 CHAPTER VIII. From this time, Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the same circle. They were soon dining and company together at Mr. Musgrove's, for the little boy's state could no longer supply his aunt with a pretense for absenting herself. And this was but the beginning of other dinings and other meetings. Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be brought to the proof. Former times must undoubtedly be brought to the recollection of each. They could not but be reverted to. The year of their engagement could not but be named by him, in the little narratives or descriptions which conversation called forth. His profession qualified him. His disposition led him to talk, and—that was in the year six. That happened before I went to see in the year six—occurred in the course of the first evening they spent together. And though his voice did not falter, and though she had no reason to suppose his eye wandering towards her while he spoke, Anne felt the utter impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind, that he could be unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. There must be the same immediate association of thought, though she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain. They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the commonest civility required. Once so much to each other, now nothing. There had been a time, when of all the large party now filling the drawing room at upper cross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to speak to one another. With the exception, perhaps, of Admiral and Mrs. Croft, who seemed particularly attached and happy, Anne could allow no other exceptions, even among the married couples. There could have been no two hearts so open, no taste so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers, nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement. When he talked, she heard the same voice, and discerned the same mind. He was a very general ignorance of all naval matters throughout the party, and he was very much questioned, and especially by the two Miss Musgroves, who seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him, as to the manner of living on board, daily regulations, food, hours, etc., and their surprise at his accounts, at learning the degree of accommodation and arrangement which was practicable, drew from him some pleasant ridicule. Which reminded Anne of the early days when she too had been ignorant, and she too had been accused of supposing sailors to be living on board without anything to eat, or any cook to dress it, if there were, or any servant to wait, or any knife and fork to use. From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper of Mrs. Musgroves, who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying, Ah, Miss Anne, if it had pleased heaven to spare my poor son, I daresay he would have been just such another by this time. Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs. Musgrove relieved her heart a little more, and for a few minutes, therefore, could not keep pace with the conversation of the others. When she could let her attention take its natural course again, she found the Miss Musgroves just fetching the navy-list—their own navy-list, the first that had ever been it up across—and sitting down together to pour over it, with the professed view of finding out the ships that Captain Wentworth had commanded. For first was the ASP, I remember. We will look for the ASP. You will not find her there. Quite one out, and broken up. I was the last man who commanded her. Hardly fit for service then, reported fit for home-service for a year or two, and so I was sent off to the West Indies. The girls looked all amazement. The Admiralty, he continued, entertained themselves now and then, with sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed—but they have a great many to provide for, and among the thousands that may just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to distinguish the very set who may be least missed. Foo-foo! cried the Admiral. What stuff these young fellows talk! Never was a better sloop than the ASP in her day. For an old-built sloop you would not see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her! He knows there must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her at the same time. Lucky fellow to get anything so soon, with no more interest than his! I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you," replied Captain Wentworth seriously,—I was as well satisfied with my appointment as you can desire. It was a great object with me at that time to be at sea—a very great object! I wanted to be doing something. To be sure you did! What should a young fellow like you do, assure, for half a year to-gether? If a man had not a wife, he soon wants to be afloat again. But Captain Wentworth, cried Louisa,—how vexed you must have been when you came to the ASP, to see what an old thing they had given you! I knew pretty well what she was before that day," said he, smiling,—I had no more discoveries to make than you would have, as to the fashion and strength of any old police, which you had seen lent out among half your acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself. Ha! She was a dear old ASP to me. She did all that I wanted. I knew she would. I knew that we should either go to the bottom together, or that she would be the making of me. And I never had two days of foul weather all the time I was at sea in her. And after taking privateers enough to be very entertaining, I had the good luck in my passage home the next autumn, to fall in with the very French frigate I wanted. I brought her into Plymouth, and hear another instance of luck. We had not been six hours in the sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days and nights, and which would have done for poor old ASP in half the time. I'll touch with the great nation, not having much improved our condition. Four and twenty hours later, and I should only have been a gallant Captain Wentworth in a small paragraph at one corner of the newspapers, and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have thought about me. Anne's shudderings were to herself alone, but the Miss Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, in their exclamations of pity and horror. And so then, I suppose, said Mrs. Musgrove in a low voice, as if thinking aloud. So then he went away to the Laconia, and there he met with our poor boy. Charles, my dear, beckoning him to her, do ask Captain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor brother, I always forgot. It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know, Dick had been left ill at Gibraltar, with a recommendation from his former Captain to Captain Wentworth. Oh, but Charles, tell Captain Wentworth he need not be afraid of mentioning poor Dick before me, for it would be rather a pleasure to hear him talked of by such a good friend. Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the probabilities of the case, only nodded in reply, and walked away. The girls were now hunting for the Laconia, and Captain Wentworth could not deny himself the pleasure of taking the precious volume into his own hands to save them the trouble, and once more read aloud the little statement of her name and rate, and present non-commissioned class, observing over it that she too had been one of the best friends man ever had. Ah, those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia. How fast I made money in her! A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise together off the western islands. Poor Harville's sister! You know how much he wanted money—worse than myself. He had a wife—excellent fellow! I shall never forget his happiness. He felt it all so much for her sake. I wished for him again the next summer, when I still had the same luck in the Mediterranean. And I am sure, sir, said Mrs. Musgrove, it was a lucky day for us, when you were put Captain into that ship. We shall never forget what you did. Her feelings made her speak low, and Captain Wentworth, hearing only in part, and probably not having Dick Musgrove at all near his thoughts, looked rather in suspense, and as if waiting for more. My brother! whispered one of the girls, Mamal is thinking of poor Richard. Poor dear fellow! continued Mrs. Musgrove. He was grown so steady, and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care. Ah, it would have been a happy thing if he had never left you. I assure you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you. There was a momentary expression in Captain Wentworth's face at this speech—a certain glance of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome mouth—which convinced Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs. Musgrove's kind wishes as to her son, he had probably been at some pains to get rid of him. But it was too transient an indulgence of self-amusement to be detected by any who understood him less than herself. In another moment he was perfectly collected and serious, and almost instantly afterwards coming up to the sofa, on which she and Mrs. Musgrove were sitting, took a place by the letter, and entered into conversation with her, in a low voice, about her son, doing it with so much sympathy and natural grace, as showed the kindest consideration for all that was real and unobserved in the parents' feelings. They were actually on the same sofa. For Mrs. Musgrove had most readily made room for him. They were divided only by Mrs. Musgrove. It was no insignificant barrier, indeed. Mrs. Musgrove was of a comfortable, substantial size, infinitely more fitted by nature to express good cheer and good humor than tenderness and sentiment. And while the agitations of Anne's slender form and pensive face may be considered as very completely screened, Captain Wentworth should be allowed some credit for the self-command with which he tended to her large, fat signs over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had cared for. Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions. A large, bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction, as the most graceful set of limbs in the world. But fair or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions which reason will patronize in vain, which taste cannot tolerate, which ridicule will seize. The admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns about the room with his hands behind him, being called to order by his wife, now came up to Captain Wentworth, and without any observation of what he might be interrupting, thinking only of his own thoughts, began with, If you had been a week later at Lisbon last spring, Frederick, you would have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Gryison and her daughters. Should I? I am glad I was not a week later, then. The admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He defended himself, though professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, accepting for a ball or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend. But if I know myself, said he, this is from no want of gallantry towards them. It is rather from feeling how impossible it is, with all one's efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board such as women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort high, and this is what I do. I hate to hear of women on board, or to see them on board, and no ship under my command shall ever convey a family of ladies anywhere, if I can help it. This brought his sister upon him. Oh, Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you! All idle refinement! Women may be as comfortable on board as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man of war. I declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall, with a kind bow to Anne, beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in, and they have been five altogether. Nothing to the purpose, replied her brother, you were living with your husband, and with the only woman on board. But you yourself brought Mrs. Harville, her sister, her cousin, and three children round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this super fine extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then? All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any brother off of his wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville's from the world's end if he wanted it. But do not imagine that I did not feel it in evil in itself. Depend upon it. They were all perfectly comfortable. I might not like them the better for that, perhaps. Such a number of women and children have no right to be comfortable on board. My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would become of us poor sailors' wives, who often want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings? My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs. Harville and her family to Plymouth. But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days. Ah, my dear," said the admiral, when he had got a wife, he will sing a different tune. When he is married, if we have the good luck to live to another war, we shall see him do as you and I, and a great many others have done. We shall have him very thankful to anybody that will bring him his wife. Hi, that we shall. Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth, when once married people begin to attack me with, oh, you will think very differently when you are married. I can only say, no, I shall not. And then they say again, yes, you will, and there is an end of it." He got up and moved away. What a great traveller you must have been, ma'am," said Mrs. Musgrove to Mrs. Craft. Pretty well, ma'am, in the fifteen years of my marriage, though many women have done more, I have crossed the Atlantic four times, and have been once to the East Indies and back again, and only once, besides being in different places about home—Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar—but I never went beyond the Straits, and never was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you know, the West Indies." Mrs. Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent. She could not accuse herself of ever having called them anything in the whole course of her life. And I do assure you, ma'am," pursued Mrs. Craft, that nothing can exceed the accommodation of a man of war. I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined, though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of them, and I can safely say that the happiest part of my life has been spent on board a ship. While we were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared. Thank God, I have always been blessed with excellent health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little disordered always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea, but never knew what sickness was afterwards. The only time I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at a deal, when the admiral—a Captain Groft, then—was in the North Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next. But as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience. I, to be sure—yes, indeed—oh, yes—I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Groft," was Mrs. Musgrove's hearty answer,—there is nothing so bad as separation—I am quite of your opinion. I know what it is, for Mr. Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they are over, and he is back safe again. The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed, Anne offered her services as usual, and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved. It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in higher spirits than Captain Wentworth. She felt that he had everything to elevate him which general attention and deference, and especially the attention of all the young women, could do. The Miss Haters, the females of the family of cousins already mentioned, were apparently admitted to the honour of being in love with him, and as for Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occupied by him, that nothing but the continued appearance of the most perfect goodwill between themselves could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals. If he were a little spoiled by such universal, such eager admiration, who could wonder? These were some of the thoughts which preoccupied Anne, while her fingers were mechanically at work, proceeding for half an hour together, equally without error and without consciousness. Once she felt that he was looking at herself, observing her altered features, perhaps trying to trace in them the ruins of the face which had once charmed him, and once she knew that he must have spoken of her. She was hardly aware of it till she heard the answer, but then she was sure of his having asked his partner whether Miss Elliot never danced. The answer was, oh no, never! She is quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She is never tired of playing. Once too he spoke to her. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room. He saw her, and instantly rising, said with studied politeness, I beg your pardon, madame, this is your seat. And though she immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again. And did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything. End of CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX OF PERSUASION. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. PERSUASION. By Jane Austen. CHAPTER IX. Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as to a home, to stay as long as he liked, being as thoroughly the object of the admiral's fraternal kindness as of his wife's. He had intended, on first arriving, to proceed very soon to Shropshire, and to visit the brother settled in that country, but the attractions of Upper Cross induced him to put this off. There was so much of friendliness, and of flattery, and of everything most bewitching in his reception there. The old were so hospitable, the young so agreeable, that he could not but resolve to remain where he was, and take all the charms and perfections of Edward's wife upon credit a little longer. It was soon Upper Cross with him almost every day. The Musgroves could hardly be more ready to invite than he to come, particularly in the morning, when he had no companion at home, for the admiral and Mrs. Croft were generally out of doors together, interesting themselves in their new possessions, their grass and their sheep, and dawdling about in a way not indurable to a third person, or driving out in a gig, lately added to their establishment. Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain Wentworth among the Musgroves and their dependencies. It was unvarying, warm admiration everywhere. But this intimate footing was not more than established, when a certain Charles Hater returned among them, to be a good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentworth very much in the way. Charles Hater was the eldest of all the cousins, and a very amiable pleasing young man, between whom and Henrietta there had been a considerable appearance of attachment previous to Captain Wentworth's introduction. He was in orders, and having a curacy in the neighborhood, where residence was not required, lived at his father's house, only two miles from Upper Cross. A short absence from home had left his fair one unguarded by his attentions at this critical period, and when he came back he had the pain of finding very altered manners, and of seeing Captain Wentworth. Mrs. Musgrove and Mrs. Hater were sisters. They had each had money, but their marriages had made a material difference in their degree of consequence. Mr. Hater had some property of his own, but it was insignificant compared with Mr. Musgrove's. And while the Musgroves were in the first class of society in the country, the young haters would, from their parents inferior, retired an unpolished way of living, and their own defective education, have been hardly in any class at all, but for their connection with Upper Cross. This eldest son, of course, accepted, who had chosen to be a scholar and a gentleman, and he was very superior in cultivation and manners to all the rest. The two families had always been on excellent terms, there being no pride on one side, and no envy on the other, and only such a consciousness of superiority in the Miss Musgroves has made them pleased to improve their cousins. Charles's attention to Henrietta had been observed by her father and mother without any disapprobation. It would not be a great match for her, but if Henrietta liked him. And Henrietta did seem to like him. Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain Wentworth came, but from that time cousin Charles had been very much forgotten. Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne's observation reached. Henrietta was perhaps the prettiest, Louisa had the higher spirits, and she knew not now whether the more gentle or the more lively character were most likely to attract him. Hater and Mrs. Musgrove, either from seeing little or from an entire confidence in the discretion of both their daughters, and of all the young men who came near them, seemed to leave everything to take its chance. There was not the smallest appearance of solicitude or a mark about them in the mansion-house, but it was different at the cottage. The young couple there were more disposed to speculate and wonder, and Captain Wentworth had not been above four or five times in the Miss Musgroves' company, and Charles Hater had but just reappeared, when Anne had to listen to the opinions of her brother and sister, as to which was the one liked best. Charles gave it for Louisa, Mary for Henrietta, but quite agreeing that to have him marry either could be extremely delightful. Charles had never seen a pleasant man in his life, and from what he had once heard Captain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that he had not made less than twenty thousand pounds by the wall. Here was a fortune at once, besides which there would be the chance of what might be done in any future war, and he was sure Captain Wentworth was as likely a man to distinguish himself as any officer in the navy. Oh, it would be a capital match for either of his sisters. "'Upon my word it would,' replied Mary, "'dear me, if he should rise to any very great honours, if he should ever be made a baronet, lady Wentworth sounds very well. That would be a noble thing, indeed, for Henrietta. She would take place of me, then, and Henrietta would not dislike that. Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth. It would be but a new creation, however, and I never think much of your new creations." It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one preferred on the very account of Charles Hater, whose pretensions she wished to see put an end to. She looked down very decidedly upon the haters, and thought it would be quite a misfortune to have the existing connection between the family's renewed, very sad for herself and her children. "'You know,' said she, "'I cannot think him at all a fit match for Henrietta, and considering the alliances which the Muscoves have made, she has no right to throw herself away. I do not think any young woman has a right to make a choice that may be disagreeable and inconvenient to the principal part of her family, and be giving bad connections to those who have not been used to them. Don't pray! Who is Charles Hater? Nothing but a country curate, a most improper match for Miss Muscove of Upper Cross.' Her husband, however, would not agree with her here, for besides having a regard for his cousin, Charles Hater was an eldest son, and he saw things as an eldest son himself. "'Now you are talking nonsense, Mary,' was therefore his answer. It would not be a great match for Henrietta, but Charles has a very fair chance, through the spices, of getting something from the bishop in the course of a year or two, and you will please to remember that he is the eldest son—whenever my uncle dies, he steps into very pretty property. The estate at Winthrop is not less than two hundred and fifty acres, besides the farm near Taunton, which is some of the best land in the country. I grant you that any of them but Charles would be a very shocking match for Henrietta, and indeed it could not be. He is the only one that could be possible. But he is a very good-natured, good sort of fellow. And whenever Winthrop comes into his hands, he will make a different sort of place of it, and live in a very different sort of way, and with that property he will never be a contemptible man—good, free-hold property. No, no, Henrietta might do worse than Mary Charles Hater, and if she has him, and Louisa can get Captain Wentworth, I shall be very well satisfied." Charles may say what he pleases, cried Mary to Anne, as soon as he was out of the room, but it would be shocking to have Henrietta marry Charles Hater—a very bad thing for her, and still worse for me—and therefore it is very much to be wished that Captain Wentworth may soon put him quite out of her head, and I have very little doubt that he has. She took hardly any notice of Charles Hater yesterday. I wish he had been there to see her behaviour, and as to Captain Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense to say so, for he suddenly does like Henrietta a great deal the best. But Charles is so positive. I wish he had been with us yesterday, for then you might have decided between us, and I am sure you would have thought as I did, unless you had been determined to give it against me. A dinner at Mr. Musgrove's had been the occasion when all these things should have been seen by Anne, but she had stayed at home, under the mixed plea of a headache of her own, and some return of indisposition in little Charles. She had thought only of avoiding Captain Wentworth, but an escape from being appealed to as umpire was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening. As to Captain Wentworth's views, she deemed it of more consequence that he should know his own mind early enough, not to be endangering the happiness of either sister, or impeaching his own honour, than that he should prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta. Either of them would, in all probability, make him an affectionate, good-humoured wife. With regard to Charles Hater, she had delicacy which must be pained by any lightness of conduct in a well-meaning young woman, and a heart to sympathise in any of the sufferings it occasioned. But if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature of her feelings, the alternation could not be understood too soon. Charles Hater had met with much to disquiet and mortify him and his cousin's behaviour. She had too old a regard for him to be so wholly estranged as might in two meetings extinguish every past hope, and leave him nothing to do but to keep away from upper-cross. But there was such a change as became very alarming, when such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be regarded as the probable cause. He had been absent only two Sundays, and when they parted, had left her interested even to the height of his wishes, in his prospect of soon quitting his present curacy, and obtaining that of upper-cross instead. It had then seemed the object nearest her heart, that Dr. Shirley, director, who for more than forty years had been zealously discharging all the duties of his office, but was now growing too infirm for many of them, should be quite fixed on engaging a curate, should make his curacy quite as good as he could afford, and should give Charles Hater the promise of it. He had found it of his having come only to upper-cross, instead of going six miles another way, of his having in every respect a better curacy, of his belonging to their dear Dr. Shirley, and of dear, good Dr. Shirley's being relieved from the duty which he could no longer get through, without most injurious fatigue, had been a great deal, even to Louisa, but had been almost everything to Henrietta. When he came back, alas, the zeal of the business was gone by. Louisa could not listen at all to his account of a conversation which he had just held with Dr. Shirley. She was at a window, looking out for Captain Wentworth, and even Henrietta had at best only a divided attention to give, and seemed to have forgotten all the former doubt and solicitude of the negotiation. Well, I am very glad, indeed, but I always thought he would have it. I always thought to you, sure. It did not appear to me that, in shorting, though, Dr. Shirley must have a curate, and you had secured his promise. Is he coming, Louisa? One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Musgroves, at which Anne had not been present, Captain Wentworth walked into the drawing-room at the cottage, where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa. The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne Elliot deprived his manners of their usual composure. He started, and could only say, I thought the Miss Musgroves had been here. Mrs. Musgrove told me I should find them here, before he walked to the window to recollect himself, and feel how he ought to behave. They are upstairs with my sister. They will be down in a few moments, I dare say," had been Anne's reply, in all the confusion that was natural, and if the child had not called her to come and do something for him, she would have been out of the room the next moment, and released Captain Wentworth as well as herself. He continued at the window, and after calmly and politely saying, I hope the little boy is better," was silent. She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remained there to satisfy her patient, and thus they continued a few minutes, when, to a very great satisfaction, she heard some other person crossing the little vestibule. She hoped, on turning her head, to see the master of the house, but it proved to be one much less calculated for making matters easy. Charles Hater, probably not at all better pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth, than Captain Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne. She only attempted to say, How do you do? Will you not sit down? The others will be here presently. Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window, apparently not ill-disposed for conversation, but Charles Hater soon put an end to his attempts by seating himself near the table, and taking up the newspaper, and Captain Wentworth returned to his window. Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable, stout, forward child of two years old, having got the door opened for him by someone without, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to anything good that might be giving away. There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play, and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, and treated, and insisted, in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly. Walter, said she, Get down this moment! You are extremely troublesome! I am very angry with you. Walter, cried Charles' hater, Why do you not do as you are bid? Do you not hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to Cousin Charles." But not a bit did Walter stir. In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him. Someone was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it. Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly speechless. She could not even thank him. She could only hang over little Charles with most disordered feelings. His kindness in stepping forward to her relief, the manner, the silence in which it had passed, the little particulars of the circumstance, with the convictions soon forced on her by the noise he was studiously making with the child, that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and rather sought to testify that her conversation was the last of his wants, such a confusion of varying, but very painful agitation, as she could not recover from, till enabled by the entrance of Mary and the Miss Musgroves to make over her little patient to their cares, and leave the room. She could not stay. It might have been an opportunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four, they were now altogether, but she could stay for none of it. It was evident that Charles Hater was not well inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a strong impression of his having said, in a vexed tone of voice, after Captain Wentworth's interference,—'You ought to have minded me, Walter, I told you not to tease your aunt.'—and could comprehend his regretting that Captain Wentworth should do what he ought to have done himself. But neither Charles Hater's feelings, nor anybody's feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better arranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle. But so it was, and it required a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her. CHAPTER 10 Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur. Anne had soon been in company with all the four together often enough to have an opinion, though too wise to acknowledge as much at home, where she knew it would have satisfied neither husband nor wife. For while she considered Louisa to be rather the favourite, she could not but think, as far as she might dare to judge from memory and experience, that Captain Wentworth was not in love with either. They were more in love with him, yet there it was not love. It was a little fever of admiration, but it might—probably must—end in love with some. Charles Hater seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta had sometimes the air of being divided between them. Anne longed for the power of representing to them all what they were about, and of pointing out some of the evils they were exposing themselves to. She did not attribute guile to any. It was the highest satisfaction to her to believe Captain Wentworth not in the least aware of the pain he was occasioning. There was no triumph, no pitiful triumph, in his manner. He had probably never heard, and never thought, of any claims of Charles Hater. He was only wrong in accepting the attentions, for accepting must be the word, of two young women at once. After a short struggle, however, Charles Hater seemed to quit the field. Three days had passed without his coming once to upper-cross, a most decided change. He had even refused one regular invitation to dinner, and having been found on the occasion by Mr. Musgrove with some large books before him, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove were sure all could not be right, and talked with grave faces of his studying himself to death. It was Mary's hope and belief that he had received a positive dismissal from Henrietta, and her husband lived under the constant dependence of seeing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that Charles Hater was wise. One morning about this time, Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth being gone as shooting together, as the sisters in the cottage were sitting quietly at work, they were visited at the window by the sisters from the mansion house. It was a very fine November day, and the Miss Musgroves came through the little grounds, and stopped for no other purpose than to say that they were going to take a long walk, and therefore concluded Mary could not like to go with them, and when Mary immediately replied, with some jealousy at not being supposed a good walker, Oh yes! I should like to join you very much. I am very fond of a long walk." Anne felt persuaded, by the looks of the two girls, that it was precisely what they did not wish, and admired again the sort of necessity which the family habits seemed to produce of everything being to be communicated, and everything being to be done together, however undesired and inconvenient. She tried to dissuade Mary from going, but in vain, and that being the case, thought at best to accept the Miss Musgroves much more cordial invitation to herself to go likewise, as she might be useful in turning back with her sister, and lessening the interference in any plan of their own. I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a long walk, said Mary, as she went upstairs. Everybody is always supposing that I am not a good walker, and yet they would not have been pleased if we had refused to join them, when people come in this manner on purpose to ask us, how can one say no? Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned. They had taken out a young dog, who had spoiled their sport, and sent them back early. Their time and strength and spirits were therefore exactly ready for this walk, and they entered into it with pleasure. Could Anne have foreseen such a junction, she would have stayed at home? But from some feelings of interest and curiosity, she fancied now that it was too late to retract, and the whole six set forward together in the direction chosen by the Miss Musgroves, who evidently considered the walk as under their guidance. Anne's object was not to be in the way of anybody, and where the narrow paths across the fields made many separations necessary to keep with her brother and sister. Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some view of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. She occupied her mind as much as possible in such like musings and quotations, but it was not possible that when within reach of Captain Wentworth's conversation with either of the Miss Musgroves, she should not try to hear it. Yet she caught little very remarkable. It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate footing, might fall into. He was more engaged with Louisa than with Henrietta. Louisa certainly put more forward for his notice than her sister. This distinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech of Louisa's which struck her. After one of the many praises of the day, which were continually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth added, What glorious weather for the admiral and my sister! They meant to take a long drive this morning. Perhaps we may hail them from some of these hills. They talked of coming into this side of the country. I wonder whereabouts they will upset to-day. Oh, it does happen very often, I assure you, but my sister makes nothing of it. She would as leave be tossed out as not. Ah! you make the most of it, I know! cried Louisa. But if it were really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved a man, as she loves the admiral, I would be always with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him than driven safely by anybody else. It was spoken with enthusiasm. How do you? cried he, catching the same tone. I honour you. And there was silence between them for a little while. Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again. The sweet scenes of autumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet fraught with the apt analogy of the declining year, with declining happiness, and the images of youth and hope, and spring, all gone together, blessed her memory. She roused herself to say, as they struck by order into another path, Is not this one of the ways to Winthrop? But nobody heard, or at least nobody answered her. Winthrop, however, or its environs, for young men are sometimes to be met with, strolling about near home, was their destination, and another half-mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures, where the plows at work, and the fresh-made path spoke the farmer counteracting the sweets of poetical despondence, and meaning to have spring again. They gained the summit of the most considerable hill, which parted up-across and Winthrop, and soon commanded a full view of the latter, at the foot of the hill on the other side. Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was stretched before them an indifferent house, standing low, and hemmed in by the barns and buildings of a farmyard. Mary exclaimed, "'Bless me! Here is Winthrop! I declare I had no idea! Well, now, I think we'd better turn back! I am excessively tired.'" Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles walking along any path, or leaning against any gate, was ready to do as Mary wished. "'But no!' said Charles Muscove, and "'No, no!' cried Louisa more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing them at her warmly. Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring his resolution of calling on his aunt, now that he was so near, and very evidently, though more fearfully, trying to induce his wife to go too. But this was one of the points on which the lady showed her strength, and when he recommended the advantage of resting herself a quarter of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so tired, she resolutely answered, "'Oh, no, indeed! Walking up that hill again would do her more harm than any sitting down could do her good.' And in short, her look and manner declared that go she would not." After a little succession of these sorts of debates and consultations, it was settled between Charles and his two sisters that he and Henrietta should just run down for a few minutes, to see their aunt and cousins, while the rest of the party waited for them at the top of the hill. Louisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan, and as she went a little way with them down the hill, still talking to Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfully around her, and saying to Captain Wentworth, "'It is very unpleasant, having such connections, but I assure you I have never been in the house above twice in my life.' She received no other answer than an artificial, assenting smile, followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne perfectly knew the meaning of. The brow of the hill where they remained was a cheerful spot. Louisa returned, and Mary finding a comfortable seat for herself on the step of a stile, was very well satisfied so long as the others all stood about her. But when Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away, to try for a gleaning of nuts and an adjoining hedgerow, and they were gone by degrees quite out of sight and sound, Mary was happy no longer. She quarreled with her own seat, was sure Louisa had got a much better somewhere, and nothing could prevent her from going to look for a better also. She turned through the same gate, but could not see them. Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry, sunny bank, under the hedgerow, in which she had no doubt of their still being, in some spot or other. Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not do. She was sure Louisa had found a better seat somewhere else, and she would go on till she overtook her. Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down, and she very soon heard Captain Wentworth and Louisa in the hedgerow behind her, as if making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the centre. They were speaking as they drew near. Louisa's voice was the first distinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of some eager speech, what Anne first heard was. And so I made her go. I could not bear that she should be frightened from the visit by such nonsense. What! would I be turned back from doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person, I may say? No. I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it. And Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call it Winthrop today, and yet she was as near giving it up, out of nonsensical complacence. She would have turned back, then, but for you. She would, indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it. Happy for her to have such a mind as yours at hand. After the hints you gave just now, which did but confirm my own observations, the last time I was in company with him, I need not effect to have no comprehension of what is going on. I see that more than a mere dutiful morning visit to your aunt was in question, and woe betide him, and her, too, when it comes to things of consequence, when they are placed in circumstances requiring fortitude and strength of mind, if she have not resolution enough to resist idle interference in such a trifle as this. Your sister is an amiable creature, but yours is the character of decision and firmness I see. If you value her conduct or her happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into hers you can. But this, no doubt, you have always been doing. It is the worst evil of two yielding and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended upon. You are never sure of a good impression being durable. Everybody may sway it. Let those who would be happy be firm. Here is a nut, said he, catching one down from an upper bow. To exemplify, a beautiful glossy nut, which, blessed with original strength, has outlived all the storms of autumn. Not a puncture, not a weak spot, anywhere. This nut, he continued, with playful salamity, while so many of his brethren have fallen and been trodden under foot, is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazelnut can be supposed capable of. Then returning to his former earnest town. My first wish for all whom I am interested in is that they should be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind. He had done, and was, unanswered. It would have surprised Anne if Louisa could have readily answered such a speech. Words of such interest, spoken with such serious warmth. She could imagine what Louisa was feeling. For herself she feared to move, lest she should be seen. While she remained, a bush of low rambling holly protected her, and they were moving on. Before they were beyond her hearing, however, Louisa spoke again. "'Mary is good-natured enough in many respects,' said she. "'But she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride—the Elliot Pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot Pride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne.' After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said, "'Do you mean that she refused him?' "'Oh! Yes, certainly.' "'When did that happen?' "'I do not exactly know. For Henrietta and I were at school at the time, but I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better. And Papa and Mama always think it was her great friend Lady Russell's doing, that she did not. They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore she persuaded Anne to refuse him.' The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no more. Her own emotions still kept her fixed. She had much to recover from, before she could move. The listener's proverbial fate was not absolutely hers. She had heard no evil of herself. But she had heard a great deal of very painful import. She saw how her own character was considered by Captain Wentworth, and there had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner, which must give her extreme agitation. As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and having found, and walked back with her to their former station by the style, felt some comfort in their whole party being immediately afterwards collected, and once more in motion together. Her spirits wanted the solitude and silence which only numbers could give. Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be conjectured, Charles Hater with them. The minutiae of the business Anne could not attempt to understand. Even Captain Wentworth did not seem admitted to perfect confidence here, but that there had been a withdrawing on the gentleman's side, and a relenting on the ladies, and that they were now very glad to be together again, did not admit a doubt. Henrietta looked a little ashamed, but very well pleased. Charles Hater exceedingly happy, and they were devoted to each other almost from the first instant of their all setting forward for upper-cross. Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth. Nothing could be plainer, and where many divisions were necessary, or even where they were not, they walked side by side nearly as much as the other two. In a long strip of meadowland, where there was ample space for all, they were thus divided, forming three distinct parties, and to that party of the three which boasted least animation and least complacence, Anne necessarily belonged. She joined Charles and Mary, and was tired enough to be very glad of Charles's other arm. But Charles, though in very good humour with her, was out of temper with his wife. Mary had shown herself disobliging to him, and was now to reap the consequence. Which consequence was his dropping her arm almost every moment, to cut off the heads of some nettles in the hedge with his switch, and when Mary began to complain of it, and lament her being ill-used, according to custom, in being on the hedge side, while Anne was never incommodated on the other, he dropped the arms of both, to hunt after a weasel which he had momentary glance of, and they could hardly get him along at all. This long meadow bordered a lane which their footpath at the end of it was to cross, and when the party had all reached the gate of exit, the carriage advancing in the same direction, which had been some time heard, was just coming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft's gig. He and his wife had taken their intended drive, and were returning home. Upon hearing how long a walk the young people had engaged in, they kindly offered a seat to any lady who might be particularly tired. It would save her a full mile, and they were going through up a cross. The invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss Muscoves were not at all tired, and Mary was either offended by not being asked before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot Pride could not endure to make a third in a one-horse shez. The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite style, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again, when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment to say something to his sister. The something might be guessed by its effect. Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired, cried Mrs. Croft. Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You must, indeed, you must." Anne was still in the lane, and though instinctively beginning to decline, she was not allowed to proceed. The Admiral's kind urgency came in support of his wife's. They would not be refused. They compressed themselves into the smallest possible space to leave her a corner, and Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage. Yes, he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. She was very much affected by the view of his disposition towards her, which all these things made apparent. This little circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone before. She understood him. He could not forgive her, but he could not be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering it with high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer, without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former sentiment. It was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship. It was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed. Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of her companions were at first unconsciously given. They had travelled half their way along the rough lane, before she was quite awake to what they said. She then found them talking of Frederick. "'He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls, Sophie,' said the admiral, "'but there is no saying which. He has been running after them too long enough, one would think, to make up his mind. I, this comes of the peace. If it were war now, he could have settled it long ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, can not afford to make long courtships and times of war. How many days was it, my dear, between the first time of my seeing you, and our sitting down together in our lodgings at North Yarmouth?' "'We had better not talk about it, my dear,' replied Mrs. Craft pleasantly. For if Miss Elliot were to hear how soon we came to an understanding, she would never be persuaded that we could be happy together. I had known you by character, however, long before. "'Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl, and what will we to wait for, besides? I do not like having such things so long in hand. I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvas, and bring us home one of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then there would always be company for them, and very nice young ladies they both are. I hardly know one from the other.' "'Very good-humored, unaffected girls, indeed,' said Mrs. Craft, in a tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that her keener powers might not consider either of them as quite worthy of her brother. "'And a very respectable family. One could not be connected with better people. My dear Admiral, that post! We shall certainly take that post.' But by coolly giving the Reyns a better direction herself, they happily passed the danger. And by once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand, they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dunk-art. And Anne, with some amusement at their style of driving, which she imagined no bad representation of the general guidance of their affairs, found herself safely deposited by them at the cottage. End of CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI OF PERSUASION This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Clett. PERSUASION by Jane Austen. CHAPTER XI The time now approached for Lady Russell's return. The day was even fixed, and Anne, being engaged to join her as soon as she was resettled, was looking forward to an early removal to Kellynch, and beginning to think how her own comfort was likely to be affected by it. It would place her in the same village with Captain Wentworth, within half a mile of him. They would have to frequent the same church, and there must be intercourse between the two families. This was against her. But on the other hand, he spent so much of his time at Upper Cross, that in removing thence she might be considered rather as leaving him behind than as going towards him. And upon the whole she believed she must, on this interesting question, be the gainer. Almost as certainly as in her change of domestic society, in leaving poor Mary for Lady Russell. She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever seeing Captain Wentworth at the hall. Those rooms had witnessed former meetings which would be brought too painfully before her. But she was yet more anxious for the possibility of Lady Russell and Captain Wentworth never meeting anywhere. They did not like each other, and no renewal of acquaintance now could do any good. And were Lady Russell to see them together, she might think that he had too much self-possession, and she too little. These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating her removal from Upper Cross, where she felt she had been stationed quite long enough. Her usefulness to little Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory of her two months' visit there. But he was gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay for. The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in a way which she had not at all imagined. Captain Wentworth, after being unseen and unheard of at Upper Cross for two whole days, appeared again among them to justify himself by a relation of what had kept him away. A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found him out at last, had brought intelligence of Captain Harville's being settled with his family at Lyme for the winter, of their being therefore quite unknowingly, within twenty miles of each other. Captain Harville had never been in good health since a severe wound she received two years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him had determined him to go immediately to Lyme. He had been there for four and twenty hours. His acquittal was complete, his friendship warmly honoured, of lively interest excited for his friend, and his description of the fine country about Lyme so feelingly attended to by the party, that an earnest desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for going thither was a consequence. The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain Wentworth talked of going there again himself. It was only seventeen miles from Upper Cross. Though November, the weather was by no means bad. And in short, Louisa, who was the most eager of the eager, having formed the resolution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as she liked, being now armed with the idea of merit and maintaining her own way, bore down all the wishes of her father and mother for putting it off till summer. And to Lyme they were to go. Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Captain Wentworth. The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning and return at night. But to this, Mr. Musgrove, for the sake of his horses, would not consent. And when it came to be rationally considered, a day in the middle of November would not leave much time for seeing a new place, after deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country required, for going and returning. They were consequently, to stay the night there, and not to be expected back till the next day's dinner. This was felt to be a rather considerable amendment, and though they all met at the great house at rather an early breakfast-hour, and set off very punctually, it was so much past noon before the two carriages, Mr. Musgrove's coach containing the four ladies, and Charles's curicle, in which he drove Captain Wentworth, were descending the long hill into Lyme, and entering upon the still steeper street of the town itself, that it was very evident they would not have more than time for looking about them, before the light and warmth of the day were gone. After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the inns, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea. They were come too late in the year for any amusement or variety which Lyme, as a public place, might offer. The rooms were shut up, the lodgers almost all gone, scarcely any family but of the residents left, and as there is nothing to admire in the buildings themselves, the remarkable situation of the town, the principal street almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the cob, skirting round the pleasant little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathing machines and company, the cob itself, its old wonders and new improvements, with the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching out to the east of the town, are what the stranger's eye will seek, as a very strange stranger it must be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in its neighborhood, Charmouth, with its high grounds and extensive sweeps of country, and still more, its sweet retired bay, backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among the sands, make it the happiest spot for watching the flow of the tide, for sitting in unwearyed contemplation. The woody varieties of the cheerful village of Uplime, and, above all, Pinney, with its green chasms between romantic rocks, where the scattered forest trees and orchards of luxuriant growth, declare that many a generation must have passed away since the first partial falling of the cliff prepared the ground for such a state, where a scene so wonderful and so lovely is exhibited, as may more than equal any of the resembling scenes of the far famed Isle of White. These places must be visited, and visited again, to make the worth of Lyme understood. The party from Upper Cross, passing down by the now deserted and melancholy-looking rooms, and still descending, soon found themselves on the seashore, and lingering only, as all must linger and gaze on a first return to the sea, who ever deserved to look on to it all, proceeded towards the cob, equally their object in itself, and on Captain Wentworth's account, for in a small house, near the foot of an old pier of unknown date, were where the Harvills settled. Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend, the others walked on, and he was to join them on the cob. They were by no means tired of wondering and admiring, and not even Louisa seems to feel that they had parted with Captain Wentworth long, when they saw him coming after them, with three companions, all well known already, by description, to be Captain and Mrs. Harville, and to Captain Benwick, who was staying with them. Captain Benwick had some time ago been first Lieutenant of the Laconia, and the account which Captain Wentworth had given of him, on his return from Lyme before, his warm praise of him as an excellent young man and an officer, whom he had always valued highly, which must have stamped him well in the esteem of every listener, had been followed by a little history of his private life, which rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the ladies. He had been engaged to Captain Harville's sister, and was now mourning her loss. They had been a year or two waiting for fortune and promotion. Fortune came, his prize money as Lieutenant being great. Promotion too came at last, but Fanny Harville did not live to know it. She had died the preceding summer while he was at sea. Captain Wentworth believed it impossible for man to be more attached to woman, than poor Benwick had been to Fanny Harville, or to be more deeply afflicted under the dreadful change. He considered his disposition as of the sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste for reading and sedentary pursuits. To finish the interest of the story, the friendship between him and the Harville's seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which closed all their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was now living with them entirely. Captain Harville had taken his present house for half a year, his taste, and his health, and his fortune, all directing him to a residence inexpensive and by the sea, and the grandeur of the country, and the retirement of Lyme in the winter, appeared exactly adapted to Captain Benwick's state of mind. The sympathy and goodwill excited towards Captain Benwick was very great. And yet, said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the party, he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his prospect so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am, younger in feeling, if not in fact, younger as a man. He will rally again, and be happy with another. They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville was a tall, dark man, with a sensible, benevolent countenance, a little lame, and from strong features and want of health, looking much older than Captain Wentworth. Captain Benwick looked, and was, the youngest of the three, and compared with either of them, a little man. He had a pleasing face, and a melancholy air, just as he ought to have, and drew back from conversation. Captain Harville, though not equaling Captain Wentworth in manners, was a perfect gentleman, unaffected, warm, and obliging. Mrs. Harville, a degree less polished than her husband, seemed, however, to have the same good feelings, and nothing could be more pleasant than their desire of considering the whole party as friends of their own, because the friends of Captain Wentworth, or more kindly hospitable than their entreaties, were their all promising to dine with them. The dinner, already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly accepted as an excuse. But they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth should have brought any such party to Lyme, without considering it as a thing of course that they should dine with them. There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth in all this, and such a bewitching charm and a degree of hospitality so uncommon, so unlike the usual style of give-and-take invitations, and dinners of formality and display, that Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by an increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers. These would have been all my friends, was her thought, and she had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness. Unquitting the cob, they all went indoors with their new friends, and found rooms so small as none but those who invite from the heart could think capable of accommodating so many. Anne had a moment's astonishment on the subject herself, but it was soon lost in the pleasanter feelings which sprang from the sight of all the ingenious contrivances and nice arrangements of Captain Harville to turn the actual space to the best account, to supply the deficiencies of lodging-house furniture, and defend the windows and doors against the winter storms to be expected. The varieties in the fitting-up of the rooms, where the common necessaries provided by the owner, in the common indifferent plight, were contrasted with some few articles of a rare species of wood excellently worked up, and with something curious and valuable from all the distant countries Captain Harville had visited, were more than amusing to Anne. Connected as it all was with his profession, the fruit of its labours, the effect of its influence on his habits, the picture of repose and domestic happiness it presented, made it to her a something more or less than gratification. Captain Harville was no reader, but he had contrived excellent accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves for a tolerable collection of well-bound volumes, the property of Captain Benwick. His lameness prevented him from taking much exercise, but a mind of usefulness and ingenuity seemed to furnish him with constant employment within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, he glued, he made toys for the children, he fashioned new netting-needles and pins with improvements, and if everything else was done, sat down to his large fishing net at one corner of the room. Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when they quitted the house, and Louisa, by whom she found herself walking, burst forth into raptures of admiration and delight on the character of the navy, their friendliness, their brotherliness, their openness, their uprightness, protesting that she was convinced of sailors having more worth and warmth than any other set of men in England, that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to be respected and loved. They went back to dress and dine, and so well had the scheme answered already that nothing was found to miss, though its being so entirely out of season, and the no thoroughfare of Lyme, and the no expectation of company, had brought many apologies from the heads of the inn. Anne found herself by this time growing so much more hardened to being in Captain Wentworth's company, than she had at first imagined could ever be, that the sitting down to the same table with him now, and the interchange of the calm and civilities attending on it, they never got beyond, was become a mere nothing. The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again till the morrow, but Captain Harville had promised them a visit in the evening, and he came, bringing his friend also, which was more than had been expected, it having been agreed that Captain Benwick had all the appearance of being oppressed by the presence of so many strangers. He ventured among them again, however, though his spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth of the party in general. While Captain Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the room, and by recurring to former days supplied anecdotes and abundance to occupy and entertain the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart with Captain Benwick, and a very good impulse of her nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him. He was shy, and disposed to abstraction, but the engaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect, and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young man of considerable taste in reading, though principally plain poetry, and besides the persuasion of having given him at least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to him, in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against affliction which had naturally grown out of their conversation. For though shy, he did not seem reserved, it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints, and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmian or the Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Gior and the Bride of Apidose, and moreover how the Gior was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned description of hopeless agony of the other. He repeated with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imagined a broken heart, or mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely, and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly, were the very feelings which ought to taste it, but sparingly. His looks, showing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion to his situation, she was emboldened to go on, and feeling in herself the right of seniority of mind, she ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in his daily study, and on being requested to particularize, mentioned such works of our best moralists, such collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment, as calculated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts, and the strongest examples of moral and religious endureances. Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the interest implied, and though with a shake of the head, and sighs which declared his little faith in the efficacy of any books on grief like his, noted down the names of those she recommended, and promised to procure and read them. When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme, to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before, nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination. CHAPTER XII Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine southeasterly breeze was bringing in, with all the grandeur which so flat ashore admitted. They praised the morning, gloried in the sea, sympathized in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze, and were silent, till Henrietta suddenly began again with, Oh, yes, I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having been of greatest service to Dr. Shirley, after his illness, last spring, twelve-month. He declares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month did him more good than all the medicine he took, and that being by the sea always makes him feel young again. Now I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely by the sea. I do think he had better live up-across entirely, and fix at Lyme. Do not you, Anne. Do not you agree with me, that it is the best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs. Shirley. She has cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would be glad to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in case of his having another seizure. Indeed, I think it quite melancholy to have such excellent people, as Dr. and Mrs. Shirley, who have been doing good all their lives, wearing out their last days in a place like up-across, where accepting our family, they seem shut out from all the world. I wish his friends would propose it to him. I really think they ought. And as to procuring a dispensation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and with his character. My only doubt is, whether anything could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions—overscrupulous, I must say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being overscrupulous? Do not you think it is quite a mistake in point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by any other person? And at Lyme, too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough to hear, if people thought there was anything to complain of. Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered into the subject, as ready to do good by entering into the feelings of a young lady, as of a young man, though here it was good of a lower standard. For what could be offered but general acquiescence? She said all that was reasonable and proper on the business, felt the claims of Dr. Shirley to repose as she ought, saw how very desirable it was that he should have some active, respectable young man as a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at the advantage of such resident curates being married. I wish, said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion. I wish Lady Russell lived it up across, and were intimate with Dr. Shirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the greatest influence with everybody. I always look upon her as able to persuade a person to anything. I am afraid of her, as I have told you before, quite afraid of her, which she is so very clever, but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had such a neighbour at up across. Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grateful, and amused also that the course of events and the new interests of Henrietta's views should have placed her friend at all in favour with any of the must-go family. She had only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that such another woman were at up across, before all subjects suddenly ceased, upon seeing Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming towards them. They came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely to be ready, but Louisa recollecting, immediately afterwards, that she had something to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her into the town. They were all at her disposal. When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him, and as they passed, Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of. She was looking remarkably well, her very regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman, completely a gentleman in manner, admired her exceedingly. Anne Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which showed his noticing of it. He gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, That man is struck with you, and even I at this moment see something like Anne Elliot again. After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about a little longer, they returned to the inn, and Anne, and passing afterwards quickly from her own chamber to their dining-room, had nearly run against the very same gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be his servant, both master and band being in mourning assisted the idea. It was now proved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves, and this second meeting, short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman's looks, that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of his apologies, that he was a man of exceedingly good banners. He seemed about thirty, and though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne felt that she should like to know who he was. They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage, almost the first they had heard since entering Lyme, drew half the party to the window. It was a gentleman's carriage, a curicle, but only coming round from the stable-yard to the front door. Somebody must be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning. The word, curicle, made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might compare it with his own. The servant in mourning roused Anne's curiosity, and the whole six were collected to look, by the time the owner of the curicle was to be seen issuing from the door amidst the boughs and civilities of the household, and taking his seat to drive off. Ah! cried Captain Wentworth instantly, and with half a glance at Anne. It is the very man we passed. The Miss Musgrove's agreed to it, and having all kindly watched him as far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table. The waiter came into the room soon afterwards. "'Pray,' said Captain Wentworth immediately, "'can you tell us the name of the gentleman who has just gone away?' "'Yes, sir, a Mr. Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last night from Sidmouth. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you were dinner, and going on now for cook-hurn, on his way to Bath and London.' "'Elliot!' many had looked on each other, and many had repeated the name, before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity of a waiter. "'Bless be,' cried Mary, "'it must be our cousin. It must be our Mr. Elliot. It must indeed. Charles, Anne, must it not? In mourning, you see, just as our Mr. Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the very same inn with us! Anne, must it not be our Mr. Elliot, my father's next heir? Pray, sir,' turning to the waiter, "'did not you hear? Did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?' "'No, ma'am, he did not mention no particular family, but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronet some day.' "'There, you see,' cried Mary, in an ecstasy, just as I said, "'Aire to Sir Walter Elliot, I was sure that would come out, if it was so. Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish, wherever he goes. But Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been where in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us. What a pity that we should not have been introduced to each other. Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him. I was looking at the horses. But I think he had something of the Elliot countenance. I wonder the arm did not strike me. Oh! The great coat was hanging over the panel, and hid the arm. So it did. Otherwise I am sure I would have observed them, and the livery, too, if the servant had not been in mourning. One should have known him by the livery.' "'Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,' said Captain Wentworth, "'we must consider it to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.' When she could command Mary's attention, Anne quietly tried to convince her that their father and Mr. Elliot had not, for many years, been on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at all desirable. At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself to have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense. She would not, upon any account, mention her having met with him the second time. Certainly Mary did not much attend to their having passed close by him in their earlier walk, but she would have felt quite ill-used by Anne's having actually run against him in the passage, and received his very polite excuses, while she had never been near him at all. No, that cussily little interview must remain a perfect secret. "'Of course,' said Mary, "'you will mention our seeing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought to hear of it. Do mention all about him.'" Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which she considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated, but as would ought to be suppressed. The offence which had been given her father, many years back, she knew, Elizabeth's particular share in it she suspected, and that Mr. Elliot's idea always produced irritation in both was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to Bath herself. All the toil of keeping up a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth, fell on Anne. Next had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain and Mrs. Harville and Captain Benwick, with whom they had appointed to take their last walk about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for upper-cross by one, and in the mean while were to be all together, and out of doors as long as they could. Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were all fairly in the street. Their conversation the preceding evening did not disincline him to seek her again, and they walked together some time, talking as before of Mr. Scott and Lord Byron, and still as unable as before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think exactly alike of the merits of either, till something occasioned in almost general change amongst their party, and instead of Captain Benwick, she had Captain Harville by her side. "'Miss Elliot,' said he, speaking rather low, "'you have done a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have such company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is, but what can we do? We cannot part.'" "'No,' said Anne, "'that I can easily believe to be impossible, but in time, perhaps. We know what time does in every case of affliction, and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called a young mourner. Only last summer I understand.' I, true enough, with a deep sigh, only June. And not known to him, perhaps, so soon. Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape, just made into the grappler. I was at Plymouth dreading to hear of him. He sent in letters, but the grappler was under orders for Portsmouth. There the news must follow him. But who was to tell it? Not I. I would as soon have been run up to the yard-arm. Nobody could do it, but that good fellow. Pointing to Captain Wentworth, the Laconia had come into Plymouth the week before, no danger of her being sent to see again. He stood his chance for the rest, rode up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return, travelled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rode off to the grappler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a week. That's what he did, and nobody else could have saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us. Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much in reply as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject, and when he spoke again, it was of something totally different. Mrs. Harville's giving it as her opinion that her husband would have quite walking enough by the time he reached home, determined the direction of all the party in what was to be their last walk. They would accompany them to their door, and then return and set off themselves. By all their calculations there was just time for this, but as they drew near the cob, there was such a general wish to walk along it once more. All were so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so determined that the difference of a quarter of an hour it was found would be no difference at all. So with all the kind leave-taking, and all the kind interchange of invitations and promises which may be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs. Harville at their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Benwick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded to make the proper adduce to the cob. Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron's dark blue seas could not fail of being brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave him all her attention, as long as attention was possible. It was soon drawn, perforce, another way. There was too much wind to make the high part of the new cob pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and were all contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting Louisa. She must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump her from the styles, the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet made him less willing upon the present occasion. He did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great, but no, he reasoned and talked in vain. She smiled and said, I am determined, I will. He put out his hands. She was too precipitated by half a second. She fell on the pavement on the lower cob, and was taken up, lifeless. There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise, but her eyes were closed. She breathed not. Her face was like death, the horror of the moment to all who stood around. Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with the face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence. She is dead! She is dead! Screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, and contributing with his own horror to make him immovable, and in another moment Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps, but for Captain Benic and Anne, who caught and supported her between them. Is there no one to help me? Were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone? Go to him! Go to him! cried Anne. For Heaven's sake, go to him! I can support him myself! Leave me and go to him! Rub her hands, rub her temples! Hear assaults! Take them! Take them! Captain Benic obeyed, and Charles at the same moment, disengaging himself from his wife, they were both with him, and Louisa was raised up and supported more firmly between them, and everything was done that Anne had prompted, but in vain. While Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in the bitterest agony, Oh God! her father and mother! A surgeon! said Anne. He caught the word, it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only, true—true—a surgeon, this instant!