 CHAPTER VII A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch, and Mr. Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Upper Cross by the end of another week. It had been a great disappointment to Mr. Musgrove to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impatient was he to show his gratitude by seeing Captain Wentworth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest and best in his cellars. But a week must pass, only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and then she supposed they must meet, and soon she began to wish that she could feel secure even for a week. Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr. Musgrove's civility, and she was all but calling there in the same half hour. She and Mary were actually setting forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him, when they were stopped by the eldest boys being at that moment brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The child's situation put the visit entirely aside, but she could not hear of her escape with indifference, even in the midst of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on his account. His collar bone was found to be dislocated, and such injury received in the back as roused the most alarming ideas. It was an afternoon of distress, and Anne had everything to do at once—the apothecary to send for, the father to have pursued and informed, the mother to support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend and soothe, besides sending as soon as she recollected it proper notice to the other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened inquiring companions, than of very useful assistance. Her brother's return was the first comfort. He could take best care of his wife, and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary. Till he came, and had examined the child, their apprehensions were the worst for being vague. They suspected great injury, but knew not where, but now the collar bone was soon replaced, and though Mr. Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and spoke low words both to the father and the aunt, still they were all to hope the best. And to be able to part and eat their dinner intolerable ease of mind, and then it was, just before they parted, that the two young aunts were able so far to digress from their nephew's state, as to give the information of Captain Wentworth's visit, staying five minutes behind their father and mother, to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted they were with him, how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been at all a favourite before. How glad they had been to hear Papa invite him to stay dinner, how sorry when he said it was quite out of his power, and how glad again, when he had promised, in reply to Papa and Mama's father pressing invitations, to come and dine with them on the morrow, actually on the morrow, and he had promised it in so pleasant a manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention, just as he ought. And in short, he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them all, their heads were both turned by him, and off they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles. The same story and the same raptures were repeated when the two girls came with their father, through the gloom of the evening, to make enquiries, and Mr. Musgrove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir, could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there would be now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth off, and only be sorry to think that the cottage party, probably, would not like to leave the little boy to give him the meeting. Oh no, as to leaving the little boy, both father and mother were in much too strong and recent alarm to bear the thought, and Anne, in the joy of the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to theirs. Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, showed more of inclination. The child was going on so well, and he wished so much to be introduced to Captain Wentworth that perhaps he might join them in the evening. He would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half an hour. But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife, with, Oh, no indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away, only think if anything should happen. The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day. It must be a work of time to ascertain that no injury had been done to the spine, but Mr. Robinson found nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began consequently to feel no necessity for longer confinement. The child was to be kept in bed, and amused as quietly as possible. But what was there for a father to do? This was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in him, who could be of no use at home to shut himself up. His father very much wished him to meet Captain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient reason against it he ought to go, and it ended in his making a bold public declaration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning to dress directly and dine at the other house. Nothing can be going on better than the child, said he. So I told my father just now that I would come, and he thought me quite right. Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple at all. You would not like to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use, and will send for me if anything is the matter. Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain. Mary knew, from Charles's manner of speaking, that he was quite determined on going, and that it would be of no use to tease him. She said nothing therefore till he was out of the room, but as soon as there was only Anne to hear. So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves with this poor sick child, and not a creature coming near us all the evening. I knew how it would be. This is always my luck. If there is anything disagreeable going on, men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad as any of them. Very unfeeling. I must say it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little boy. Talks of his being going on so well. How does he know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence? I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother I am not to be allowed to stir, and yet I am sure I am more unfit than anybody else to be about the child. My being the mother is the very reason why my feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysterical I was yesterday. But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm of the shock. You will not be hysterical again. I dare say we shall have nothing to distress us. I perfectly understand Mr. Robinson's directions and have no fears. And indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband. Nursing does not belong to a man, it is not his province. A sick child is always the mother's property. Her own feelings generally make it so. I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but I do not know that I am of any more use in the sick room than Charles, for I cannot be always scolding and teasing the poor child when it is ill. And you saw this morning that if I told him to keep quiet he was sure to begin kicking about. I have not nerves for the sort of thing. But could you be comfortable yourself to be spending the whole evening away from the poor boy? Yes, you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so careful, and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really think Charles might as well have told his father we would all come. I am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different today. Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little Charles to my care. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain with him. Are you serious?" cried Mary, her eyes brightening. Dear me, that's a very good thought, very good indeed. To be sure I may just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home, am I, and it only harasses me. You, who have not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the properest person. You can make little Charles do anything. He always minds you at a word. It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with Jemima. Oh! I shall certainly go. I am sure I ought, if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind being left alone. An excellent thought of yours indeed, Anne, I will go and tell Charles and get ready directly. You can send for us, you know, at a moment's notice if anything is the matter, but I dare say there will be nothing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child. The next moment she was tapping at her husband's dressing-room door, and as Anne followed her upstairs she was in time for the whole conversation, which began with Mary saying, in a tone of great exultation, I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than you are. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like. Anne will stay. Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. It is Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday. This is very kind of Anne, was her husband's answer. And I should be very glad to have you go, but it seems rather hard that she should be left at home by herself to nurse our sick child. Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity of her manner being soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction was at least very agreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone, though he still wanted her to join them in the evening, when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly urged her to let him come and fetch her. But she was quite unpersuadable, and this being the case, she had ere long the pleasure of seeing them set off together in high spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem. As for herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort as were perhaps ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to be of the first utility to the child, and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant, making himself agreeable to others? She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time. He would have done what she could not but believe that in his place she should have done long ago, when events had been early giving him the independence which alone had been wanting. Her brother and sister came back delighted with their new acquaintance and their visit in general. There had been music, singing, talking, laughing, all that was most agreeable. Having manners, in Captain Wentworth, no shyness or reserve. They seemed all to know each other perfectly, and he was coming the very next morning to shoot with Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but not at the cottage, though that had been proposed at first, but then he had been pressed to come to the great-house instead, and he seemed afraid of being in Mrs. Charles Musgrove's way on account of the child, and therefore, somehow, they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles's being to meet him to breakfast at his father's. Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her. He had inquired after her, she found, slightly, as might suit a former slight acquaintance, seeming to acknowledge such as she had acknowledged, actuated perhaps, by the same view of escaping introduction when they were to meet. The morning hours of the cottage were always later than those of the other house, and on the morrow the difference was so great that Mary and Anne were not more than beginning breakfast when Charles came in to say that they were just setting off, that he was come for his dogs, that his sisters were following with Captain Wentworth. His sisters meaning to visit Mary and the child, and Captain Wentworth proposing also to wait on her for a few minutes, if not inconvenient. And though Charles had answered for the child's being in no such state as could make it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not be satisfied without his running on to give notice. Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was delighted to receive him, while a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the most consoling, that it would soon be over. And it was soon over. In two minutes after Charles's preparation the others appeared. They were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's. A bow, a curtsy past. She heard his voice. He talked to Mary, said all that was right, said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing. The room seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few minutes ended it. Charles showed himself at the window, all was ready, there visitor had bowed and was gone. The Miss Musgroves were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the village with the sportsman. The room was cleared, and Anne might finish her breakfast as she could. It is over, it is over. She repeated to herself again and again, in nervous gratitude. The worst is over. Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him. They had met. They had been once more in the same room. Soon however she began to reason with herself and try to be feeling less. Eight years, almost eight years had passed since all had been given up. How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinctness. What might not eight years do? Events of every description changes, alienations, removals. All, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past. How natural, how certain, too! It included nearly a third part of her own life. Alas, with all her reasoning she found that two retentive feelings, eight years may be little more than nothing. Now how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like wishing to avoid her? And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly which asked the question. On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom might not have prevented, she was soon spared all suspense, for after the Miss Musgroves had returned and finished their visit at the cottage, she had this spontaneous information from Mary. Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you when they went away, and he said, You were so altered he should not have known you again. Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sisters in a common way, but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar wound. Here beyond his knowledge Anne fully submitted, in silent, deep mortification. Doubtless it was so, and she could take no revenge for he was not altered or not for the worse. She had already acknowledged it to herself, and she could not think differently. Let him think of her as he would. No. The years which had destroyed her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing, friendly open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages. She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth. So altered that he should not have known her again. These were words which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them. They were of sobering tendency, they allayed agitation, they composed, and consequently must make her happier. Frederick Wentworth had used such words or something like them, but without an idea that they would be carried round to her. He had thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first moment of appeal had spoken as he felt. He had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill, deserted, and disappointed him, and worse she had shown a feebleness of character in doing so which his own decided confident temper could not endure. She had given him up to oblige others. It had been the effect of over-persuasion, it had been weakness and timidity. He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal, but, except from some natural sensation of curiosity, he had no desire of meeting her again. Her power with him was gone for ever. It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and, being turned on shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could be properly tempted, actually looking round, ready to fall in love with all the speed which a clear head and a quick taste could allow. He had a heart for either of the Miss Musgroves, if they could catch it, a heart, in short, for any pleasing young woman who came in his way, accepting Anne Elliot. This was his only secret exception, when he said to his sister, in answer to her suppositions, Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match. Anybody between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man. Should not this be enough for a sailor who has had no society among women to make him nice? He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright, proud eye spoke the conviction that he was nice, and Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts when he more seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with. A strong mind, with sweetness of manner, made the first and the last of the description. That is the woman I want, said he, something a little inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men. CHAPTER VIII From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in the same circle. They were soon dining in company together at Mr. Musgroves, 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, but they could not 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, and could allow no other exceptions even among the married couples. There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were estrangers, 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. There 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 address it, if there were, or a 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 dare say 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 at Upper Cross, and sitting down together to pour over it, with the professed view of finding out the ships that Captain Wentworth had commanded. Your first was the ASP, I remember. We will look for the ASP. You will not find her there. Quite worn out and broken up. I was the last man who commanded her. Hardly fit for service then. Good 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 it 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 as sure for half a year together? 