced for her use, and everything that an affectionate mother must feel in promoting her children's enjoyment was attributed to her nature. Lady Bertram agreed to it all with a calm. Yes. And at the end of a quarter of an hour's silent consideration, spontaneously observed, Sir Thomas, I have been thinking, and I am very glad we took Fanny as we did. For now the others are away. We feel the good of it. Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by adding, Very true. We show Fanny what a good girl we think her by praising her to her face. She is now a very valuable companion. If we have been kind to her, she is now quite as necessary to us. Yes, said Lady Bertram presently. And it is a comfort to think that we shall always have her. Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and then gravely replied, You will never leave us, I hope, till invited to some other home that may reasonably promise her greater happiness than she knows here. And that is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas. Who should invite her? Mariah might be very glad to see her at Southerton now and then, but she would not think of asking her to live there, and I am sure she is better off here and besides. I cannot do without her. The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great house in Mansfield had a very different character at the parsonage. To the young lady at least in each family it brought very different feelings. What was tranquility and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to Mary. Something arose from difference of disposition and habit, one so easily satisfied, the other so unused to endure, but still more might be imputed to difference of circumstances. In some points of interest they were exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny's mind Edmund's absence was really, in its cause and its tendency, a relief. To Mary it was every way painful. She felt the want of his society every day, almost every hour, and was too much in want of it to derive anything but irritation from considering the object for which he went. He could not have devised anything more likely to raise his consequence than this week's absence, occurring as it did at the very time of her brothers going away, of William Price's going too, and completing the sort of general break-up of a party which had been so animated. She felt it keenly. They were now a miserable trio, confined with indoors by a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for. Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions and acting on them in defiance of her, and she had been so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball, she could not help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again for the almost daily meetings they lately had. His absence was unnecessarily long. He should not have planned such an absence. He should not have left home for a week when her own departure from Mansfield was so near. Then she began to blame herself. She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been. It was ill-bred. It was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her heart. Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad, but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and brought no Edmund, when Saturday came and still no Edmund, and when, through the slight communication with the other family which Sunday produced, she learned that he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend. If she had felt impatience and regret before, if she had been sorry for what she had said and feared its too strong effect on him, she now felt and feared it all tenfold more. She had more over to contend with one disagreeable emotion entirely new to her—jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen had sisters. He might find them attractive. But at any rate his staying away at a time when, according to all proceeding plans, she was to move to London meant something that she could not bear. Had Henry returned, as he had talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, she should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became absolutely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to learn something more. She could not live any longer in such solitary wretchedness. And she made her way to the park, through difficulties of walking which she had deemed unconquerable a week before, for the chance of hearing a little in addition, for the sake of at least hearing his name. The first half hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope for nothing. But at last Lady Bertram left the room, and then almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as well regulated as she could. And how do you, like your cousin Edmunds, staying away so long? Being the only young person at home, I consider you as the greatest sufferer. You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you? I do not know," said Fanny, hesitatingly. Yes, I had not particularly expected it. Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is the general way all young men do. He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before. He finds the house more agreeable now. He is a very—a very pleasing young man himself. And I cannot help being rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London, as will now undoubtedly be the case. I am looking for Henry every day, and as soon as he comes there will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield. I should like to have seen him once more, I confess. But you must give my compliments to him. Yes, I think it must be compliments. Is not there is something wanted, Miss Price, in our language, something between compliments and—and love, to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together? So many months' acquaintance. But compliments may be sufficient here. Was his letter a long one? Does he give you much account of what he is doing? Is it Christmas-gate he is that he is staying for? I only heard a part of the letter. It was to my uncle. But I believe it was very short. Indeed, I am sure it was but a few lines. All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. A few days longer, or some days longer, I am not quite sure which. Oh! If he wrote to his father! But I thought it might have been to Lady Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his father, no wonder he was concise. Who could write chat to Sir Thomas? If he had written to you, there would have been more particulars. You would have heard of balls in parties. He would have sent you a description of everything and everybody. How many Miss Owens are there? Three grown up. Are they musical? I do not at all know. I never heard. That is the first question you know. I have heard Miss Crawford trying to appear gay and unconcerned, which every woman who plays herself is sure to ask about another. But it is very foolish to ask questions about any young ladies, about any three sisters just grown up, for one knows without being told exactly what they are. All very accomplished and pleasing, and one very pretty. There is a beauty in every family. It is a regular thing. Two play on the piano forte, and one on the harp, and all sing—or would sing, if they were taught—or sing all the better for not being taught, or something like it. I know nothing of the Miss Owens," said Fanny calmly. You know nothing, and you care less, as people say. Never did tone express indifference plainer. Indeed, how can one care for those one has never seen? Well, when your cousin comes back, he will find Mansfield very quiet. All the noisy ones gone, your brother and mine and myself. I do not like the idea of leaving Mrs. Grant now the time draws near. She does not like my going." Fanny felt obliged to speak. You cannot doubt you are being missed by many. said she. You will be very much missed. Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or see more, and then laughingly said, Oh, yes! Missed is every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away. That is, there is a great difference felt. But I am not fishing—don't compliment me. If I am missed, it will appear. I may be discovered by those who want to see me. I shall not be in any doubtful or distant or unapproachable region. Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Crawford was disappointed, for she had hoped to hear some pleasant assurance of her power from one who she thought must know, and her spirits were clouded again. The Miss Owens, said she soon afterwards, Suppose you were to have one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacy. How should you like it? Stranger things have happened. I dare say they are trying for it. And they are quite in the right, for it would be a very pretty establishment for them. I do not at all wonder or blame them. It is everybody's duty to do as well for themselves as they can. Sir Thomas Bartram's son is somebody, and now he is in their own line. Their father is a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all clergymen together. He is their lawful property. He fairly belongs to them. You don't speak, Fanny. Miss Price, you don't speak. But honestly now, do not you rather expect it than otherwise? No, said Fanny stoutly. I do not expect it at all. Not at all? cried Miss Crawford with alacrity. I wonder at that. But I dare say you know exactly. I always imagine you are—perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all, or not at present. No, I do not, said Fanny. Softly, hoping she did not err either in the belief or the acknowledgement of it. Her companion looked at her keenly, and gathering greater spirit from the blush soon produced from such a look, only said, Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home again in spirits which might have defied almost another week of the same small party in the same bad weather, had they been put to the proof. But as that very evening brought her brother down from London again in quite or more than quite his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing farther to try her own. His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but the promotion of gaiety. A day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke, suspected only of concealing something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself. But the next day did bring a surprise to her. Henry had said he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did and be back in ten minutes, but he was gone above an hour, and when his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep and cried out, �My dear Henry, where can you have been all this time?