Chapter 48

by Jane Austen

　　Elinor now found the difference between the expectationof an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be toldto consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, thatin spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope,while Edward remained single, that something would occurto prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution ofhis own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligibleopportunity of establishment for the lady, would ariseto assist the happiness of all. But he was now married;and she condemned her heart for the lurking flattery,which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined)he could be in orders, and consequently before he couldbe in possession of the living, surprised her a littleat first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Lucy,in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him,should overlook every thing but the risk of delay.They were married, married in town, and now hasteningdown to her uncle's. What had Edward felt on being withinfour miles from Barton, on seeing her mother's servant,on hearing Lucy's message!They would soon, she supposed, be settled atDelaford.--Delaford,--that place in which so muchconspired to give her an interest; which she wishedto be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid.She saw them in an instant in their parsonage-house; sawin Lucy, the active, contriving manager, uniting at oncea desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality,and ashamed to be suspected of half her economical practices;--pursuing her own interest in every thought, courting thefavour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of everywealthy friend. In Edward--she knew not what she saw,nor what she wished to see;--happy or unhappy,--nothingpleased her; she turned away her head from every sketch of him.Elinor flattered herself that some one of theirconnections in London would write to them to announcethe event, and give farther particulars,--but day afterday passed off, and brought no letter, no tidings.Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she foundfault with every absent friend. They were all thoughtlessor indolent."When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma'am?"was an inquiry which sprung from the impatienceof her mind to have something going on."I wrote to him, my love, last week, and ratherexpect to see, than to hear from him again. I earnestlypressed his coming to us, and should not be surprisedto see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."This was gaining something, something to look forward to.Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figureof a man on horseback drew her eyes to the window.He stopt at their gate. It was a gentleman, itwas Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more;and she trembled in expectation of it. But--it wasnot Colonel Brandon--neither his air--nor his height.Were it possible, she must say it must be Edward.She looked again. He had just dismounted;--she could not bemistaken,--it was Edward. She moved away and sat down."He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I will becalm; I will be mistress of myself."In a moment she perceived that the others were likewiseaware of the mistake. She saw her mother and Mariannechange colour; saw them look at herself, and whispera few sentences to each other. She would have giventhe world to be able to speak--and to make them understandthat she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appearin their behaviour to him;--but she had no utterance,and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waitedin silence for the appearance of their visitor.His footsteps were heard along the gravel path; in a momenthe was in the passage, and in another he was before them.His countenance, as he entered the room, was nottoo happy, even for Elinor. His complexion was whitewith agitation, and he looked as if fearful of hisreception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted,to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meantin the warmth of her heart to be guided in every thing,met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand,and wished him joy.He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply.Elinor's lips had moved with her mother's, and, when themoment of action was over, she wished that she had shakenhands with him too. But it was then too late, and with acountenance meaning to be open, she sat down againand talked of the weather.Marianne had retreated as much as possibleout of sight, to conceal her distress; and Margaret,understanding some part, but not the whole of the case,thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and thereforetook a seat as far from him as she could, and maintaineda strict silence.When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the drynessof the season, a very awful pause took place. It was putan end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that hehad left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried manner,he replied in the affirmative.Another pause.Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearingthe sound of her own voice, now said,"Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?""At Longstaple!" he replied, with an air of surprise.--"No, my mother is in town.""I meant," said Elinor, taking up some work fromthe table, "to inquire for Mrs. Edward Ferrars."She dared not look up;--but her mother and Marianne bothturned their eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed,looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said,--"Perhaps you mean--my brother--you mean Mrs.--Mrs.Robert Ferrars.""Mrs. Robert Ferrars!"--was repeated by Marianne and hermother in an accent of the utmost amazement;--and thoughElinor could not speak, even her eyes were fixed on himwith the same impatient wonder. He rose from his seat,and walked to the window, apparently from not knowingwhat to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there,and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cuttingthe latter to pieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,"Perhaps you do not know--you may not have heardthat my brother is lately married to--to the youngest--toMiss Lucy Steele."His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishmentby all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning overher work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardlyknow where she was."Yes," said he, "they were married last week,and are now at Dawlish."Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ranout of the room, and as soon as the door was closed,burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought wouldnever cease. Edward, who had till then looked any where,rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw--or even heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwardshe fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries,no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood could penetrate,and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room,and walked out towards the village--leaving the othersin the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a changein his situation, so wonderful and so sudden;--a perplexitywhich they had no means of lessening but by theirown conjectures.