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 about among half your acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which at last on some very wet day is lent to yourself. 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 days in the sound when a gale came on which lasted four days and nights, and which would have done for the poor old ASP in half the time, our 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 went worth 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 of 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, 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 surprise as if waiting for more. My brother, whispered one of the girls, Mamai's thinking of Paul 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 latter, 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 humour 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 attended to her large, fat sirens 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 patronise 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 Grierson and her daughters. Should I? I am glad I was not a week later, then. He defended himself, though, professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, excepting 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 have 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 were the only woman on board. But you yourself brought Mrs. Harville, her sister, her cousin, and her three children round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was this superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then? All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any brother's office's wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville's from the world's end, if you wanted it. But do not imagine that I did not feel it an 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 poor to another after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings? My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs. Harville and all 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. I, 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. Croft. 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. Croft, that nothing can exceed the accommodations 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 I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal, when the admiral, Captain Croft 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. Croft, was Mrs. Musgrove's hearty answer. There is nothing so bad as such separation. I am quite of your opinion. I know what it is, for Mr. Musgrove always attends the aceses, and I am so glad when they are over, and he is safe back 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 good will 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 occupied 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 has quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She has 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, madam, this is your seat. And though she immediately drew back with the decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again. Anne did not wish for more such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything. CHAPTER IX. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER IX. Captain Wentworth was come to Kellinch 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 into Shropshire, and 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 Muzgroves 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 nuke possessions, their grass, and their sheep, and dawdling about in a way not endurable 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 Muzgroves 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 in 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. Musgroves, 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 who 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 as made them pleased to improve their cousins. Charles's attentions 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. Mr. 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 remark 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 Musgrove's 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 pleasanter 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 war. 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. Serve 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 Hader, 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 families 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 Musgroves 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. And pray, who is Charles Hader? Nothing but a country curate. A most improper match for Miss Musgrove of Upper Cross.' Her husband, however, would not agree with her here. For, besides having a regard for his cousin, Charles Hader was an eldest son, and he saw things as an eldest son himself. "'Now you were 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 Spicers, 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 one 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 a 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 freehold property. No, no, Henrietta might do worse than Mary Charles Hader, 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 married Charles Hader, 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 Hader yesterday. I wish you had been there to see her behavior. And as to Captain Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense to say so, for he certainly does like Henrietta a great deal the best. But Charles is so positive. I wish you 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. Musgroves 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 honor than that he should prefer Henrietta to Louisa or Louisa to Henrietta. Either of them would in all probability make him an affectionate, good-humored 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 sympathize in any of the sufferings it occasioned. But if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature of her feelings, the alteration could not be understood too soon. Charles' hater had met with much to disquiet and mortify him in his cousin's behavior. 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, the rector, 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. The advantage of his having to 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 told 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 you would have it. I always thought you sure. It did not appear to me that, in short, you know, Dr. Shirley must have a curate, and knew 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 remain there to satisfy her patient. And thus they continued a few minutes when, to her 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 open 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, entreated, 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 Hader, Why do you not do as your 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 born away, before she knew that Captain Lentworth 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, produced 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 Hader was not well inclined towards Captain Lentworth. She had a strong impression of his having said in a vexed tone of voice, after Captain Lentworth's interference. You ought to have minded me, Walter. I told you not to tease your aunt, and could comprehend his regretting that Captain Lentworth should do what he ought to have done himself. But neither Charles Hader'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 X Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur. Captain Lentworth 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 favorite, she could not but think, as far as she might dare to judge from memory and experience, that Captain Lentworth 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, and in love with some. Charles Hader seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta had sometimes the error 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 Gile to any. It was the highest satisfaction to her to believe Captain Lentworth 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 Hader. 