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\title{Persuasion}


\author{Jane Austen}

\maketitle
\vspace*{\stretch{1}}

\noindent This text is in the public domain in the U.S. The text was
entered and proofread by 

\noindent \begin{center}Sharon Partridge, sharonp@csn.org,\\
Jefferson County Public Library, \\
10200 W. 20th Ave., \\
Lakewood, CO 80215\\
303/232/9507 \end{center}

\noindent Final editing was done by Martin Ward (Martin.Ward@uk.ac.durham).
\bigskip{}

\noindent The Project Gutenberg edition ({}``persu11'') was converted
to \LaTeX{} using \textbf{GutenMark} software and re-edited by Ron
Burkey. Various problems with the Project Gutenberg edition\mbox{---}principally
textual errors and omission of italics\mbox{---}were repaired by
cross-referencing an alternate on-line version at etext.lib.virginia.edu.
Report problems to info@sandroid.org. Revision B1 differs from B in
that {}``----'' has everywhere been replaced by {}``---''.

\noindent \begin{center}Revision: B1\\
Date: 01/27/2008\end{center}

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\frontmatter

\pagestyle{myheadings} \tableofcontents{}\newpage

\mainmatter


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 1}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 1}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 1}

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,
for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage;
there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed
one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect,
by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there
any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally
into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations
of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless,
he could read his own history with an interest which never failed.
This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

\begin{quote}
\begin{center}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{Elliot}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{of}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Kellynch}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Hall}}}\emph{\noun{.}}\end{center}

{}``Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,
daughter of James Stevenson, Esq.\ of South Park, in the county of
Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth,
born June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November
5, 1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791.'' 
\end{quote}
{}

Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from the printer's
hands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information
of himself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth\mbox{---}{}``Married,
December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles Musgrove, Esq.\ of
Uppercross, in the county of Somerset,'' and by inserting most accurately
the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.

Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectable
family, in the usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;
how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff, representing
a borough in three successive parliaments, exertions of loyalty, and
dignity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II, with all the
Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether two handsome
duodecimo pages, and concluding with the arms and motto:\mbox{---}{}``Principal
seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county of Somerset,'' and Sir Walter's
handwriting again in this finale:\mbox{---}

\begin{quote}
{}``Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson
of the second Sir Walter.'' 
\end{quote}
{}

Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character;
vanity of person and of situation. He had been remarkably handsome
in his youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man. Few women
could think more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could
the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he
held in society. He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior
only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who
united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect
and devotion.

His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment;
since to them he must have owed a wife of very superior character
to any thing deserved by his own. Lady Elliot had been an excellent
woman, sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they
might be pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot,
had never required indulgence afterwards.\mbox{---}She had humoured,
or softened, or concealed his failings, and promoted his real respectability
for seventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the
world herself, had found enough in her duties, her friends, and her
children, to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference
to her when she was called on to quit them.\mbox{---}Three girls,
the two eldest sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy for a mother
to bequeath, an awful charge rather, to confide to the authority and
guidance of a conceited, silly father. She had, however, one very
intimate friend, a sensible, deserving woman, who had been brought,
by strong attachment to herself, to settle close by her, in the village
of Kellynch; and on her kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainly relied
for the best help and maintenance of the good principles and instruction
which she had been anxiously giving her daughters.

This friend, and Sir Walter, did \emph{not} marry, whatever might
have been anticipated on that head by their acquaintance. Thirteen
years had passed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they were still
near neighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower,
the other a widow.

That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely well
provided for, should have no thought of a second marriage, needs no
apology to the public, which is rather apt to be unreasonably discontented
when a woman does marry again, than when she does not; but Sir Walter's
continuing in singleness requires explanation. Be it known then, that
Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with one or two private
disappointments in very unreasonable applications), prided himself
on remaining single for his dear daughters' sake. For one daughter,
his eldest, he would really have given up any thing, which he had
not been very much tempted to do. Elizabeth had succeeded, at sixteen,
to all that was possible, of her mother's rights and consequence;
and being very handsome, and very like himself, her influence had
always been great, and they had gone on together most happily. His
two other children were of very inferior value. Mary had acquired
a little artificial importance, by becoming Mrs.\ Charles Musgrove;
but Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness of character, which
must have placed her high with any people of real understanding, was
nobody with either father or sister; her word had no weight, her convenience
was always to give way\mbox{---}she was only Anne.

To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valued god-daughter,
favourite, and friend. Lady Russell loved them all; but it was only
in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.

A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl, but her
bloom had vanished early; and as even in its height, her father had
found little to admire in her, (so totally different were her delicate
features and mild dark eyes from his own), there could be nothing
in them, now that she was faded and thin, to excite his esteem. He
had never indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever reading her
name in any other page of his favourite work. All equality of alliance
must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herself with
an old country family of respectability and large fortune, and had
therefore \emph{given} all the honour and received none: Elizabeth
would, one day or other, marry suitably.

It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than
she was ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has been
neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely
any charm is lost. It was so with Elizabeth, still the same handsome
Miss Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and Sir Walter
might be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age, or, at least,
be deemed only half a fool, for thinking himself and Elizabeth as
blooming as ever, amidst the wreck of the good looks of everybody
else; for he could plainly see how old all the rest of his family
and acquaintance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face
in the neighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow's
foot about Lady Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.

Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment.
Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and
directing with a self-possession and decision which could never have
given the idea of her being younger than she was. For thirteen years
had she been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic law at
home, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walking immediately
after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms in
the country. Thirteen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening
every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded, and thirteen
springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelled up to London with her
father, for a few weeks' annual enjoyment of the great world. She
had the remembrance of all this, she had the consciousness of being
nine-and-twenty to give her some regrets and some apprehensions; she
was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever, but
she felt her approach to the years of danger, and would have rejoiced
to be certain of being properly solicited by baronet-blood within
the next twelvemonth or two. Then might she again take up the book
of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth, but now she
liked it not. Always to be presented with the date of her own birth
and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest sister, made the
book an evil; and more than once, when her father had left it open
on the table near her, had she closed it, with averted eyes, and pushed
it away.

She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book, and especially
the history of her own family, must ever present the remembrance of.
The heir presumptive, the very William Walter Elliot, Esq., whose
rights had been so generously supported by her father, had disappointed
her.

She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to
be, in the event of her having no brother, the future baronet, meant
to marry him, and her father had always meant that she should. He
had not been known to them as a boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's
death, Sir Walter had sought the acquaintance, and though his overtures
had not been met with any warmth, he had persevered in seeking it,
making allowance for the modest drawing-back of youth; and, in one
of their spring excursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first
bloom, Mr.\ Elliot had been forced into the introduction.

He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in the study of
the law; and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan
in his favour was confirmed. He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was
talked of and expected all the rest of the year; but he never came.
The following spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable,
again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come;
and the next tidings were that he was married. Instead of pushing
his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot,
he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman of
inferior birth.

Sir Walter had resented it. As the head of the house, he felt that
he ought to have been consulted, especially after taking the young
man so publicly by the hand; {}``For they must have been seen together,''
he observed, {}``once at Tattersall's, and twice in the lobby of
the House of Commons.'' His disapprobation was expressed, but apparently
very little regarded. Mr.\ Elliot had attempted no apology, and shewn
himself as unsolicitous of being longer noticed by the family, as
Sir Walter considered him unworthy of it: all acquaintance between
them had ceased.

This very awkward history of Mr.\ Elliot was still, after an interval
of several years, felt with anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the
man for himself, and still more for being her father's heir, and whose
strong family pride could see only in \emph{him} a proper match for
Sir Walter Elliot's eldest daughter. There was not a baronet from
A to Z whom her feelings could have so willingly acknowledged as an
equal. Yet so miserably had he conducted himself, that though she
was at this present time (the summer of 1814) wearing black ribbons
for his wife, she could not admit him to be worth thinking of again.
The disgrace of his first marriage might, perhaps, as there was no
reason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring, have been got over,
had he not done worse; but he had, as by the accustomary intervention
of kind friends, they had been informed, spoken most disrespectfully
of them all, most slightingly and contemptuously of the very blood
he belonged to, and the honours which were hereafter to be his own.
This could not be pardoned.

Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations; such the cares
to alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness and the elegance, the
prosperity and the nothingness of her scene of life; such the feelings
to give interest to a long, uneventful residence in one country circle,
to fill the vacancies which there were no habits of utility abroad,
no talents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.

But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to
be added to these. Her father was growing distressed for money. She
knew, that when he now took up the Baronetage, it was to drive the
heavy bills of his tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of Mr.\ Shepherd,
his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch property was good, but
not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the state required in its
possessor. While Lady Elliot lived, there had been method, moderation,
and economy, which had just kept him within his income; but with her
had died all such right-mindedness, and from that period he had been
constantly exceeding it. It had not been possible for him to spend
less; he had done nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot was imperiously
called on to do; but blameless as he was, he was not only growing
dreadfully in debt, but was hearing of it so often, that it became
vain to attempt concealing it longer, even partially, from his daughter.
He had given her some hints of it the last spring in town; he had
gone so far even as to say, {}``Can we retrench? Does it occur to
you that there is any one article in which we can retrench?''\ and
Elizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm,
set seriously to think what could be done, and had finally proposed
these two branches of economy, to cut off some unnecessary charities,
and to refrain from new furnishing the drawing-room; to which expedients
she afterwards added the happy thought of their taking no present
down to Anne, as had been the usual yearly custom. But these measures,
however good in themselves, were insufficient for the real extent
of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter found himself obliged to
confess to her soon afterwards. Elizabeth had nothing to propose of
deeper efficacy. She felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did
her father; and they were neither of them able to devise any means
of lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity, or
relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.

There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could dispose
of; but had every acre been alienable, it would have made no difference.
He had condescended to mortgage as far as he had the power, but he
would never condescend to sell. No; he would never disgrace his name
so far. The Kellynch estate should be transmitted whole and entire,
as he had received it.

Their two confidential friends, Mr.\ Shepherd, who lived in the neighbouring
market town, and Lady Russell, were called to advise them; and both
father and daughter seemed to expect that something should be struck
out by one or the other to remove their embarrassments and reduce
their expenditure, without involving the loss of any indulgence of
taste or pride.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 2}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 2}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 2}

Mr.\ Shepherd, a civil, cautious lawyer, who, whatever might be his
hold or his views on Sir Walter, would rather have the \emph{disagreeable}
prompted by anybody else, excused himself from offering the slightest
hint, and only begged leave to recommend an implicit reference to
the excellent judgement of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense
he fully expected to have just such resolute measures advised as he
meant to see finally adopted.

Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject, and gave it
much serious consideration. She was a woman rather of sound than of
quick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to any decision in this
instance were great, from the opposition of two leading principles.
She was of strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;
but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as solicitous
for the credit of the family, as aristocratic in her ideas of what
was due to them, as anybody of sense and honesty could well be. She
was a benevolent, charitable, good woman, and capable of strong attachments,
most correct in her conduct, strict in her notions of decorum, and
with manners that were held a standard of good-breeding. She had a
cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking, rational and consistent;
but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had a value for
rank and consequence, which blinded her a little to the faults of
those who possessed them. Herself the widow of only a knight, she
gave the dignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir Walter, independent
of his claims as an old acquaintance, an attentive neighbour, an obliging
landlord, the husband of her very dear friend, the father of Anne
and her sisters, was, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension, entitled
to a great deal of compassion and consideration under his present
difficulties.

They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt. But she was very
anxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him and Elizabeth.
She drew up plans of economy, she made exact calculations, and she
did what nobody else thought of doing: she consulted Anne, who never
seemed considered by the others as having any interest in the question.
She consulted, and in a degree was influenced by her in marking out
the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted to Sir Walter.
Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of honesty against
importance. She wanted more vigorous measures, a more complete reformation,
a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone of indifference for
everything but justice and equity.

{}``If we can persuade your father to all this,'' said Lady Russell,
looking over her paper, {}``much may be done. If he will adopt these
regulations, in seven years he will be clear; and I hope we may be
able to convince him and Elizabeth, that Kellynch Hall has a respectability
in itself which cannot be affected by these reductions; and that the
true dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far from lessened in
the eyes of sensible people, by acting like a man of principle. What
will he be doing, in fact, but what very many of our first families
have done, or ought to do? There will be nothing singular in his case;
and it is singularity which often makes the worst part of our suffering,
as it always does of our conduct. I have great hope of prevailing.
We must be serious and decided; for after all, the person who has
contracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to
the feelings of the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your
father, there is still more due to the character of an honest man.''

This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to be proceeding,
his friends to be urging him. She considered it as an act of indispensable
duty to clear away the claims of creditors with all the expedition
which the most comprehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw no
dignity in anything short of it. She wanted it to be prescribed, and
felt as a duty. She rated Lady Russell's influence highly; and as
to the severe degree of self-denial which her own conscience prompted,
she believed there might be little more difficulty in persuading them
to a complete, than to half a reformation. Her knowledge of her father
and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the sacrifice of one pair
of horses would be hardly less painful than of both, and so on, through
the whole list of Lady Russell's too gentle reductions.

How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been taken is of little
consequence. Lady Russell's had no success at all: could not be put
up with, were not to be borne. {}``What!\ every comfort of life
knocked off! Journeys, London, servants, horses, table\mbox{---}contractions
and restrictions every where! To live no longer with the decencies
even of a private gentleman! No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hall
at once, than remain in it on such disgraceful terms.''

{}``Quit Kellynch Hall.'' The hint was immediately taken up by Mr.\ Shepherd,
whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter's retrenching,
and who was perfectly persuaded that nothing would be done without
a change of abode. {}``Since the idea had been started in the very
quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple,'' he said, {}``in
confessing his judgement to be entirely on that side. It did not appear
to him that Sir Walter could materially alter his style of living
in a house which had such a character of hospitality and ancient dignity
to support. In any other place Sir Walter might judge for himself;
and would be looked up to, as regulating the modes of life in whatever
way he might choose to model his household.''

Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more
of doubt and indecision, the great question of whither he should go
was settled, and the first outline of this important change made out.

There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or another house
in the country. All Anne's wishes had been for the latter. A small
house in their own neighbourhood, where they might still have Lady
Russell's society, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure
of sometimes seeing the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was the object
of her ambition. But the usual fate of Anne attended her, in having
something very opposite from her inclination fixed on. She disliked
Bath, and did not think it agreed with her; and Bath was to be her
home.

Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but Mr.\ Shepherd
felt that he could not be trusted in London, and had been skilful
enough to dissuade him from it, and make Bath preferred. It was a
much safer place for a gentleman in his predicament: he might there
be important at comparatively little expense. Two material advantages
of Bath over London had of course been given all their weight: its
more convenient distance from Kellynch, only fifty miles, and Lady
Russell's spending some part of every winter there; and to the very
great satisfaction of Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected
change had been for Bath, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were induced to
believe that they should lose neither consequence nor enjoyment by
settling there.

Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne's known wishes.
It would be too much to expect Sir Walter to descend into a small
house in his own neighbourhood. Anne herself would have found the
mortifications of it more than she foresaw, and to Sir Walter's feelings
they must have been dreadful. And with regard to Anne's dislike of
Bath, she considered it as a prejudice and mistake arising, first,
from the circumstance of her having been three years at school there,
after her mother's death; and secondly, from her happening to be not
in perfectly good spirits the only winter which she had afterwards
spent there with herself.

Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and disposed to think it
must suit them all; and as to her young friend's health, by passing
all the warm months with her at Kellynch Lodge, every danger would
be avoided; and it was in fact, a change which must do both health
and spirits good. Anne had been too little from home, too little seen.
Her spirits were not high. A larger society would improve them. She
wanted her to be more known.

The undesirableness of any other house in the same neighbourhood for
Sir Walter was certainly much strengthened by one part, and a very
material part of the scheme, which had been happily engrafted on the
beginning. He was not only to quit his home, but to see it in the
hands of others; a trial of fortitude, which stronger heads than Sir
Walter's have found too much. Kellynch Hall was to be let. This, however,
was a profound secret, not to be breathed beyond their own circle.

Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being known to
design letting his house. Mr.\ Shepherd had once mentioned the word
{}``advertise,'' but never dared approach it again. Sir Walter spurned
the idea of its being offered in any manner; forbad the slightest
hint being dropped of his having such an intention; and it was only
on the supposition of his being spontaneously solicited by some most
unexceptionable applicant, on his own terms, and as a great favour,
that he would let it at all.

How quick come the reasons for approving what we like! Lady Russell
had another excellent one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir
Walter and his family were to remove from the country. Elizabeth had
been lately forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted.
It was with the daughter of Mr.\ Shepherd, who had returned, after
an unprosperous marriage, to her father's house, with the additional
burden of two children. She was a clever young woman, who understood
the art of pleasing\mbox{---}the art of pleasing, at least, at Kellynch
Hall; and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as to
have been already staying there more than once, in spite of all that
Lady Russell, who thought it a friendship quite out of place, could
hint of caution and reserve.

Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with Elizabeth, and
seemed to love her, rather because she would love her, than because
Elizabeth deserved it. She had never received from her more than outward
attention, nothing beyond the observances of complaisance; had never
succeeded in any point which she wanted to carry, against previous
inclination. She had been repeatedly very earnest in trying to get
Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open to all the injustice
and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements which shut her out,
and on many lesser occasions had endeavoured to give Elizabeth the
advantage of her own better judgement and experience; but always in
vain: Elizabeth would go her own way; and never had she pursued it
in more decided opposition to Lady Russell than in this selection
of Mrs.\ Clay; turning from the society of so deserving a sister,
to bestow her affection and confidence on one who ought to have been
nothing to her but the object of distant civility.

From situation, Mrs.\ Clay was, in Lady Russell's estimate, a very
unequal, and in her character she believed a very dangerous companion;
and a removal that would leave Mrs.\ Clay behind, and bring a choice
of more suitable intimates within Miss Elliot's reach, was therefore
an object of first-rate importance.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 3}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 3}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 3}

{}``I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter,'' said Mr.\ Shepherd
one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down the newspaper, {}``that
the present juncture is much in our favour. This peace will be turning
all our rich naval officers ashore. They will be all wanting a home.
Could not be a better time, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants,
very responsible tenants. Many a noble fortune has been made during
the war. If a rich admiral were to come in our way, Sir Walter\mbox{---}''

{}``He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd,'' replied Sir Walter;
{}``that's all I have to remark. A prize indeed would Kellynch Hall
be to him; rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken ever
so many before; hey, Shepherd?''\ 

Mr.\ Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit, and then
added\mbox{---}

{}``I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of business,
gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I have had a little knowledge
of their methods of doing business; and I am free to confess that
they have very liberal notions, and are as likely to make desirable
tenants as any set of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir
Walter, what I would take leave to suggest is, that if in consequence
of any rumours getting abroad of your intention; which must be contemplated
as a possible thing, because we know how difficult it is to keep the
actions and designs of one part of the world from the notice and curiosity
of the other; consequence has its tax; I, John Shepherd, might conceal
any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would think it worth their
while to observe me; but Sir Walter Elliot has eyes upon him which
it may be very difficult to elude; and therefore, thus much I venture
upon, that it will not greatly surprise me if, with all our caution,
some rumour of the truth should get abroad; in the supposition of
which, as I was going to observe, since applications will unquestionably
follow, I should think any from our wealthy naval commanders particularly
worth attending to; and beg leave to add, that two hours will bring
me over at any time, to save you the trouble of replying.''

Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising and pacing the
room, he observed sarcastically\mbox{---}

{}``There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who
would not be surprised to find themselves in a house of this description.''

{}``They would look around them, no doubt, and bless their good fortune,''
said Mrs.\ Clay, for Mrs.\ Clay was present: her father had driven
her over, nothing being of so much use to Mrs.\ Clay's health as
a drive to Kellynch: {}``but I quite agree with my father in thinking
a sailor might be a very desirable tenant. I have known a good deal
of the profession; and besides their liberality, they are so neat
and careful in all their ways! These valuable pictures of yours, Sir
Walter, if you chose to leave them, would be perfectly safe. Everything
in and about the house would be taken such excellent care of! The
gardens and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order as they
are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of your own sweet flower
gardens being neglected.''

{}``As to all that,'' rejoined Sir Walter coolly, {}``supposing
I were induced to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind
as to the privileges to be annexed to it. I am not particularly disposed
to favour a tenant. The park would be open to him of course, and few
navy officers, or men of any other description, can have had such
a range; but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the pleasure-grounds,
is another thing. I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being
always approachable; and I should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her
guard with respect to her flower garden. I am very little disposed
to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour, I assure
you, be he sailor or soldier.''

After a short pause, Mr.\ Shepherd presumed to say\mbox{---}

{}``In all these cases, there are established usages which make everything
plain and easy between landlord and tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter,
is in pretty safe hands. Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant
has more than his just rights. I venture to hint, that Sir Walter
Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shepherd will
be for him.''

Here Anne spoke\mbox{---}

{}``The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least
an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and
all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard enough
for their comforts, we must all allow.''

{}``Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is very true,'' was
Mr.\ Shepherd's rejoinder, and {}``Oh!\ certainly,'' was his daughter's;
but Sir Walter's remark was, soon afterwards\mbox{---}

{}``The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see
any friend of mine belonging to it.''

{}``Indeed!''\ was the reply, and with a look of surprise.

{}``Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds
of objection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons
of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours
which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly,
as it cuts up a man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows
old sooner than any other man. I have observed it all my life. A man
is in greater danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise of
one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to, and
of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in any
other line. One day last spring, in town, I was in company with two
men, striking instances of what I am talking of; Lord St\ Ives, whose
father we all know to have been a country curate, without bread to
eat; I was to give place to Lord St\ Ives, and a certain Admiral
Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking personage you can imagine; his
face the colour of mahogany, rough and rugged to the last degree;
all lines and wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side, and nothing but
a dab of powder at top.\  `In the name of heaven, who is that old
fellow?'\ said I to a friend of mine who was standing near, (Sir
Basil Morley).\  `Old fellow!'\ cried Sir Basil, `it is Admiral
Baldwin. What do you take his age to be?' `Sixty,' said I, `or perhaps
sixty-two.' `Forty,' replied Sir Basil, `forty, and no more.' Picture
to yourselves my amazement; I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwin.
I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea-faring life
can do; but to a degree, I know it is the same with them all: they
are all knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and every weather,
till they are not fit to be seen. It is a pity they are not knocked
on the head at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's age.''

{}``Nay, Sir Walter,'' cried Mrs.\ Clay, {}``this is being severe
indeed. Have a little mercy on the poor men. We are not all born to
be handsome. The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do grow
old betimes; I have observed it; they soon lose the look of youth.
But then, is not it the same with many other professions, perhaps
most other? Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off:
and even in the quieter professions, there is a toil and a labour
of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves a man's looks
to the natural effect of time. The lawyer plods, quite care-worn;
the physician is up at all hours, and travelling in all weather; and
even the clergyman\mbox{---}'' she stopt a moment to consider what
might do for the clergyman;\mbox{---}{}``and even the clergyman,
you know is obliged to go into infected rooms, and expose his health
and looks to all the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as
I have long been convinced, though every profession is necessary and
honourable in its turn, it is only the lot of those who are not obliged
to follow any, who can live in a regular way, in the country, choosing
their own hours, following their own pursuits, and living on their
own property, without the torment of trying for more; it is only \emph{their}
lot, I say, to hold the blessings of health and a good appearance
to the utmost: I know no other set of men but what lose something
of their personableness when they cease to be quite young.''

It seemed as if Mr.\ Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak Sir Walter's
good will towards a naval officer as tenant, had been gifted with
foresight; for the very first application for the house was from an
Admiral Croft, with whom he shortly afterwards fell into company in
attending the quarter sessions at Taunton; and indeed, he had received
a hint of the Admiral from a London correspondent. By the report which
he hastened over to Kellynch to make, Admiral Croft was a native of
Somersetshire, who having acquired a very handsome fortune, was wishing
to settle in his own country, and had come down to Taunton in order
to look at some advertised places in that immediate neighbourhood,
which, however, had not suited him; that accidentally hearing\mbox{---}(it
was just as he had foretold, Mr.\ Shepherd observed, Sir Walter's
concerns could not be kept a secret,)\mbox{---}accidentally hearing
of the possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding
his (Mr.\ Shepherd's) connection with the owner, he had introduced
himself to him in order to make particular inquiries, and had, in
the course of a pretty long conference, expressed as strong an inclination
for the place as a man who knew it only by description could feel;
and given Mr.\ Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself, every
proof of his being a most responsible, eligible tenant.

{}``And who is Admiral Croft?''\ was Sir Walter's cold suspicious
inquiry.

Mr.\ Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman's family, and
mentioned a place; and Anne, after the little pause which followed,
added\mbox{---}

{}``He is a rear admiral of the white. He was in the Trafalgar action,
and has been in the East Indies since; he was stationed there, I believe,
several years.''