� He had only to say that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny. Going with them an hour and a half, exclaimed Mary. But this was only the beginning of her surprise. �Yes, Mary?� said he, drawing her arm within his, and walking along the sweep as if not knowing where he was. �I could not get away sooner. Fanny looked so lovely. I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it astonish you? No, you must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price. The surprise was now complete. For in spite of whatever his consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such views had never entered his sister's imagination, and she looked so truly the astonishment she felt that he was obliged to repeat what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly. The conviction of his determination once admitted it was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure with the surprise. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connection with the Bertram family, and to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath him. �Yes, Mary� was Henry's concluding assurance. �I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I begin, but this is the end of them. I have, I flatter myself, made no inconsiderable progress in her affections, but my own are entirely fixed.� �Lucky, lucky girl!� cried Mary as soon as she could speak. �What a match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my first feeling, but my second, which you shall have as sincerely, is that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish and desire it. You will have a sweet little wife, all gratitude and devotion, exactly what you deserve. Not an amazing match for her! Mrs. Norris often talks of her luck. What will she say now? The delight of all the family indeed, and she has some true friends in it. How they will rejoice. But tell me all about it. Talk to me for ever. When did you begin to think seriously about her? Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a question, though nothing could be more agreeable than to have it asked. How the pleasing plague had stolen on him? He could not say, and before he had expressed the same sentiment with a little variation of words three times over, his sister eagerly interrupted him with, �Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took you to London, this was your business. You chose to consult the admiral before you made up your mind.� But this he stoutly denied. He knew his uncle too well to consult him on any matrimonial scheme. The admiral hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune. When Fanny is known to him� �Continued, Henry.� He will doubt on her. She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as the admiral, for she he would describe, if indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody his own ideas. But till it is absolutely settled, settled beyond all interference, he shall know nothing of the matter. No, Mary, you are quite mistaken. You have not discovered my business yet. �Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price! Wonderful, quite wonderful, that Mansfield should have done so much for, that you should have found your fate in Mansfield, but you were quite right. You could not have chosen better. There is not a better girl in the world. You do not want for fortune, and as to her connections they are more than good. The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this country. She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram. That will be enough for the world. But go on, go on, tell me more. What are your plans? Does she know her own happiness? No. What are you waiting for? For. For very little more than opportunity. Oh, no, you cannot! Were you even less pleasing, supposing her not to love you already, of which, however, I can have little doubt, you would be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your own immediately. For my soul I do not think she would marry you without love. That is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her. But ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse. As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy to tell as she could be to listen, and a conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty of face and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart were the exhaustless theme. The gentleness, modesty and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on. That sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance, her affections were evidently strong, to see her with her brother. What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness? What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love and view? Then her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear, and her manners with a mere of her own modest and elegant mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name. But when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith in integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge being well-principled and religious. I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her. Said he. And that is what I want. Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in her prospects. The more I think of it, she cried, the more I am convinced that you were doing quite right, and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl who was ready to attack you, I am now persuaded that she is the very one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both find your good in it. It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature, but I did not know her then, and she shall have no reason to lament the hour that first put it into my head. I will make her very happy, merry, happier than she has ever yet been herself, or ever seen anybody else. I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood, perhaps Stamwick's Lodge. I shall let a seven years lease of Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word. I could name three people now who would give me my own terms, and thank me." Ha! cried Mary. Settle in Northamptonshire. That is pleasant. Then we shall be all together. When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid. But there was no need of confusion. For her brother saw her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield Parsonage, and replied but to invite her in the kindest manner to his own house, and to claim the best right in her. You must give us more than half your time. Said he. I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself, for we shall both have a right in you. Fanny will be so truly your sister. Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances, but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer. You will divide your year between London and Northamptonshire. Yes. That's right. And in London, of course, a house of your own, no longer with the admiral. My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions or learned to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life. You are not sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you. But in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of you. To have seen you grow like the admiral in word or deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart. Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The admiral has his faults, but he is a very good man. And has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one another." Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant. Time would discover it to him. But she could not help this reflection on the admiral. Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason of which my poor, ill-used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible. But I know you. I know that a wife you loved would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good breeding of a gentleman. The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny Price happy or of ceasing to love Fanny Price was, of course, the groundwork of his eloquent answer. Had you seen her this morning, Mary? He continued, Attending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her and for her, her colour beautifully heightened as she lent over the work, then returning to her seat to finish a note, which she was previously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and all this with such unpretending gentleness. So much of it were a matter, of course, that she was not to have a moment at her own command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at intervals to me, or listening as if she liked to listen to what I said. Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing. My dearest Henry! cried Mary, stopping short and smiling in his face. How glad I am to see you so much in love! It quite delights me. But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say? I care neither what they say nor what they feel. They will now see what sort of woman it is can attach me, that can attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them any good, and they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry. He added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone. Mrs. Rushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to her, that is, like other bitter pills. It will have two moments' ill flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten, for I am not such a cockscomb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's, though I was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my fanny will feel a difference indeed, a daily, hourly difference in the behaviour of every being who approaches her, and it will be the completion of my happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due. Now she is dependent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten. Nay, Henry, not by all, not forgotten by all, not friendless or forgotten, her cousin Edmund never forgets her. Edmund, true. I believe he is, generally speaking, kind to her, and so is Sir Thomas in his way, but it is the way of a rich, superior, long-worded arbitrary uncle. What can Sir Thomas and Edmund together do? What do they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world, to what I shall do? Lady Bertram was on the very point of quitting it as he entered. She was almost at the door, and not choosing by any means to take so much trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentence about being waited for, and a— to the servant. Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her walk off, and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, and taking out some letters, said with a most animated look. I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone. I have been wishing it more than you can have any idea, knowing as I do what your feelings as a sister are. I could hardly have borne that any one in the house should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother is a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your brother's promotion. Here are the letters which announce it. This moment come to hand, you will, perhaps, like to see them? Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion and felicity, was enough. She took the letters as he gave them. The first was from the admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words, of his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the promotion of young Price, and in closing two more, one from the secretary of the First Lord to a friend whom the admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself, by which it appeared that his lordship had the very great happiness of attending to the recommendation of Sir Charles. That Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving his regard for admiral Crawford, and that the circumstance of Mr. William Price's commission as second lieutenant of H.M. Sloup Thrush being made out was spreading general joy through a wide circle of great people. While her hand was trembling under these letters, her eye running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued, with unfamed eagerness, to express his interest in the event. I will not talk of my own happiness, said he, great as it is, for I think only of yours, compared with you, who has a right to be happy. I have almost grudged myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the world. I have not lost a moment, however. The post was late this morning, but there has not been since a moment's delay. How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the subject, I will not attempt to describe, how severely mortified, how cruelly disappointed in not having it finished while I was in London. I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have detained me half the time from Mansfield. But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, and exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of. And knowing in what good hands I left the course, I came away on Monday, trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be followed by such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, after seeing your brother. He was delighted with him. I would not allow myself yesterday to say how delighted, or to repeat half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all till his praise should be proven by the praise of a friend, as this day does prove it. Now I may say that even I could not require William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they had passed together. Has this been all you're doing then?" cried Fanny. Good Heaven! How very, very kind! Have you really—was it by your desire? I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral Crawford apply? How was it? I am stupefied. Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature. He had not breathed a syllable of it, even to Mary. While uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings. But this had been his business. And he spoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had been, and he used such strong expressions, was so abounding in the deepest interest, in twofold motives, in views and wishes more than could be told, that Fanny could not have remained insensible if his drift had she been able to attend. But her heart was so full, and her senses still so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying only when he paused. How kind! How very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you. Dearest, dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible. But this could not be suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. She must not go. She must not allow him five minutes longer. He took her hand and led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequal attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it as all nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour. She could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way she had not deserved. But it was like himself, and entirely of a peace with what she had seen before, and she would not allow herself to show half the displeasure she felt, because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her. While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful of anything that injured only herself, and after having twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up and said only with much agitation. Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't. I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and finally in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so. He had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased, and though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer. No, no, no. She cried, hiding her face. This is all nonsense. Do not distress me. I can hear no more of this. Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words can express. But I do not want. I cannot bear. I must not listen to such. No, no, don't think of me. But you are not thinking of me. I know it is all nothing. She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room they were in. It was no time for father assurances or entreaty, though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone seemed, to his sanguine and pre-assured mind, to stand in the way of the happiness he sought, was a cruel necessity. She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the east room in the utmost confusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politeness or apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joyful intelligence which his visitor came to communicate. She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything, agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It was all beyond belief. He was inexcusable, incomprehensible. But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted. She knew not what to say, how to class or how to regard it. She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle? But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again. He must have seen how unwelcome it was to her, and in that case how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William. She would not stir farther from the east room than the head of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house. But when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and very kind and communicative, and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards the close, that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and dine there that very day. This was a most unwelcome hearing, for though he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon. She tried to get the better of it, tried very hard as the dinner-hour approached to feel and appear as usual, but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room. She could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrence of circumstances to give her so many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's promotion. Mr. Crawford was not only in the room, he was soon close to her. He had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not look at him, but there was no consciousness of past folly in his voice. She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy as she read it to feel that the fidgeting of her aunt Norris, who was also to dine there, screened her a little from view. My dear Fanny, for so am I now always call you to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at mis-price for at least the last six weeks. I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of general congratulation in giving my most joyful consent and approval. Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear. There can be no difficult he's worth naming. I choose to suppose that the assurance of my consent will be something, so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes. Yours affectionately. M. C. These were not expressions to do Fanny any good. For though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to appear to believe it serious. She did not know what to do, or what to think. There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious. There was perplexity and agitation every way. She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often, and she was afraid there was a something in his voice and manner in addressing her very different from what they were when he talked to the others. Her comfort in that day's dinner was quite destroyed. She could hardly eat anything, and when Sir Thomas could humbly observe that Joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame. From the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation, for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the right hand, where he sat, she felt that his were immediately directed towards her. She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join even when William was the subject, for his commission came all from the right hand too, and there was pain in the connection. She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began to be in despair of ever getting away, but at last they were in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would while her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in their own style. Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving as it would be to Sir Thomas, as with any part of it. Now William would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle, for it was unknown how much he had cost his uncle, and indeed it would make some difference in her presence too. She was very glad she had given William what she did at parting, very glad indeed that it had been in her power, without material inconvenience, just at that time to give him something rather considerable, that is for her with her limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to fit up his cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, and that he would have many things to buy, though to be sure his father and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting everything very cheap. But she was very glad she had contributed her might towards it. I am glad you gave him something considerable. Said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness. For I gave him only ten. Indeed! Cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. On my word he must have gone off with his pockets well lined, and at no expense for his journey to London either. Sir Thomas told me ten would be enough. Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point. It is amazing. Said she. How much young people cost their friends? What with bringing them up and putting them out in the world? They little think how much it comes to, or what their parents or their uncles and aunts pay for them in the course of the year. Now here are my sister Price's children. Take them all together. I dare say nobody would believe what a sum they cost to Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for them. Very true, Sister, as you say. But poor things. They cannot help it, and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies, and I shall give him a commission for anything else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny. Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. There was everything in the world against their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable was against it, all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors, and who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him? Who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points? And who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? Either how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either. Fanny was ashamed of her own doubts. Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her. She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room. For once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not know how to class among the common meaning. In any other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried to believe it no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women. She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him every opportunity. At last—it seemed, and at last, to Fanny's nervousness, though not remarkably late—he began to talk of going away. But the comfort of the sound was soon impaired by his turning to her the next moment and saying, Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She would be disappointed if she received nothing from you. Pray right to her, if it be only a line. Oh, yes, certainly! cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away. I will write directly. She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpracticed in such sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and fears as to style, she would have felt them in abundance. But something must be instantly written, and with only one decided feeling, that of wishing not to appear to think anything really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand. I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William. The rest of your note I know means nothing, but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you'll excuse my begging you to take no farther notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners. If he understood me as well, he would, I daresay, behave differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note, I remain, dear Miss Crawford, et cetera, et cetera. The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the note, was coming towards her. You cannot think I mean to hurry you, said he in an under-voice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which he made up the note. You cannot think I have any such object. Do not hurry yourself, I entreat. Oh! I thank you. I have quite done. Just done. It will be ready in a moment. I am very much obliged to you if you will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford." The note was held out and must be taken, and as she instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to go in good earnest. Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure, but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day, for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain she hoped would return no more. She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement, but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on, nor gratified, by Mr. Crawford's attentions. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of Mansfield Park by Jane Austen This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Fanny had by no means forgotten Mr. Crawford when she awoke the next morning, but she remembered the purport of her note, and was not less sanguine as to its effect than she had been the night before. If Mr. Crawford would but go away—that was what she most earnestly desired— go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not already done, she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay. Fanny had hoped, in the course of his yesterday's visit, to hear the day named, but he had only spoken of their journey as what would take place ere long. Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note would convey, she could not but be astonished to see Mr. Crawford, as she accidentally did, coming up to the house again, and at an hour as early as the day before. His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible, and being then on her way upstairs, she resolved there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for. And as Mrs. Norris was still in the house, there seemed little danger of her being wanted. She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment, but as no footsteps approached the east room, she gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter. Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard, a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house. It was her uncle's. She knew it as well as his voice. She had trembled at it often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door, and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English. She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him and trying to appear honoured, and in her agitation had quite overlooked the deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping short as he entered, said with much surprise, Why have you no fire today? There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She hesitated. I am not cold, sir. I never sit here long at this time of year. But you have a fire in general. No, sir. How comes this about? Here must be some mistake. I understood that you had the use of this room by way of making you perfectly comfortable. In your bed-chamber I know you cannot have a fire. Here is some great misapprehension which must be rectified. It is highly unfit for you to sit, be it only half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. You are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this. Fanny would rather have been silent. But being obliged to speak, she could not forbear injustice to the aunt she loved best from saying something in which the words My Aunt Norris were distinguishable. I understand. cried her uncle, recollecting himself and not wanting to hear more. I understand. Your Aunt Norris has always been an advocate and very judiciously for young peoples being brought up without unnecessary indulgences. But there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account too I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction. But I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose that you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past. You will consider times, persons, and probabilities. And you will feel that they were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant. And of this you may be assured that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you by failing at any time to treat your Aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her. But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I must speak to you for a few minutes, but I will not detain you long. Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After a moment's pause Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went on. You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor this morning. I had not been long in my own room after breakfast when Mr. Crawford was shown in. His errand you may probably conjecture. Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper, and her uncle, perceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree that made either speaking or looking up quite impossible, by his own eyes, and without any further pause, proceeded in his account to Mr. Crawford's visit. Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himself the lover of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and entreat the sanction of the uncle, who seemed to stand in the place of her parents. And he had done it all so well, so openly, so liberally, so properly, that Sir Thomas, feeling moreover his own replies and his own remarks to being very much to the purpose, was exceedingly happy to give the particulars of their conversation, and little aware of what was passing in his niece's mind, conceived that by such details he must be gratifying her far more than himself. He talked therefore for several minutes without Fanny's daring to interrupt him. She had hardly even attained the wish to do it. Her mind was too much confusion. She had changed her position, and with her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, was listening to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay. For a moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious of it. When rising from his chair, he said— And now, Fanny, having performed one part of my commission and shown you everything placed on a basis the most assured and satisfactory, I may execute the remainder by prevailing on you to accompany me downstairs, where, though I cannot but presume on having been no unacceptable companion myself, I must submit to your finding one still better worth listening to. Mr. Crawford, as you have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in my room and hoping to see you there. There was a look, a start, an exclamation on hearing this, which astonished Sir Thomas. But what was his increase of astonishment on hearing her exclaim? Oh! no, sir, I cannot. Indeed, I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford ought to know. He must know that. I told him enough yesterday to convince him. He spoke to me on this subject yesterday, and I told him without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me and quite out of my power to return his good opinion. I do not catch your meaning. Said Sir Thomas, sitting down again. Out of your power to return his good opinion, what is all this? I know he spoke to you yesterday, and as far as I understand received as much encouragement to proceed as a well-judging young woman could permit herself to give. I was very much pleased with what I collected to have been your behaviour on the occasion. It showed a discretion highly to be commended. But now, when he has made his overtures so properly and honourably, what are your scruples now? You are mistaken, sir. Cried Fanny, forced by the anxiety of the moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong. You are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such a thing? I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I told him. I cannot recollect my exact words, but I am sure I told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I said as much as that and more, and I should have said still more if I had been quite certain of his meaning anything seriously. But I did not like to be. I did not bear to be imputing more than might be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with him. She could say no more. Her breath was almost gone. Am I to understand? Said Sir Thomas after a few moments' silence. That you mean to refuse Mr. Crawford? Yes, sir. Refuse him? Yes, sir. Refuse Mr. Crawford? Upon what plea? For what reason? I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him. This is very strange. Said Sir Thomas in a voice of calm displeasure. There is something in this which my comprehension does not reach. Here is a young man wishing to pay his addresses to you, with everything to recommend him, not merely situation in life, fortune, and character, but with more than common agreeableness, with adress and conversation pleasing to everybody. And he is not an acquaintance of today. You have now known him some time. His sister, moreover, is your intimate friend, and he has been doing that for your brother, which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient recommendation to you, had there been no other. It is very uncertain when my interest might have got William on. He has done it already. Yes. Said Fanny in a faint voice, and looking down with fresh shame, and she did feel almost ashamed of herself after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford. You must have been aware— Continued, Sir Thomas, presently. You must have been some time aware of a particularity in Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have taken you by surprise. You must have observed his attentions, and though you always received them very properly, I have no accusation to make on that head. I never perceived them to be unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to thank Fanny that you do not quite know your own feelings. Oh, yes, sir, indeed I do. His attentions were always what I did not like. Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. This is beyond me. Said he. This requires explanation. Young as you are, and having seen scarcely anyone, it is hardly possible that you are affections. He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a no, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl might be very compatible with innocence, and choosing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added— No, no, I know that is quite out of the question. Quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said. And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was deep in thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. She would rather die than own the truth, and she hoped by a little reflection to fortify herself beyond betraying it. Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford's choice seemed to justify— Said Sir Thomas, beginning again, and very composately— His wishing to marry at all so early is recommendatory to me. I am an advocate for early marriages, where there are means in proportion, and would have every young man with a sufficient income settle as soon after four and twenty as he can. This is so much my opinion that I am sorry to think how little likely my own eldest son, your cousin Mr. Bertram, is to marry early. But at present as far as I can judge matrimony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I wish he were more likely to fix. Here was a glance at Fanny. Edmund, I consider, from his dispositions and habits as much more likely to marry early than his brother. He indeed, I have lately thought, has seen the woman he could love, which I am convinced my eldest son has not. Am I right? Do you agree with me, my dear? Yes, sir. It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was easy on the score of the cousins. But the removal of his alarm did his niece unaccountableness was confirmed, his displeasure increased, and getting up and walking about the room with a frown, which Fanny could picture to herself though she dared not lift up her eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a voice of authority, said, Have you any reason, child, to think ill of Mr. Crawford's temper? No, sir. She longed to add. But of his principles I have. But her heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, explanation, and unconviction. Her ill opinion of him was founded chiefly on observations, which for her cousin's sake she could scarcely dare mention to their father. Mariah and Julia, and especially Mariah, were so closely implicated in Mr. Crawford's misconduct that she could not give his character, such as she believed it, without betraying them. She had hoped that, to a man like her uncle, so discerning, so honorable, so good, would have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not. Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in trembling wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold sternness said, It is of no use I perceive to talk to you. We had better put an end to this most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not be kept longer waiting. I will therefore only add, as thinking it my duty to mark my opinion of your conduct, that you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had supposed. For I had, fanny, as I think my behaviour must have shown, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the period of my return to England. I had thought you peculiarly free from willfulness of temper, self-conceit, and every tendency to that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern days, even in young women, and which in young women is offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. But you have now shown me that you can be willful and perverse, that you can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration or deference for those who have surely some right to guide you, without even asking their advice. You have shown yourself very, very different from anything that I had imagined. The advantage or disadvantage of your family, of your parents, your brothers and sisters never seems to have had a moment's share in your thoughts on this occasion. How they might be benefited, how they must rejoice in such an establishment for you is nothing to you. You think only of yourself, and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young, fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him at once, without wishing even for a little time to consider of it, a little more time for cool consideration, and for really examining your own inclinations, and are in a wild fit of folly throwing away from you such an opportunity of being settled in life, eligibility, honorably, nobly, settled, as will probably never occur to you again. Here is a young man of sense, of character, of temper, of manners and of fortune exceedingly attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most handsome and disinterested way. Let me tell you, Fanny, that you may live eighteen years longer in the world without being addressed by a man of half or a tenth part of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughters on him. Mariah is nobly married but had Mr. Crawford sought to Julie his hand, I should have given it to him with superior and more heartfelt satisfaction than I gave Mariahs to Mr. Rushworth. After half a moment's pause. And I should have been very much surprised had either of my daughters on receiving a proposal of marriage at any time which might carry with it only half the eligibility of this immediately and peremptorily and without paying my opinion or my regard the compliment of any consultation put a decided negative on it. I should have been much surprised and much hurt by such a proceeding. I should have thought it a gross violation of duty and respect. You are not to be judged by the same rule. You do not owe me the duty of a child. But Fanny, if your heart can acquit you of ingratitude he ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly that angry as he was he would not press that article farther. Her heart was almost broken by such a picture of what she appeared to him by such accusations so heavy so multiplied so rising in dreadful gradation. Self-willed, obstinate, selfish and ungrateful he thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations she had lost his good opinion what was to become of her? I am very sorry said she inarticulately through her tears. I am very sorry indeed. Sorry, yes I hope you are sorry and you will probably have reason to be long sorry for this day's transactions. If it were possible for me to do otherwise said she with another strong effort but I am so perfectly convinced that I could never make him happy and that I should be miserable myself. Another burst of tears but in spite of that burst and in spite of that great black word miserable which served to introduce it Sir Thomas began to think a little relenting a little change of inclination might have something to do with it and to augur favorably from the personal entreaty of the man himself. He knew her to be very timid and exceedingly nervous and thought it not improbable that her mind might be in such a state as a little time a little pressing a little patience and a little impatience a judicious mixture of all on the lover's side might work their usual effect on. If the gentleman would but persevere if he had but love enough to persevere Sir Thomas began to have hopes and these reflections having passed well said he in a tone of becoming gravity but of less anger well child dry up your tears there is no use in these tears they can do no good you must now come downstairs with me Mr. Crawford has been kept waiting too long already you must give him your own answer we cannot expect him to be satisfied with less and you only can explain to him the grounds of that misconception of your sentiments rich unfortunately for himself he certainly has imbibed I am totally unequal to it but Fanny showed such reluctance such misery at the idea of going down to him that Sir Thomas after a little consideration judged it better to indulge her his hopes from both gentleman and lady suffered a small depression and consequence but when he looked at his knee since all the state of feature and complexion which her crying had brought her into might be as much lost as gained by an immediate interview with a few words therefore of no particular meaning he walked off by himself leaving his poor niece to sit and cry over what had passed with very wretched feelings her mind was all disorder the past, present, future everything was terrible but her uncle's anger gave her the spierest pain of all selfish and ungrateful to have appeared so to him however she had no one to take her part to counsel or to speak for her her only friend was absent he might have softened his father but all perhaps all would think her selfish and ungrateful she might have to endure the reproach again and again she might hear it or see it or know it to exist forever in every connection about her she could not but feel some resentment against Mr. Crawford yet if he really loved her it was all wretchedness together in about a quarter of an hour her uncle returned she was almost ready to faint at the sight of him he spoke calmly however without austerity, without reproach and she revived a little there was comfort too in his words as well as his manner for he began with Mr. Crawford is gone he has just left me I need not repeat what has passed I do not want to add to anything you may now be feeling by an account of what he has felt suffice it that he has behaved in the most gentleman-like and generous manner and has confirmed me in a most favorable opinion of his understanding, heart and temper upon my representation of what you were suffering he immediately and with the greatest delicacy ceased to urge to see you for the present hear Fanny who had looked up looked down again of course continued her uncle it cannot be supposed but that he should request to speak with you alone be it only for five minutes a request too natural a claim too just to be denied but there is no time fixed perhaps tomorrow or whenever your spirits are composed enough for the present you have only to tranquilize yourself check these tears they do but exhaust you as I am willing to suppose you wish to show me any observance you will not give way to these emotions but endeavor to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind I advise you to go out the air will do you good go out for an hour on the gravel you will have the shrubbery to yourself and will be the better for air and exercise and Fanny turning back again for a moment I shall make no mention below of what has passed I shall not even tell your Aunt Bertram there is no occasion for spreading the disappointment say nothing about it yourself this was an order to be most joyfully obeyed this was an act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart to be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches he left her in a glow of gratitude anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches even to see Mr. Crawford be less overpowering she walked out directly as her uncle recommended and followed his advice throughout as far as she could did check her tears did earnestly try to compose her spirits and strengthen her mind she wished to prove to him that she did desire his comfort and sought to regain his favor and he had given her another strong motive for exertion in keeping the whole affair from the knowledge of her aunts not to excite suspicion by her look not an object worth attaining and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her Aunt Norris she was struck quite struck when on returning from her walk and going into the East Room again the first thing which caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning a fire it seemed too much just at that time to be giving her such an indulgence was exciting even painful gratitude she wondered that Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again she soon found from the voluntary information of the housemaid who came in to attend it that so it was to be every day Sir Thomas had given orders for it I must be a brute indeed if I can be really ungrateful said she in soliloquy Heaven defend me from being ungrateful she saw nothing more of her uncle nor of her Aunt Norris till they met at dinner her uncle's behavior to her was then nearly as possible what it had been before and she was sure that he did not mean there should be any change and that it was only her own conscience that could fancy any but her aunt was soon quarreling with her and when she found how much and how unpleasantly her having only walked out without her aunt's knowledge could be dwelt on she felt all the reason she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of reproach exerted on a more momentous subject if I had known you were going out I should have got you just to go as far as my house with some orders for Nanny said she which I have since to my very