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 Hader 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, and could only feel that Charles Hader was wise. One morning, about this time, Charles Musgrove and Captain Lentworth being gone a 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, and 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 it best to accept the Miss Musgrove's 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 spoilt 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 Musgrove's, 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 in 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 few 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 attempted 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 Musgrove's, she should not try to hear it. Yet she caught very little remarkable. It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons on an intimate footing might fall into. He was more engaged with Luisa than Henrietta. Luisa certainly put more forward for notice than her sister. The distinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech of Luisa'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 make 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 Luisa, 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. Had 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 after 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 in Winthrop, and soon commanded a full view of the ladder 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 had 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 Musgrove, and no-no cried Luisa more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the matter 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 shooed 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 in manner declared that go she would not. After a little succession of these sort 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. Luisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan, and, as she went a little way with them, down the hill, still hunking 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. Luisa returned, and Mary, finding a comfortable seat for herself on the step of the style, was very well satisfied so long as the others all stood about her. But when Luisa 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 Luisa 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 Luisa 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 Luisa in the hedgerow behind her, as if making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the center. They were speaking as they drew near. Luisa'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 errors 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 to-day, 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 a character of decision and firmness, I see. If you value her conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt, you have always been doing. It is the worst evil of two yielding in indecisive a character that no influence over it can be depended on. 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 glassy 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 solemnity, while so many of his brethren have fallen in bid trodden underfoot, is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazelnut can be supposed capable of. Then returning to his former earnest tone, my first wish for all whom I am interested in is that they should be firm. If Luisa 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 Luisa could have readily answered such a speech. Words of such interest, spoken with such serious warmth, she could imagine what Luisa 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, Luisa 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 has 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 Hader 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 Hader 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 Luisa for Captain Wentworth. Nothing could be planer. 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 humor 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 a 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 upper-cross. The invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss Musgroves 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 chase. The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite style, and the admirable 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 effects. 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 for. 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 to be the completion of all that had gone before. She understood him. He could not forgive her, and 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 emotion 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. Aye, this comes of the peace. If it were war now he would have settled it long ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to make long courtships in time 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. Croft 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 were we to wait for besides? I do not like having such things go 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 nice young ladies they both are. I hardly know one from the other. Very good humored, unaffected girls indeed, said Mrs. Croft, 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 brains a better direction herself, they happily pass the danger, and by once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand, they neither fell into a rut nor ran foul of a dunk-heart. And Anne was 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. 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 fence 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 and 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 which he 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 honored, a 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 in the project for going thither was the 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 in 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. Muzz Grove, 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 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. Muzz Grove's coats 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 ends, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea. They would 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, and the 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 charmeth 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 great 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 as 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, whoever deserved to look on it at 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 the harvows 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 seemed 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 a 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 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 prospects so blighted forever. 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 equalling 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 are more kindly hospitable than their entreaties for they are 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 to almost hurt that Captain Wentworth should have brought any such party to lime 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 in 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. On quitting 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 was 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 labors, 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, birth forced 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 it's 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 common 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 in 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 guillor and the bride of Abidas, and moreover how the guillor was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other, he repeated with such tremulous feelings the various lines which imaged a broken heart or a 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 pain 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 endurances. Captain Bennet listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the interest implied, and though with the 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.