Chapter XXIV

by Jane Austen

　　Henry Crawford had quite made up his mind by thenext morning to give another fortnight to Mansfield,and having sent for his hunters, and written a fewlines of explanation to the Admiral, he looked round athis sister as he sealed and threw the letter from him,and seeing the coast clear of the rest of the family,said, with a smile, "And how do you think I mean toamuse myself, Mary, on the days that I do not hunt?I am grown too old to go out more than three times a week;but I have a plan for the intermediate days, and what do you thinkit is?""To walk and ride with me, to be sure.""Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but _that_would be exercise only to my body, and I must take careof my mind. Besides, _that_ would be all recreationand indulgence, without the wholesome alloy of labour,and I do not like to eat the bread of idleness. No, my planis to make Fanny Price in love with me.""Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to besatisfied with her two cousins.""But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price,without making a small hole in Fanny Price's heart.You do not seem properly aware of her claims to notice.When we talked of her last night, you none of youseemed sensible of the wonderful improvement that hastaken place in her looks within the last six weeks.You see her every day, and therefore do not notice it;but I assure you she is quite a different creaturefrom what she was in the autumn. She was then merelya quiet, modest, not plain-looking girl, but she is nowabsolutely pretty. I used to think she had neithercomplexion nor countenance; but in that soft skin of hers,so frequently tinged with a blush as it was yesterday,there is decided beauty; and from what I observed of hereyes and mouth, I do not despair of their being capableof expression enough when she has anything to express.And then, her air, her manner, her _tout_ _ensemble_,is so indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches,at least, since October.""Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall womento compare her with, and because she has got a new gown,and you never saw her so well dressed before. She isjust what she was in October, believe me. The truth is,that she was the only girl in company for you to notice,and you must have a somebody. I have always thoughther pretty--not strikingly pretty--but 'pretty enough,'as people say; a sort of beauty that grows on one.Her eyes should be darker, but she has a sweet smile;but as for this wonderful degree of improvement, I amsure it may all be resolved into a better style of dress,and your having nobody else to look at; and therefore,if you do set about a flirtation with her, you neverwill persuade me that it is in compliment to her beauty,or that it proceeds from anything but your own idlenessand folly."Her brother gave only a smile to this accusation,and soon afterwards said, "I do not quite know what to makeof Miss Fanny. I do not understand her. I could not tellwhat she would be at yesterday. What is her character?Is she solemn? Is she queer? Is she prudish? Why didshe draw back and look so grave at me? I could hardly gether to speak. I never was so long in company with a girlin my life, trying to entertain her, and succeed so ill!Never met with a girl who looked so grave on me!I must try to get the better of this. Her looks say,'I will not like you, I am determined not to like you';and I say she shall.""Foolish fellow! And so this is her attraction after all!This it is, her not caring about you, which givesher such a soft skin, and makes her so much taller,and produces all these charms and graces! I do desirethat you will not be making her really unhappy;a _little_ love, perhaps, may animate and do her good,but I will not have you plunge her deep, for she is asgood a little creature as ever lived, and has a greatdeal of feeling.""It can be but for a fortnight," said Henry; "and if afortnight can kill her, she must have a constitutionwhich nothing could save. No, I will not do her any harm,dear little soul! only want her to look kindly on me,to give me smiles as well as blushes, to keep a chairfor me by herself wherever we are, and be all animationwhen I take it and talk to her; to think as I think,be interested in all my possessions and pleasures,try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when Igo away that she shall be never happy again. I wantnothing more.""Moderation itself!" said Mary. "I can have no scruples now.Well, you will have opportunities enough of endeavouringto recommend yourself, for we are a great deal together."And without attempting any farther remonstrance, she leftFanny to her fate, a fate which, had not Fanny's heartbeen guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss Crawford,might have been a little harder than she deserved;for although there doubtless are such unconquerable youngladies of eighteen (or one should not read about them)as are never to be persuaded into love against their judgmentby all that talent, manner, attention, and flattery can do,I have no inclination to believe Fanny one of them,or to think that with so much tenderness of disposition,and so much taste as belonged to her, she could haveescaped heart-whole from the courtship (though thecourtship only of a fortnight) of such a man as Crawford,in spite of there being some previous ill opinion of himto be overcome, had not her affection been engaged elsewhere.With all the security which love of another and disesteemof him could give to the peace of mind he was attacking,his continued attentions--continued, but not obtrusive,and adapting themselves more and more to the gentlenessand delicacy of her character--obliged her very soonto dislike him less than formerly. She had by no meansforgotten the past, and she thought as ill of him as