great inconvenience been obliged to go and carry myself I could very ill spare the time and you might have saved me the trouble if you would only have been so good as to let us know you were going out it would have made no difference to you I suppose whether you had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place said Sir Thomas Oh said Mrs. Norris with a moment's check that was very kind of you Sir Thomas but you do not know how dry the path is to my house Fanny would have had quite as good a walk there I assure you with the advantage of being of some use and obliging her aunt it is all her fault if she would but have let us know she was going out but there is a something about Fanny I have often observed it before she likes to go her own way to work she does not like to be dictated to she takes her own independent walk whenever she can she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy and independence nonsense about her which I would advise her to get the better of as a general reflection on Fanny Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust though he had been so lately expressing the same sentiments himself and he tried to turn the conversation tried repeatedly before he could succeed for Mrs. Norris had not discernment enough to perceive either now or at any other time to what degree he thought well of his niece or how very far he was from wishing to have his own children's merits by the depreciation of hers she was talking at Fanny and resenting this private walk half through the dinner it was over however at last and the evening set in with more composure to Fanny and more cheerfulness of spirit than she could have hoped for after so stormy a morning but she trusted in the first place that she had done right that her judgment had not misled her for the purity of her intention she could answer and she was willing to hope secondly that her uncle's pleasure was abating and would abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality and felt as a good man must feel how wretched and how unpardonable how hopeless and how wicked it was to marry without affection when the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was passed she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally concluded and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield that everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed she would could not believe that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long his mind was not of that sort London would soon bring its cure in London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation and be thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil consequences while Fanny's mind was engaged in these sort of hopes her uncle was soon after tea called out of the room an occurrence too common to strike her and she thought nothing of it till the butler reappeared ten minutes afterwards and advancing directly toward herself said Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you ma'am in his own room then it occurred to her what might be going on a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the color from her cheeks but instantly rising she was preparing to obey when Mrs. Norris called out stay stay Fanny what are you about where are you going don't be in such a hurry depend upon it it is not you who are wanted depend upon it it is me looking at the butler but you are so very eager to put yourself forward what should Sir Thomas want you for it is me badly you mean I'm coming this moment you mean me badly I'm sure Sir Thomas wants me not Miss Price but badly was stout no ma'am it is Miss Price I am certain of its being Miss Price and there was a half smile with the words which meant I do not think you would answer the purpose at all Mrs. Norris much disconcerted was obliged to compose herself to work again and Fanny walking off in agitating consciousness found herself as she anticipated in another minute alone with Mr. Crawford End of Chapter 32 Chapter 33 of Mansfield Park by Jane Austen this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the conference was neither so short nor so conclusive as the lady had designed the gentleman was not so easily satisfied he had all the disposition to persevere that Sir Thomas could wish him he had vanity which strongly inclined him in the first place to think she did love him though she might not know it herself and which secondly when constrained at last to admit that she did know her own present feelings convinced him that he should be able in time to make those feelings what he wished he was in love very much in love and it was a love which operating on an active sanguine spirit of more warmth than delicacy made her affection appear of greater consequence because it was withheld and determined him to have the glory as well as the felicity of forcing her to love him he would not despair he would not desist he had every well-grounded reason for solid attachment he knew her to have all the worth that could justify the warmest hopes of lasting happiness with her her conduct at this very time by speaking the disinterestedness and delicacy of her character qualities which he believed most rare indeed was of a sort to heighten all his wishes and confirm all his resolutions he knew not that he had a pre-engaged heart to attack of that he had no suspicion he considered her rather as one who had never thought on the subject enough to be in danger who had been guarded by youth a youth of mind as lovely as of person whose modesty had prevented her from understanding his attentions and who was still overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so wholly unexpected and the novelty of a situation which her fancy had never taken into account must it not follow, of course when he was understood he should succeed he believed it fully love such as his in a man like himself must with perseverance secure a return and at no great distance and he had so much delight in the idea of obliging her to love him in a very short time that her not loving him now was scarcely regretted a little difficulty to be overcome was no evil to Henry Crawford he rather derived spirits from it he had been apt to gain heart too easily his situation was new and animating too fanny however who had known too much opposition all her life to find any charm in it all this was unintelligible she found that he did mean to persevere but how he could after such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use was not to be understood she told him that she did not love him could not love him was sure she should never love him that such a change was quite impossible that the subject was most painful to her that she must entreat him never to mention it again to allow her to leave him at once and let it be considered as concluded forever and when farther pressed had added that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar as to make mutual affection incompatible and that they were unfitted for each other by nature education and habit all this she had said and with the earnestness of sincerity yet this was not enough for he immediately denied there being anything uncongenial in their characters or anything unfriendly in their situations and positively declared that he would still love and still hope fanny knew her own meaning but was no judge of her own manner her manner was incurably gentle and she was not aware how much it concealed the sternness of her purpose her diffidence gratitude and softness made every expression of indifference seem almost an effort of self-denial seem at least to be giving nearly as much pain to herself as to him Mr. Crawford was no longer the Mr. Crawford who as the clandestine insidious treacherous admirer of Mariah Bertram had been her abhorrence whom she had hated to see or to speak to in whom she could believe no good quality to exist and whose power even of being agreeable she had barely acknowledged he was now the Mr. Crawford who was addressing herself with ardent disinterested love whose feelings were apparently become all that was honourable and upright whose views of happiness were all fixed on a marriage of attachment who was pouring out his sense of her merits describing and describing again his affection proving as far as words could prove it and in the language, tone and spirit of a man of talent too that he sought her for her gentleness and her goodness and to complete the whole he was now the Mr. Crawford who had procured William's promotion here was a change and here were claims which could not but operate she might have disdained him in all the dignity of angry virtue in the grounds of Southerton or the theatre at Mansfield Park but he approached her now with right that demanded different treatment she must be courteous and she must be compassionate she must have a sensation of being honoured and whether thinking of herself or her brother she must have a strong feeling of gratitude the effect of the whole was a manner so pitying and agitated and words intermingled with her refusal so expressive of obligation and concern that to a temper of vanity and hope like Crawford's the truth or at least the strength of her indifference might well be questionable and he was not so irrational as Fanny considered him in the professions of persevering assiduous and not desponding attachment which closed the interview it was with reluctance that he suffered her to go but there was no look of despair and parting to belie his words or give her hopes of his being less unreasonable than he professed himself now she was angry some resentment did arise at a perseverance so selfish and ungenerous here was again a want of delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and