{}``Then I take it for granted,'' observed Sir Walter, {}``that
his face is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of my livery.''

Mr.\ Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral Croft was a very
hale, hearty, well-looking man, a little weather-beaten, to be sure,
but not much, and quite the gentleman in all his notions and behaviour;
not likely to make the smallest difficulty about terms, only wanted
a comfortable home, and to get into it as soon as possible; knew he
must pay for his convenience; knew what rent a ready-furnished house
of that consequence might fetch; should not have been surprised if
Sir Walter had asked more; had inquired about the manor; would be
glad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point of it;
said he sometimes took out a gun, but never killed; quite the gentleman.

Mr.\ Shepherd was eloquent on the subject; pointing out all the circumstances
of the Admiral's family, which made him peculiarly desirable as a
tenant. He was a married man, and without children; the very state
to be wished for. A house was never taken good care of, Mr.\ Shepherd
observed, without a lady: he did not know, whether furniture might
not be in danger of suffering as much where there was no lady, as
where there were many children. A lady, without a family, was the
very best preserver of furniture in the world. He had seen Mrs.\ Croft,
too; she was at Taunton with the admiral, and had been present almost
all the time they were talking the matter over.

{}``And a very well-spoken, genteel, shrewd lady, she seemed to be,''
continued he; {}``asked more questions about the house, and terms,
and taxes, than the Admiral himself, and seemed more conversant with
business; and moreover, Sir Walter, I found she was not quite unconnected
in this country, any more than her husband; that is to say, she is
sister to a gentleman who did live amongst us once; she told me so
herself: sister to the gentleman who lived a few years back at Monkford.
Bless me!\ what was his name? At this moment I cannot recollect his
name, though I have heard it so lately. Penelope, my dear, can you
help me to the name of the gentleman who lived at Monkford: Mrs.\ Croft's
brother?''\ 

But Mrs.\ Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot, that she
did not hear the appeal.

{}``I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd; I remember
no gentleman resident at Monkford since the time of old Governor Trent.''

{}``Bless me!\ how very odd! I shall forget my own name soon, I
suppose. A name that I am so very well acquainted with; knew the gentleman
so well by sight; seen him a hundred times; came to consult me once,
I remember, about a trespass of one of his neighbours; farmer's man
breaking into his orchard; wall torn down; apples stolen; caught in
the fact; and afterwards, contrary to my judgement, submitted to an
amicable compromise. Very odd indeed!''\ 

After waiting another moment\mbox{---}

{}``You mean Mr.\ Wentworth, I suppose?''\ said Anne.

Mr.\ Shepherd was all gratitude.

{}``Wentworth was the very name! Mr.\ Wentworth was the very man.
He had the curacy of Monkford, you know, Sir Walter, some time back,
for two or three years. Came there about the year \mbox{------}5,
I take it. You remember him, I am sure.''

{}``Wentworth? Oh!\ ay,\mbox{---}Mr.\ Wentworth, the curate of
Monkford. You misled me by the term \emph{gentleman}. I thought you
were speaking of some man of property: Mr.\ Wentworth was nobody,
I remember; quite unconnected; nothing to do with the Strafford family.
One wonders how the names of many of our nobility become so common.''

As Mr.\ Shepherd perceived that this connexion of the Crofts did
them no service with Sir Walter, he mentioned it no more; returning,
with all his zeal, to dwell on the circumstances more indisputably
in their favour; their age, and number, and fortune; the high idea
they had formed of Kellynch Hall, and extreme solicitude for the advantage
of renting it; making it appear as if they ranked nothing beyond the
happiness of being the tenants of Sir Walter Elliot: an extraordinary
taste, certainly, could they have been supposed in the secret of Sir
Walter's estimate of the dues of a tenant.

It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter must ever look with an
evil eye on anyone intending to inhabit that house, and think them
infinitely too well off in being permitted to rent it on the highest
terms, he was talked into allowing Mr.\ Shepherd to proceed in the
treaty, and authorising him to wait on Admiral Croft, who still remained
at Taunton, and fix a day for the house being seen.

Sir Walter was not very wise; but still he had experience enough of
the world to feel, that a more unobjectionable tenant, in all essentials,
than Admiral Croft bid fair to be, could hardly offer. So far went
his understanding; and his vanity supplied a little additional soothing,
in the Admiral's situation in life, which was just high enough, and
not too high. {}``I have let my house to Admiral Croft,'' would
sound extremely well; very much better than to any mere \emph{Mr}.\mbox{---};
a \emph{Mr.}\ (save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,) always
needs a note of explanation. An admiral speaks his own consequence,
and, at the same time, can never make a baronet look small. In all
their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot must ever have the
precedence.

Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth: but her inclination
was growing so strong for a removal, that she was happy to have it
fixed and expedited by a tenant at hand; and not a word to suspend
decision was uttered by her.

Mr.\ Shepherd was completely empowered to act; and no sooner had
such an end been reached, than Anne, who had been a most attentive
listener to the whole, left the room, to seek the comfort of cool
air for her flushed cheeks; and as she walked along a favourite grove,
said, with a gentle sigh, {}``A few months more, and \emph{he}, perhaps,
may be walking here.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 4}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 4}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 4}

\emph{He} was not Mr.\ Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford,
however suspicious appearances may be, but a Captain Frederick Wentworth,
his brother, who being made commander in consequence of the action
off St.\ Domingo, and not immediately employed, had come into Somersetshire,
in the summer of 1806; and having no parent living, found a home for
half a year at Monkford. He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young
man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy; and
Anne an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste, and
feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might have been
enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love;
but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail. They
were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply
in love. It would be difficult to say which had seen highest perfection
in the other, or which had been the happiest: she, in receiving his
declarations and proposals, or he in having them accepted.

A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a short one.
Troubles soon arose. Sir Walter, on being applied to, without actually
withholding his consent, or saying it should never be, gave it all
the negative of great astonishment, great coldness, great silence,
and a professed resolution of doing nothing for his daughter. He thought
it a very degrading alliance; and Lady Russell, though with more tempered
and pardonable pride, received it as a most unfortunate one.

Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and mind, to throw
herself away at nineteen; involve herself at nineteen in an engagement
with a young man, who had nothing but himself to recommend him, and
no hopes of attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain
profession, and no connexions to secure even his farther rise in the
profession, would be, indeed, a throwing away, which she grieved to
think of! Anne Elliot, so young; known to so few, to be snatched off
by a stranger without alliance or fortune; or rather sunk by him into
a state of most wearing, anxious, youth-killing dependence! It must
not be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any representations
from one who had almost a mother's love, and mother's rights, it would
be prevented.

Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had been lucky in his profession;
but spending freely, what had come freely, had realized nothing. But
he was confident that he should soon be rich: full of life and ardour,
he knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a station
that would lead to everything he wanted. He had always been lucky;
he knew he should be so still. Such confidence, powerful in its own
warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it, must have
been enough for Anne; but Lady Russell saw it very differently. His
sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very differently
on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the evil. It only added
a dangerous character to himself. He was brilliant, he was headstrong.
Lady Russell had little taste for wit, and of anything approaching
to imprudence a horror. She deprecated the connexion in every light.

Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more than Anne could
combat. Young and gentle as she was, it might yet have been possible
to withstand her father's ill-will, though unsoftened by one kind
word or look on the part of her sister; but Lady Russell, whom she
had always loved and relied on, could not, with such steadiness of
opinion, and such tenderness of manner, be continually advising her
in vain. She was persuaded to believe the engagement a wrong thing:
indiscreet, improper, hardly capable of success, and not deserving
it. But it was not a merely selfish caution, under which she acted,
in putting an end to it. Had she not imagined herself consulting his
good, even more than her own, she could hardly have given him up.
The belief of being prudent, and self-denying, principally for \emph{his}
advantage, was her chief consolation, under the misery of a parting,
a final parting; and every consolation was required, for she had to
encounter all the additional pain of opinions, on his side, totally
unconvinced and unbending, and of his feeling himself ill used by
so forced a relinquishment. He had left the country in consequence.

A few months had seen the beginning and the end of their acquaintance;
but not with a few months ended Anne's share of suffering from it.
Her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment
of youth, and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been their lasting
effect.

More than seven years were gone since this little history of sorrowful
interest had reached its close; and time had softened down much, perhaps
nearly all of peculiar attachment to him, but she had been too dependent
on time alone; no aid had been given in change of place (except in
one visit to Bath soon after the rupture), or in any novelty or enlargement
of society. No one had ever come within the Kellynch circle, who could
bear a comparison with Frederick Wentworth, as he stood in her memory.
No second attachment, the only thoroughly natural, happy, and sufficient
cure, at her time of life, had been possible to the nice tone of her
mind, the fastidiousness of her taste, in the small limits of the
society around them. She had been solicited, when about two-and-twenty,
to change her name, by the young man, who not long afterwards found
a more willing mind in her younger sister; and Lady Russell had lamented
her refusal; for Charles Musgrove was the eldest son of a man, whose
landed property and general importance were second in that country,
only to Sir Walter's, and of good character and appearance; and however
Lady Russell might have asked yet for something more, while Anne was
nineteen, she would have rejoiced to see her at twenty-two so respectably
removed from the partialities and injustice of her father's house,
and settled so permanently near herself. But in this case, Anne had
left nothing for advice to do; and though Lady Russell, as satisfied
as ever with her own discretion, never wished the past undone, she
began now to have the anxiety which borders on hopelessness for Anne's
being tempted, by some man of talents and independence, to enter a
state for which she held her to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections
and domestic habits.

They knew not each other's opinion, either its constancy or its change,
on the one leading point of Anne's conduct, for the subject was never
alluded to; but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought very differently
from what she had been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame
Lady Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided by
her; but she felt that were any young person, in similar circumstances,
to apply to her for counsel, they would never receive any of such
certain immediate wretchedness, such uncertain future good. She was
persuaded that under every disadvantage of disapprobation at home,
and every anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears,
delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a happier woman
in maintaining the engagement, than she had been in the sacrifice
of it; and this, she fully believed, had the usual share, had even
more than the usual share of all such solicitudes and suspense been
theirs, without reference to the actual results of their case, which,
as it happened, would have bestowed earlier prosperity than could
be reasonably calculated on. All his sanguine expectations, all his
confidence had been justified. His genius and ardour had seemed to
foresee and to command his prosperous path. He had, very soon after
their engagement ceased, got employ: and all that he had told her
would follow, had taken place. He had distinguished himself, and early
gained the other step in rank, and must now, by successive captures,
have made a handsome fortune. She had only navy lists and newspapers
for her authority, but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in
favour of his constancy, she had no reason to believe him married.

How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been! how eloquent, at least,
were her wishes on the side of early warm attachment, and a cheerful
confidence in futurity, against that over-anxious caution which seems
to insult exertion and distrust Providence! She had been forced into
prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the
natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.

With all these circumstances, recollections and feelings, she could
not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was likely to live at Kellynch
without a revival of former pain; and many a stroll, and many a sigh,
were necessary to dispel the agitation of the idea. She often told
herself it was folly, before she could harden her nerves sufficiently
to feel the continual discussion of the Crofts and their business
no evil. She was assisted, however, by that perfect indifference and
apparent unconsciousness, among the only three of her own friends
in the secret of the past, which seemed almost to deny any recollection
of it. She could do justice to the superiority of Lady Russell's motives
in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth; she could honour
all the better feelings of her calmness; but the general air of oblivion
among them was highly important from whatever it sprung; and in the
event of Admiral Croft's really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced
anew over the conviction which had always been most grateful to her,
of the past being known to those three only among her connexions,
by whom no syllable, she believed, would ever be whispered, and in
the trust that among his, the brother only with whom he had been residing,
had received any information of their short-lived engagement. That
brother had been long removed from the country and being a sensible
man, and, moreover, a single man at the time, she had a fond dependence
on no human creature's having heard of it from him.

The sister, Mrs.\ Croft, had then been out of England, accompanying
her husband on a foreign station, and her own sister, Mary, had been
at school while it all occurred; and never admitted by the pride of
some, and the delicacy of others, to the smallest knowledge of it
afterwards.

With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance between herself
and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell, still resident in Kellynch,
and Mary fixed only three miles off, must be anticipated, need not
involve any particular awkwardness.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 5}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 5}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 5}

On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs.\ Croft's seeing Kellynch
Hall, Anne found it most natural to take her almost daily walk to
Lady Russell's, and keep out of the way till all was over; when she
found it most natural to be sorry that she had missed the opportunity
of seeing them.

This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory, and decided
the whole business at once. Each lady was previously well disposed
for an agreement, and saw nothing, therefore, but good manners in
the other; and with regard to the gentlemen, there was such an hearty
good humour, such an open, trusting liberality on the Admiral's side,
as could not but influence Sir Walter, who had besides been flattered
into his very best and most polished behaviour by Mr.\ Shepherd's
assurances of his being known, by report, to the Admiral, as a model
of good breeding.

The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved, the Crofts were
approved, terms, time, every thing, and every body, was right; and
Mr.\ Shepherd's clerks were set to work, without there having been
a single preliminary difference to modify of all that {}``This indenture
sheweth.''

Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to be the best-looking
sailor he had ever met with, and went so far as to say, that if his
own man might have had the arranging of his hair, he should not be
ashamed of being seen with him any where; and the Admiral, with sympathetic
cordiality, observed to his wife as they drove back through the park,
{}``I thought we should soon come to a deal, my dear, in spite of
what they told us at Taunton. The Baronet will never set the Thames
on fire, but there seems to be no harm in him,'' reciprocal compliments,
which would have been esteemed about equal.

The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter
proposed removing to Bath in the course of the preceding month, there
was no time to be lost in making every dependent arrangement.

Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed to be of any
use, or any importance, in the choice of the house which they were
going to secure, was very unwilling to have her hurried away so soon,
and wanted to make it possible for her to stay behind till she might
convey her to Bath herself after Christmas; but having engagements
of her own which must take her from Kellynch for several weeks, she
was unable to give the full invitation she wished, and Anne though
dreading the possible heats of September in all the white glare of
Bath, and grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad
of the autumnal months in the country, did not think that, everything
considered, she wished to remain. It would be most right, and most
wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering to go with the others.

Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty. Mary, often
a little unwell, and always thinking a great deal of her own complaints,
and always in the habit of claiming Anne when anything was the matter,
was indisposed; and foreseeing that she should not have a day's health
all the autumn, entreated, or rather required her, for it was hardly
entreaty, to come to Uppercross Cottage, and bear her company as long
as she should want her, instead of going to Bath.

{}``I cannot possibly do without Anne,'' was Mary's reasoning; and
Elizabeth's reply was, {}``Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for
nobody will want her in Bath.''

To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style, is at least
better than being rejected as no good at all; and Anne, glad to be
thought of some use, glad to have anything marked out as a duty, and
certainly not sorry to have the scene of it in the country, and her
own dear country, readily agreed to stay.

This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's difficulties,
and it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath
till Lady Russell took her, and that all the intervening time should
be divided between Uppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.

So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was almost startled
by the wrong of one part of the Kellynch Hall plan, when it burst
on her, which was, Mrs.\ Clay's being engaged to go to Bath with
Sir Walter and Elizabeth, as a most important and valuable assistant
to the latter in all the business before her. Lady Russell was extremely
sorry that such a measure should have been resorted to at all, wondered,
grieved, and feared; and the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs.\ 
Clay's being of so much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very
sore aggravation.

Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt the
imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell. With
a great deal of quiet observation, and a knowledge, which she often
wished less, of her father's character, she was sensible that results
the most serious to his family from the intimacy were more than possible.
She did not imagine that her father had at present an idea of the
kind. Mrs.\ Clay had freckles, and a projecting tooth, and a clumsy
wrist, which he was continually making severe remarks upon, in her
absence; but she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking,
and possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing manners, infinitely
more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might have been.
Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that she could
not excuse herself from trying to make it perceptible to her sister.
She had little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of
such a reverse would be so much more to be pitied than herself, should
never, she thought, have reason to reproach her for giving no warning.

She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could not conceive
how such an absurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly
answered for each party's perfectly knowing their situation.

{}``Mrs.\ Clay,'' said she, warmly, {}``never forgets who she
is; and as I am rather better acquainted with her sentiments than
you can be, I can assure you, that upon the subject of marriage they
are particularly nice, and that she reprobates all inequality of condition
and rank more strongly than most people. And as to my father, I really
should not have thought that he, who has kept himself single so long
for our sakes, need be suspected now. If Mrs.\ Clay were a very beautiful
woman, I grant you, it might be wrong to have her so much with me;
not that anything in the world, I am sure, would induce my father
to make a degrading match, but he might be rendered unhappy. But poor
Mrs.\ Clay who, with all her merits, can never have been reckoned
tolerably pretty, I really think poor Mrs.\ Clay may be staying here
in perfect safety. One would imagine you had never heard my father
speak of her personal misfortunes, though I know you must fifty times.
That tooth of her's and those freckles. Freckles do not disgust me
so very much as they do him. I have known a face not materially disfigured
by a few, but he abominates them. You must have heard him notice Mrs.\ Clay's
freckles.''

{}``There is hardly any personal defect,'' replied Anne, {}``which
an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to.''

{}``I think very differently,'' answered Elizabeth, shortly; {}``an
agreeable manner may set off handsome features, but can never alter
plain ones. However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more at stake
on this point than anybody else can have, I think it rather unnecessary
in you to be advising me.''

Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless
of doing good. Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion, might yet
be made observant by it.

The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter,
Miss Elliot, and Mrs.\ Clay to Bath. The party drove off in very
good spirits; Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows for all
the afflicted tenantry and cottagers who might have had a hint to
show themselves, and Anne walked up at the same time, in a sort of
desolate tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the first
week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady Russell felt
this break-up of the family exceedingly. Their respectability was
as dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become precious
by habit. It was painful to look upon their deserted grounds, and
still worse to anticipate the new hands they were to fall into; and
to escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a village,
and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs.\ Croft first arrived,
she had determined to make her own absence from home begin when she
must give up Anne. Accordingly their removal was made together, and
Anne was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady
Russell's journey.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back had
been completely in the old English style, containing only two houses
superior in appearance to those of the yeomen and labourers; the mansion
of the squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees, substantial
and unmodernized, and the compact, tight parsonage, enclosed in its
own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-tree trained round its casements;
but upon the marriage of the young 'squire, it had received the improvement
of a farm-house elevated into a cottage, for his residence, and Uppercross
Cottage, with its veranda, French windows, and other prettiness, was
quite as likely to catch the traveller's eye as the more consistent
and considerable aspect and premises of the Great House, about a quarter
of a mile farther on.

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross
as well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually
meeting, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other's
house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary
alone; but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost
a matter of course. Though better endowed than the elder sister, Mary
had not Anne's understanding nor temper. While well, and happy, and
properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits;
but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources for
solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot self-importance,
was very prone to add to every other distress that of fancying herself
neglected and ill-used. In person, she was inferior to both sisters,
and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being {}``a
fine girl.'' She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty little
drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which had been gradually
growing shabby, under the influence of four summers and two children;
and, on Anne's appearing, greeted her with\mbox{---}

{}``So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see
you. I am so ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature the
whole morning!''\ 

{}``I am sorry to find you unwell,'' replied Anne. {}``You sent
me such a good account of yourself on Thursday!''\ 

{}``Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from
well at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life
as I have been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am
sure. Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way,
and not able to ring the bell! So, Lady Russell would not get out.
I do not think she has been in this house three times this summer.''

Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband. {}``Oh!\ 
Charles is out shooting. I have not seen him since seven o'clock.
He would go, though I told him how ill I was. He said he should not
stay out long; but he has never come back, and now it is almost one.
I assure you, I have not seen a soul this whole long morning.''

{}``You have had your little boys with you?''\ 

{}``Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageable
that they do me more harm than good. Little Charles does not mind
a word I say, and Walter is growing quite as bad.''

{}``Well, you will soon be better now,'' replied Anne, cheerfully.
{}``You know I always cure you when I come. How are your neighbours
at the Great House?''\ 

{}``I can give you no account of them. I have not seen one of them
to-day, except Mr.\ Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through
the window, but without getting off his horse; and though I told him
how ill I was, not one of them have been near me. It did not happen
to suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put themselves
out of their way.''

{}``You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone. It
is early.''

{}``I never want them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great
deal too much for me. Oh!\ Anne, I am so very unwell! It was quite
unkind of you not to come on Thursday.''

{}``My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me
of yourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest manner, and said you were
perfectly well, and in no hurry for me; and that being the case, you
must be aware that my wish would be to remain with Lady Russell to
the last: and besides what I felt on her account, I have really been
so busy, have had so much to do, that I could not very conveniently
have left Kellynch sooner.''

{}``Dear me!\ what can \emph{you} possibly have to do?''\ 

{}``A great many things, I assure you. More than I can recollect
in a moment; but I can tell you some. I have been making a duplicate
of the catalogue of my father's books and pictures. I have been several
times in the garden with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make
him understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for Lady Russell.
I have had all my own little concerns to arrange, books and music
to divide, and all my trunks to repack, from not having understood
in time what was intended as to the waggons: and one thing I have
had to do, Mary, of a more trying nature: going to almost every house
in the parish, as a sort of take-leave. I was told that they wished
it. But all these things took up a great deal of time.''

{}``Oh!\ well!''\ and after a moment's pause, {}``but you have
never asked me one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday.''

{}``Did you go then? I have made no enquiries, because I concluded
you must have been obliged to give up the party.''

{}``Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday; nothing at all the
matter with me till this morning. It would have been strange if I
had not gone.''

{}``I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasant
party.''

{}``Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand what the dinner
will be, and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not
having a carriage of one's own. Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove took me,
and we were so crowded! They are both so very large, and take up so
much room; and Mr.\ Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I,
crowded into the back seat with Henrietta and Louise; and I think
it very likely that my illness to-day may be owing to it.''

A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness
on Anne's side produced nearly a cure on Mary's. She could soon sit
upright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able to leave
it by dinner-time. Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the
other end of the room, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her cold
meat; and then she was well enough to propose a little walk.

{}``Where shall we go?''\ said she, when they were ready. {}``I
suppose you will not like to call at the Great House before they have
been to see you?''\ 

{}``I have not the smallest objection on that account,'' replied
Anne. {}``I should never think of standing on such ceremony with
people I know so well as Mrs.\ and the Miss Musgroves.''

{}``Oh!\ but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible. They
ought to feel what is due to you as \emph{my} sister. However, we
may as well go and sit with them a little while, and when we have
that over, we can enjoy our walk.''

Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent;
but she had ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that,
though there were on each side continual subjects of offence, neither
family could now do without it. To the Great House accordingly they
went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square parlour,
with a small carpet and shining floor, to which the present daughters
of the house were gradually giving the proper air of confusion by
a grand piano-forte and a harp, flower-stands and little tables placed
in every direction. Oh!\ could the originals of the portraits against
the wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the ladies in
blue satin have seen what was going on, have been conscious of such
an overthrow of all order and neatness! The portraits themselves seemed
to be staring in astonishment.

The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration, perhaps
of improvement. The father and mother were in the old English style,
and the young people in the new. Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove were a
very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated,
and not at all elegant. Their children had more modern minds and manners.
There was a numerous family; but the only two grown up, excepting
Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies of nineteen and twenty,
who had brought from school at Exeter all the usual stock of accomplishments,
and were now like thousands of other young ladies, living to be fashionable,
happy, and merry. Their dress had every advantage, their faces were
rather pretty, their spirits extremely good, their manner unembarrassed
and pleasant; they were of consequence at home, and favourites abroad.
Anne always contemplated them as some of the happiest creatures of
her acquaintance; but still, saved as we all are, by some comfortable
feeling of superiority from wishing for the possibility of exchange,
she would not have given up her own more elegant and cultivated mind
for all their enjoyments; and envied them nothing but that seemingly
perfect good understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured
mutual affection, of which she had known so little herself with either
of her sisters.

They were received with great cordiality. Nothing seemed amiss on
the side of the Great House family, which was generally, as Anne very
well knew, the least to blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly
enough; and she was not at all surprised at the end of it, to have
their walking party joined by both the Miss Musgroves, at Mary's particular
invitation.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 6}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 6}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 6}

Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal
from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three
miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion,
and idea. She had never been staying there before, without being struck
by it, or without wishing that other Elliots could have her advantage
in seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were the affairs which
at Kellynch Hall were treated as of such general publicity and pervading
interest; yet, with all this experience, she believed she must now
submit to feel that another lesson, in the art of knowing our own
nothingness beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her; for
certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the subject which
had been completely occupying both houses in Kellynch for many weeks,
she had expected rather more curiosity and sympathy than she found
in the separate but very similar remark of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove:
{}``So, Miss Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what
part of Bath do you think they will settle in?''\ and this, without
much waiting for an answer; or in the young ladies' addition of, {}``I
hope \emph{we} shall be in Bath in the winter; but remember, papa,
if we do go, we must be in a good situation: none of your Queen Squares
for us!''\  or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of\mbox{---}{}``Upon
my word, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away to
be happy at Bath!''\ 

She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in future, and
think with heightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing of having
one such truly sympathising friend as Lady Russell.