—was darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested. Captain Benic! Would it not be better for Captain Benic? He knows where a surgeon is to be found. Everyone capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a moment, it was all done in rapid moments, Captain Benic had resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to the brother's care, and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity. As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said which of the three, who were completely rational, was suffering most. Captain Wentworth, Anne, or Charles, who, really a very affectionate brother, hung over Louisa with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one sister to see the other in a state as insensible, or to witness the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him for help which he could not give. Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal and thought which instinct supplied to Henrietta, still tried at intervals to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth, both seemed to look to her for directions. Anne, Anne, cried Charles, what is to be done next? What is Heaven's name is to be done next? Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her. Had she not better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure, carry her gently to the inn. Yes, yes, to the inn," repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively collected, and eager to be doing something. I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the others. By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen and boatmen about the cob, and many were collected near them, to be useful, if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report. To some of the best-looking of these good people, Henrietta was consigned, for, though partially revived, she was quite helpless, and in this manner, Anne walking by her side, and Charles attending to his wife, they set forward, treading back with feelings unutterable, the ground which so lately, so very lately, and so light of heart, they had passed along. They were not off the cob before the Harvills met them. Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their house, with accountants which showed something to be wrong, and they had set off immediately, informed and directed as they passed towards the spot. Shocked as Captain Harvill was, he brought senses and nerves that could be instantly useful, and a look between him and his wife decided what was to be done. She must be taken to their house, all must go to their house, and await the surgeon's arrival there. They would not listen to scruples, he was obeyed, they were all beneath his roof, and while Louisa, under Mrs. Harvill's direction, was conveyed upstairs, and given possession of her own bed, assistants, cordials, restoratives were supplied by her husband to all who needed them. Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without apparent consciousness. This had been a proof of life, however, of service to her sister, and Henrietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same room with Louisa, was kept by the agitation of hope and fear, from a return of her own insensibility. Mary too was growing calmer. The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible. They were sick with horror while he examined, but he was not hopeless. The head had received a severe contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from. He was by no means hopeless, he spoke cheerfully. That he did not regard it as a desperate case, that he did not say a few hours must end it, was at first felt beyond the hope of most, and the ecstasy of such a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent, after a few fervent ejaculations of gratitude to heaven had been offered, may be conceived. The tone, the look with which—'Thank God!' was uttered by Captain Wentworth, and was sure could never be forgotten by her, nor the sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms and face concealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm them. Louise's limbs had escaped. There was no injury, but to the head. It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done, as to their general situation. They were now able to speak to each other and consult. That Louise must remain where she was, however distressing to her friends to be involving the Harvils in such trouble, did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible. The Harvils silenced all scruples, and as much as they could, all gratitude. They had looked forward and arranged everything before the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room to them, and get another bed elsewhere, and the whole was settled. They were only concerned that the house could accommodate no more, and yet perhaps by putting the children away in the maid's room, or swinging a cot somewhere, they could hardly bear to think of not finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might wish to stay. Though with regard to any attendance on Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in leaving her to Mrs. Harville's care entirely. Mrs. Harville was a very experienced nurse, and her nursery maid, who had lived with her long, and gone about with her everywhere, was just such another. Between these two she could want no possible attendance by day or night, and all this was said with the truth and sincerity of feeling irresistible. Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror. Upper Cross, the necessity of someones going to Upper Cross, the news to be conveyed, how it could be broken to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, the lateness of the morning, an hour already gone since they ought to have been off, the impossibility of being intolerable time. At first they were capable of nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations. But after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said, We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute, every minute is valuable. Someone must resolve on being off for Upper Cross instantly. Musgrove, either you or I, must go. Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away. He would be as little encumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs. Harville, but as to leaving his sister in such a state, he neither ought nor would. So far it was decided, and Henrietta at first declared the same. She however was soon persuaded to think differently. The usefulness of her staying—she who had not been able to remain in Louise's room or to look at her without sufferings which made her worse than helpless. She was forced to acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still unwilling to be away, till, touched by the thought of her father and mother, she gave it up. She consented, and was anxious to be at home. The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming quietly down from Louise's room, did not but hear what followed, for the parlor door was open. Then it has settled, Musgrove, cried Captain Wentworth, that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home. But as to the rest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs. Harville, I think it need only be one. Mrs. Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her children. But if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable, as Anne. She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself so spoken of. The other two warmly agreed with what he said, and she then appeared. You will stay, I am sure. You will stay and nurse her! cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past. She collared deeply, and he recollected himself, and moved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready, and happy to remain. It was what she had been thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor of Louise's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs. Harville would but think so. One thing more, and all seemed arranged, though it was rather desirable that Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some share of delay. Yet the time required by the upper-cross horses to take them back would be a dreadful extension of suspense, and Captain Wendworth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed, that it would be much better for him to take a shez from the inn, and leave Mr. Musgrove's carriage and horses to be sent home the next morning early, when there would be the farther advantage of sending an account of Louise's night. Captain Wendworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part, and to be soon followed by the two ladies. When the plan was made known to Mary, however, there was an end of all peace in it. She was so wretched, and so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being expected to go away instead of Anne, Anne who was nothing to Louise, while she was her sister, and had the best right to stay in Henrietta's stead. Why was not she to be as useful as Anne, and to go home without Charles, too, without her husband? No, it was too unkind, and in short, she said more than her husband could long withstand, and as none of the others could oppose when he gave way, there was no help for it. The change of Mary for Anne was inevitable. Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill-judging claims of Mary, but so it must be, and they set off for the town. Charles taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick attending to her. She gave the moment's recollection, as they hurried along, to the little circumstances which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the morning. There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr. Shirley's leaving upper-cross. Farther on, she had first seen Mr. Elliot. A moment seemed all that could now be given to any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapped up in her welfare. Captain Benwick was most considerably attentive to her, and united as they all seemed by the distress of the day, she felt an increasing degree of goodwill towards him, and a pleasure even in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the occasion of continuing their acquaintance. Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a chaise in four and waiting, stationed for their convenience in the lowest part of the street. But his evident surprise and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other, the change in his countenance, the astonishment, the expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was listened to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne, or must at least convince her that she was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa. She endeavored to be composed, and to be just. Without emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henri, she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard for his sake, and she hoped he would not long be so unjust, as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend. In the meanwhile she was in the carriage. He had handed them both in, and placed himself between them, and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme. How the long stage would pass, how it was to affect their manners, what was to be their sort of intercourse she could not foresee. It was all quite natural, however. He was devoted to Henrietta, always turning towards her, and when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits. In general his voice and manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta from agitation seemed the governing principle. Once only, when she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the carb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been thought of, he burst forth as if wholly overcome. "'Don't talk of it—don't talk of it,' he cried. "'Oh, God! That I had not given way to her at the fatal moment! Had I done as I ought? But so eager and so resolute! This sweet Louisa!' Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character, and whether it might not strike him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character. They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills and the same objects so soon. Their actual speed, heightened by some dread of the conclusion, made the road appear but half as long as on the day before. It was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the neighbourhood of Upper Cross, and there had been total silence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself to sleep. Even as they were going up their last hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth, in a low, cautious voice, he said, I have been considering what we best do. She must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether he would not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this is a good plan? She did. He was satisfied, and said no more. But the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment, a great pleasure. And when it became a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen. When the distressing communication at Upper Cross was over, and he had seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be hoped, and the daughter all the better for being with them, he announced his intention of returning in the same carriage to Lyme, and when the horses were baited, he was off. CHAPTER XIII The remainder of Anne's time at Upper Cross, ending only two days, was spent entirely at the mansion house, and she had the satisfaction of knowing herself extremely useful there, both as an immediate companion, and as assisting in all those arrangements for the future, which, in Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove's distressed state of spirits, would have been difficulties. They had an early account from Lyme the next morning. Louisa was much the same. No symptoms worse than before had appeared. House came a few hours afterwards, to bring a later and more particular account. He was tolerably cheerful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but everything was going on as well as the nature of the case admitted. In speaking of the Harvils, he seemed unable to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of Mrs. Harville's exertions as a nurse. She really left nothing for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical again this morning. When he came away, she was going to walk out with Captain Benwick, which he hoped would do her good. He almost wished she had been prevailed on to come home the day before, but the truth was that Mrs. Harville left nothing for anybody to do. Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and his father had at first half a mind to go with him, but the ladies could not consent. It would be going only to multiply trouble to the others, and increase his own distress, and a much better scheme followed and was acted upon. A chaise was sent for from Crookhurne, and Charles conveyed back a far more useful person in the old nursery maid of the family, one who, having brought up all the children, and seen the very last, the lingering and long petted Master Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings and dress all the blanes and bruises she could get near her, and who consequently was only too happy in being allowed to go and help nurse, dear Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting Sarah Lither had occurred before to Mrs. Musgrove and Henrietta, but without Anne, it would hardly have been resolved on, and found practicable so soon. They were indebted the next day to Charles Hater, for all the minute knowledge of Louisa, which it was so essential to obtain every twenty-four hours. He made it his business to go to Lyme, and his account was still encouraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were believed to be stronger. Every report agreed in Captain Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme. Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which they all dreaded. What should they do without her? They were wretched comforters for one another. And so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she could not do better than impart among them the general inclination to which she was privy, and persuaded them all to go to Lyme at once. She had little difficulty. It was soon determined that they would go—go to-morrow, fix themselves at the inn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and there remained till dear Louisa could be moved. They must be taking off some trouble from the good people she was with. They might at least relieve Mrs. Harville from the care of her own children, and in short, they were so happy in the decision, that Anne was delighted with what she had done, and felt that she could not spend her last morning at upper-cross better than in assisting their preparations, and sending them off at an early hour, though her being left to the solitary range of the house was the consequence. She was the last, accepting the little boys of the cottage. She was the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given upper-cross its cheerful character. A few days had made a change, indeed. If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again. More than former happiness would be restored. There could not be a doubt, to her mind there was none, of what would follow her recovery. A few months hence, and the room now so deserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self, might be filled again with all that was happy and gay, all that was glowing and bright and prosperous love, all that was most unlike Anne Elliot. An hour's complete leisure for such reflections as these, on a dark November day, a small, thick rain almost blotting out the very few objects ever to be discerned from the windows, was enough to make the sound of Lady Russell's carriage exceedingly welcome. And yet, though desirous to be gone, she could not quit the mansion-house, or look in adieu to the cottage, with its black, dripping and comfortless veranda, or even notice through the misty glasses the last humble tenements of the village, without a saddened heart. Scenes had passed an upper-cross which made it precious. It stood the record of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened, and of some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all behind her, all but the recollection that such things had been. Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting Lady Russell's house in September. It had not been necessary, and the few occasions of it being possible for her to go to the hall, she had contrived to evade an escape from. Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and elegant apartments of the lodge, and to gladden the eyes of its mistress. There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's joy in meeting her. She knew who had been frequenting upper-cross. But happily, either Anne was improved in plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied her so, and Anne, in receiving her compliments on the occasion, had the amusement of connecting them with the silent admiration of her cousin, and of hoping that she was to be blessed with a second spring of youth and beauty. When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of some mental change, the subjects of which her heart had been full on leaving Kellynch, and which she had felt slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Musgroves, were now become but of secondary interest. She had lately lost sight even of her father and sister and bath. Her concerns had been sunk under those of upper-cross. And when Lady Russell reverted to their former hopes and fears, and spoke her satisfaction in the house and Camden Place, which had been taken, and her regret that Mrs. Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been ashamed to have it known how much more she was thinking of Lyme, and Louisa Musgrove, and all her acquaintance there. How much more interesting to her was the home and the friendship of the Harvills, and Captain Benwick, than her own father's house in Camden Place, or her own sister's intimacy with Mrs. Clay. She was actually forced to exert herself to meet Lady Russell with anything like the appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by nature the first claim on her. There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse on another subject. They must speak of the accident at Lyme. Lady Russell had not been arrived five minutes the day before, when a full account of the whole had burst on her. But still it must be talked of. She must make inquiries. She must regret the imprudence, lament the result, and Captain Wentworth's name must be mentioned by both. Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady Russell. She could not speak the name, and look straight forward to Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted the expedient of telling her briefly what she thought of the attachment between him and Louisa. When this was told, his name distressed her no longer. Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish them happy. But internally her heart reveled in angry pleasure, in pleased contempt, that the man who at twenty-three had seemed to understand somewhat of the value of an Anne Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be charmed by a Louisa Musgrove. The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance to mark them, accepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's politeness could repose no longer, and the faint herself threatenings of the past became in a decided tone. I must call on Mrs. Croft. I really must call upon her soon. Anne, have you courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that house? It will be some trial to us both." Anne did not shrink from it. On the contrary, she truly felt as she said, in observing. I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the two. Your feelings are less reconciled to the change than mine. By remaining in the neighborhood, Anne become enured to it. She could have said more on the subject, for she had, in fact, so high in opinion of the Crofts, and considered her father so very fortunate in his tenants, felt the parish to be so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best attention and relief, that however sorry and ashamed for the necessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience feel that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kellynch Hall had passed into better hands than its owners. These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain, and severe was its kind. But they precluded that pain which Lady Russell would suffer in entering the house again, and returning through the well-known apartments. In such moments Anne had no power of saying to herself, �These rooms ought to belong only to us! Oh, how full and in their destination! How unwaverly occupied! An ancient family to be so driven away! Strangers filling their place! No! Except when she thought of her mother, and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside. She had no sigh of that description to heave. Mrs. Croft always met her with a kindness which gave her the pleasure of fancing herself a favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving her in that house, there was particular attention. The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic, and on comparing their latest accounts of the invalid, it appeared that each lady dated her intelligence from the same hour of yester-morne, that Captain Wentworth had been in Kellynch yesterday, the first time since the accident, had brought Anne the last note, which she had not been able to trace the exact steps of, had stayed a few hours, and then returned again to Lyme, and without any present intention of quitting it any more. He had inquired after her, she found, particularly, had expressed his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worst of her exertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great. This was handsome, and gave her more pleasure than almost anything else could have done. As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed only in one style by a couple of steady, sensible women, whose judgments had to work on ascertained events, and it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of much thoughtlessness and much imprudence, that its effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to think how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer from the concussion hereafter. The admiral wounded up summarily by exclaiming, I, a very bad business indeed, a new sort of way this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress's head, is it not, Miss Elliot? This is breaking ahead and giving a plaster, truly. Admiral Craft's manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne. His goodness of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible. Now this must be very bad for you, said he, suddenly rousing from a little reverie, to be coming and finding us here. I had not recommended it before, I declare, but it must be very bad. But now do not stand upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the roms in the house, if you like it. Another time, sir. I thank you. Not now. Well, whenever it suits you, you can slip in from the shrubbery at any time, and there you will find we keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door. A good place, is it not? But—checking himself—you will not think it a good place, for yours were always kept in the butler's room. I, so it always is, I believe. One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best. And so you must judge for yourself, whether it would be better for you to go about the house or not. Anne, finding she might decline it, did so very gratefully. We have made very few changes, either. Read the admiral, after thinking a moment. Very few. We told you about the laundry-door at Upper Cross. That has been a very great improvement. The wonder was how any family upon earth could bear with the inconvenience of its opening as it did so long. You will tell Sir Walter what we have done, and that Mr. Shepherd thinks that the greatest improvement the house ever had. Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say, that the few alterations we have made have been all very much for the better. My wife should have the credit of them, however. I have done very little besides sending away some of the large looking-glasses from my dressing-room, which was your father's. A very good man, and very much the gentleman, I am sure. But I should think, Miss Elliot, looking with serious reflection. I should think he must be rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such a number of looking-glasses! Oh, Lord! There was no getting away from oneself. So I got Sophie to lend me a hand, and we soon shifted their quarters, and now I am quite snug, with my little shaving-gloss in one corner, and another great thing that I never go near. Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer, and the admiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took up the subject again to say, The next time you write to your good-father, Miss Elliot, pray give him my compliments, and Mrs. Croft's, and say that we are settled here quite to our liking, and have no fault at all to find the place. The breakfast-room chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is due north, and blows hard, which may not happen three times a winter. And take it all together, now that we have been at most of the houses hereabouts, and can judge. There is not one that we like better than this. Pray say so with my compliments. He will be glad to hear it. Lady Russell and Mrs. Croft were very well pleased with each other. But the acquaintance which this visit began was fated not to proceed far at present, for when it was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going away for a few weeks, to visit their connections in the north of the county, and probably might not be at home again before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath. So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing him in company with her friend. Everything was safe enough, and she smiled over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the subject. End of chapter 13