ever;but she felt his powers: he was entertaining; and hismanners were so improved, so polite, so seriously andblamelessly polite, that it was impossible not to be civilto him in return.A very few days were enough to effect this; and at the endof those few days, circumstances arose which had a tendencyrather to forward his views of pleasing her, inasmuch asthey gave her a degree of happiness which must disposeher to be pleased with everybody. William, her brother,the so long absent and dearly loved brother, was inEngland again. She had a letter from him herself, a fewhurried happy lines, written as the ship came up Channel,and sent into Portsmouth with the first boat that leftthe Antwerp at anchor in Spithead; and when Crawford walkedup with the newspaper in his hand, which he had hopedwould bring the first tidings, he found her tremblingwith joy over this letter, and listening with a glowing,grateful countenance to the kind invitation which heruncle was most collectedly dictating in reply.It was but the day before that Crawford had made himselfthoroughly master of the subject, or had in fact becomeat all aware of her having such a brother, or his beingin such a ship, but the interest then excited had beenvery properly lively, determining him on his return totown to apply for information as to the probable periodof the Antwerp's return from the Mediterranean, etc.;and the good luck which attended his early examinationof ship news the next morning seemed the reward of hisingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing her,as well as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral,in having for many years taken in the paper esteemedto have the earliest naval intelligence. He proved,however, to be too late. All those fine first feelings,of which he had hoped to be the exciter, were already given.But his intention, the kindness of his intention,was thankfully acknowledged: quite thankfully and warmly,for she was elevated beyond the common timidity of hermind by the flow of her love for William.This dear William would soon be amongst them. There couldbe no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence immediately,for he was still only a midshipman; and as his parents,from living on the spot, must already have seen him,and be seeing him perhaps daily, his direct holidaysmight with justice be instantly given to the sister,who had been his best correspondent through a period ofseven years, and the uncle who had done most for his supportand advancement; and accordingly the reply to her reply,fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as soonas possible; and scarcely ten days had passed since Fannyhad been in the agitation of her first dinner-visit,when she found herself in an agitation of a higher nature,watching in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs,for the first sound of the carriage which was to bring hera brother.It came happily while she was thus waiting; and therebeing neither ceremony nor fearfulness to delay the momentof meeting, she was with him as he entered the house,and the first minutes of exquisite feeling had no interruptionand no witnesses, unless the servants chiefly intentupon opening the proper doors could be called such.This was exactly what Sir Thomas and Edmund had beenseparately conniving at, as each proved to the otherby the sympathetic alacrity with which they both advisedMrs. Norris's continuing where she was, instead of rushingout into the hall as soon as the noises of the arrivalreached them.William and Fanny soon shewed themselves; and Sir Thomashad the pleasure of receiving, in his protege, certainly avery different person from the one he had equipped sevenyears ago, but a young man of an open, pleasant countenance,and frank, unstudied, but feeling and respectful manners,and such as confirmed him his friend.It was long before Fanny could recover from the agitatinghappiness of such an hour as was formed by the lastthirty minutes of expectation, and the first of fruition;it was some time even before her happiness could be saidto make her happy, before the disappointment inseparablefrom the alteration of person had vanished, and she couldsee in him the same William as before, and talk to him,as her heart had been yearning to do through manya past year. That time, however, did gradually come,forwarded by an affection on his side as warm as her own,and much less encumbered by refinement or self-distrust.She was the first object of his love, but it was a lovewhich his stronger spirits, and bolder temper, made itas natural for him to express as to feel. On the morrowthey were walking about together with true enjoyment,and every succeeding morrow renewed a _tete-a-tete_which Sir Thomas could not but observe with complacency,even before Edmund had pointed it out to him.Excepting the moments of peculiar delight, which any markedor unlooked-for instance of Edmund's consideration of herin the last few months had excited, Fanny had never knownso much felicity in her life, as in this unchecked, equal,fearless intercourse with the brother and friend who was openingall his heart to her, telling her all his hopes and fears,plans, and solicitudes respecting that long thought of,dearly earned, and justly valued blessing of promotion;who could give her direct and minute information of thefather and mother, brothers and sisters, of whom shevery seldom heard; who was interested in all the comfortsand all the little hardships of her home at Mansfield;ready to think of every member of that home as she directed,or differing only by a less scrupulous opinion, and morenoisy abuse of their aunt Norris, and with whom (perhapsthe dearest indulgence of the whole) all the evil andgood of their earliest years could be gone over again,and every former united pain and pleasure retracedwith the fondest recollection. An