The Mr.\ Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy, their
own horses, dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females were
fully occupied in all the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours,
dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be very fitting,
that every little social commonwealth should dictate its own matters
of discourse; and hoped, ere long, to become a not unworthy member
of the one she was now transplanted into. With the prospect of spending
at least two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her
to clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in as much
of Uppercross as possible.

She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not so repulsive and
unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers;
neither was there anything among the other component parts of the
cottage inimical to comfort. She was always on friendly terms with
her brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly as well,
and respected her a great deal more than their mother, she had an
object of interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.

Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and temper he was
undoubtedly superior to his wife, but not of powers, or conversation,
or grace, to make the past, as they were connected together, at all
a dangerous contemplation; though, at the same time, Anne could believe,
with Lady Russell, that a more equal match might have greatly improved
him; and that a woman of real understanding might have given more
consequence to his character, and more usefulness, rationality, and
elegance to his habits and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with
much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away, without
benefit from books or anything else. He had very good spirits, which
never seemed much affected by his wife's occasional lowness, bore
with her unreasonableness sometimes to Anne's admiration, and upon
the whole, though there was very often a little disagreement (in which
she had sometimes more share than she wished, being appealed to by
both parties), they might pass for a happy couple. They were always
perfectly agreed in the want of more money, and a strong inclination
for a handsome present from his father; but here, as on most topics,
he had the superiority, for while Mary thought it a great shame that
such a present was not made, he always contended for his father's
having many other uses for his money, and a right to spend it as he
liked.

As to the management of their children, his theory was much better
than his wife's, and his practice not so bad. {}``I could manage
them very well, if it were not for Mary's interference,'' was what
Anne often heard him say, and had a good deal of faith in; but when
listening in turn to Mary's reproach of {}``Charles spoils the children
so that I cannot get them into any order,'' she never had the smallest
temptation to say, {}``Very true.''

One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was
her being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being
too much in the secret of the complaints of each house. Known to have
some influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or
at least receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.
{}``I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself
ill,'' was Charles's language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke
Mary: {}``I do believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would
not think there was anything the matter with me. I am sure, Anne,
if you would, you might persuade him that I really am very ill\mbox{---}a
great deal worse than I ever own.''

Mary's declaration was, {}``I hate sending the children to the Great
House, though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for
she humours and indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so
much trash and sweet things, that they are sure to come back sick
and cross for the rest of the day.'' And Mrs.\ Musgrove took the
first opportunity of being alone with Anne, to say, {}``Oh!\ Miss
Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs.\ Charles had a little of your method
with those children. They are quite different creatures with you!
But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot
put your sister in the way of managing them. They are as fine healthy
children as ever were seen, poor little dears!\ without partiality;
but Mrs.\ Charles knows no more how they should be treated\mbox{---}!
Bless me!\ how troublesome they are sometimes. I assure you, Miss
Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at our house so often as
I otherwise should. I believe Mrs.\ Charles is not quite pleased
with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is very bad to
have children with one that one is obligated to be checking every
moment; `don't do this,' and `don't do that;' or that one can only
keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them.''

She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. {}``Mrs.\ Musgrove
thinks all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason to
call it in question; but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her
upper house-maid and laundry-maid, instead of being in their business,
are gadding about the village, all day long. I meet them wherever
I go; and I declare, I never go twice into my nursery without seeing
something of them. If Jemima were not the trustiest, steadiest creature
in the world, it would be enough to spoil her; for she tells me, they
are always tempting her to take a walk with them.'' And on Mrs.\ Musgrove's
side, it was, {}``I make a rule of never interfering in any of my
daughter-in-law's concerns, for I know it would not do; but I shall
tell \emph{you}, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set things
to rights, that I have no very good opinion of Mrs.\ Charles's nursery-maid:
I hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and from
my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady,
that she is enough to ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs.\ Charles
quite swears by her, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you
may be upon the watch; because, if you see anything amiss, you need
not be afraid of mentioning it.''

Again, it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs.\ Musgrove was very apt
not to give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at
the Great House with other families; and she did not see any reason
why she was to be considered so much at home as to lose her place.
And one day when Anne was walking with only the Musgroves, one of
them after talking of rank, people of rank, and jealousy of rank,
said, {}``I have no scruple of observing to \emph{you}, how nonsensical
some persons are about their place, because all the world knows how
easy and indifferent you are about it; but I wish anybody could give
Mary a hint that it would be a great deal better if she were not so
very tenacious, especially if she would not be always putting herself
forward to take place of mamma. Nobody doubts her right to have precedence
of mamma, but it would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting
on it. It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the world,
but I know it is taken notice of by many persons.''

How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do little
more than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each
to the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary between
such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest which were meant
for her sister's benefit.

In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well. Her
own spirits improved by change of place and subject, by being removed
three miles from Kellynch; Mary's ailments lessened by having a constant
companion, and their daily intercourse with the other family, since
there was neither superior affection, confidence, nor employment in
the cottage, to be interrupted by it, was rather an advantage. It
was certainly carried nearly as far as possible, for they met every
morning, and hardly ever spent an evening asunder; but she believed
they should not have done so well without the sight of Mr.\ and Mr.\ 
Musgrove's respectable forms in the usual places, or without the talking,
laughing, and singing of their daughters.

She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves,
but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents,
to sit by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was little
thought of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others, as she
was well aware. She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure
only to herself; but this was no new sensation. Excepting one short
period of her life, she had never, since the age of fourteen, never
since the loss of her dear mother, known the happiness of being listened
to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste. In music
she had been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr.\ and
Mr.\  Musgrove's fond partiality for their own daughters' performance,
and total indifference to any other person's, gave her much more pleasure
for their sakes, than mortification for her own.

The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company.
The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by
everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and more callers, more visitors
by invitation and by chance, than any other family. They were more
completely popular.

The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally,
in an unpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins within
a walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended
on the Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any time,
and help play at anything, or dance anywhere; and Anne, very much
preferring the office of musician to a more active post, played country
dances to them by the hour together; a kindness which always recommended
her musical powers to the notice of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove more
than anything else, and often drew this compliment;\mbox{---}{}``Well
done, Miss Anne!\ very well done indeed! Lord bless me!\ how those
little fingers of yours fly about!''\ 

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne's heart
must be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others; all
the precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning
to own other eyes and other limbs! She could not think of much else
on the 29th of September; and she had this sympathetic touch in the
evening from Mary, who, on having occasion to note down the day of
the month, exclaimed, {}``Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts
were to come to Kellynch? I am glad I did not think of it before.
How low it makes me!''\ 

The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were to
be visited. Mary deplored the necessity for herself. {}``Nobody knew
how much she should suffer. She should put it off as long as she could;''
but was not easy till she had talked Charles into driving her over
on an early day, and was in a very animated, comfortable state of
imaginary agitation, when she came back. Anne had very sincerely rejoiced
in there being no means of her going. She wished, however to see the
Crofts, and was glad to be within when the visit was returned. They
came: the master of the house was not at home, but the two sisters
were together; and as it chanced that Mrs.\ Croft fell to the share
of Anne, while the Admiral sat by Mary, and made himself very agreeable
by his good-humoured notice of her little boys, she was well able
to watch for a likeness, and if it failed her in the features, to
catch it in the voice, or in the turn of sentiment and expression.

Mrs.\ Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness, uprightness,
and vigour of form, which gave importance to her person. She had bright
dark eyes, good teeth, and altogether an agreeable face; though her
reddened and weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her having
been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her seem to have lived
some years longer in the world than her real eight-and-thirty. Her
manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had no distrust
of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any approach to coarseness,
however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave her credit, indeed,
for feelings of great consideration towards herself, in all that related
to Kellynch, and it pleased her: especially, as she had satisfied
herself in the very first half minute, in the instant even of introduction,
that there was not the smallest symptom of any knowledge or suspicion
on Mrs.\ Croft's side, to give a bias of any sort. She was quite
easy on that head, and consequently full of strength and courage,
till for a moment electrified by Mrs.\ Croft's suddenly saying,\mbox{---}

{}``It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had
the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country.''

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion
she certainly had not.

{}``Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?''\ added
Mr.\  Croft.

She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mr.\ 
Croft's next words explained it to be Mr.\ Wentworth of whom she
spoke, that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother.
She immediately felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs.\ Croft should
be thinking and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and with
shame at her own forgetfulness applied herself to the knowledge of
their former neighbour's present state with proper interest.

The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving, she
heard the Admiral say to Mary\mbox{---}

{}``We are expecting a brother of Mrs.\ Croft's here soon; I dare
say you know him by name.''

He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys, clinging
to him like an old friend, and declaring he should not go; and being
too much engrossed by proposals of carrying them away in his coat
pockets, \&c., to have another moment for finishing or recollecting
what he had begun, Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she
could, that the same brother must still be in question. She could
not, however, reach such a degree of certainty, as not to be anxious
to hear whether anything had been said on the subject at the other
house, where the Crofts had previously been calling.

The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day
at the Cottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits
to be made on foot, the coach was beginning to be listened for, when
the youngest Miss Musgrove walked in. That she was coming to apologize,
and that they should have to spend the evening by themselves, was
the first black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be affronted, when
Louisa made all right by saying, that she only came on foot, to leave
more room for the harp, which was bringing in the carriage.

{}``And I will tell you our reason,'' she added, {}``and all about
it. I am come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are out of
spirits this evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much of
poor Richard! And we agreed it would be best to have the harp, for
it seems to amuse her more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why
she is out of spirits. When the Crofts called this morning, (they
called here afterwards, did not they?), they happened to say, that
her brother, Captain Wentworth, is just returned to England, or paid
off, or something, and is coming to see them almost directly; and
most unluckily it came into mamma's head, when they were gone, that
Wentworth, or something very like it, was the name of poor Richard's
captain at one time; I do not know when or where, but a great while
before he died, poor fellow! And upon looking over his letters and
things, she found it was so, and is perfectly sure that this must
be the very man, and her head is quite full of it, and of poor Richard!
So we must be as merry as we can, that she may not be dwelling upon
such gloomy things.''

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were,
that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome,
hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his
twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid
and unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for
at any time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom
heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of
his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could
for him, by calling him {}``poor Richard,'' been nothing better
than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had
never done anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation
of his name, living or dead.

He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course of those
removals to which all midshipmen are liable, and especially such midshipmen
as every captain wishes to get rid of, been six months on board Captain
Frederick Wentworth's frigate, the \emph{Laconia}; and from the \emph{Laconia}
he had, under the influence of his captain, written the only two letters
which his father and mother had ever received from him during the
whole of his absence; that is to say, the only two disinterested letters;
all the rest had been mere applications for money.

In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet, so little
were they in the habit of attending to such matters, so unobservant
and incurious were they as to the names of men or ships, that it had
made scarcely any impression at the time; and that Mrs.\ Musgrove
should have been suddenly struck, this very day, with a recollection
of the name of Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of
those extraordinary bursts of mind which do sometimes occur.

She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she supposed; and
the re-perusal of these letters, after so long an interval, her poor
son gone for ever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten, had
affected her spirits exceedingly, and thrown her into greater grief
for him than she had known on first hearing of his death. Mr.\ Musgrove
was, in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached
the cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being listened
to anew on this subject, and afterwards, of all the relief which cheerful
companions could give them.

To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name
so often, puzzling over past years, and at last ascertaining that
it \emph{might}, that it probably \emph{would}, turn out to be the
very same Captain Wentworth whom they recollected meeting, once or
twice, after their coming back from Clifton\mbox{---}a very fine
young man\mbox{---}but they could not say whether it was seven or
eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to Anne's nerves. She found,
however, that it was one to which she must inure herself. Since he
actually was expected in the country, she must teach herself to be
insensible on such points. And not only did it appear that he was
expected, and speedily, but the Musgroves, in their warm gratitude
for the kindness he had shewn poor Dick, and very high respect for
his character, stamped as it was by poor Dick's having been six months
under his care, and mentioning him in strong, though not perfectly
well-spelt praise, as {}``a fine dashing felow, only two perticular
about the schoolmaster,'' were bent on introducing themselves, and
seeking his acquaintance, as soon as they could hear of his arrival.

The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 7}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 7}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 7}

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 Uppercross, 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
shew 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 boy's 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 every thing 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,
enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.

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 worse 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 in tolerable 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 mamma's farther pressing invitations to come and
dine with them on the morrow\mbox{---}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, shewed 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. Anne 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 teaze him. She said nothing,
therefore, till he was out of the room, but as soon as there was only
Anne to hear\mbox{---}

{}``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\mbox{---}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 teazing 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 to-day.''

{}``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\mbox{---}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 up stairs, she was in time for the whole
conversation, which began with Mary's saying, in a tone of great exultation\mbox{---}

{}``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; charming 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 curtsey passed; 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 shewed himself at the window,
all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone, the Miss Musgroves
were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the village
with the sportsmen: 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\mbox{---}all,
all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past\mbox{---}how
natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part of her own
life.

Alas!\ with all her reasoning, she found, that to 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:\mbox{---}

{}``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 sister's in a common
way, but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar
wound.

{}``Altered 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, manly, 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 shewn 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, excepting Anne Elliot.
This was his only secret exception, when he said to his sister, in
answer to her suppositions:\mbox{---}

{}``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*{\raggedright Chapter 8}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 8}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 8}

From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly in
the same circle. They were soon dining in company together at Mr.\ Musgrove's,
for the little boy's state could no longer supply his aunt with a
pretence 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; \emph{they} could not but 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 lead him, to talk; and {}``\emph{That} was in
the year six;'' {}``\emph{That} happened before I went to sea 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
\emph{had} been a time, when of all the large party now filling the
drawing-room at Uppercross, 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,
(Anne 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
as strangers; 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,
\&c., 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 dress it if there were, or any servant to wait, or any knife and
fork to use.

From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper of Mr.\ 
Musgrove's who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying\mbox{---}

{}``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 Uppercross), and sitting down
together to pore over it, with the professed view of finding out the
ships that Captain Wentworth had commanded.

{}``Your first was the \emph{Asp}, I remember; we will look for the
\emph{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. Reported
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, {}``entertain 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.''

{}``Phoo!\ phoo!''\ cried the Admiral, {}``what stuff these young
fellows talk! Never was a better sloop than the \emph{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 her 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 ashore
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 \emph{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 pelisse, 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. Ah!\ 
she was a dear old \emph{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 here another instance of luck. We
had not been six hours in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted
four days and nights, and which would have done for poor old \emph{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 Wentworth, 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 \emph{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 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 \emph{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 \emph{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 had still
the same luck in the Mediterranean.''

{}``And I am sure, Sir.'' said Mrs.\ Musgrove, {}``it was a lucky
day for \emph{us}, when you were put captain into that ship. \emph{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 suspense, and as if waiting for more.

{}``My brother,'' whispered one of the girls; {}``mamma is thinking
of poor 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 shewed the kindest consideration for all that
was real and unabsurd in the parent's 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 sighings 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 patronize in
vain\mbox{---}which taste cannot tolerate\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}

{}``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.''

The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. 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 \emph{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.\mbox{---}All
idle refinement!\mbox{---}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 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 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
officer's wife that I could, and I would bring anything of Harville's
from the world's end, if he 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 \emph{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 port or 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 has 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.''

{}``Ay, that we shall.''

{}``Now I have done,'' cried Captain Wentworth. {}``When once married
people begin to attack me with,\mbox{---}`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 Streights, 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 having ever 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 that I ever
fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of danger, was the winter
that I passed by myself at Deal, when the Admiral (\emph{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.''

{}``Aye, 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 a separation. I am quite of your opinion. \emph{I}
know what it is, for Mr.\ Musgrove always attends the assizes, 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 every thing to elevate
him which general attention and deference, and especially the attention
of all the young women, could do. The Miss Hayters, 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 spoilt 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 \emph{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 is 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\mbox{---}

{}``I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;'' and though she
immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced
to sit down again.

Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches.

His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 9}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 9}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 9}

Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch 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 Uppercross 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 Uppercross with him almost every day. The Musgroves 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 Mr.\ 
Croft were generally out of doors together, interesting themselves
in their new 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 Musgroves and their dependencies. It was unvarying, warm admiration
everywhere; but this intimate footing was not more than established,
when a certain Charles Hayter returned among them, to be a good deal
disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentworth very much in the way.

Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a very amiable,
pleasing young man, between whom and 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 neighbourhood, where
residence was not required, lived at his father's house, only two
miles from Uppercross. 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.\ Hayter were sisters. They had each had
money, but their marriages had made a material difference in their
degree of consequence. Mr.\ Hayter had some property of his own,
but it was insignificant compared with Mr.\ Musgrove's; and while
the Musgroves were in the first class of society in the country, the
young Hayters would, from their parents' inferior, retired, and unpolished
way of living, and their own defective education, have been hardly
in any class at all, but for their connexion with Uppercross, this
eldest son of course excepted, 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 \emph{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 Musgroves' company, and Charles Hayter had but just reappeared,
when Anne had to listen to the opinions of her brother and sister,
as to \emph{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. Sir 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 Hayter, whose pretensions she wished to see put
an end to. She looked down very decidedly upon the Hayters, and thought
it would be quite a misfortune to have the existing connection between
the families renewed\mbox{---}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 \emph{principal} part of her family, and be giving bad connections
to those who have not been used to them. And, pray, who is Charles
Hayter? Nothing but a country curate. A most improper match for Miss
Musgrove of Uppercross.''

Her husband, however, would not agree with her here; for besides having
a regard for his cousin, Charles Hayter was an eldest son, and he
saw things as an eldest son himself.

{}``Now you are taking nonsense, Mary,'' was therefore his answer.
{}``It would not be a \emph{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 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\mbox{---}good, freehold property.
No, no; Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles Hayter; 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
marry Charles Hayter; a very bad thing for \emph{her}, and still worse
for \emph{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 Hayter
yesterday. I wish you had been there to see her behaviour. And as
to Captain Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense
to say so; for he certainly \emph{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.\ Musgrove's had been the occasion when all these
things should have been seen by Anne; but she had staid 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 honour, than
that he should prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta.
Either of them would, in all probability, make him an affectionate,
good-humoured wife. With regard to Charles Hayter, 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 alternation could not be understood too soon.

Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and mortify him in his
cousin's behaviour. 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 Uppercross: 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 Uppercross 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 Hayter the
promise of it. The advantage of his having to come only to Uppercross,
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 held 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\mbox{---}in
short, you know, Dr.\ Shirley \emph{must} have a curate, and you
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 up stairs 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\mbox{---}Charles Hayter, 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 Hayter 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 opened
for him by some one 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 Hayter, {}``why do you not do as you
are bid? Do not you 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; some one 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 borne away, before she
knew that Captain Wentworth 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 conviction 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\mbox{---}they were now altogether; but
she could stay for none of it. It was evident that Charles Hayter
was not well inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a strong
impression of his having said, in a vext tone of voice, after Captain
Wentworth's interference, {}``You ought to have minded me, Walter;
I told you not to teaze your aunt;'' and could comprehend his regretting
that Captain Wentworth should do what he ought to have done himself.
But neither Charles Hayter'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*{\raggedright Chapter 10}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 10}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 10}

Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur.
Anne 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 favourite, she could
not but think, as far as she might dare to judge from memory and experience,
that Captain Wentworth 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, end in love with some.
Charles Hayter seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta had
sometimes the air 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 guile to any. It was the highest satisfaction to her to
believe Captain Wentworth 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 Hayter. 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 Hayter seemed to quit the
field. Three days had passed without his coming once to Uppercross;
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. Anne could only feel
that Charles Hayter was wise.

One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth
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 \emph{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;''
Anne 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 Musgroves' 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 up stairs. {}``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 staid 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 Musgroves, 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 \emph{pleasure} in the walk
must arise from the exercise and 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 attempt at 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 Musgroves, she should not try to hear it; yet she caught little
very remarkable. It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons,
on an intimate footing, might fall into. He was more engaged with
Louisa than with Henrietta. Louisa certainly put more forward for
his notice than her sister. This distinction appeared to increase,
and there was one speech of Louisa's which struck her. After one of
the many praises of the day, which were continually bursting forth,
Captain Wentworth added:\mbox{---}

{}``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 happen
very often, I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of it; she would
as lieve be tossed out as not.''

{}``Ah! You make the most of it, I know,'' cried Louisa, {}``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 always be 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\mbox{---}for young men are, sometimes
to be met with, strolling about near home\mbox{---}was their destination;
and after another half mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures,
where the ploughs 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 Uppercross and Winthrop, and soon commanded a full view
of the latter, 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 farm-yard.

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 Louisa 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 shewed 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 and
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.
Louisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan; and, as she went
a little way with them, down the hill, still talking to Henrietta,
Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfully around her, and saying
to Captain Wentworth\mbox{--}--

{}``It is very unpleasant, having such connexions! 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: Louisa
returned; and Mary, finding a comfortable seat for herself on the
step of a stile, was very well satisfied so long as the others all
stood about her; but when Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away, to try
for a gleaning of nuts in an adjoining hedge-row, and they were gone
by degrees quite out of sight and sound, Mary was happy no longer;
she quarrelled with her own seat, was sure Louisa 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 hedge-row,
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 Louisa
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 Louisa in the hedge-row, behind her, as
if making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down
the centre. They were speaking as they drew near. Louisa's voice was
the first distinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of some eager
speech. What Anne first heard was\mbox{---}

{}``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 airs 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 at Winthrop to-day; and yet, she was as
near giving it up, out of nonsensical complaisance!''\ 

{}``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 affect 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 \emph{yours}
is the 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 been always doing. It is the
worst evil of too yielding and 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
bough.\ {} {}``to exemplify: a beautiful glossy 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
and been trodden under foot, is still in possession of all the happiness
that a hazel nut can be supposed capable of.'' Then returning to
his former earnest tone\mbox{---}{}``My first wish for all whom
I am interested in, is that they should be firm. If Louisa 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 Louisa
could have readily answered such a speech: words of such interest,
spoken with such serious warmth! She could imagine what Louisa 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,
Louisa spoke again.

{}``Mary is good-natured enough in many respects,'' said she; {}``but
she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}

{}``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 mamma 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 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 stile, 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
Hayter 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 lady's, 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;\mbox{---}Charles Hayter exceedingly
happy: and they were devoted to each other almost from the first instant
of their all setting forward for Uppercross.

Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth; nothing could
be plainer; 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 meadow land, 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 complaisance,
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 humour with her, was out of temper with his wife. Mary
had shewn 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
incommoded 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 Uppercross.
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 chaise.

The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite
stile, and the Admiral 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 \emph{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 four. 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 the completion of all that had gone before. She understood
him. He could not forgive her, but 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 emotions 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, Sophy,''
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.
Ay, 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 so long
in hand. I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvass, and
bring us home one of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then there would
always be company for them. And very nice young ladies they both are;
I hardly know one from the other.''

{}``Very good humoured, 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 reins a better direction herself they happily
passed the danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out
her hand they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart;
and Anne, with 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*{\raggedright Chapter 11}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 11}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 11}

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 Uppercross,
that in removing thence 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, in 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 Uppercross, 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 Uppercross 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 honoured,
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, and a 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 Uppercross;
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\mbox{---}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.\ Musgrove, 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.\ Musgrove's coach containing the four ladies, and Charles's curricle,
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
inns, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly
down to the sea. They were 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 Cobb, skirting round
the pleasant little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathing
machines and company; the Cobb 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 a 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 neighbourhood,
Charmouth, 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 unwearied contemplation;
the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme; and, above
all, Pinny, with its green 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 is exhibited, as may more than equal any of
the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of Wight: these places
must be visited, and visited again, to make the worth of Lyme understood.

The party from Uppercross passing down by the now deserted and melancholy
looking rooms, and still descending, soon found themselves on the
sea-shore; and lingering only, as all must linger and gaze on a first
return to the sea, who ever deserved to look on it at all, proceeded
towards the Cobb, 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 Harvilles settled. Captain Wentworth turned in to call
on his friend; the others walked on, and he was to join them on the
Cobb.