disgusted her here was again a something of the same Mr. Crawford whom she had so reprobated before how evidently was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own pleasure was concerned and alas how always known no principle to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in had her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have been he never could have engaged them so thought Fanny in good truth and sober sadness as she sat musing over that too great indulgence and luxury of a fire upstairs wondering at the past and present wondering at what was yet to come and in a nervous agitation which made nothing clear to her but the persuasion of her being never under any circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford and the felicity of having a fire to sit over and think of it Sir Thomas was obliged or obliged himself to wait till the morrow for a knowledge of what had passed between the young people he then saw Mr. Crawford and received his account the first feeling was disappointment he had hoped better things he had thought that an hours in treaty from a young man like Crawford could not have worked so little change on a gentle-tempered girl like Fanny but there was speedy comfort in the determined views and sanguine perseverance of the lover and when seeing such confidence of success in the principal Sir Thomas was soon able to depend on it himself nothing was omitted on his side of civility compliment or kindness that might assist the plan Mr. Crawford's steadiness was honored and Fanny was praised and the connection was still the most desirable in the world at Mansfield Park Mr. Crawford would always be welcome he had only to consult his own judgment and feelings as to the frequency of his visits at present or in future in all his nieces' family and friends there could be but one opinion one wish on the subject the influence of all who loved her must incline one way everything was said that could encourage every encouragement received with grateful joy and the gentleman parted the best of friends satisfied that the cause was now on a footing most proper and hopeful Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all farther impunity with his niece and to show no open interference upon her disposition he believed kindness might be the best way of working entreaty should be from one quarter only the forbearance of her family on a point respecting which she could be in no doubt of their wishes might be their surest means of forwarding it accordingly on this principal Sir Thomas took the first opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity intended to be overcoming well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. Crawford gain and learn from him exactly how matters stand between you he is a most extraordinary young man and whatever the event you must feel that you have created an attachment of no common character though young as you are and little acquainted with the transient, varying unsteady nature of love as it generally exists you cannot be struck as I am with all that is wonderful in a perseverance of this sort against discouragement with him it is entirely a matter of feeling he claims no merit in it perhaps is entitled to none yet having chosen so well his constancy has a respectable stamp at his choice being less unexceptionable I should have condemned his persevering indeed sir said Fanny I am very sorry that Mr. Crawford should continue to know that it is paying me a very great compliment and I feel most undeservedly honoured but I am so perfectly convinced and I have told him so that it never will be in my power my dear interrupted Sir Thomas there is no occasion for this your feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and regrets to you there is nothing more to be said or done from this hour the subject is never to be revived between us you will have nothing to fear or to be agitated about you cannot suppose me capable of trying to persuade you to marry against your inclinations your happiness and advantage are all that I have in view and nothing is required of you but to bear with Mr. Crawford's endeavours that they may not be incompatible with his he proceeds at his own risk you are on safe ground I have engaged for your seeing him whenever he calls as you might have done had nothing of this sort occurred you will see him with the rest of us in the same manner and as much as you can dismissing the recollection of everything unpleasant he leaves Northamptonshire so soon that even this slight sacrifice will be often demanded the future must be very uncertain and now my dear Fanny this subject is closed between us the promised departure was all that Fanny could think of with much satisfaction her uncle's kind expressions however and for bearing manner were sensibly felt and when she considered how much of the truth was unknown to him she believed she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he pursued he who had married a daughter to Mr. Rushworth romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him she must do her duty and trust that time might make her duty easier than it now was she could not though only eighteen suppose Mr. Crawford's attachment would hold out forever she could not but imagine that steady unceasing discouragement from herself would put an end to it in time how much she might in her own fancy a lot for its dominion is another concern it would not be fair to inquire into a young lady's exact estimate of her own perfections in spite of his intended silence Sir Thomas found himself once more obliged to mention the subject to his niece to prepare her briefly for its being imparted to her aunts a measure which he still would have avoided if possible but which became necessary from the totally opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford as to any secrecy of proceeding he had no idea of concealment it was all known at the Parsonage where he loved to talk over the future with both his sisters and it would be rather gratifying to him to have enlightened witnesses of the progress of his success when Sir Thomas understood this he felt the necessity of making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the business without delay though on Fanny's account he almost dreaded the effect of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much as Fanny herself he deprecated her mistaken but well-meaning zeal Sir Thomas indeed was by this time not very far from classing Mrs. Norris as one of those well-meaning people who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable things Mrs. Norris however relieved him he pressed for the strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece she not only promised but did observe it with the utmost ill will angry she was bitterly angry but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it it was an injury and a front to Julia who ought to have been Mr. Crawford's choice and independently of that she disliked Fanny because she had neglected her and she would have grabbed such an elevation to one whom she had always been trying to depress Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion she deserved and Fanny could have blessed her for allowing her only to see her displeasure and not to hear it Lady Bertram took it differently she had been a beauty and a prosperous beauty all her life and beauty and wealth were all that excited her respect to know Fanny to be sought in marriage by a man of fortune raised her therefore very much in her opinion by convincing her that Fanny was very pretty which she had been doubting about before and that she would be advantageously married it made her feel a sort of a credit in calling her niece Well Fanny said she as soon as they were alone together afterwards and she really had known something like impatience to be alone with her and her countenance as she spoke had extraordinary animation Well Fanny I have had a very agreeable surprise this morning I must just speak of it once I told Sir Thomas I must once and then I shall have done I give you joy my dear niece and looking at her complacently she added we certainly are a handsome family Fanny coloured and doubted at first what to say when hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side she presently answered my dear aunt you cannot wish me to do differently from what I have done I am sure you cannot wish me to marry you would miss me should not you yes I am sure you would miss me too much for that No my dear I should not think of missing you in such an offer as this comes in your way I could do very well without you if you were married to a man of such good a state as Mr Crawford and you must be aware Fanny that it is every young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable offer as this this was almost the only rule of conduct the only piece of advice which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the course of eight years and a half it silenced her she felt how unprofitable contention would be if her aunt's feelings were against her nothing could be hoped from attacking her understanding Lady Bertram was quite talkative I will tell you what Fanny said she I am sure he fell in love with you at the ball I am sure the mischief was done that evening you did look remarkably well everybody said so Sir Thomas said so and you know you had Chapman to help you to dress I am very glad I sent Chapman to you I shall tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that evening and still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts she soon afterwards added and will tell you what Fanny which is more than I did for Mariah the next time Pug has a litter you shall have a puppy