Chapter 15

by Jane Austen

　　Mrs. Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took placethe next day, and two of her daughters went with her;but Marianne excused herself from being of the party,under some trifling pretext of employment; and her mother,who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughbythe night before of calling on her while they were absent,was perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.On their return from the park they found Willoughby'scurricle and servant in waiting at the cottage,and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that her conjecturehad been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen;but on entering the house she beheld what no foresighthad taught her to expect. They were no sooner in thepassage than Marianne came hastily out of the parlourapparently in violent affliction, with her handkerchiefat her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the roomshe had just quitted, where they found only Willoughby,who was leaning against the mantel-piece with his backtowards them. He turned round on their coming in,and his countenance shewed that he strongly partookof the emotion which over-powered Marianne."Is anything the matter with her?" cried Mrs. Dashwoodas she entered--"is she ill?""I hope not," he replied, trying to look cheerful;and with a forced smile presently added, "It is I who mayrather expect to be ill--for I am now suffering under avery heavy disappointment!""Disappointment?""Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you.Mrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilegeof riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me onbusiness to London. I have just received my dispatches,and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilarationI am now come to take my farewell of you.""To London!--and are you going this morning?""Almost this moment.""This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith mustbe obliged;--and her business will not detain you fromus long I hope."He coloured as he replied, "You are very kind, but Ihave no idea of returning into Devonshire immediately.My visits to Mrs. Smith are never repeated withinthe twelvemonth.""And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the onlyhouse in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome?For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?"His colour increased; and with his eyes fixedon the ground he only replied, "You are too good."Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise.Elinor felt equal amazement. For a few moments every onewas silent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke."I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that atBarton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will notpress you to return here immediately, because you onlycan judge how far that might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith;and on this head I shall be no more disposed to questionyour judgment than to doubt your inclination.""My engagements at present," replied Willoughby,confusedly, "are of such a nature--that--I dare not flattermyself"--He stopt. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonishedto speak, and another pause succeeded. This was brokenby Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, "It is follyto linger in this manner. I will not torment myselfany longer by remaining among friends whose societyit is impossible for me now to enjoy."He then hastily took leave of them all and leftthe room. They saw him step into his carriage,and in a minute it was out of sight.Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantlyquitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concernand alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.Elinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's.She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust.Willoughby's behaviour in taking leave of them, hisembarrassment,and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, hisunwillingnessto accept her mother's invitation, a backwardness so unlike alover,so unlike himself, greatly disturbed her. One moment she fearedthat no serious design had ever been formed on his side; and thenext that some unfortunate quarrel had taken place between himandher sister;--the distress in which Marianne had quitted the roomwas such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably account for,though when she considered what Marianne's love for him was,a quarrel seemed almost impossible.But whatever might be the particulars of their separation,her sister's affliction was indubitable; and she thoughtwith the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrowwhich Marianne was in all probability not merely givingway to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty.In about half an hour her mother returned, and thoughher eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful."Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,"said she, as she sat down to work, "and with how heavy a heartdoes he travel?""It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! Itseems but the work of a moment. And last night he waswith us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate? And now,after only ten minutes notice--Gone too without intendingto return!--Something more than what be owned to us musthave happened. He did not speak, he did not behavelike himself. You must have seen the difference as well as I.What can it be? Can they have quarrelled? Why else should hehave shewn such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?"--"It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I couldplainly see that. He had not the power of accepting it.I have thought it all over I assure you, and I canperfectly account for every thing that at first seemedstrange to me as well as to you.""Can you, indeed!""Yes. I have explained it to myself in the mostsatisfactory way;--but you, Elinor, who love to doubtwhere you can--it will not satisfy you, I know; but youshall not talk me out of my trust in it. I am persuadedthat Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne,disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other viewsfor him,) and on that account is eager to get him away;--and that the business which she sends him off to transactis invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is what Ibelieve to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that shedoes disapprove the connection, he dares not thereforeat present confess to her his engagement with Marianne,and he feels himself obliged, from his dependent situation,to give into her schemes, and absent himself fromDevonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know,that this may or may not have happened; but I will listento no cavil, unless you can point out any other methodof understanding the affair as satisfactory at this.And now, Elinor, what have you to say?""Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.""Then you would have told me, that it might or might nothave happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are yourfeelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good.You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guiltfor poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter.You are resolved to think him blameable, because he tookleave of us with less affection than his usual behaviourhas shewn. And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence,or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Areno probabilities to be accepted, merely because theyare not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom wehave all such reason to love, and no reason in the worldto think ill of? To the possibility of motives unanswerablein themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while? And,after all, what is it you suspect him of?""I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion ofsomething unpleasant is the inevitable consequenceof such an alteration as we just witnessed in him.There is great truth, however, in what you have now urgedof the allowances which ought to be made for him, and itis my wish to be candid in my judgment of every body.Willoughby may undoubtedly have very sufficientreasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledgethem at once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still Icannot help wondering at its being practiced by him.""Do not blame him, however, for departing fromhis character, where the deviation is necessary.But you really do admit the justice of what I have saidin his defence?--I am happy--and he is acquitted.""Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal theirengagement (if they are engaged) from Mrs. Smith--and if that is the case, it must be highly expedientfor Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at present.But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.""Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuseWilloughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strangeindeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every dayfor incautiousness.""I want no proof of their affection," said Elinor;"but of their engagement I do.""I am perfectly satisfied of both.""Yet not a syllable has been said to you on thesubject, by either of them.""I have not wanted syllables where actions havespoken so plainly. Has not his behaviour to Marianneand to all of us, for at least the last fortnight,declared that he loved and considered her as his future wife,and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearestrelation? Have we not perfectly understood each other?Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner,his attentive and affectionate respect? My Elinor,is it possible to doubt their engagement? How couldsuch a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposedthat Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of yoursister's love, should leave her, and leave her perhapsfor months, without telling her of his affection;--thatthey should part without a mutual exchange of confidence?""I confess," replied Elinor, "that every circumstanceexcept one is in favour of their engagement;but that one is the total silence of both on the subject,and with me it almost outweighs every other.""How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeedof Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between them,you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they are together.Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to your sisterall this time? Do you suppose him really indifferent to her?""No, I cannot think that. He must and does love herI am sure.""But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he canleave her with such indifference, such carelessnessof the future, as you attribute to him.""You must remember, my dear mother, that I have neverconsidered this matter as certain. I have had my doubts,I confess; but they are fainter than they were, and theymay soon be entirely done away. If we find they correspond,every fear of mine will be removed.""A mighty concession indeed! If you were to seethem at the altar, you would suppose they were going tobe married. Ungracious girl! But I require no such proof.Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify doubt;no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly openand unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister's wishes.It must be Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why?Is he not a man of honour and feeling? Has there been anyinconsistency on his side to create alarm? can he be deceitful?""I hope not, I believe not," cried Elinor."I love Willoughby, sincerely love him; and suspicion of hisintegrity cannot be more painful to yourself than to me.It has been involuntary, and I will not encourage it.I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in hismanners this morning;--he did not speak like himself,and did not return your kindness with any cordiality.But all this may be explained by such a situation of hisaffairs as you have supposed. He had just parted frommy sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest affliction;and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs. Smith,to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yetaware that by declining your invitation, by sayingthat he was going away for some time, he should seemto act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by our family,be might well be embarrassed and disturbed. In such a case,a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have beenmore to his honour I think, as well as more consistentwith his general character;--but I will not raise objectionsagainst any one's conduct on so illiberal a foundation,as a difference in judgment from myself, or a deviation fromwhat I may think right and consistent.""You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly doesnot deserve to be suspected. Though we have not knownhim long, he is no stranger in this part of the world;and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage? Had he beenin a situation to act independently and marry immediately,it might have been odd that he should leave us withoutacknowledging everything to me at once: but this is not the case.It is an engagement in some respects not prosperously begun,for their marriage must be at a very uncertain distance;and even secrecy, as far as it can be observed, may nowbe very advisable."They were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret;and Elinor was then at liberty to think over the representationsof her mother, to acknowledge the probability of many,and hope for the justice of all.They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time,when she entered the room and took her place at the tablewithout saying a word. Her eyes were red and swollen;and it seemed as if her tears were even then restrainedwith difficulty. She avoided the looks of them all,could neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on hermother's silently pressing her hand with tender compassion,her small degree of fortitude was quite overcome, she burstinto tears and left the room.This violent oppression of spirits continued thewhole evening. She was without any power, because shewas without any desire of command over herself.The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughbyoverpowered her in an instant; and though her familywere most anxiously attentive to her comfort, it wasimpossible for them, if they spoke at all, to keep clearof every subject which her feelings connected with him.