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 \emph{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
\emph{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 Harvilles 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 good-will 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 for ever. 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, or more kindly hospitable than their
entreaties for their all promising to dine with them. The dinner,
already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly, accepted
as a excuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth should
have brought any such party to Lyme, 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 Cobb, they all went in-doors 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 with 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 labours, 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, burst forth
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 amiss; though its 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 Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of
the room, and by recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in 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 \emph{Marmion} or \emph{The Lady of the Lake} were to be preferred,
and how ranked the \emph{Giaour} and \emph{The Bride of Abydos}; and
moreover, how the \emph{Giaour} 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 feeling, 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 shewing him not pained, 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 Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the
interest implied; and though with a 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.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 12}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 12}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 12}

Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party the
next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They
went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine
south-easterly breeze was bringing in with all the grandeur which
so flat a shore admitted. They praised the morning; gloried in the
sea; sympathized in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze\mbox{---}and
were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again with\mbox{---}

{}``Oh!\ yes,\mbox{---}I am quite convinced that, with very few
exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of
its having been of the greatest service to Dr.\ Shirley, after his
illness, last spring twelve-month. He declares himself, that coming
to Lyme for a month, did him more good than all the medicine he took;
and, that being by the sea, always makes him feel young again. Now,
I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely by
the sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross entirely, and fix
at Lyme. Do not you, Anne? Do not you agree with me, that it is the
best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs.\ Shirley? She has
cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would make it
cheerful for her, and I am sure she would be glad to get to a place
where she could have medical attendance at hand, in case of his having
another seizure. Indeed I think it quite melancholy to have such excellent
people as Dr.\ and Mrs.\ Shirley, who have been doing good all their
lives, wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross, where,
excepting our family, they seem shut out from all the world. I wish
his friends would propose it to him. I really think they ought. And,
as to procuring a dispensation, there could be no difficulty at his
time of life, and with his character. My only doubt is, whether anything
could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very strict and scrupulous
in his notions; over-scrupulous I must say. Do not you think, Anne,
it is being over-scrupulous? Do not you think it is quite a mistaken
point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the
sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by another person?
And at Lyme too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough
to hear, if people thought there was anything to complain of.''

Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered
into the subject, as ready to do good by entering into the feelings
of a young lady as of a young man, though here it was good of a lower
standard, for what could be offered but general acquiescence? She
said all that was reasonable and proper on the business; felt the
claims of Dr.\ Shirley to repose as she ought; saw how very desirable
it was that he should have some active, respectable young man, as
a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at the advantage
of such resident curate's being married.

{}``I wish,'' said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion,
{}``I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and were intimate with
Dr.\ Shirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the
greatest influence with everybody! I always look upon her as able
to persuade a person to anything! I am afraid of her, as I have told
you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very clever; but
I respect her amazingly, and wish we had such a neighbour at Uppercross.''

Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grateful, and amused
also that the course of events and the new interests of Henrietta's
views should have placed her friend at all in favour with any of the
Musgrove family; she had only time, however, for a general answer,
and a wish that such another woman were at Uppercross, before all
subjects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming
towards them. They came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely
to be ready; but Louisa recollecting, immediately afterwards that
she had something to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back
with her into the town. They were all at her disposal.

When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman,
at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back, and
stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him; and as they
passed, Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree
of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of. She was
looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features, having
the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had
been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which
it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman, (completely
a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth
looked round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of
it. He gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which
seemed to say, {}``That man is struck with you, and even I, at this
moment, see something like Anne Elliot again.''

After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about a
little longer, they returned to the inn; and Anne, in passing afterwards
quickly from her own chamber to their dining-room, had nearly run
against the very same gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment.
She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves, and
determined that a well-looking groom, who was strolling about near
the two inns as they came back, should be his servant. Both master
and man being in mourning assisted the idea. It was now proved that
he belonged to the same inn as themselves; and this second meeting,
short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman's looks, that
he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of
his apologies, that he was a man of exceedingly good manners. He seemed
about thirty, and though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne
felt that she should like to know who he was.

They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage, (almost
the first they had heard since entering Lyme) drew half the party
to the window. It was a gentleman's carriage, a curricle, but only
coming round from the stable-yard to the front door; somebody must
be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.

The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might compare
it with his own; the servant in mourning roused Anne's curiosity,
and the whole six were collected to look, by the time the owner of
the curricle was to be seen issuing from the door amidst the bows
and civilities of the household, and taking his seat, to drive off.

{}``Ah!''\ cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a
glance at Anne, {}``it is the very man we passed.''

The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly watched him
as far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table.
The waiter came into the room soon afterwards.

{}``Pray,'' said Captain Wentworth, immediately, {}``can you tell
us the name of the gentleman who is just gone away?''\ 

{}``Yes, Sir, a Mr.\ Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came
in last night from Sidmouth. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir,
while you were at dinner; and going on now for Crewkherne, in his
way to Bath and London.''

{}``Elliot!''\ Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated
the name, before all this had been got through, even by the smart
rapidity of a waiter.

{}``Bless me!''\ cried Mary; {}``it must be our cousin; it must
be our Mr.\ Elliot, it must, indeed! Charles, Anne, must not it?
In mourning, you see, just as our Mr.\ Elliot must be. How very extraordinary!
In the very same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr.\ Elliot?
my father's next heir? Pray sir,'' turning to the waiter, {}``did
not you hear, did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch
family?''\ 

{}``No, ma'am, he did not mention no particular family; but he said
his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some
day.''

{}``There! you see!''\ cried Mary in an ecstasy, {}``just as I
said! Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out, if
it was so. Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants
take care to publish, wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how
extraordinary! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been
aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to us.
What a pity that we should not have been introduced to each other!
Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him,
I was looking at the horses; but I think he had something of the Elliot
countenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me! Oh!\ the great-coat
was hanging over the panel, and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise,
I am sure, I should have observed them, and the livery too; if the
servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the
livery.''

{}``Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,''
said Captain Wentworth, {}``we must consider it to be the arrangement
of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.''

When she could command Mary's attention, Anne quietly tried to convince
her that their father and Mr.\ Elliot had not, for many years, been
on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at
all desirable.

At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself
to have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch
was undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense. She would
not, upon any account, mention her having met with him the second
time; luckily Mary did not much attend to their having passed close
by him in their earlier walk, but she would have felt quite ill-used
by Anne's having actually run against him in the passage, and received
his very polite excuses, while she had never been near him at all;
no, that cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret.

{}``Of course,'' said Mary, {}``you will mention our seeing Mr.\ Elliot,
the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought
to hear of it; do mention all about him.''

Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which
she considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated, but as
what ought to be suppressed. The offence which had been given her
father, many years back, she knew; Elizabeth's particular share in
it she suspected; and that Mr.\ Elliot's idea always produced irritation
in both was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to Bath herself; all
the toil of keeping up a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with
Elizabeth fell on Anne.

Breakfast had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain
and Mrs.\ Harville and Captain Benwick; with whom they had appointed
to take their last walk about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for
Uppercross by one, and in the mean while were to be all together,
and out of doors as long as they could.

Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were
all fairly in the street. Their conversation the preceding evening
did not disincline him to seek her again; and they walked together
some time, talking as before of Mr.\ Scott and Lord Byron, and still
as unable as before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think
exactly alike of the merits of either, till something occasioned an
almost general change amongst their party, and instead of Captain
Benwick, she had Captain Harville by her side.

{}``Miss Elliot,'' said he, speaking rather low, {}``you have done
a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could
have such company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up
as he is; but what can we do? We cannot part.''

{}``No,'' said Anne, {}``that I can easily believe to be impossible;
but in time, perhaps\mbox{---}we know what time does in every case
of affliction, and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your
friend may yet be called a young mourner\mbox{---}only last summer,
I understand.''

{}``Ay, true enough,'' (with a deep sigh) {}``only June.''

{}``And not known to him, perhaps, so soon.''

{}``Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the
Cape, just made into the \emph{Grappler}. I was at Plymouth dreading
to hear of him; he sent in letters, but the \emph{Grappler} was under
orders for Portsmouth. There the news must follow him, but who was
to tell it? not I. I would as soon have been run up to the yard-arm.
Nobody could do it, but that good fellow'' (pointing to Captain Wentworth.)
{}``The \emph{Laconia} had come into Plymouth the week before; no
danger of her being sent to sea again. He stood his chance for the
rest; wrote up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return,
travelled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the
\emph{Grappler} that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a
week. That's what he did, and nobody else could have saved poor James.
You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us!''\ 

Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as
much in reply as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed
able to bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject, and
when he spoke again, it was of something totally different.

Mrs.\ Harville's giving it as her opinion that her husband would
have quite walking enough by the time he reached home, determined
the direction of all the party in what was to be their last walk;
they would accompany them to their door, and then return and set off
themselves. By all their calculations there was just time for this;
but as they drew near the Cobb, there was such a general wish to walk
along it once more, all were so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so
determined, that the difference of a quarter of an hour, it was found,
would be no difference at all; so with all the kind leave-taking,
and all the kind interchange of invitations and promises which may
be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs.\ Harville at their
own door, and still accompanied by Captain Benwick, who seemed to
cling to them to the last, proceeded to make the proper \emph{adieu}s
to the Cobb.

Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron's {}``dark
blue seas'' could not fail of being brought forward by their present
view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention
was possible. It was soon drawn, perforce another way.

There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant
for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower,
and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep
flight, excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain
Wentworth. In all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles;
the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement
for her feet, made him less willing upon the present occasion; he
did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoyment,
ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it,
thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain,
she smiled and said, {}``I am determined I will:'' he put out his
hands; she was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement
on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound,
no blood, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed
not, her face was like death. The horror of the moment to all who
stood around!

Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms,
looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence.
{}``She is dead! she is dead!''\ screamed Mary, catching hold of
her husband, and contributing with his own horror to make him immoveable;
and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost
her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps, but for Captain
Benwick and Anne, who caught and supported her between them.

{}``Is there no one to help me?''\ were the first words which burst
from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own
strength were gone.

{}``Go to him, go to him,'' cried Anne, {}``for heaven's sake go
to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her
hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them.''

Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same moment, disengaging
himself from his wife, they were both with him; and Louisa was raised
up and supported more firmly between them, and everything was done
that Anne had prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth, staggering
against the wall for his support, exclaimed in the bitterest agony\mbox{---}

{}``Oh God!\ her father and mother!''\ 

{}``A surgeon!''\ said Anne.

He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only\mbox{---}{}``True,
true, a surgeon this instant,'' was darting away, when Anne eagerly
suggested\mbox{---}

{}``Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain Benwick?
He knows where a surgeon is to be found.''

Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and
in a moment (it was all done in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had
resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to the brother's care,
and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity.

As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said which
of the three, who were completely rational, was suffering most: Captain
Wentworth, Anne, or Charles, who, really a very affectionate brother,
hung over Louisa with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes
from one sister, to see the other in a state as insensible, or to
witness the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him for
help which he could not give.

Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal, and thought, which
instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried, at intervals, to suggest
comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to
assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth. Both seemed to look to
her for directions.

{}``Anne, Anne,'' cried Charles, {}``What is to be done next? What,
in heaven's name, is to be done next?''\ 

Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.

{}``Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure: carry
her gently to the inn.''

{}``Yes, yes, to the inn,'' repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively
collected, and eager to be doing something. {}``I will carry her
myself. Musgrove, take care of the others.''

By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen
and boatmen about the Cobb, and many were collected near them, to
be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young
lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the
first report. To some of the best-looking of these good people Henrietta
was consigned, for, though partially revived, she was quite helpless;
and in this manner, Anne walking by her side, and Charles attending
to his wife, they set forward, treading back with feelings unutterable,
the ground, which so lately, so very lately, and so light of heart,
they had passed along.

They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met them. Captain
Benwick had been seen flying by their house, with a countenance which
showed something to be wrong; and they had set off immediately, informed
and directed as they passed, towards the spot. Shocked as Captain
Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that could be instantly
useful; and a look between him and his wife decided what was to be
done. She must be taken to their house; all must go to their house;
and await the surgeon's arrival there. They would not listen to scruples:
he was obeyed; they were all beneath his roof; and while Louisa, under
Mrs.\ Harville's direction, was conveyed up stairs, and given possession
of her own bed, assistance, cordials, restoratives were supplied by
her husband to all who needed them.

Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without
apparent consciousness. This had been a proof of life, however, of
service to her sister; and Henrietta, though perfectly incapable of
being in the same room with Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of
hope and fear, from a return of her own insensibility. Mary, too,
was growing calmer.

The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible. They
were sick with horror, while he examined; but he was not hopeless.
The head had received a severe contusion, but he had seen greater
injuries recovered from: he was by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.

That he did not regard it as a desperate case, that he did not say
a few hours must end it, was at first felt, beyond the hope of most;
and the ecstasy of such a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent,
after a few fervent ejaculations of gratitude to Heaven had been offered,
may be conceived.

The tone, the look, with which {}``Thank God!''\ was uttered by
Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never be forgotten by her;
nor the sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over
it with folded arms and face concealed, as if overpowered by the various
feelings of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm
them.

Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to the head.

It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to
be done, as to their general situation. They were now able to speak
to each other and consult. That Louisa must remain where she was,
however distressing to her friends to be involving the Harvilles in
such trouble, did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible. The
Harvilles silenced all scruples; and, as much as they could, all gratitude.
They had looked forward and arranged everything before the others
began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room to them, and
get another bed elsewhere; and the whole was settled. They were only
concerned that the house could accommodate no more; and yet perhaps,
by {}``putting the children away in the maid's room, or swinging
a cot somewhere,'' they could hardly bear to think of not finding
room for two or three besides, supposing they might wish to stay;
though, with regard to any attendance on Miss Musgrove, there need
not be the least uneasiness in leaving her to Mrs.\ Harville's care
entirely. Mrs.\ Harville was a very experienced nurse, and her nursery-maid,
who had lived with her long, and gone about with her everywhere, was
just such another. Between these two, she could want no possible attendance
by day or night. And all this was said with a truth and sincerity
of feeling irresistible.

Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation,
and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and
terror. {}``Uppercross, the necessity of some one's going to Uppercross;
the news to be conveyed; how it could be broken to Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove;
the lateness of the morning; an hour already gone since they ought
to have been off; the impossibility of being in tolerable time.''
At first, they were capable of nothing more to the purpose than such
exclamations; but, after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself,
said\mbox{---}

{}``We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute. Every
minute is valuable. Some one must resolve on being off for Uppercross
instantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go.''

Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away. He
would be as little incumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs.\ Harville;
but as to leaving his sister in such a state, he neither ought, nor
would. So far it was decided; and Henrietta at first declared the
same. She, however, was soon persuaded to think differently. The usefulness
of her staying! She who had not been able to remain in Louisa's room,
or to look at her, without sufferings which made her worse than helpless!
She was forced to acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still
unwilling to be away, till, touched by the thought of her father and
mother, she gave it up; she consented, she was anxious to be at home.

The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming quietly down from
Louisa's room, could not but hear what followed, for the parlour door
was open.

{}``Then it is settled, Musgrove,'' cried Captain Wentworth, {}``that
you stay, and that I take care of your sister home. But as to the
rest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs.\ Harville, I
think it need be only one. Mrs.\ Charles Musgrove will, of course,
wish to get back to her children; but if Anne will stay, no one so
proper, so capable as Anne.''

She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself
so spoken of. The other two warmly agreed with what he said, and she
then appeared.

{}``You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her;'' cried
he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness,
which seemed almost restoring the past. She coloured deeply, and he
recollected himself and moved away. She expressed herself most willing,
ready, happy to remain. {}``It was what she had been thinking of,
and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor in Louisa's room
would be sufficient for her, if Mrs.\ Harville would but think so.''

One thing more, and all seemed arranged. Though it was rather desirable
that Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some
share of delay; yet the time required by the Uppercross horses to
take them back, would be a dreadful extension of suspense; and Captain
Wentworth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed, that it would be
much better for him to take a chaise from the inn, and leave Mr.\ Musgrove's
carriage and horses to be sent home the next morning early, when there
would be the farther advantage of sending an account of Louisa's night.

Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part,
and to be soon followed by the two ladies. When the plan was made
known to Mary, however, there was an end of all peace in it. She was
so wretched and so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being
expected to go away instead of Anne; Anne, who was nothing to Louisa,
while she was her sister, and had the best right to stay in Henrietta's
stead! Why was not she to be as useful as Anne? And to go home without
Charles, too, without her husband! No, it was too unkind. And in short,
she said more than her husband could long withstand, and as none of
the others could oppose when he gave way, there was no help for it;
the change of Mary for Anne was inevitable.

Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill-judging
claims of Mary; but so it must be, and they set off for the town,
Charles taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick attending to
her. She gave a moment's recollection, as they hurried along, to the
little circumstances which the same spots had witnessed earlier in
the morning. There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr.\ Shirley's
leaving Uppercross; farther on, she had first seen Mr.\ Elliot; a
moment seemed all that could now be given to any one but Louisa, or
those who were wrapt up in her welfare.

Captain Benwick was most considerately attentive to her; and, united
as they all seemed by the distress of the day, she felt an increasing
degree of good-will towards him, and a pleasure even in thinking that
it might, perhaps, be the occasion of continuing their acquaintance.

Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a chaise and four
in waiting, stationed for their convenience in the lowest part of
the street; but his evident surprise and vexation at the substitution
of one sister for the other, the change in his countenance, the astonishment,
the expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was listened
to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne; or must at least convince
her that she was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa.

She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just. Without emulating
the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended
on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard, for his sake;
and she hoped he would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would
shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend.

In the mean while she was in the carriage. He had handed them both
in, and placed himself between them; and in this manner, under these
circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted
Lyme. How the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their manners;
what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could not foresee. It
was all quite natural, however. He was devoted to Henrietta; always
turning towards her; and when he spoke at all, always with the view
of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits. In general, his voice
and manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta from agitation
seemed the governing principle. Once only, when she had been grieving
over the last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting
that it ever had been thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome\mbox{---}

{}``Don't talk of it, don't talk of it,'' he cried. {}``Oh God!\ that
I had not given way to her at the fatal moment! Had I done as I ought!
But so eager and so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!''\ 

Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the
justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity
and advantage of firmness of character; and whether it might not strike
him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its
proportions and limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to
feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour
of happiness as a very resolute character.

They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills
and the same objects so soon. Their actual speed, heightened by some
dread of the conclusion, made the road appear but half as long as
on the day before. It was growing quite dusk, however, before they
were in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total
silence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner,
with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself
to sleep; when, as they were going up their last hill, Anne found
herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious
voice, he said:\mbox{---}

{}``I have been considering what we had best do. She must not appear
at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you
had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and
break it to Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove. Do you think this is a good
plan?''\ 

She did: he was satisfied, and said no more. But the remembrance of
the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and
of deference for her judgement, a great pleasure; and when it became
a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen.

When the distressing communication at Uppercross was over, and he
had seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be hoped,
and the daughter all the better for being with them, he announced
his intention of returning in the same carriage to Lyme; and when
the horses were baited, he was off.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 13}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 13}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 13}

The remainder of Anne's time at Uppercross, comprehending only two
days, was spent entirely at the Mansion House; and she had the satisfaction
of knowing herself extremely useful there, both as an immediate companion,
and as assisting in all those arrangements for the future, which,
in Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove's distressed state of spirits, would
have been difficulties.

They had an early account from Lyme the next morning. Louisa was much
the same. No symptoms worse than before had appeared. Charles came
a few hours afterwards, to bring a later and more particular account.
He was tolerably cheerful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but everything
was going on as well as the nature of the case admitted. In speaking
of the Harvilles, he seemed unable to satisfy his own sense of their
kindness, especially of Mrs.\ Harville's exertions as a nurse. {}``She
really left nothing for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded
to go early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical again
this morning. When he came away, she was going to walk out with Captain
Benwick, which, he hoped, would do her good. He almost wished she
had been prevailed on to come home the day before; but the truth was,
that Mrs.\ Harville left nothing for anybody to do.''

Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and his father had
at first half a mind to go with him, but the ladies could not consent.
It would be going only to multiply trouble to the others, and increase
his own distress; and a much better scheme followed and was acted
upon. A chaise was sent for from Crewkherne, and Charles conveyed
back a far more useful person in the old nursery-maid of the family,
one who having brought up all the children, and seen the very last,
the lingering and long-petted Master Harry, sent to school after his
brothers, was now living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings
and dress all the blains and bruises she could get near her, and who,
consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go and help nurse
dear Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting Sarah thither, had occurred
before to Mrs.\ Musgrove and Henrietta; but without Anne, it would
hardly have been resolved on, and found practicable so soon.

They were indebted, the next day, to Charles Hayter, for all the minute
knowledge of Louisa, which it was so essential to obtain every twenty-four
hours. He made it his business to go to Lyme, and his account was
still encouraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were believed
to be stronger. Every report agreed in Captain Wentworth's appearing
fixed in Lyme.

Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which they all dreaded.
{}``What should they do without her? They were wretched comforters
for one another.'' And so much was said in this way, that Anne thought
she could not do better than impart among them the general inclination
to which she was privy, and persuaded them all to go to Lyme at once.
She had little difficulty; it was soon determined that they would
go; go to-morrow, fix themselves at the inn, or get into lodgings,
as it suited, and there remain till dear Louisa could be moved. They
must be taking off some trouble from the good people she was with;
they might at least relieve Mrs.\ Harville from the care of her own
children; and in short, they were so happy in the decision, that Anne
was delighted with what she had done, and felt that she could not
spend her last morning at Uppercross better than in assisting their
preparations, and sending them off at an early hour, though her being
left to the solitary range of the house was the consequence.

She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage, she was
the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated
both houses, of all that had given Uppercross its cheerful character.
A few days had made a change indeed!

If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again. More than former
happiness would be restored. There could not be a doubt, to her mind
there was none, of what would follow her recovery. A few months hence,
and the room now so deserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive
self, might be filled again with all that was happy and gay, all that
was glowing and bright in prosperous love, all that was most unlike
Anne Elliot!

An hour's complete leisure for such reflections as these, on a dark
November day, a small thick rain almost blotting out the very few
objects ever to be discerned from the windows, was enough to make
the sound of Lady Russell's carriage exceedingly welcome; and yet,
though desirous to be gone, she could not quit the Mansion House,
or look an \emph{adieu} to the Cottage, with its black, dripping and
comfortless veranda, or even notice through the misty glasses the
last humble tenements of the village, without a saddened heart. Scenes
had passed in Uppercross which made it precious. It stood the record
of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of
some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship
and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which
could never cease to be dear. She left it all behind her, all but
the recollection that such things had been.

Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting Lady Russell's
house in September. It had not been necessary, and the few occasions
of its being possible for her to go to the Hall she had contrived
to evade and escape from. Her first return was to resume her place
in the modern and elegant apartments of the Lodge, and to gladden
the eyes of its mistress.

There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's joy in meeting her.
She knew who had been frequenting Uppercross. But happily, either
Anne was improved in plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied
her so; and Anne, in receiving her compliments on the occasion, had
the amusement of connecting them with the silent admiration of her
cousin, and of hoping that she was to be blessed with a second spring
of youth and beauty.

When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of some mental change.
The subjects of which her heart had been full on leaving Kellynch,
and which she had felt slighted, and been compelled to smother among
the Musgroves, were now become but of secondary interest. She had
lately lost sight even of her father and sister and Bath. Their concerns
had been sunk under those of Uppercross; and when Lady Russell reverted
to their former hopes and fears, and spoke her satisfaction in the
house in Camden Place, which had been taken, and her regret that Mr.\ 
Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been ashamed to have
it known how much more she was thinking of Lyme and Louisa Musgrove,
and all her acquaintance there; how much more interesting to her was
the home and the friendship of the Harvilles and Captain Benwick,
than her own father's house in Camden Place, or her own sister's intimacy
with Mrs.\ Clay. She was actually forced to exert herself to meet
Lady Russell with anything like the appearance of equal solicitude,
on topics which had by nature the first claim on her.

There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse on another
subject. They must speak of the accident at Lyme. Lady Russell had
not been arrived five minutes the day before, when a full account
of the whole had burst on her; but still it must be talked of, she
must make enquiries, she must regret the imprudence, lament the result,
and Captain Wentworth's name must be mentioned by both. Anne was conscious
of not doing it so well as Lady Russell. She could not speak the name,
and look straight forward to Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted
the expedient of telling her briefly what she thought of the attachment
between him and Louisa. When this was told, his name distressed her
no longer.

Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish them happy, but
internally her heart revelled in angry pleasure, in pleased contempt,
that the man who at twenty-three had seemed to understand somewhat
of the value of an Anne Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be
charmed by a Louisa Musgrove.

The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance
to mark them excepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which
found their way to Anne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather
improving account of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's
politeness could repose no longer, and the fainter self-threatenings
of the past became in a decided tone, {}``I must call on Mrs.\ Croft;
I really must call upon her soon. Anne, have you courage to go with
me, and pay a visit in that house? It will be some trial to us both.''

Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary, she truly felt as she
said, in observing\mbox{---}

{}``I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the two; your
feelings are less reconciled to the change than mine. By remaining
in the neighbourhood, I am become inured to it.''

