Chapter 45

by Jane Austen

　　Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some timeeven after the sound of his carriage had died away, remainedtoo much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing inthemselves, but of which sadness was the general result,to think even of her sister.Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she hadabhorred as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spiteof all his faults, excited a degree of commiserationfor the sufferings produced by them, which made herthink of him as now separated for ever from her family,with a tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as shesoon acknowledged within herself--to his wishes than tohis merits. She felt that his influence over her mindwas heightened by circumstances which ought not in reasonto have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction,that open, affectionate, and lively manner which itwas no merit to possess; and by that still ardent lovefor Marianne, which it was not even innocent to indulge.But she felt that it was so, long, long before she couldfeel his influence less.When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne,she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweeta sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor's heart was full.The past, the present, the future, Willoughby's visit,Marianne's safety, and her mother's expected arrival,threw her altogether into an agitation of spiritswhich kept off every indication of fatigue, and madeher only fearful of betraying herself to her sister.Short was the time, however, in which that fear couldaffect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby'sleaving the house, she was again called down stairsby the sound of another carriage.--Eager to save hermother from every unnecessary moment's horrible suspense,she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outwarddoor just in time to receive and support her as she entered it.Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near thehouse had produced almost the conviction of Marianne'sbeing no more, had no voice to inquire after her,no voice even for Elinor; but she, waiting neither forsalutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief;--and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth,was in a moment as much overcome by her happiness, as shehad been before by her fears. She was supported intothe drawing-room between her daughter and her friend;--and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unableto speak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from herat intervals to press Colonel Brandon's hand, with a lookwhich spoke at once her gratitude, and her convictionof his sharing with herself in the bliss of the moment.He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself,to see Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes shewas with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than everby absence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor's delight,as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only checkedby an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep;--but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent,when the life of a child was at stake, and Marianne,satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and consciousof being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to thesilence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her.Mrs. Dashwood would sit up with her all night; and Elinor,in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed.But the rest, which one night entirely sleepless,and many hours of the most wearing anxiety seemed tomake requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits.Willoughby, "poor Willoughby," as she now allowedherself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; shewould not but have heard his vindication for the world,and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged himso harshly before. But her promise of relating it to hersister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performanceof it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be;doubted whether after such an explanation she could everbe happy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughbya widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself,felt that to his sufferings and his constancy far morethan to his rival's, the reward of her sister was due,and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.The shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had beenmuch softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm;for so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, that shehad already determined to set out for Cleveland on thatvery day, without waiting for any further intelligence,and had so far settled her journey before his arrival,that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetchMargaret away, as her mother was unwilling to take herwhere there might be infection.Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliantcheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits provedher to be, as she repeatedly declared herself, one ofthe happiest women in the world. Elinor could not hearthe declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimeswondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward.But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate accountof her own disappointment which Elinor had sent her,was led away by the exuberance of her joy to think onlyof what would increase it. Marianne was restored to herfrom a danger in which, as she now began to feel,her own mistaken judgment in encouraging the unfortunateattachment to Willoughby, had contributed to place her;--and in her recovery she had yet another source of joyunthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her,as soon as any opportunity of private conferencebetween them occurred."At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yetknow all my happiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne.He has told me so himself."Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained,surprised and not surprised, was all silent attention."You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I shouldwonder at your composure now. Had I sat down to wishfor any possible good to my family, I should have fixedon Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you as the objectmost desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the mosthappy with him of the two."Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so,because satisfied that none founded on an impartialconsideration of their age, characters, or feelings,could be given;--but her mother must always be carriedaway by her imagination on any interesting subject,and therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with asmile."He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled.It came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you maywell believe, could talk of nothing but my child;--he couldnot conceal his distress; I saw that it equalled my own,and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as the worldnow goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy--or rather,not thinking at all, I suppose--giving way to irresistiblefeelings, made me acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant,affection for Marianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, ever sincethe first moment of seeing her."Here, however, Elinor perceived,--not the language,not the professions of Colonel Brandon, but the naturalembellishments of her mother's active fancy, which fashionedevery thing delightful to her as it chose."His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anythingthat Willoughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm,as more sincere or constant--which ever we are to call it--has subsisted through all the knowledge of dear Marianne'sunhappy prepossession for that worthless young man!--andwithout selfishness--without encouraging a hope!--couldhe have seen her happy with another--Such a noble mind!--such openness, such sincerity!--no one can be deceivedin him.""Colonel Brandon's character," said Elinor,"as an excellent man, is well established.""I know it is"--replied her mother seriously, "orafter such a warning, I should be the last to encouragesuch affection, or even to be pleased by it. But his comingfor me as he did, with such active, such ready friendship,is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men.""His character, however," answered Elinor, "does not reston one act of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne,were humanity out of the case, would have prompted him.To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, he has been longand intimately known; they equally love and respect him;and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired,is very considerable; and so highly do I value and esteem him,that if Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as readyas yourself to think our connection the greatest blessingto us in the world. What answer did you give him?--Did youallow him to hope?""Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to himor to myself. Marianne might at that moment be dying.But he did not ask for hope or encouragement. His wasan involuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusionto a soothing friend--not an application to a parent.Yet after a time I did say, for at first I was quiteovercome--that if she lived, as I trusted she might,my greatest happiness would lie in promoting their marriage;and since our arrival, since our delightful security,I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him everyencouragement in my power. Time, a very little time,I tell him, will do everything;--Marianne's heart isnot to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby.--His own merits must soon secure it.""To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however,you have not yet made him equally sanguine.""No.--He thinks Marianne's affection too deeplyrooted for any change in it under a great length of time,and even supposing her heart again free, is too diffidentof himself to believe, that with such a difference of ageand disposition he could ever attach her. There, however,he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyondhers as to be an advantage, as to make his character andprinciples fixed;--and his disposition, I am well convinced,is exactly the very one to make your sister happy.And his person, his manners too, are all in his favour.My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is notso handsome as Willoughby--but at the same time,there is something much more pleasing in his countenance.--There was always a something,--if you remember,--in Willoughby'seyes at times, which I did not like."Elinor could not remember it;--but her mother,without waiting for her assent, continued,"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not onlymore pleasing to me than Willoughby's ever were, but theyare of a kind I well know to be more solidly attachingto Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine attentionto other people, and their manly unstudied simplicityis much more accordant with her real disposition, thanthe liveliness--often artificial, and often ill-timedof the other. I am very sure myself, that had Willoughbyturned out as really amiable, as he has proved himselfthe contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happywith him, as she will be with Colonel Brandon."She paused.--Her daughter could not quite agreewith her, but her dissent was not heard, and thereforegave no offence."At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,"added Mrs. Dashwood, "even if I remain at Barton; and in allprobability,--for I hear it is a large village,--indeed therecertainly must be some small house or cottage close by,that would suit us quite as well as our present situation."Poor Elinor!--here was a new scheme for gettingher to Delaford!--but her spirit was stubborn."His fortune too!--for at my time of life you know,everybody cares about that;--and though I neither knownor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must bea good one."Here they were interrupted by the entrance of athird person, and Elinor withdrew to think it all overin private, to wish success to her friend, and yetin wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.