advantage this,a strengthener of love, in which even the conjugal tieis beneath the fraternal. Children of the same family,the same blood, with the same first associations and habits,have some means of enjoyment in their power, which nosubsequent connexions can supply; and it must be by along and unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which nosubsequent connexion can justify, if such precious remainsof the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived.Too often, alas! it is so. Fraternal love, sometimesalmost everything, is at others worse than nothing.But with William and Fanny Price it was still a sentimentin all its prime and freshness, wounded by no oppositionof interest, cooled by no separate attachment, and feelingthe influence of time and absence only in its increase.An affection so amiable was advancing each in the opinionof all who had hearts to value anything good. Henry Crawfordwas as much struck with it as any. He honoured thewarm-hearted, blunt fondness of the young sailor, which ledhim to say, with his hands stretched towards Fanny's head,"Do you know, I begin to like that queer fashion already,though when I first heard of such things being donein England, I could not believe it; and when Mrs. Brown,and the other women at the Commissioner's at Gibraltar,appeared in the same trim, I thought they were mad; but Fannycan reconcile me to anything"; and saw, with lively admiration,the glow of Fanny's cheek, the brightness of her eye,the deep interest, the absorbed attention, while herbrother was describing any of the imminent hazards,or terrific scenes, which such a period at sea must supply.It was a picture which Henry Crawford had moral taste enoughto value. Fanny's attractions increased--increased twofold;for the sensibility which beautified her complexion andillumined her countenance was an attraction in itself.He was no longer in doubt of the capabilities of her heart.She had feeling, genuine feeling. It would be somethingto be loved by such a girl, to excite the first ardoursof her young unsophisticated mind! She interested himmore than he had foreseen. A fortnight was not enough.His stay became indefinite.William was often called on by his uncle to be the talker.His recitals were amusing in themselves to Sir Thomas,but the chief object in seeking them was to understandthe reciter, to know the young man by his histories;and he listened to his clear, simple, spirited details withfull satisfaction, seeing in them the proof of good principles,professional knowledge, energy, courage, and cheerfulness,everything that could deserve or promise well.Young as he was, William had already seen a great deal.He had been in the Mediterranean; in the West Indies;in the Mediterranean again; had been often taken on shoreby the favour of his captain, and in the course of sevenyears had known every variety of danger which sea and wartogether could offer. With such means in his power hehad a right to be listened to; and though Mrs. Norris couldfidget about the room, and disturb everybody in questof two needlefuls of thread or a second-hand shirt button,in the midst of her nephew's account of a shipwreckor an engagement, everybody else was attentive; and evenLady Bertram could not hear of such horrors unmoved,or without sometimes lifting her eyes from her work to say,"Dear me! how disagreeable! I wonder anybody can ever goto sea."To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longedto have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much.His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he feltthe highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty,had gone through such bodily hardships and given suchproofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness,of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfishindulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wishedhe had been a William Price, distinguishing himself andworking his way to fortune and consequence with so muchself-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!The wish was rather eager than lasting. He was roused fromthe reverie of retrospection and regret produced by it,by some inquiry from Edmund as to his plans for the nextday's hunting; and he found it was as well to be a manof fortune at once with horses and grooms at his command.In one respect it was better, as it gave him the meansof conferring a kindness where he wished to oblige.With spirits, courage, and curiosity up to anything,William expressed an inclination to hunt; and Crawford couldmount him without the slightest inconvenience to himself,and with only some scruples to obviate in Sir Thomas,who knew better than his nephew the value of such a loan,and some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She fearedfor William; by no means convinced by all that he couldrelate of his own horsemanship in various countries,of the scrambling parties in which he had been engaged,the rough horses and mules he had ridden, or his many narrowescapes from dreadful falls, that he was at all equal to themanagement of a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase;nor till he returned safe and well, without accidentor discredit, could she be reconciled to the risk,or feel any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford for lendingthe horse which he had fully intended it should produce.When it was proved, however, to have done William no harm,she could allow it to be a kindness, and even rewardthe owner with a smile when the animal was one minutetendered to his use again; and the next, with thegreatest cordiality, and in a manner not to be resisted,made over to his use entirely so long as he remainedin Northamptonshire.[End volume one of this edition.Printed by T. and A. Constable,Printers to Her Majesty atthe Edinburgh University Press]