She could have said more on the subject; for she had in fact so high
an opinion of the Crofts, and considered her father so very fortunate
in his tenants, felt the parish to be so sure of a good example, and
the poor of the best attention and relief, that however sorry and
ashamed for the necessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience
feel that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kellynch
Hall had passed into better hands than its owners'. These convictions
must unquestionably have their own pain, and severe was its kind;
but they precluded that pain which Lady Russell would suffer in entering
the house again, and returning through the well-known apartments.

In such moments Anne had no power of saying to herself, {}``These
rooms ought to belong only to us. Oh, how fallen in their destination!
How unworthily occupied! An ancient family to be so driven away! Strangers
filling their place!''\ No, except when she thought of her mother,
and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside, she had
no sigh of that description to heave.

Mrs.\ Croft always met her with a kindness which gave her the pleasure
of fancying herself a favourite, and on the present occasion, receiving
her in that house, there was particular attention.

The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic, and on comparing
their latest accounts of the invalid, it appeared that each lady dated
her intelligence from the same hour of yestermorn; that Captain Wentworth
had been in Kellynch yesterday (the first time since the accident),
had brought Anne the last note, which she had not been able to trace
the exact steps of; had staid a few hours and then returned again
to Lyme, and without any present intention of quitting it any more.
He had enquired after her, she found, particularly; had expressed
his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her exertions, and
had spoken of those exertions as great. This was handsome, and gave
her more pleasure than almost anything else could have done.

As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed only in one
style by a couple of steady, sensible women, whose judgements had
to work on ascertained events; and it was perfectly decided that it
had been the consequence of much thoughtlessness and much imprudence;
that its effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to
think, how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be doubtful, and
how liable she would still remain to suffer from the concussion hereafter!
The Admiral wound it up summarily by exclaiming\mbox{---}

{}``Ay, a very bad business indeed. A new sort of way this, for a
young fellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress's head, is
not it, Miss Elliot? This is breaking a head and giving a plaster,
truly!''\ 

Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell,
but they delighted Anne. His goodness of heart and simplicity of character
were irresistible.

{}``Now, this must be very bad for you,'' said he, suddenly rousing
from a little reverie, {}``to be coming and finding us here. I had
not recollected it before, I declare, but it must be very bad. But
now, do not stand upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the rooms
in the house if you like it.''

{}``Another time, Sir, I thank you, not now.''

{}``Well, whenever it suits you. You can slip in from the shrubbery
at any time; and there you will find we keep our umbrellas hanging
up by that door. A good place is not it? But,'' (checking himself),
{}``you will not think it a good place, for yours were always kept
in the butler's room. Ay, so it always is, I believe. One man's ways
may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best. And so
you must judge for yourself, whether it would be better for you to
go about the house or not.''

Anne, finding she might decline it, did so, very gratefully.

{}``We have made very few changes either,'' continued the Admiral,
after thinking a moment. {}``Very few. We told you about the laundry-door,
at Uppercross. That has been a very great improvement. The wonder
was, how any family upon earth could bear with the inconvenience of
its opening as it did, so long! You will tell Sir Walter what we have
done, and that Mr.\ Shepherd thinks it the greatest improvement the
house ever had. Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say, that
the few alterations we have made have been all very much for the better.
My wife should have the credit of them, however. I have done very
little besides sending away some of the large looking-glasses from
my dressing-room, which was your father's. A very good man, and very
much the gentleman I am sure: but I should think, Miss Elliot,''
(looking with serious reflection), {}``I should think he must be
rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such a number of looking-glasses!\ oh
Lord!\ there was no getting away from one's self. So I got Sophy
to lend me a hand, and we soon shifted their quarters; and now I am
quite snug, with my little shaving glass in one corner, and another
great thing that I never go near.''

Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer,
and the Admiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took
up the subject again, to say\mbox{---}

{}``The next time you write to your good father, Miss Elliot, pray
give him my compliments and Mrs.\ Croft's, and say that we are settled
here quite to our liking, and have no fault at all to find with the
place. The breakfast-room chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but
it is only when the wind is due north and blows hard, which may not
happen three times a winter. And take it altogether, now that we have
been into most of the houses hereabouts and can judge, there is not
one that we like better than this. Pray say so, with my compliments.
He will be glad to hear it.''

Lady Russell and Mrs.\ Croft were very well pleased with each other:
but the acquaintance which this visit began was fated not to proceed
far at present; for when it was returned, the Crofts announced themselves
to be going away for a few weeks, to visit their connexions in the
north of the county, and probably might not be at home again before
Lady Russell would be removing to Bath.

So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Wentworth at Kellynch
Hall, or of seeing him in company with her friend. Everything was
safe enough, and she smiled over the many anxious feelings she had
wasted on the subject.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 14}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 14}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 14}

Though Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much longer after Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Musgrove's going than Anne conceived they could have been at
all wanted, they were yet the first of the family to be at home again;
and as soon as possible after their return to Uppercross they drove
over to the Lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit up; but her
head, though clear, was exceedingly weak, and her nerves susceptible
to the highest extreme of tenderness; and though she might be pronounced
to be altogether doing very well, it was still impossible to say when
she might be able to bear the removal home; and her father and mother,
who must return in time to receive their younger children for the
Christmas holidays, had hardly a hope of being allowed to bring her
with them.

They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs.\ Musgrove had got Mrs.\ Harville's
children away as much as she could, every possible supply from Uppercross
had been furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvilles,
while the Harvilles had been wanting them to come to dinner every
day; and in short, it seemed to have been only a struggle on each
side as to which should be most disinterested and hospitable.

Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as was evident by her
staying so long, she had found more to enjoy than to suffer. Charles
Hayter had been at Lyme oftener than suited her; and when they dined
with the Harvilles there had been only a maid-servant to wait, and
at first Mrs.\ Harville had always given Mrs.\ Musgrove precedence;
but then, she had received so very handsome an apology from her on
finding out whose daughter she was, and there had been so much going
on every day, there had been so many walks between their lodgings
and the Harvilles, and she had got books from the library, and changed
them so often, that the balance had certainly been much in favour
of Lyme. She had been taken to Charmouth too, and she had bathed,
and she had gone to church, and there were a great many more people
to look at in the church at Lyme than at Uppercross; and all this,
joined to the sense of being so very useful, had made really an agreeable
fortnight.

Anne enquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's face was clouded directly.
Charles laughed.

{}``Oh!\ Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he is a very
odd young man. I do not know what he would be at. We asked him to
come home with us for a day or two: Charles undertook to give him
some shooting, and he seemed quite delighted, and, for my part, I
thought it was all settled; when behold!\ on Tuesday night, he made
a very awkward sort of excuse; `he never shot' and he had `been quite
misunderstood,' and he had promised this and he had promised that,
and the end of it was, I found, that he did not mean to come. I suppose
he was afraid of finding it dull; but upon my word I should have thought
we were lively enough at the Cottage for such a heart-broken man as
Captain Benwick.''

Charles laughed again and said, {}``Now Mary, you know very well
how it really was. It was all your doing,'' (turning to Anne.) {}``He
fancied that if he went with us, he should find you close by: he fancied
everybody to be living in Uppercross; and when he discovered that
Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him, and he had
not courage to come. That is the fact, upon my honour, Mary knows
it is.''

But Mary did not give into it very graciously, whether from not considering
Captain Benwick entitled by birth and situation to be in love with
an Elliot, or from not wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction
to Uppercross than herself, must be left to be guessed. Anne's good-will,
however, was not to be lessened by what she heard. She boldly acknowledged
herself flattered, and continued her enquiries.

{}``Oh!\ he talks of you,'' cried Charles, {}``in such terms\mbox{---}'' 

Mary interrupted him. {}``I declare, Charles, I never heard him mention
Anne twice all the time I was there. I declare, Anne, he never talks
of you at all.''

{}``No,'' admitted Charles, {}``I do not know that he ever does,
in a general way; but however, it is a very clear thing that he admires
you exceedingly. His head is full of some books that he is reading
upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them;
he has found out something or other in one of them which he thinks\mbox{---}oh!
I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was something very fine\mbox{---}I
overheard him telling Henrietta all about it; and then `Miss Elliot'
was spoken of in the highest terms! Now Mary, I declare it was so,
I heard it myself, and you were in the other room.\  `Elegance, sweetness,
beauty.' Oh!\ there was no end of Miss Elliot's charms.''

{}``And I am sure,'' cried Mary, warmly, {}``it was a very little
to his credit, if he did. Miss Harville only died last June. Such
a heart is very little worth having; is it, Lady Russell? I am sure
you will agree with me.''

{}``I must see Captain Benwick before I decide,'' said Lady Russell,
smiling.

{}``And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can tell you,
ma'am,'' said Charles. {}``Though he had not nerves for coming away
with us, and setting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit here,
he will make his way over to Kellynch one day by himself, you may
depend on it. I told him the distance and the road, and I told him
of the church's being so very well worth seeing; for as he has a taste
for those sort of things, I thought that would be a good excuse, and
he listened with all his understanding and soul; and I am sure from
his manner that you will have him calling here soon. So, I give you
notice, Lady Russell.''

{}``Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome to me,'' was
Lady Russell's kind answer.

{}``Oh!\ as to being Anne's acquaintance,'' said Mary, {}``I think
he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been seeing him every day
this last fortnight.''

{}``Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall be very happy
to see Captain Benwick.''

{}``You will not find anything very agreeable in him, I assure you,
ma'am. He is one of the dullest young men that ever lived. He has
walked with me, sometimes, from one end of the sands to the other,
without saying a word. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am
sure you will not like him.''

{}``There we differ, Mary,'' said Anne. {}``I think Lady Russell
would like him. I think she would be so much pleased with his mind,
that she would very soon see no deficiency in his manner.''

{}``So do I, Anne,'' said Charles. {}``I am sure Lady Russell would
like him. He is just Lady Russell's sort. Give him a book, and he
will read all day long.''

{}``Yes, that he will!''\ exclaimed Mary, tauntingly. {}``He will
sit poring over his book, and not know when a person speaks to him,
or when one drop's one's scissors, or anything that happens. Do you
think Lady Russell would like that?''\ 

Lady Russell could not help laughing. {}``Upon my word,'' said she,
{}``I should not have supposed that my opinion of any one could have
admitted of such difference of conjecture, steady and matter of fact
as I may call myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person
who can give occasion to such directly opposite notions. I wish he
may be induced to call here. And when he does, Mary, you may depend
upon hearing my opinion; but I am determined not to judge him beforehand.''

{}``You will not like him, I will answer for it.''

Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary spoke with animation
of their meeting with, or rather missing, Mr.\ Elliot so extraordinarily.

{}``He is a man,'' said Lady Russell, {}``whom I have no wish to
see. His declining to be on cordial terms with the head of his family,
has left a very strong impression in his disfavour with me.''

This decision checked Mary's eagerness, and stopped her short in the
midst of the Elliot countenance.

With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne hazarded no enquiries,
there was voluntary communication sufficient. His spirits had been
greatly recovering lately as might be expected. As Louisa improved,
he had improved, and he was now quite a different creature from what
he had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa; and was so extremely
fearful of any ill consequence to her from an interview, that he did
not press for it at all; and, on the contrary, seemed to have a plan
of going away for a week or ten days, till her head was stronger.
He had talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted to
persuade Captain Benwick to go with him; but, as Charles maintained
to the last, Captain Benwick seemed much more disposed to ride over
to Kellynch.

There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne were both occasionally
thinking of Captain Benwick, from this time. Lady Russell could not
hear the door-bell without feeling that it might be his herald; nor
could Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her father's
grounds, or any visit of charity in the village, without wondering
whether she might see him or hear of him. Captain Benwick came not,
however. He was either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined,
or he was too shy; and after giving him a week's indulgence, Lady
Russell determined him to be unworthy of the interest which he had
been beginning to excite.

The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys and girls from
school, bringing with them Mrs.\ Harville's little children, to improve
the noise of Uppercross, and lessen that of Lyme. Henrietta remained
with Louisa; but all the rest of the family were again in their usual
quarters.

Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them once, when Anne
could not but feel that Uppercross was already quite alive again.
Though neither Henrietta, nor Louisa, nor Charles Hayter, nor Captain
Wentworth were there, the room presented as strong a contrast as could
be wished to the last state she had seen it in.

Immediately surrounding Mrs.\ Musgrove were the little Harvilles,
whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children
from the Cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was
a table occupied by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold
paper; and on the other were tressels and trays, bending under the
weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were holding high
revel; the whole completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed
determined to be heard, in spite of all the noise of the others. Charles
and Mary also came in, of course, during their visit, and Mr.\ Musgrove
made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and sat down
close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but
from the clamour of the children on his knees, generally in vain.
It was a fine family-piece.

Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have deemed such a domestic
hurricane a bad restorative of the nerves, which Louisa's illness
must have so greatly shaken. But Mrs.\ Musgrove, who got Anne near
her on purpose to thank her most cordially, again and again, for all
her attentions to them, concluded a short recapitulation of what she
had suffered herself by observing, with a happy glance round the room,
that after all she had gone through, nothing was so likely to do her
good as a little quiet cheerfulness at home.

Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother could even think of her
being able to join their party at home, before her brothers and sisters
went to school again. The Harvilles had promised to come with her
and stay at Uppercross, whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was
gone, for the present, to see his brother in Shropshire.

{}``I hope I shall remember, in future,'' said Lady Russell, as
soon as they were reseated in the carriage, {}``not to call at Uppercross
in the Christmas holidays.''

Everybody has their taste in noises as well as in other matters; and
sounds are quite innoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather
than their quantity. When Lady Russell not long afterwards, was entering
Bath on a wet afternoon, and driving through the long course of streets
from the Old Bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of other carriages,
the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the bawling of newspapermen,
muffin-men and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink of pattens, she made
no complaint. No, these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures;
her spirits rose under their influence; and like Mrs.\ Musgrove,
she was feeling, though not saying, that after being long in the country,
nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness.

Anne did not share these feelings. She persisted in a very determined,
though very silent disinclination for Bath; caught the first dim view
of the extensive buildings, smoking in rain, without any wish of seeing
them better; felt their progress through the streets to be, however
disagreeable, yet too rapid; for who would be glad to see her when
she arrived? And looked back, with fond regret, to the bustles of
Uppercross and the seclusion of Kellynch.

Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a piece of news of some interest.
Mr.\ Elliot was in Bath. He had called in Camden Place; had called
a second time, a third; had been pointedly attentive. If Elizabeth
and her father did not deceive themselves, had been taking much pains
to seek the acquaintance, and proclaim the value of the connection,
as he had formerly taken pains to shew neglect. This was very wonderful
if it were true; and Lady Russell was in a state of very agreeable
curiosity and perplexity about Mr.\ Elliot, already recanting the
sentiment she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being {}``a
man whom she had no wish to see.'' She had a great wish to see him.
If he really sought to reconcile himself like a dutiful branch, he
must be forgiven for having dismembered himself from the paternal
tree.

Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the circumstance, but she
felt that she would rather see Mr.\ Elliot again than not, which
was more than she could say for many other persons in Bath.

She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady Russell then drove to her
own lodgings, in Rivers Street.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 15}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 15}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 15}

Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden Place, a lofty dignified
situation, such as becomes a man of consequence; and both he and Elizabeth
were settled there, much to their satisfaction.

Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment
of many months, and anxiously saying to herself, {}``Oh!\ when shall
I leave you again?''\ A degree of unexpected cordiality, however,
in the welcome she received, did her good. Her father and sister were
glad to see her, for the sake of shewing her the house and furniture,
and met her with kindness. Her making a fourth, when they sat down
to dinner, was noticed as an advantage.

Mrs.\ Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling, but her courtesies
and smiles were more a matter of course. Anne had always felt that
she would pretend what was proper on her arrival, but the complaisance
of the others was unlooked for. They were evidently in excellent spirits,
and she was soon to listen to the causes. They had no inclination
to listen to her. After laying out for some compliments of being deeply
regretted in their old neighbourhood, which Anne could not pay, they
had only a few faint enquiries to make, before the talk must be all
their own. Uppercross excited no interest, Kellynch very little: it
was all Bath.

They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more than answered
their expectations in every respect. Their house was undoubtedly the
best in Camden Place; their drawing-rooms had many decided advantages
over all the others which they had either seen or heard of, and the
superiority was not less in the style of the fitting-up, or the taste
of the furniture. Their acquaintance was exceedingly sought after.
Everybody was wanting to visit them. They had drawn back from many
introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left by people
of whom they knew nothing.

Here were funds of enjoyment. Could Anne wonder that her father and
sister were happy? She might not wonder, but she must sigh that her
father should feel no degradation in his change, should see nothing
to regret in the duties and dignity of the resident landholder, should
find so much to be vain of in the littlenesses of a town; and she
must sigh, and smile, and wonder too, as Elizabeth threw open the
folding-doors and walked with exultation from one drawing-room to
the other, boasting of their space; at the possibility of that woman,
who had been mistress of Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud
of between two walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder.

But this was not all which they had to make them happy. They had Mr.\ Elliot
too. Anne had a great deal to hear of Mr.\ Elliot. He was not only
pardoned, they were delighted with him. He had been in Bath about
a fortnight; (he had passed through Bath in November, in his way to
London, when the intelligence of Sir Walter's being settled there
had of course reached him, though only twenty-four hours in the place,
but he had not been able to avail himself of it;) but he had now been
a fortnight in Bath, and his first object on arriving, had been to
leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by such assiduous
endeavours to meet, and when they did meet, by such great openness
of conduct, such readiness to apologize for the past, such solicitude
to be received as a relation again, that their former good understanding
was completely re-established.

They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained away all the
appearance of neglect on his own side. It had originated in misapprehension
entirely. He had never had an idea of throwing himself off; he had
feared that he was thrown off, but knew not why, and delicacy had
kept him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken disrespectfully or
carelessly of the family and the family honours, he was quite indignant.
He, who had ever boasted of being an Elliot, and whose feelings, as
to connection, were only too strict to suit the unfeudal tone of the
present day. He was astonished, indeed, but his character and general
conduct must refute it. He could refer Sir Walter to all who knew
him; and certainly, the pains he had been taking on this, the first
opportunity of reconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a
relation and heir-presumptive, was a strong proof of his opinions
on the subject.

The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to admit of much
extenuation. This was an article not to be entered on by himself;
but a very intimate friend of his, a Colonel Wallis, a highly respectable
man, perfectly the gentleman, (and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter
added), who was living in very good style in Marlborough Buildings,
and had, at his own particular request, been admitted to their acquaintance
through Mr.\ Elliot, had mentioned one or two things relative to
the marriage, which made a material difference in the discredit of
it.

Colonel Wallis had known Mr.\ Elliot long, had been well acquainted
also with his wife, had perfectly understood the whole story. She
was certainly not a woman of family, but well educated, accomplished,
rich, and excessively in love with his friend. There had been the
charm. She had sought him. Without that attraction, not all her money
would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was, moreover, assured of
her having been a very fine woman. Here was a great deal to soften
the business. A very fine woman with a large fortune, in love with
him! Sir Walter seemed to admit it as complete apology; and though
Elizabeth could not see the circumstance in quite so favourable a
light, she allowed it be a great extenuation.

Mr.\ Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them once, evidently
delighted by the distinction of being asked, for they gave no dinners
in general; delighted, in short, by every proof of cousinly notice,
and placing his whole happiness in being on intimate terms in Camden
Place.

Anne listened, but without quite understanding it. Allowances, large
allowances, she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke.
She heard it all under embellishment. All that sounded extravagant
or irrational in the progress of the reconciliation might have no
origin but in the language of the relators. Still, however, she had
the sensation of there being something more than immediately appeared,
in Mr.\ Elliot's wishing, after an interval of so many years, to
be well received by them. In a worldly view, he had nothing to gain
by being on terms with Sir Walter; nothing to risk by a state of variance.
In all probability he was already the richer of the two, and the Kellynch
estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title. A sensible man,
and he had looked like a very sensible man, why should it be an object
to him? She could only offer one solution; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's
sake. There might really have been a liking formerly, though convenience
and accident had drawn him a different way; and now that he could
afford to please himself, he might mean to pay his addresses to her.
Elizabeth was certainly very handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners,
and her character might never have been penetrated by Mr.\ Elliot,
knowing her but in public, and when very young himself. How her temper
and understanding might bear the investigation of his present keener
time of life was another concern and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly
did she wish that he might not be too nice, or too observant if Elizabeth
were his object; and that Elizabeth was disposed to believe herself
so, and that her friend Mrs.\ Clay was encouraging the idea, seemed
apparent by a glance or two between them, while Mr.\ Elliot's frequent
visits were talked of.

Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without
being much attended to. {}``Oh!\ yes, perhaps, it had been Mr.\ Elliot.
They did not know. It might be him, perhaps.'' They could not listen
to her description of him. They were describing him themselves; Sir
Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentlemanlike appearance,
his air of elegance and fashion, his good shaped face, his sensible
eye; but, at the same time, {}``must lament his being very much under-hung,
a defect which time seemed to have increased; nor could he pretend
to say that ten years had not altered almost every feature for the
worse. Mr.\ Elliot appeared to think that he (Sir Walter) was looking
exactly as he had done when they last parted;'' but Sir Walter had
{}``not been able to return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed
him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr.\ Elliot was better
to look at than most men, and he had no objection to being seen with
him anywhere.''

Mr.\ Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough Buildings, were talked
of the whole evening. {}``Colonel Wallis had been so impatient to
be introduced to them!\ and Mr.\ Elliot so anxious that he should!''\ and
there was a Mrs.\ Wallis, at present known only to them by description,
as she was in daily expectation of her confinement; but Mr.\ Elliot
spoke of her as {}``a most charming woman, quite worthy of being
known in Camden Place,'' and as soon as she recovered they were to
be acquainted. Sir Walter thought much of Mrs.\ Wallis; she was said
to be an excessively pretty woman, beautiful. {}``He longed to see
her. He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces
he was continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the
number of its plain women. He did not mean to say that there were
no pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion.
He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one handsome face would
be followed by thirty, or five-and-thirty frights; and once, as he
had stood in a shop on Bond Street, he had counted eighty-seven women
go by, one after another, without there being a tolerable face among
them. It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost, which
hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test of. But still,
there certainly were a dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath; and
as for the men!\ they were infinitely worse. Such scarecrows as the
streets were full of! It was evident how little the women were used
to the sight of anything tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent
appearance produced. He had never walked anywhere arm-in-arm with
Colonel Wallis (who was a fine military figure, though sandy-haired)
without observing that every woman's eye was upon him; every woman's
eye was sure to be upon Colonel Wallis.'' Modest Sir Walter! He was
not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and Mrs.\ Clay united
in hinting that Colonel Wallis's companion might have as good a figure
as Colonel Wallis, and certainly was not sandy-haired.

{}``How is Mary looking?''\ said Sir Walter, in the height of his
good humour. {}``The last time I saw her she had a red nose, but
I hope that may not happen every day.''

{}``Oh!\ no, that must have been quite accidental. In general she
has been in very good health and very good looks since Michaelmas.''

{}``If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in sharp winds,
and grow coarse, I would send her a new hat and pelisse.''

Anne was considering whether she should venture to suggest that a
gown, or a cap, would not be liable to any such misuse, when a knock
at the door suspended everything. {}``A knock at the door!\ and
so late! It was ten o'clock. Could it be Mr.\ Elliot? They knew he
was to dine in Lansdown Crescent. It was possible that he might stop
in his way home to ask them how they did. They could think of no one
else. Mrs.\ Clay decidedly thought it Mr.\ Elliot's knock.'' Mrs.\ Clay
was right. With all the state which a butler and foot-boy could give,
Mr.\ Elliot was ushered into the room.

It was the same, the very same man, with no difference but of dress.
Anne drew a little back, while the others received his compliments,
and her sister his apologies for calling at so unusual an hour, but
{}``he could not be so near without wishing to know that neither
she nor her friend had taken cold the day before,'' \&c.\ \&c; which
was all as politely done, and as politely taken, as possible, but
her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked of his youngest daughter;
{}``Mr.\ Elliot must give him leave to present him to his youngest
daughter'' (there was no occasion for remembering Mary); and Anne,
smiling and blushing, very becomingly shewed to Mr.\ Elliot the pretty
features which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly saw, with
amusement at his little start of surprise, that he had not been at
all aware of who she was. He looked completely astonished, but not
more astonished than pleased; his eyes brightened!\ and with the
most perfect alacrity he welcomed the relationship, alluded to the
past, and entreated to be received as an acquaintance already. He
was quite as good-looking as he had appeared at Lyme, his countenance
improved by speaking, and his manners were so exactly what they ought
to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she could
compare them in excellence to only one person's manners. They were
not the same, but they were, perhaps, equally good.

He sat down with them, and improved their conversation very much.
There could be no doubt of his being a sensible man. Ten minutes were
enough to certify that. His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject,
his knowing where to stop; it was all the operation of a sensible,
discerning mind. As soon as he could, he began to talk to her of Lyme,
wanting to compare opinions respecting the place, but especially wanting
to speak of the circumstance of their happening to be guests in the
same inn at the same time; to give his own route, understand something
of hers, and regret that he should have lost such an opportunity of
paying his respects to her. She gave him a short account of her party
and business at Lyme. His regret increased as he listened. He had
spent his whole solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs; had
heard voices, mirth continually; thought they must be a most delightful
set of people, longed to be with them, but certainly without the smallest
suspicion of his possessing the shadow of a right to introduce himself.
If he had but asked who the party were! The name of Musgrove would
have told him enough. {}``Well, it would serve to cure him of an
absurd practice of never asking a question at an inn, which he had
adopted, when quite a young man, on the principal of its being very
ungenteel to be curious.

{}``The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty,'' said
he, {}``as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the
thing, are more absurd, I believe, than those of any other set of
beings in the world. The folly of the means they often employ is only
to be equalled by the folly of what they have in view.''

But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne alone: he knew
it; he was soon diffused again among the others, and it was only at
intervals that he could return to Lyme.

His enquiries, however, produced at length an account of the scene
she had been engaged in there, soon after his leaving the place. Having
alluded to {}``an accident,'' he must hear the whole. When he questioned,
Sir Walter and Elizabeth began to question also, but the difference
in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could only compare
Mr.\ Elliot to Lady Russell, in the wish of really comprehending
what had passed, and in the degree of concern for what she must have
suffered in witnessing it.

He staid an hour with them. The elegant little clock on the mantel-piece
had struck {}``eleven with its silver sounds,'' and the watchman
was beginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale, before
Mr.\ Elliot or any of them seemed to feel that he had been there
long.

Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in
Camden Place could have passed so well!


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 16}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 16}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 16}

There was one point which Anne, on returning to her family, would
have been more thankful to ascertain even than Mr.\ Elliot's being
in love with Elizabeth, which was, her father's not being in love
with Mrs.\ Clay; and she was very far from easy about it, when she
had been at home a few hours. On going down to breakfast the next
morning, she found there had just been a decent pretence on the lady's
side of meaning to leave them. She could imagine Mrs.\ Clay to have
said, that {}``now Miss Anne was come, she could not suppose herself
at all wanted;'' for Elizabeth was replying in a sort of whisper,
{}``That must not be any reason, indeed. I assure you I feel it none.
She is nothing to me, compared with you;'' and she was in full time
to hear her father say, {}``My dear madam, this must not be. As yet,
you have seen nothing of Bath. You have been here only to be useful.
You must not run away from us now. You must stay to be acquainted
with Mrs.\ Wallis, the beautiful Mrs.\ Wallis. To your fine mind,
I well know the sight of beauty is a real gratification.''

He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was not surprised
to see Mrs.\ Clay stealing a glance at Elizabeth and herself. Her
countenance, perhaps, might express some watchfulness; but the praise
of the fine mind did not appear to excite a thought in her sister.
The lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties, and promise
to stay.

In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to
be alone together, he began to compliment her on her improved looks;
he thought her {}``less thin in her person, in her cheeks; her skin,
her complexion, greatly improved; clearer, fresher. Had she been using
any thing in particular?'' {}``No, nothing.'' {}``Merely Gowland,''
he supposed. {}``No, nothing at all.'' {}``Ha!\ he was surprised
at that;'' and added, {}``certainly you cannot do better than to
continue as you are; you cannot be better than well; or I should recommend
Gowland, the constant use of Gowland, during the spring months. Mrs.\ Clay
has been using it at my recommendation, and you see what it has done
for her. You see how it has carried away her freckles.''

If Elizabeth could but have heard this! Such personal praise might
have struck her, especially as it did not appear to Anne that the
freckles were at all lessened. But everything must take its chance.
The evil of a marriage would be much diminished, if Elizabeth were
also to marry. As for herself, she might always command a home with
Lady Russell.

Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were put to some trial
on this point, in her intercourse in Camden Place. The sight of Mrs.\ Clay
in such favour, and of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation
to her there; and vexed her as much when she was away, as a person
in Bath who drinks the water, gets all the new publications, and has
a very large acquaintance, has time to be vexed.

As Mr.\ Elliot became known to her, she grew more charitable, or
more indifferent, towards the others. His manners were an immediate
recommendation; and on conversing with him she found the solid so
fully supporting the superficial, that she was at first, as she told
Anne, almost ready to exclaim, {}``Can this be Mr.\ Elliot?''\ and
could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or estimable
man. Everything united in him; good understanding, correct opinions,
knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. He had strong feelings of
family attachment and family honour, without pride or weakness; he
lived with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display; he
judged for himself in everything essential, without defying public
opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He was steady, observant,
moderate, candid; never run away with by spirits or by selfishness,
which fancied itself strong feeling; and yet, with a sensibility to
what was amiable and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of
domestic life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent
agitation seldom really possess. She was sure that he had not been
happy in marriage. Colonel Wallis said it, and Lady Russell saw it;
but it had been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor (she began pretty
soon to suspect) to prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction
in Mr.\ Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs.\ Clay.

It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn that she and her
excellent friend could sometimes think differently; and it did not
surprise her, therefore, that Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious
or inconsistent, nothing to require more motives than appeared, in
Mr.\ Elliot's great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady Russell's
view, it was perfectly natural that Mr.\ Elliot, at a mature time
of life, should feel it a most desirable object, and what would very
generally recommend him among all sensible people, to be on good terms
with the head of his family; the simplest process in the world of
time upon a head naturally clear, and only erring in the heyday of
youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile about it, and at last
to mention {}``Elizabeth.'' Lady Russell listened, and looked, and
made only this cautious reply:\mbox{---}{}``Elizabeth!\ very well;
time will explain.''

It was a reference to the future, which Anne, after a little observation,
felt she must submit to. She could determine nothing at present. In
that house Elizabeth must be first; and she was in the habit of such
general observance as {}``Miss Elliot,'' that any particularity
of attention seemed almost impossible. Mr.\ Elliot, too, it must
be remembered, had not been a widower seven months. A little delay
on his side might be very excusable. In fact, Anne could never see
the crape round his hat, without fearing that she was the inexcusable
one, in attributing to him such imaginations; for though his marriage
had not been very happy, still it had existed so many years that she
could not comprehend a very rapid recovery from the awful impression
of its being dissolved.

However it might end, he was without any question their pleasantest
acquaintance in Bath: she saw nobody equal to him; and it was a great
indulgence now and then to talk to him about Lyme, which he seemed
to have as lively a wish to see again, and to see more of, as herself.
They went through the particulars of their first meeting a great many
times. He gave her to understand that he had looked at her with some
earnestness. She knew it well; and she remembered another person's
look also.

They did not always think alike. His value for rank and connexion
she perceived was greater than hers. It was not merely complaisance,
it must be a liking to the cause, which made him enter warmly into
her father and sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought
unworthy to excite them. The Bath paper one morning announced the
arrival of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple, and her daughter, the
Honourable Miss Carteret; and all the comfort of No. \mbox{------},
Camden Place, was swept away for many days; for the Dalrymples (in
Anne's opinion, most unfortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and
the agony was how to introduce themselves properly.

Anne had never seen her father and sister before in contact with nobility,
and she must acknowledge herself disappointed. She had hoped better
things from their high ideas of their own situation in life, and was
reduced to form a wish which she had never foreseen; a wish that they
had more pride; for {}``our cousins Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret;''
{}``our cousins, the Dalrymples,'' sounded in her ears all day long.

Sir Walter had once been in company with the late viscount, but had
never seen any of the rest of the family; and the difficulties of
the case arose from there having been a suspension of all intercourse
by letters of ceremony, ever since the death of that said late viscount,
when, in consequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at the
same time, there had been an unlucky omission at Kellynch. No letter
of condolence had been sent to Ireland. The neglect had been visited
on the head of the sinner; for when poor Lady Elliot died herself,
no letter of condolence was received at Kellynch, and, consequently,
there was but too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymples considered
the relationship as closed. How to have this anxious business set
to rights, and be admitted as cousins again, was the question: and
it was a question which, in a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell
nor Mr.\ Elliot thought unimportant. {}``Family connexions were
always worth preserving, good company always worth seeking; Lady Dalrymple
had taken a house, for three months, in Laura Place, and would be
living in style. She had been at Bath the year before, and Lady Russell
had heard her spoken of as a charming woman. It was very desirable
that the connexion should be renewed, if it could be done, without
any compromise of propriety on the side of the Elliots.''

Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and at last wrote
a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret, and entreaty, to
his right honourable cousin. Neither Lady Russell nor Mr.\ Elliot
could admire the letter; but it did all that was wanted, in bringing
three lines of scrawl from the Dowager Viscountess. {}``She was very
much honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance.'' The toils
of the business were over, the sweets began. They visited in Laura
Place, they had the cards of Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple, and the
Honourable Miss Carteret, to be arranged wherever they might be most
visible: and {}``Our cousins in Laura Place,''---{}``Our cousins,
Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret,'' were talked of to everybody.

Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her daughter even been very
agreeable, she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they
created, but they were nothing. There was no superiority of manner,
accomplishment, or understanding. Lady Dalrymple had acquired the
name of {}``a charming woman,'' because she had a smile and a civil
answer for everybody. Miss Carteret, with still less to say, was so
plain and so awkward, that she would never have been tolerated in
Camden Place but for her birth.

Lady Russell confessed she had expected something better; but yet
{}``it was an acquaintance worth having;'' and when Anne ventured
to speak her opinion of them to Mr.\ Elliot, he agreed to their being
nothing in themselves, but still maintained that, as a family connexion,
as good company, as those who would collect good company around them,
they had their value. Anne smiled and said,

{}``My idea of good company, Mr.\ Elliot, is the company of clever,
well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that
is what I call good company.''

{}``You are mistaken,'' said he gently, {}``that is not good company;
that is the best. Good company requires only birth, education, and
manners, and with regard to education is not very nice. Birth and
good manners are essential; but a little learning is by no means a
dangerous thing in good company; on the contrary, it will do very
well. My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not satisfied. She is
fastidious. My dear cousin'' (sitting down by her), {}``you have
a better right to be fastidious than almost any other woman I know;
but will it answer? Will it make you happy? Will it not be wiser to
accept the society of those good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy
all the advantages of the connexion as far as possible? You may depend
upon it, that they will move in the first set in Bath this winter,
and as rank is rank, your being known to be related to them will have
its use in fixing your family (our family let me say) in that degree
of consideration which we must all wish for.''

{}``Yes,'' sighed Anne, {}``we shall, indeed, be known to be related
to them!''\ then recollecting herself, and not wishing to be answered,
she added, {}``I certainly do think there has been by far too much
trouble taken to procure the acquaintance. I suppose'' (smiling)
{}``I have more pride than any of you; but I confess it does vex
me, that we should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknowledged,
which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect indifference to them.''

{}``Pardon me, dear cousin, you are unjust in your own claims. In
London, perhaps, in your present quiet style of living, it might be
as you say: but in Bath; Sir Walter Elliot and his family will always
be worth knowing: always acceptable as acquaintance.''

{}``Well,'' said Anne, {}``I certainly am proud, too proud to enjoy
a welcome which depends so entirely upon place.''

{}``I love your indignation,'' said he; {}``it is very natural.
But here you are in Bath, and the object is to be established here
with all the credit and dignity which ought to belong to Sir Walter
Elliot. You talk of being proud; I am called proud, I know, and I
shall not wish to believe myself otherwise; for our pride, if investigated,
would have the same object, I have no doubt, though the kind may seem
a little different. In one point, I am sure, my dear cousin,'' (he
continued, speaking lower, though there was no one else in the room)
{}``in one point, I am sure, we must feel alike. We must feel that
every addition to your father's society, among his equals or superiors,
may be of use in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath
him.''

He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs.\ Clay had been lately
occupying: a sufficient explanation of what he particularly meant;
and though Anne could not believe in their having the same sort of
pride, she was pleased with him for not liking Mrs.\ Clay; and her
conscience admitted that his wishing to promote her father's getting
great acquaintance was more than excusable in the view of defeating
her.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 17}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 17}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 17}

While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good
fortune in Laura Place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very
different description.

She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of
there being an old school-fellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims
on her attention of past kindness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton,
now Mrs.\ Smith, had shewn her kindness in one of those periods of
her life when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone unhappy to
school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom she had dearly loved,
feeling her separation from home, and suffering as a girl of fourteen,
of strong sensibility and not high spirits, must suffer at such a
time; and Miss Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still
from the want of near relations and a settled home, remaining another
year at school, had been useful and good to her in a way which had
considerably lessened her misery, and could never be remembered with
indifference.

Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long afterwards, was
said to have married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne
had known of her, till now that their governess's account brought
her situation forward in a more decided but very different form.

She was a widow and poor. Her husband had been extravagant; and at
his death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully
involved. She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with,
and in addition to these distresses had been afflicted with a severe
rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her
for the present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account, and
was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very humble way,
unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of course
almost excluded from society.

Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from
Miss Elliot would give Mrs.\ Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time
in going. She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she
intended, at home. It would excite no proper interest there. She only
consulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her sentiments,
and was most happy to convey her as near to Mrs.\ Smith's lodgings
in Westgate Buildings, as Anne chose to be taken.

The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established, their interest
in each other more than re-kindled. The first ten minutes had its
awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve years were gone since they had
parted, and each presented a somewhat different person from what the
other had imagined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming,
silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman of seven-and-twenty,
with every beauty except bloom, and with manners as consciously right
as they were invariably gentle; and twelve years had transformed the
fine-looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow of health
and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helpless widow,
receiving the visit of her former \emph{prot\'{e}g\'{e}e} as a favour;
but all that was uncomfortable in the meeting had soon passed away,
and left only the interesting charm of remembering former partialities
and talking over old times.

Anne found in Mrs.\ Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which
she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse
and be cheerful beyond her expectation. Neither the dissipations of
the past\mbox{---}and she had lived very much in the world\mbox{---}nor
the restrictions of the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed
to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.

In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, and
Anne's astonishment increased. She could scarcely imagine a more cheerless
situation in itself than Mrs.\ Smith's. She had been very fond of
her husband: she had buried him. She had been used to affluence: it
was gone. She had no child to connect her with life and happiness
again, no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs,
no health to make all the rest supportable. Her accommodations were
limited to a noisy parlour, and a dark bedroom behind, with no possibility
of moving from one to the other without assistance, which there was
only one servant in the house to afford, and she never quitted the
house but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet, in spite of all
this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of languor
and depression, to hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could it
be? She watched, observed, reflected, and finally determined that
this was not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submissive
spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution,
but here was something more; here was that elasticity of mind, that
disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil
to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself,
which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift of Heaven; and
Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which, by a merciful
appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost every other
want.

There had been a time, Mrs.\ Smith told her, when her spirits had
nearly failed. She could not call herself an invalid now, compared
with her state on first reaching Bath. Then she had, indeed, been
a pitiable object; for she had caught cold on the journey, and had
hardly taken possession of her lodgings before she was again confined
to her bed and suffering under severe and constant pain; and all this
among strangers, with the absolute necessity of having a regular nurse,
and finances at that moment particularly unfit to meet any extraordinary
expense. She had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it
had done her good. It had increased her comforts by making her feel
herself to be in good hands. She had seen too much of the world, to
expect sudden or disinterested attachment anywhere, but her illness
had proved to her that her landlady had a character to preserve, and
would not use her ill; and she had been particularly fortunate in
her nurse, as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and
who had always a home in that house when unemployed, chanced to be
at liberty just in time to attend her. {}``And she,'' said Mrs.\ Smith,
{}``besides nursing me most admirably, has really proved an invaluable
acquaintance. As soon as I could use my hands she taught me to knit,
which has been a great amusement; and she put me in the way of making
these little thread-cases, pin-cushions and card-racks, which you
always find me so busy about, and which supply me with the means of
doing a little good to one or two very poor families in this neighbourhood.
She had a large acquaintance, of course professionally, among those
who can afford to buy, and she disposes of my merchandise. She always
takes the right time for applying. Everybody's heart is open, you
know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering
the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly understands when
to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Hers is a
line for seeing human nature; and she has a fund of good sense and
observation, which, as a companion, make her infinitely superior to
thousands of those who having only received `the best education in
the world,' know nothing worth attending to. Call it gossip, if you
will, but when Nurse Rooke has half an hour's leisure to bestow on
me, she is sure to have something to relate that is entertaining and
profitable: something that makes one know one's species better. One
likes to hear what is going on, to be \emph{au fait} as to the newest
modes of being trifling and silly. To me, who live so much alone,
her conversation, I assure you, is a treat.''

Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied, {}``I can
easily believe it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and
if they are intelligent may be well worth listening to. Such varieties
of human nature as they are in the habit of witnessing! And it is
not merely in its follies, that they are well read; for they see it
occasionally under every circumstance that can be most interesting
or affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested,
self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation:
of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most.
A sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes.''

{}``Yes,'' said Mrs.\ Smith more doubtingly, {}``sometimes it
may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style
you describe. Here and there, human nature may be great in times of
trial; but generally speaking, it is its weakness and not its strength
that appears in a sick chamber: it is selfishness and impatience rather
than generosity and fortitude, that one hears of. There is so little
real friendship in the world!\ and unfortunately'' (speaking low
and tremulously) {}``there are so many who forget to think seriously
till it is almost too late.''

Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband had not been what
he ought, and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which
made her think worse of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was
but a passing emotion however with Mrs.\ Smith; she shook it off,
and soon added in a different tone\mbox{---}

{}``I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs.\ Rooke is in at
present, will furnish much either to interest or edify me. She is
only nursing Mrs.\ Wallis of Marlborough Buildings; a mere pretty,
silly, expensive, fashionable woman, I believe; and of course will
have nothing to report but of lace and finery. I mean to make my profit
of Mrs.\ Wallis, however. She has plenty of money, and I intend she
shall buy all the high-priced things I have in hand now.''

Anne had called several times on her friend, before the existence
of such a person was known in Camden Place. At last, it became necessary
to speak of her. Sir Walter, Elizabeth and Mrs.\ Clay, returned one
morning from Laura Place, with a sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple
for the same evening, and Anne was already engaged, to spend that
evening in Westgate Buildings. She was not sorry for the excuse. They
were only asked, she was sure, because Lady Dalrymple being kept at
home by a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationship which
had been so pressed on her; and she declined on her own account with
great alacrity\mbox{---}{}``She was engaged to spend the evening
with an old schoolfellow.'' They were not much interested in anything
relative to Anne; but still there were questions enough asked, to
make it understood what this old schoolfellow was; and Elizabeth was
disdainful, and Sir Walter severe.

{}``Westgate Buildings!''\ said he, {}``and who is Miss Anne Elliot
to be visiting in Westgate Buildings? A Mrs.\ Smith. A widow Mrs.\ Smith;
and who was her husband? One of five thousand Mr.\ Smiths whose names
are to be met with everywhere. And what is her attraction? That she
is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most
extraordinary taste! Everything that revolts other people, low company,
paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associations are inviting to you.
But surely you may put off this old lady till to-morrow: she is not
so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day.
What is her age? Forty?''\ 

{}``No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty; but I do not think I can
put off my engagement, because it is the only evening for some time
which will at once suit her and myself. She goes into the warm bath
to-morrow, and for the rest of the week, you know, we are engaged.''

{}``But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance?''\ asked
Elizabeth.

{}``She sees nothing to blame in it,'' replied Anne; {}``on the
contrary, she approves it, and has generally taken me when I have
called on Mrs.\ Smith.''

{}``Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance
of a carriage drawn up near its pavement,'' observed Sir Walter.
{}``Sir Henry Russell's widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish
her arms, but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well
known to convey a Miss Elliot. A widow Mrs.\ Smith lodging in Westgate
Buildings! A poor widow barely able to live, between thirty and forty;
a mere Mrs.\ Smith, an every-day Mrs.\ Smith, of all people and
all names in the world, to be the chosen friend of Miss Anne Elliot,
and to be preferred by her to her own family connections among the
nobility of England and Ireland! Mrs.\ Smith! Such a name!''\ 

Mrs.\ Clay, who had been present while all this passed, now thought
it advisable to leave the room, and Anne could have said much, and
did long to say a little in defence of \emph{her} friend's not very
dissimilar claims to theirs, but her sense of personal respect to
her father prevented her. She made no reply. She left it to himself
to recollect, that Mrs.\ Smith was not the only widow in Bath between
thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no surname of dignity.

Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and of course she
heard the next morning that they had had a delightful evening. She
had been the only one of the set absent, for Sir Walter and Elizabeth
had not only been quite at her ladyship's service themselves, but
had actually been happy to be employed by her in collecting others,
and had been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and Mr.\ Elliot;
and Mr.\ Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wallis early,
and Lady Russell had fresh arranged all her evening engagements in
order to wait on her. Anne had the whole history of all that such
an evening could supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest interest
must be, in having been very much talked of between her friend and
Mr.\ Elliot; in having been wished for, regretted, and at the same
time honoured for staying away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate
visits to this old schoolfellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have
quite delighted Mr.\ Elliot. He thought her a most extraordinary
young woman; in her temper, manners, mind, a model of female excellence.
He could meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of her merits; and
Anne could not be given to understand so much by her friend, could
not know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, without
many of those agreeable sensations which her friend meant to create.

Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr.\ Elliot.
She was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of
his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks
which would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood,
and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing.
She would not speak to Anne with half the certainty she felt on the
subject, she would venture on little more than hints of what might
be hereafter, of a possible attachment on his side, of the desirableness
of the alliance, supposing such attachment to be real and returned.
Anne heard her, and made no violent exclamations; she only smiled,
blushed, and gently shook her head.

{}``I am no match-maker, as you well know,'' said Lady Russell,
{}``being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events
and calculations. I only mean that if Mr.\ Elliot should some time
hence pay his addresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept
him, I think there would be every possibility of your being happy
together. A most suitable connection everybody must consider it, but
I think it might be a very happy one.''

{}``Mr.\ Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects
I think highly of him,'' said Anne; {}``but we should not suit.''

Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in rejoinder, {}``I own
that to be able to regard you as the future mistress of Kellynch,
the future Lady Elliot, to look forward and see you occupying your
dear mother's place, succeeding to all her rights, and all her popularity,
as well as to all her virtues, would be the highest possible gratification
to me. You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition;
and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situation
and name, and home, presiding and blessing in the same spot, and only
superior to her in being more highly valued! My dearest Anne, it would
give me more delight than is often felt at my time of life!''\ 

Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table,
and, leaning there in pretended employment, try to subdue the feelings
this picture excited. For a few moments her imagination and her heart
were bewitched. The idea of becoming what her mother had been; of
having the precious name of {}``Lady Elliot'' first revived in herself;
of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home
for ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist. Lady
Russell said not another word, willing to leave the matter to its
own operation; and believing that, could Mr.\ Elliot at that moment
with propriety have spoken for himself!\mbox{---}she believed, in
short, what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr.\ Elliot speaking
for himself brought Anne to composure again. The charm of Kellynch
and of {}``Lady Elliot'' all faded away. She never could accept
him. And it was not only that her feelings were still adverse to any
man save one; her judgement, on a serious consideration of the possibilities
of such a case was against Mr.\ Elliot.

Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied
that she really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an
agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed
to judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough.
He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article
of moral duty evidently transgressed; but yet she would have been
afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not
the present. The names which occasionally dropt of former associates,
the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions
not favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had been bad
habits; that Sunday travelling had been a common thing; that there
had been a period of his life (and probably not a short one) when
he had been, at least, careless in all serious matters; and, though
he might now think very differently, who could answer for the true
sentiments of a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate
a fair character? How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was
truly cleansed?

Mr.\ Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open.
There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or
delight, at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided
imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the
frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth
and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so
much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked
or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence
of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped.

Mr.\ Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were the tempers
in her father's house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood
too well with every body. He had spoken to her with some degree of
openness of Mrs.\ Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs.\ Clay
was about, and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs.\ Clay found
him as agreeable as any body.

Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she
saw nothing to excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly
what he ought to be than Mr.\ Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter
feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved
Anne in Kellynch church, in the course of the following autumn.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 18}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 18}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 18}

It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having been a month in
Bath, was growing very eager for news from Uppercross and Lyme. She
wanted to hear much more than Mary had communicated. It was three
weeks since she had heard at all. She only knew that Henrietta was
at home again; and that Louisa, though considered to be recovering
fast, was still in Lyme; and she was thinking of them all very intently
one evening, when a thicker letter than usual from Mary was delivered
to her; and, to quicken the pleasure and surprise, with Admiral and
Mrs.\ Croft's compliments.

The Crofts must be in Bath! A circumstance to interest her. They were
people whom her heart turned to very naturally.

{}``What is this?''\ cried Sir Walter. {}``The Crofts have arrived
in Bath? The Crofts who rent Kellynch? What have they brought you?''\ 

{}``A letter from Uppercross Cottage, Sir.''

{}``Oh!\ those letters are convenient passports. They secure an
introduction. I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any
rate. I know what is due to my tenant.''

Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have told how the
poor Admiral's complexion escaped; her letter engrossed her. It had
been begun several days back.

\begin{quotation}
\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``February 1st.

\noindent {}``\noun{My dear Anne},\mbox{---}I make no apology
for my silence, because I know how little people think of letters
in such a place as Bath. You must be a great deal too happy to care
for Uppercross, which, as you well know, affords little to write about.
We have had a very dull Christmas; Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove have
not had one dinner party all the holidays. I do not reckon the Hayters
as anybody. The holidays, however, are over at last: I believe no
children ever had such long ones. I am sure I had not. The house was
cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be
surprised to hear they have never gone home. Mrs.\ Harville must
be an odd mother to part with them so long. I do not understand it.
They are not at all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs.\ Musgrove
seems to like them quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren.
What dreadful weather we have had! It may not be felt in Bath, with
your nice pavements; but in the country it is of some consequence.
I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January,
except Charles Hayter, who had been calling much oftener than was
welcome. Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henrietta did
not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a little
out of his way. The carriage is gone to-day, to bring Louisa and the
Harvilles to-morrow. We are not asked to dine with them, however,
till the day after, Mrs.\ Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued
by the journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that
will be taken of her; and it would be much more convenient to me to
dine there to-morrow. I am glad you find Mr.\ Elliot so agreeable,
and wish I could be acquainted with him too; but I have my usual luck:
I am always out of the way when any thing desirable is going on; always
the last of my family to be noticed. What an immense time Mrs.\ Clay
has been staying with Elizabeth! Does she never mean to go away? But
perhaps if she were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited.
Let me know what you think of this. I do not expect my children to
be asked, you know. I can leave them at the Great House very well,
for a month or six weeks. I have this moment heard that the Crofts
are going to Bath almost immediately; they think the Admiral gouty.
Charles heard it quite by chance; they have not had the civility to
give me any notice, or of offering to take anything. I do not think
they improve at all as neighbours. We see nothing of them, and this
is really an instance of gross inattention. Charles joins me in love,
and everything proper. Yours affectionately,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\noun{Mary M}------.

\noindent {}``I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and
Jemima has just told me that the butcher says there is a bad sore-throat
very much about. I dare say I shall catch it; and my sore-throats,
you know, are always worse than anybody's.'' 
\end{quotation}
{}

So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put into an envelope,
containing nearly as much more.

\begin{quote}
{}``I kept my letter open, that I might send you word how Louisa
bore her journey, and now I am extremely glad I did, having a great
deal to add. In the first place, I had a note from Mrs.\ Croft yesterday,
offering to convey anything to you; a very kind, friendly note indeed,
addressed to me, just as it ought; I shall therefore be able to make
my letter as long as I like. The Admiral does not seem very ill, and
I sincerely hope Bath will do him all the good he wants. I shall be
truly glad to have them back again. Our neighbourhood cannot spare
such a pleasant family. But now for Louisa. I have something to communicate
that will astonish you not a little. She and the Harvilles came on
Tuesday very safely, and in the evening we went to ask her how she
did, when we were rather surprised not to find Captain Benwick of
the party, for he had been invited as well as the Harvilles; and what
do you think was the reason? Neither more nor less than his being
in love with Louisa, and not choosing to venture to Uppercross till
he had had an answer from Mr.\ Musgrove; for it was all settled between
him and her before she came away, and he had written to her father
by Captain Harville. True, upon my honour! Are not you astonished?
I shall be surprised at least if you ever received a hint of it, for
I never did. Mrs.\ Musgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing
of the matter. We are all very well pleased, however, for though it
is not equal to her marrying Captain Wentworth, it is infinitely better
than Charles Hayter; and Mr.\ Musgrove has written his consent, and
Captain Benwick is expected to-day. Mrs.\ Harville says her husband
feels a good deal on his poor sister's account; but, however, Louisa
is a great favourite with both. Indeed, Mrs.\ Harville and I quite
agree that we love her the better for having nursed her. Charles wonders
what Captain Wentworth will say; but if you remember, I never thought
him attached to Louisa; I never could see anything of it. And this
is the end, you see, of Captain Benwick's being supposed to be an
admirer of yours. How Charles could take such a thing into his head
was always incomprehensible to me. I hope he will be more agreeable
now. Certainly not a great match for Louisa Musgrove, but a million
times better than marrying among the Hayters.'' 
\end{quote}
{}Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any degree prepared
for the news. She had never in her life been more astonished. Captain
Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! It was almost too wonderful for belief,
and it was with the greatest effort that she could remain in the room,
preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common questions of the
moment. Happily for her, they were not many. Sir Walter wanted to
know whether the Crofts travelled with four horses, and whether they
were likely to be situated in such a part of Bath as it might suit
Miss Elliot and himself to visit in; but had little curiosity beyond.

{}``How is Mary?''\ said Elizabeth; and without waiting for an
answer, {}``And pray what brings the Crofts to Bath?''\ 

{}``They come on the Admiral's account. He is thought to be gouty.''

{}``Gout and decrepitude!''\ said Sir Walter. {}``Poor old gentleman.''

{}``Have they any acquaintance here?''\ asked Elizabeth.

{}``I do not know; but I can hardly suppose that, at Admiral Croft's
time of life, and in his profession, he should not have many acquaintance
in such a place as this.''

{}``I suspect,'' said Sir Walter coolly, {}``that Admiral Croft
will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch Hall. Elizabeth,
may we venture to present him and his wife in Laura Place?''\ 

{}``Oh, no! I think not. Situated as we are with Lady Dalrymple,
cousins, we ought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance
she might not approve. If we were not related, it would not signify;
but as cousins, she would feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours.
We had better leave the Crofts to find their own level. There are
several odd-looking men walking about here, who, I am told, are sailors.
The Crofts will associate with them.''

This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in the letter;
when Mrs.\ Clay had paid her tribute of more decent attention, in
an enquiry after Mrs.\ Charles Musgrove, and her fine little boys,
Anne was at liberty.

In her own room, she tried to comprehend it. Well might Charles wonder
how Captain Wentworth would feel! Perhaps he had quitted the field,
had given Louisa up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love
her. She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything
akin to ill usage between him and his friend. She could not endure
that such a friendship as theirs should be severed unfairly.

Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! The high-spirited, joyous-talking
Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Captain
Benwick, seemed each of them everything that would not suit the other.
Their minds most dissimilar! Where could have been the attraction?
The answer soon presented itself. It had been in situation. They had
been thrown together several weeks; they had been living in the same
small family party: since Henrietta's coming away, they must have
been depending almost entirely on each other, and Louisa, just recovering
from illness, had been in an interesting state, and Captain Benwick
was not inconsolable. That was a point which Anne had not been able
to avoid suspecting before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion
as Mary, from the present course of events, they served only to confirm
the idea of his having felt some dawning of tenderness toward herself.
She did not mean, however, to derive much more from it to gratify
her vanity, than Mary might have allowed. She was persuaded that any
tolerably pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel
for him would have received the same compliment. He had an affectionate
heart. He must love somebody.

She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa had fine naval
fervour to begin with, and they would soon grow more alike. He would
gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott
and Lord Byron; nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they
had fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa Musgrove turned
into a person of literary taste, and sentimental reflection was amusing,
but she had no doubt of its being so. The day at Lyme, the fall from
the Cobb, might influence her health, her nerves, her courage, her
character to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to
have influenced her fate.

The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman who had been sensible
of Captain Wentworth's merits could be allowed to prefer another man,
there was nothing in the engagement to excite lasting wonder; and
if Captain Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to be
regretted. No, it was not regret which made Anne's heart beat in spite
of herself, and brought the colour into her cheeks when she thought
of Captain Wentworth unshackled and free. She had some feelings which
she was ashamed to investigate. They were too much like joy, senseless
joy!

She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took place, it
was evident that no rumour of the news had yet reached them. The visit
of ceremony was paid and returned; and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned,
and Captain Benwick, too, without even half a smile.

The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay Street, perfectly
to Sir Walter's satisfaction. He was not at all ashamed of the acquaintance,
and did, in fact, think and talk a great deal more about the Admiral,
than the Admiral ever thought or talked about him.

The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as they wished for, and
considered their intercourse with the Elliots as a mere matter of
form, and not in the least likely to afford them any pleasure. They
brought with them their country habit of being almost always together.
He was ordered to walk to keep off the gout, and Mrs.\ Croft seemed
to go shares with him in everything, and to walk for her life to do
him good. Anne saw them wherever she went. Lady Russell took her out
in her carriage almost every morning, and she never failed to think
of them, and never failed to see them. Knowing their feelings as she
did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness to her. She always
watched them as long as she could, delighted to fancy she understood
what they might be talking of, as they walked along in happy independence,
or equally delighted to see the Admiral's hearty shake of the hand
when he encountered an old friend, and observe their eagerness of
conversation when occasionally forming into a little knot of the navy,
Mrs.\ Croft looking as intelligent and keen as any of the officers
around her.

Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to be often walking herself;
but it so happened that one morning, about a week or ten days after
the Croft's arrival, it suited her best to leave her friend, or her
friend's carriage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone
to Camden Place, and in walking up Milsom Street she had the good
fortune to meet with the Admiral. He was standing by himself at a
printshop window, with his hands behind him, in earnest contemplation
of some print, and she not only might have passed him unseen, but
was obliged to touch as well as address him before she could catch
his notice. When he did perceive and acknowledge her, however, it
was done with all his usual frankness and good humour. {}``Ha!\ is
it you? Thank you, thank you. This is treating me like a friend. Here
I am, you see, staring at a picture. I can never get by this shop
without stopping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat! Do look
at it. Did you ever see the like? What queer fellows your fine painters
must be, to think that anybody would venture their lives in such a
shapeless old cockleshell as that? And yet here are two gentlemen
stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about them at the
rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment,
which they certainly must be. I wonder where that boat was built!''\ 
(laughing heartily); {}``I would not venture over a horsepond in
it. Well,'' (turning away), {}``now, where are you bound? Can I
go anywhere for you, or with you? Can I be of any use?''\ 

{}``None, I thank you, unless you will give me the pleasure of your
company the little way our road lies together. I am going home.''

{}``That I will, with all my heart, and farther, too. Yes, yes we
will have a snug walk together, and I have something to tell you as
we go along. There, take my arm; that's right; I do not feel comfortable
if I have not a woman there. Lord!\ what a boat it is!''\ taking
a last look at the picture, as they began to be in motion.

{}``Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?''\ 

{}``Yes, I have, presently. But here comes a friend, Captain Brigden;
I shall only say, `How d'ye do?'\ as we pass, however. I shall not
stop. `How d'ye do?' Brigden stares to see anybody with me but my
wife. She, poor soul, is tied by the leg. She has a blister on one
of her heels, as large as a three-shilling piece. If you look across
the street, you will see Admiral Brand coming down and his brother.
Shabby fellows, both of them! I am glad they are not on this side
of the way. Sophy cannot bear them. They played me a pitiful trick
once: got away with some of my best men. I will tell you the whole
story another time. There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his grandson.
Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you; he takes you for my wife.
Ah!\ the peace has come too soon for that younker. Poor old Sir Archibald!
How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot? It suits us very well. We are always
meeting with some old friend or other; the streets full of them every
morning; sure to have plenty of chat; and then we get away from them
all, and shut ourselves in our lodgings, and draw in our chairs, and
are snug as if we were at Kellynch, ay, or as we used to be even at
North Yarmouth and Deal. We do not like our lodgings here the worse,
I can tell you, for putting us in mind of those we first had at North
Yarmouth. The wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the
same way.''

When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to press again
for what he had to communicate. She hoped when clear of Milsom Street
to have her curiosity gratified; but she was still obliged to wait,
for the Admiral had made up his mind not to begin till they had gained
the greater space and quiet of Belmont; and as she was not really
Mrs.\ Croft, she must let him have his own way. As soon as they were
fairly ascending Belmont, he began\mbox{---}

{}``Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise you. But
first of all, you must tell me the name of the young lady I am going
to talk about. That young lady, you know, that we have all been so
concerned for. The Miss Musgrove, that all this has been happening
to. Her Christian name: I always forget her Christian name.''

Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so soon as she really
did; but now she could safely suggest the name of {}``Louisa.''

{}``Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name. I wish young
ladies had not such a number of fine Christian names. I should never
be out if they were all Sophys, or something of that sort. Well, this
Miss Louisa, we all thought, you know, was to marry Frederick. He
was courting her week after week. The only wonder was, what they could
be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came; then, indeed, it was
clear enough that they must wait till her brain was set to right.
But even then there was something odd in their way of going on. Instead
of staying at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went off
to see Edward. When we came back from Minehead he was gone down to
Edward's, and there he has been ever since. We have seen nothing of
him since November. Even Sophy could not understand it. But now, the
matter has take the strangest turn of all; for this young lady, the
same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry Frederick, is to marry
James Benwick. You know James Benwick.''

{}``A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick.''

{}``Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they are married
already, for I do not know what they should wait for.''

{}``I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man,'' said
Anne, {}``and I understand that he bears an excellent character.''

{}``Oh!\ yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James
Benwick. He is only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and
these are bad times for getting on, but he has not another fault that
I know of. An excellent, good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very
active, zealous officer too, which is more than you would think for,
perhaps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice.''

{}``Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never augur want
of spirit from Captain Benwick's manners. I thought them particularly
pleasing, and I will answer for it, they would generally please.''

{}``Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James Benwick is
rather too \emph{piano} for me; and though very likely it is all our
partiality, Sophy and I cannot help thinking Frederick's manners better
than his. There is something about Frederick more to our taste.''

Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the too common idea
of spirit and gentleness being incompatible with each other, not at
all to represent Captain Benwick's manners as the very best that could
possibly be; and, after a little hesitation, she was beginning to
say, {}``I was not entering into any comparison of the two friends,''
but the Admiral interrupted her with\mbox{---}

{}``And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit of gossip.
We have it from Frederick himself. His sister had a letter from him
yesterday, in which he tells us of it, and he had just had it in a
letter from Harville, written upon the spot, from Uppercross. I fancy
they are all at Uppercross.''

This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist; she said, therefore,
{}``I hope, Admiral, I hope there is nothing in the style of Captain
Wentworth's letter to make you and Mrs.\ Croft particularly uneasy.
It did seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment between him
and Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may be understood to have worn
out on each side equally, and without violence. I hope his letter
does not breathe the spirit of an ill-used man.''

{}``Not at all, not at all; there is not an oath or a murmur from
beginning to end.''

Anne looked down to hide her smile.

{}``No, no; Frederick is not a man to whine and complain; he has
too much spirit for that. If the girl likes another man better, it
is very fit she should have him.''

{}``Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope there is nothing in
Captain Wentworth's manner of writing to make you suppose he thinks
himself ill-used by his friend, which might appear, you know, without
its being absolutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship
as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should be destroyed,
or even wounded, by a circumstance of this sort.''

{}``Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is nothing at all of that
nature in the letter. He does not give the least fling at Benwick;
does not so much as say, `I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own
for wondering at it.' No, you would not guess, from his way of writing,
that he had ever thought of this Miss (what's her name?) for himself.
He very handsomely hopes they will be happy together; and there is
nothing very unforgiving in that, I think.''

Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the Admiral meant
to convey, but it would have been useless to press the enquiry farther.
She therefore satisfied herself with common-place remarks or quiet
attention, and the Admiral had it all his own way.

{}``Poor Frederick!''\ said he at last. {}``Now he must begin
all over again with somebody else. I think we must get him to Bath.
Sophy must write, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are pretty girls
enough, I am sure. It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again,
for that other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the
young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to
get him to Bath?''\ 


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 19}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 19}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 19}

While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing
his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was
already on his way thither. Before Mrs.\ Croft had written, he was
arrived, and the very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.

Mr.\ Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs.\ Clay. They were
in Milsom Street. It began to rain, not much, but enough to make shelter
desirable for women, and quite enough to make it very desirable for
Miss Elliot to have the advantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple's
carriage, which was seen waiting at a little distance; she, Anne,
and Mrs.\ Clay, therefore, turned into Molland's, while Mr.\ Elliot
stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request her assistance. He soon joined
them again, successful, of course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy
to take them home, and would call for them in a few minutes.

Her ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not hold more than
four with any comfort. Miss Carteret was with her mother; consequently
it was not reasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden
Place ladies. There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Whoever suffered
inconvenience, she must suffer none, but it occupied a little time
to settle the point of civility between the other two. The rain was
a mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere in preferring a walk with
Mr.\ Elliot. But the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs.\ Clay;
she would hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were
so thick!\ much thicker than Miss Anne's; and, in short, her civility
rendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk with Mr.\ Elliot
as Anne could be, and it was discussed between them with a generosity
so polite and so determined, that the others were obliged to settle
it for them; Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs.\ Clay had a little
cold already, and Mr.\ Elliot deciding on appeal, that his cousin
Anne's boots were rather the thickest.

It was fixed accordingly, that Mrs.\ Clay should be of the party
in the carriage; and they had just reached this point, when Anne,
as she sat near the window, descried, most decidedly and distinctly,
Captain Wentworth walking down the street.

Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt
that she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable
and absurd! For a few minutes she saw nothing before her; it was all
confusion. She was lost, and when she had scolded back her senses,
she found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr.\ Elliot
(always obliging) just setting off for Union Street on a commission
of Mrs.\ Clay's.

She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted
to see if it rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive?
Captain Wentworth must be out of sight. She left her seat, she would
go; one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other
half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was. She
would see if it rained. She was sent back, however, in a moment by
the entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen
and ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined
a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck and confused
by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quite
red. For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt
that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the
advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments. All the
overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of strong surprise
were over with her. Still, however, she had enough to feel! It was
agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.

He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character of his manner
was embarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly,
or anything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again.
Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably,
much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible
of his being less at ease than formerly. They had by dint of being
so very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable
portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do
it now. Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him. There was
consciousness of some sort or other. He looked very well, not as if
he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of Uppercross,
of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentary look
of his own arch significance as he named her; but yet it was Captain
Wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth
would not know him. She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth
saw him, that there was complete internal recognition on each side;
she was convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance,
expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away
with unalterable coldness.

Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing very
impatient, now drew up; the servant came in to announce it. It was
beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay, and a bustle,
and a talking, which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand
that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss Elliot. At last Miss
Elliot and her friend, unattended but by the servant, (for there was
no cousin returned), were walking off; and Captain Wentworth, watching
them, turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words, was
offering his services to her.

{}``I am much obliged to you,'' was her answer, {}``but I am not
going with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk:
I prefer walking.''

{}``But it rains.''

{}``Oh!\ very little, Nothing that I regard.''

After a moment's pause he said: {}``Though I came only yesterday,
I have equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,'' (pointing
to a new umbrella); {}``I wish you would make use of it, if you are
determined to walk; though I think it would be more prudent to let
me get you a chair.''

She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating her
conviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding,
{}``I am only waiting for Mr.\ Elliot. He will be here in a moment,
I am sure.''

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr.\ Elliot walked in. Captain
Wentworth recollected him perfectly. There was no difference between
him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne
as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged
relation and friend. He came in with eagerness, appeared to see and
think only of her, apologised for his stay, was grieved to have kept
her waiting, and anxious to get her away without further loss of time
and before the rain increased; and in another moment they walked off
together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance, and
a {}``Good morning to you!''\ being all that she had time for,
as she passed away.

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth's
party began talking of them.

{}``Mr.\ Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen
there. He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe.
What a very good-looking man!''\ 

{}``Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises,
says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with.''

{}``She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes
to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire
her more than her sister.''

{}``Oh!\ so do I.''

{}``And so do I.\  No comparison. But the men are all wild after
Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them.''

Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would
have walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying
a word. She had never found it so difficult to listen to him, though
nothing could exceed his solicitude and care, and though his subjects
were principally such as were wont to be always interesting: praise,
warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and insinuations
highly rational against Mrs.\ Clay. But just now she could think
only of Captain Wentworth. She could not understand his present feelings,
whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not;
and till that point were settled, she could not be quite herself.

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas!\ alas!\ she
must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.

Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long
he meant to be in Bath; he had not mentioned it, or she could not
recollect it. He might be only passing through. But it was more probable
that he should be come to stay. In that case, so liable as every body
was to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all likelihood
see him somewhere. Would she recollect him? How would it all be?

She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove
was to marry Captain Benwick. It had cost her something to encounter
Lady Russell's surprise; and now, if she were by any chance to be
thrown into company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge
of the matter might add another shade of prejudice against him.

The following morning Anne was out with her friend, and for the first
hour, in an incessant and fearful sort of watch for him in vain; but
at last, in returning down Pulteney Street, she distinguished him
on the right hand pavement at such a distance as to have him in view
the greater part of the street. There were many other men about him,
many groups walking the same way, but there was no mistaking him.
She looked instinctively at Lady Russell; but not from any mad idea
of her recognising him so soon as she did herself. No, it was not
to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were
nearly opposite. She looked at her however, from time to time, anxiously;
and when the moment approached which must point him out, though not
daring to look again (for her own countenance she knew was unfit to
be seen), she was yet perfectly conscious of Lady Russell's eyes being
turned exactly in the direction for him\mbox{---}of her being, in
short, intently observing him. She could thoroughly comprehend the
sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Russell's mind, the
difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes, the astonishment
she must be feeling that eight or nine years should have passed over
him, and in foreign climes and in active service too, without robbing
him of one personal grace!

At last, Lady Russell drew back her head. {}``Now, how would she
speak of him?''\ 

{}``You will wonder,'' said she, {}``what has been fixing my eye
so long; but I was looking after some window-curtains, which Lady
Alicia and Mrs.\ Frankland were telling me of last night. They described
the drawing-room window-curtains of one of the houses on this side
of the way, and this part of the street, as being the handsomest and
best hung of any in Bath, but could not recollect the exact number,
and I have been trying to find out which it could be; but I confess
I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer their description.''

Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at
her friend or herself. The part which provoked her most, was that
in all this waste of foresight and caution, she should have lost the
right moment for seeing whether he saw them.

A day or two passed without producing anything. The theatre or the
rooms, where he was most likely to be, were not fashionable enough
for the Elliots, whose evening amusements were solely in the elegant
stupidity of private parties, in which they were getting more and
more engaged; and Anne, wearied of such a state of stagnation, sick
of knowing nothing, and fancying herself stronger because her strength
was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert evening. It was
a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by Lady Dalrymple.
Of course they must attend. It was really expected to be a good one,
and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music. If she could only have
a few minutes conversation with him again, she fancied she should
be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him, she felt all
over courage if the opportunity occurred. Elizabeth had turned from
him, Lady Russell overlooked him; her nerves were strengthened by
these circumstances; she felt that she owed him attention.

She had once partly promised Mrs.\ Smith to spend the evening with
her; but in a short hurried call she excused herself and put it off,
with the more decided promise of a longer visit on the morrow. Mrs.\ Smith
gave a most good-humoured acquiescence.

{}``By all means,'' said she; {}``only tell me all about it, when
you do come. Who is your party?''\ 

Anne named them all. Mrs.\ Smith made no reply; but when she was
leaving her said, and with an expression half serious, half arch,
{}``Well, I heartily wish your concert may answer; and do not fail
me to-morrow if you can come; for I begin to have a foreboding that
I may not have many more visits from you.''

Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a moment's suspense,
was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 20}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 20}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 20}

Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs.\ Clay, were the earliest
of all their party at the rooms in the evening; and as Lady Dalrymple
must be waited for, they took their station by one of the fires in
the Octagon Room. But hardly were they so settled, when the door opened
again, and Captain Wentworth walked in alone. Anne was the nearest
to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke. He was
preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle {}``How do you
do?''\ brought him out of the straight line to stand near her, and
make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister
in the back ground. Their being in the back ground was a support to
Anne; she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything
which she believed right to be done.

While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth
caught her ear. She could not distinguish, but she must guess the
subject; and on Captain Wentworth's making a distant bow, she comprehended
that her father had judged so well as to give him that simple acknowledgement
of acquaintance, and she was just in time by a side glance to see
a slight curtsey from Elizabeth herself. This, though late, and reluctant,
and ungracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits improved.

After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and the concert,
their conversation began to flag, and so little was said at last,
that she was expecting him to go every moment, but he did not; he
seemed in no hurry to leave her; and presently with renewed spirit,
with a little smile, a little glow, he said\mbox{---}

{}``I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I am afraid you
must have suffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering
you at the time.''

She assured him that she had not.

{}``It was a frightful hour,'' said he, {}``a frightful day!''\ 
and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remembrance were
still too painful, but in a moment, half smiling again, added, {}``The
day has produced some effects however; has had some consequences which
must be considered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had
the presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would be the properest
person to fetch a surgeon, you could have little idea of his being
eventually one of those most concerned in her recovery.''

{}``Certainly I could have none. But it appears\mbox{---}I should
hope it would be a very happy match. There are on both sides good
principles and good temper.''

{}``Yes,'' said he, looking not exactly forward; {}``but there,
I think, ends the resemblance. With all my soul I wish them happy,
and rejoice over every circumstance in favour of it. They have no
difficulties to contend with at home, no opposition, no caprice, no
delays. The Musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honourably
and kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to promote their
daughter's comfort. All this is much, very much in favour of their
happiness; more than perhaps\mbox{---}''

He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to occur, and to give him
some taste of that emotion which was reddening Anne's cheeks and fixing
her eyes on the ground. After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded
thus\mbox{---}

{}``I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity,
and in a point no less essential than mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove
as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding,
but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man;
and I confess, that I do consider his attaching himself to her with
some surprise. Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt
to love her, because he believed her to be preferring him, it would
have been another thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It
seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous, untaught
feeling on his side, and this surprises me. A man like him, in his
situation!\ with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken! Fanny Harville
was a very superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed
attachment. A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart
to such a woman. He ought not; he does not.''

Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend had recovered,
or from other consciousness, he went no farther; and Anne who, in
spite of the agitated voice in which the latter part had been uttered,
and in spite of all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless
slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking through, had
distinguished every word, was struck, gratified, confused, and beginning
to breathe very quick, and feel an hundred things in a moment. It
was impossible for her to enter on such a subject; and yet, after
a pause, feeling the necessity of speaking, and having not the smallest
wish for a total change, she only deviated so far as to say\mbox{---}

{}``You were a good while at Lyme, I think?''\ 

{}``About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louisa's doing well
was quite ascertained. I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief
to be soon at peace. It had been my doing, solely mine. She would
not have been obstinate if I had not been weak. The country round
Lyme is very fine. I walked and rode a great deal; and the more I
saw, the more I found to admire.''

{}``I should very much like to see Lyme again,'' said Anne.

{}``Indeed! I should not have supposed that you could have found
anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling. The horror and distress
you were involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits! I
should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong
disgust.''

{}``The last hours were certainly very painful,'' replied Anne;
{}``but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a
pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in
it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering, which
was by no means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress
during the last two hours, and previously there had been a great deal
of enjoyment. So much novelty and beauty! I have travelled so little,
that every fresh place would be interesting to me; but there is real
beauty at Lyme; and in short'' (with a faint blush at some recollections),
{}``altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable.''

As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the very party
appeared for whom they were waiting. {}``Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,''
was the rejoicing sound; and with all the eagerness compatible with
anxious elegance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to
meet her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr.\ Elliot
and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to arrive nearly at the same
instant, advanced into the room. The others joined them, and it was
a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included. She
was divided from Captain Wentworth. Their interesting, almost too
interesting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight
was the penance compared with the happiness which brought it on! She
had learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feelings towards
Louisa, more of all his feelings than she dared to think of; and she
gave herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful civilities
of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated sensations. She was
in good humour with all. She had received ideas which disposed her
to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one, as being less
happy than herself.

The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when on stepping back
from the group, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that
he was gone. She was just in time to see him turn into the Concert
Room. He was gone; he had disappeared, she felt a moment's regret.
But {}``they should meet again. He would look for her, he would find
her out before the evening were over, and at present, perhaps, it
was as well to be asunder. She was in need of a little interval for
recollection.''

Upon Lady Russell's appearance soon afterwards, the whole party was
collected, and all that remained was to marshal themselves, and proceed
into the Concert Room; and be of all the consequence in their power,
draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people
as they could.

Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked
in. Elizabeth arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad
back of the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing
to wish for which did not seem within her reach; and Anne\mbox{---}but
it would be an insult to the nature of Anne's felicity, to draw any
comparison between it and her sister's; the origin of one all selfish
vanity, of the other all generous attachment.

Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room. Her
happiness was from within. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed;
but she knew nothing about it. She was thinking only of the last half
hour, and as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range
over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still more his
manner and look, had been such as she could see in only one light.
His opinion of Louisa Musgrove's inferiority, an opinion which he
had seemed solicitous to give, his wonder at Captain Benwick, his
feelings as to a first, strong attachment; sentences begun which he
could not finish, his half averted eyes and more than half expressive
glance, all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at
least; that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they
were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness
of the past. Yes, some share of the tenderness of the past. She could
not contemplate the change as implying less. He must love her.

These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied
and flurried her too much to leave her any power of observation; and
she passed along the room without having a glimpse of him, without
even trying to discern him. When their places were determined on,
and they were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he
should happen to be in the same part of the room, but he was not;
her eye could not reach him; and the concert being just opening, she
must consent for a time to be happy in a humbler way.

The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches: Anne
was among those on the foremost, and Mr.\ Elliot had manoeuvred so
well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have
a seat by her. Miss Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal
object of Colonel Wallis's gallantry, was quite contented.

Anne's mind was in a most favourable state for the entertainment of
the evening; it was just occupation enough: she had feelings for the
tender, spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and patience
for the wearisome; and had never liked a concert better, at least
during the first act. Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding
an Italian song, she explained the words of the song to Mr.\ Elliot.
They had a concert bill between them.

{}``This,'' said she, {}``is nearly the sense, or rather the meaning
of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love-song must
not be talked of, but it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for
I do not pretend to understand the language. I am a very poor Italian
scholar.''

{}``Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of the matter.
You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight
these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible,
elegant English. You need not say anything more of your ignorance.
Here is complete proof.''

{}``I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry
to be examined by a real proficient.''

{}``I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden Place so long,''
replied he, {}``without knowing something of Miss Anne Elliot; and
I do regard her as one who is too modest for the world in general
to be aware of half her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished
for modesty to be natural in any other woman.''

{}``For shame!\ for shame!\ this is too much flattery. I forget
what we are to have next,'' turning to the bill.

{}``Perhaps,'' said Mr.\ Elliot, speaking low, {}``I have had
a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of.''

{}``Indeed! How so? You can have been acquainted with it only since
I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of
in my own family.''

{}``I knew you by report long before you came to Bath. I had heard
you described by those who knew you intimately. I have been acquainted
with you by character many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplishments,
manner; they were all present to me.''

Mr.\ Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise.
No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described
long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible;
and Anne was all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him eagerly;
but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell.

{}``No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention
no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He
had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot
as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited
the warmest curiosity to know her.''

Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality
of her many years ago as the Mr.\ Wentworth of Monkford, Captain
Wentworth's brother. He might have been in Mr.\ Elliot's company,
but she had not courage to ask the question.

{}``The name of Anne Elliot,'' said he, {}``has long had an interesting
sound to me. Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and,
if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change.''

Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received
their sound, than her attention was caught by other sounds immediately
behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial. Her father and
Lady Dalrymple were speaking.

{}``A well-looking man,'' said Sir Walter, {}``a very well-looking
man.''

{}``A very fine young man indeed!''\ said Lady Dalrymple. {}``More
air than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I dare say.''

{}``No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth; Captain
Wentworth of the navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire,
the Croft, who rents Kellynch.''

Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes had caught the
right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among
a cluster of men at a little distance. As her eyes fell on him, his
seemed to be withdrawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed
as if she had been one moment too late; and as long as she dared observe,
he did not look again: but the performance was recommencing, and she
was forced to seem to restore her attention to the orchestra and look
straight forward.

When she could give another glance, he had moved away. He could not
have come nearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut
in: but she would rather have caught his eye.

Mr.\ Elliot's speech, too, distressed her. She had no longer any
inclination to talk to him. She wished him not so near her.

The first act was over. Now she hoped for some beneficial change;
and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them
did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did
not choose to move. She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell;
but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr.\ Elliot; and she did
not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's account, to shrink
from conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave her the opportunity.
She was persuaded by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen
him.

He did not come however. Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him
at a distance, but he never came. The anxious interval wore away unproductively.
The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed
and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to
be sat out, another hour of music was to give delight or the gapes,
as real or affected taste for it prevailed. To Anne, it chiefly wore
the prospect of an hour of agitation. She could not quit that room
in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange
of one friendly look.

In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result
of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down
again, and Mr.\ Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret,
in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them; and by some other
removals, and a little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place
herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before,
much more within reach of a passer-by. She could not do so, without
comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles;
but still she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by
what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her
next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before
the concert closed.

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain
Wentworth was again in sight. She saw him not far off. He saw her
too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very
slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her. She felt that
something must be the matter. The change was indubitable. The difference
between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was
strikingly great. Why was it? She thought of her father, of Lady Russell.
Could there have been any unpleasant glances? He began by speaking
of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross;
owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must
confess that he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied,
and spoke in defence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance
for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and
he replied again with almost a smile. They talked for a few minutes
more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench,
as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment
a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came from Mr.\ Elliot.
He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian
again. Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what
was next to be sung. Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed
to politeness with a more suffering spirit.

A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed;
and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she
had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth,
in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. {}``He must wish her
good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could.''

{}``Is not this song worth staying for?''\ said Anne, suddenly
struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

{}``No!''\ he replied impressively, {}``there is nothing worth
my staying for;'' and he was gone directly.

Jealousy of Mr.\ Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain
Wentworth jealous of her affection! Could she have believed it a week
ago; three hours ago! For a moment the gratification was exquisite.
But, alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was
such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him? How,
in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations,
would he ever learn of her real sentiments? It was misery to think
of Mr.\ Elliot's attentions. Their evil was incalculable.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 21}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 21}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 21}

Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her promise of going
to Mrs.\ Smith, meaning that it should engage her from home at the
time when Mr.\ Elliot would be most likely to call; for to avoid
Mr.\ Elliot was almost a first object.

She felt a great deal of good-will towards him. In spite of the mischief
of his attentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion.
She could not help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances
attending their acquaintance, of the right which he seemed to have
to interest her, by everything in situation, by his own sentiments,
by his early prepossession. It was altogether very extraordinary;
flattering, but painful. There was much to regret. How she might have
felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth
enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth; and be the conclusion
of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his for
ever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other
men, than their final separation.

Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy, could
never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting
with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough
to spread purification and perfume all the way.

She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend seemed this morning
particularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected
her, though it had been an appointment.

An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and Anne's recollections
of the concert were quite happy enough to animate her features and
make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she could tell she told most
gladly, but the all was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory
for such an enquirer as Mrs.\ Smith, who had already heard, through
the short cut of a laundress and a waiter, rather more of the general
success and produce of the evening than Anne could relate, and who
now asked in vain for several particulars of the company. Everybody
of any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name to
Mrs.\ Smith.

{}``The little Durands were there, I conclude,'' said she, {}``with
their mouths open to catch the music, like unfledged sparrows ready
to be fed. They never miss a concert.''

{}``Yes; I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr.\ Elliot say
they were in the room.''

{}``The Ibbotsons, were they there?\ and the two new beauties, with
the tall Irish officer, who is talked of for one of them.''

{}``I do not know. I do not think they were.''

{}``Old Lady Mary Maclean? I need not ask after her. She never misses,
I know; and you must have seen her. She must have been in your own
circle; for as you went with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats
of grandeur, round the orchestra, of course.''

{}``No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been very unpleasant
to me in every respect. But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses
to be farther off; and we were exceedingly well placed, that is, for
hearing; I must not say for seeing, because I appear to have seen
very little.''

{}``Oh!\ you saw enough for your own amusement. I can understand.
There is a sort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd,
and this you had. You were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted
nothing beyond.''

{}``But I ought to have looked about me more,'' said Anne, conscious
while she spoke that there had in fact been no want of looking about,
that the object only had been deficient.

{}``No, no; you were better employed. You need not tell me that you
had a pleasant evening. I see it in your eye. I perfectly see how
the hours passed: that you had always something agreeable to listen
to. In the intervals of the concert it was conversation.''

Anne half smiled and said, {}``Do you see that in my eye?''\ 

{}``Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were
in company last night with the person whom you think the most agreeable
in the world, the person who interests you at this present time more
than all the rest of the world put together.''

A blush overspread Anne's cheeks. She could say nothing.

{}``And such being the case,'' continued Mrs.\ Smith, after a short
pause, {}``I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness
in coming to me this morning. It is really very good of you to come
and sit with me, when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon
your time.''

Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the astonishment and
confusion excited by her friend's penetration, unable to imagine how
any report of Captain Wentworth could have reached her. After another
short silence\mbox{---}

{}``Pray,'' said Mrs.\ Smith, {}``is Mr.\ Elliot aware of your
acquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath?''\ 

{}``Mr.\ Elliot!''\ repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A moment's
reflection shewed her the mistake she had been under. She caught it
instantaneously; and recovering her courage with the feeling of safety,
soon added, more composedly, {}``Are you acquainted with Mr.\ Elliot?''\ 

{}``I have been a good deal acquainted with him,'' replied Mrs.\ Smith,
gravely, {}``but it seems worn out now. It is a great while since
we met.''

{}``I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned it before.
Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about
you.''

{}``To confess the truth,'' said Mrs.\ Smith, assuming her usual
air of cheerfulness, {}``that is exactly the pleasure I want you
to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr.\ Elliot. I want your
interest with him. He can be of essential service to me; and if you
would have the goodness, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object
to yourself, of course it is done.''

{}``I should be extremely happy; I hope you cannot doubt my willingness
to be of even the slightest use to you,'' replied Anne; {}``but
I suspect that you are considering me as having a higher claim on
Mr.\ Elliot, a greater right to influence him, than is really the
case. I am sure you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion.
You must consider me only as Mr.\ Elliot's relation. If in that light
there is anything which you suppose his cousin might fairly ask of
him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me.''

Mrs.\ Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then, smiling, said\mbox{---}

{}``I have been a little premature, I perceive; I beg your pardon.
I ought to have waited for official information, But now, my dear
Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I may
speak. Next week? To be sure by next week I may be allowed to think
it all settled, and build my own selfish schemes on Mr.\ Elliot's
good fortune.''

{}``No,'' replied Anne, {}``nor next week, nor next, nor next.
I assure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be
settled any week. I am not going to marry Mr.\ Elliot. I should like
to know why you imagine I am?''\ 

Mrs.\ Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook
her head, and exclaimed\mbox{---}

{}``Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do wish I knew what
you were at! I have a great idea that you do not design to be cruel,
when the right moment occurs. Till it does come, you know, we women
never mean to have anybody. It is a thing of course among us, that
every man is refused, till he offers. But why should you be cruel?
Let me plead for my\mbox{---}present friend I cannot call him, but
for my former friend. Where can you look for a more suitable match?
Where could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agreeable man? Let me
recommend Mr.\ Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him
from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than Colonel Wallis?''\ 

{}``My dear Mrs.\ Smith, Mr.\ Elliot's wife has not been dead much
above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses
to any one.''

{}``Oh!\ if these are your only objections,'' cried Mrs.\ Smith,
archly, {}``Mr.\ Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more
trouble about him. Do not forget me when you are married, that's all.
Let him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he will think little
of the trouble required, which it is very natural for him now, with
so many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get rid of
as he can; very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would
do the same. Of course, he cannot be aware of the importance to me.
Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy.
Mr.\ Elliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman. Your
peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been. You are safe in all
worldly matters, and safe in his character. He will not be led astray;
he will not be misled by others to his ruin.''

{}``No,'' said Anne, {}``I can readily believe all that of my cousin.
He seems to have a calm decided temper, not at all open to dangerous
impressions. I consider him with great respect. I have no reason,
from any thing that has fallen within my observation, to do otherwise.
But I have not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be
known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking of him, Mrs.\ Smith,
convince you that he is nothing to me? Surely this must be calm enough.
And, upon my word, he is nothing to me. Should he ever propose to
me (which I have very little reason to imagine he has any thought
of doing), I shall not accept him. I assure you I shall not. I assure
you, Mr.\ Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing,
in whatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford: not Mr.\ Elliot;
it is not Mr.\ Elliot that\mbox{---}''

She stopped, regretting with a deep blush that she had implied so
much; but less would hardly have been sufficient. Mrs.\ Smith would
hardly have believed so soon in Mr.\ Elliot's failure, but from the
perception of there being a somebody else. As it was, she instantly
submitted, and with all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond; and
Anne, eager to escape farther notice, was impatient to know why Mrs.\ Smith
should have fancied she was to marry Mr.\ Elliot; where she could
have received the idea, or from whom she could have heard it.

{}``Do tell me how it first came into your head.''

{}``It first came into my head,'' replied Mrs.\ Smith, {}``upon
finding how much you were together, and feeling it to be the most
probable thing in the world to be wished for by everybody belonging
to either of you; and you may depend upon it that all your acquaintance
have disposed of you in the same way. But I never heard it spoken
of till two days ago.''

{}``And has it indeed been spoken of?''\ 

{}``Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you when you
called yesterday?''\ 

{}``No. Was not it Mrs.\ Speed, as usual, or the maid? I observed
no one in particular.''

{}``It was my friend Mrs.\ Rooke; Nurse Rooke; who, by-the-bye,
had a great curiosity to see you, and was delighted to be in the way
to let you in. She came away from Marlborough Buildings only on Sunday;
and she it was who told me you were to marry Mr.\ Elliot. She had
had it from Mrs.\ Wallis herself, which did not seem bad authority.
She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me the whole history.'' 

{}``The whole history,'' repeated Anne, laughing. {}``She could
not make a very long history, I think, of one such little article
of unfounded news.''

Mrs.\ Smith said nothing.

{}``But,'' continued Anne, presently, {}``though there is no truth
in my having this claim on Mr.\ Elliot, I should be extremely happy
to be of use to you in any way that I could. Shall I mention to him
your being in Bath? Shall I take any message?''\ 

{}``No, I thank you: no, certainly not. In the warmth of the moment,
and under a mistaken impression, I might, perhaps, have endeavoured
to interest you in some circumstances; but not now. No, I thank you,
I have nothing to trouble you with.''

{}``I think you spoke of having known Mr.\ Elliot many years?''\ 

{}``I did.''

{}``Not before he was married, I suppose?''\ 

{}``Yes; he was not married when I knew him first.''

{}``And\mbox{---}were you much acquainted?''\ 

{}``Intimately.''

{}``Indeed! Then do tell me what he was at that time of life. I have
a great curiosity to know what Mr.\ Elliot was as a very young man.
Was he at all such as he appears now?''\ 

{}``I have not seen Mr.\ Elliot these three years,'' was Mrs.\ Smith's
answer, given so gravely that it was impossible to pursue the subject
farther; and Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an increase
of curiosity. They were both silent: Mrs.\ Smith very thoughtful.
At last\mbox{---}

{}``I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot,'' she cried, in her
natural tone of cordiality, {}``I beg your pardon for the short answers
I have been giving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to
do. I have been doubting and considering as to what I ought to tell
you. There were many things to be taken into the account. One hates
to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mischief. Even
the smooth surface of family-union seems worth preserving, though
there may be nothing durable beneath. However, I have determined;
I think I am right; I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr.\ Elliot's
real character. Though I fully believe that, at present, you have
not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what
may happen. You might, some time or other, be differently affected
towards him. Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced.
Mr.\ Elliot is a man without heart or conscience; a designing, wary,
cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself; whom for his own interest
or ease, would be guilty of any cruelty, or any treachery, that could
be perpetrated without risk of his general character. He has no feeling
for others. Those whom he has been the chief cause of leading into
ruin, he can neglect and desert without the smallest compunction.
He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment of justice or compassion.
Oh!\ he is black at heart, hollow and black!''\ 

Anne's astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made her pause,
and in a calmer manner, she added\mbox{---}

{}``My expressions startle you. You must allow for an injured, angry
woman. But I will try to command myself. I will not abuse him. I will
only tell you what I have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the
intimate friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him, and
thought him as good as himself. The intimacy had been formed before
our marriage. I found them most intimate friends; and I, too, became
excessively pleased with Mr.\ Elliot, and entertained the highest
opinion of him. At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously;
but Mr.\ Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much
more agreeable than most others, and we were almost always together.
We were principally in town, living in very good style. He was then
the inferior in circumstances; he was then the poor one; he had chambers
in the Temple, and it was as much as he could do to support the appearance
of a gentleman. He had always a home with us whenever he chose it;
he was always welcome; he was like a brother. My poor Charles, who
had the finest, most generous spirit in the world, would have divided
his last farthing with him; and I know that his purse was open to
him; I know that he often assisted him.''

{}``This must have been about that very period of Mr.\ Elliot's
life,'' said Anne, {}``which has always excited my particular curiosity.
It must have been about the same time that he became known to my father
and sister. I never knew him myself; I only heard of him; but there
was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my father and
sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which
I never could quite reconcile with present times. It seemed to announce
a different sort of man.''

{}``I know it all, I know it all,'' cried Mrs.\ Smith. {}``He
had been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before I was acquainted
with him, but I heard him speak of them for ever. I know he was invited
and encouraged, and I know he did not choose to go. I can satisfy
you, perhaps, on points which you would little expect; and as to his
marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to all the
fors and againsts; I was the friend to whom he confided his hopes
and plans; and though I did not know his wife previously, her inferior
situation in society, indeed, rendered that impossible, yet I knew
her all her life afterwards, or at least till within the last two
years of her life, and can answer any question you may wish to put.''

{}``Nay,'' said Anne, {}``I have no particular enquiry to make
about her. I have always understood they were not a happy couple.
But I should like to know why, at that time of his life, he should
slight my father's acquaintance as he did. My father was certainly
disposed to take very kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr.\ Elliot
draw back?''\ 

{}``Mr.\ Elliot,'' replied Mrs.\ Smith, {}``at that period of
his life, had one object in view: to make his fortune, and by a rather
quicker process than the law. He was determined to make it by marriage.
He was determined, at least, not to mar it by an imprudent marriage;
and I know it was his belief (whether justly or not, of course I cannot
decide), that your father and sister, in their civilities and invitations,
were designing a match between the heir and the young lady, and it
was impossible that such a match should have answered his ideas of
wealth and independence. That was his motive for drawing back, I can
assure you. He told me the whole story. He had no concealments with
me. It was curious, that having just left you behind me in Bath, my
first and principal acquaintance on marrying should be your cousin;
and that, through him, I should be continually hearing of your father
and sister. He described one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affectionately
of the other.''

{}``Perhaps,'' cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, {}``you sometimes
spoke of me to Mr.\ Elliot?''\ 

{}``To be sure I did; very often. I used to boast of my own Anne
Elliot, and vouch for your being a very different creature from\mbox{---}''

She checked herself just in time.

{}``This accounts for something which Mr.\ Elliot said last night,''
cried Anne. {}``This explains it. I found he had been used to hear
of me. I could not comprehend how. What wild imaginations one forms
where dear self is concerned! How sure to be mistaken! But I beg your
pardon; I have interrupted you. Mr.\ Elliot married then completely
for money? The circumstances, probably, which first opened your eyes
to his character.''

Mrs.\ Smith hesitated a little here. {}``Oh!\ those things are
too common. When one lives in the world, a man or woman's marrying
for money is too common to strike one as it ought. I was very young,
and associated only with the young, and we were a thoughtless, gay
set, without any strict rules of conduct. We lived for enjoyment.
I think differently now; time and sickness and sorrow have given me
other notions; but at that period I must own I saw nothing reprehensible
in what Mr.\ Elliot was doing.\  `To do the best for himself,' passed
as a duty.''

{}``But was not she a very low woman?''\ 

{}``Yes; which I objected to, but he would not regard. Money, money,
was all that he wanted. Her father was a grazier, her grandfather
had been a butcher, but that was all nothing. She was a fine woman,
had had a decent education, was brought forward by some cousins, thrown
by chance into Mr.\ Elliot's company, and fell in love with him;
and not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his side, with respect
to her birth. All his caution was spent in being secured of the real
amount of her fortune, before he committed himself. Depend upon it,
whatever esteem Mr.\ Elliot may have for his own situation in life
now, as a young man he had not the smallest value for it. His chance
for the Kellynch estate was something, but all the honour of the family
he held as cheap as dirt. I have often heard him declare, that if
baronetcies were saleable, anybody should have his for fifty pounds,
arms and motto, name and livery included; but I will not pretend to
repeat half that I used to hear him say on that subject. It would
not be fair; and yet you ought to have proof, for what is all this
but assertion, and you shall have proof.''

{}``Indeed, my dear Mrs.\ Smith, I want none,'' cried Anne. {}``You
have asserted nothing contradictory to what Mr.\ Elliot appeared
to be some years ago. This is all in confirmation, rather, of what
we used to hear and believe. I am more curious to know why he should
be so different now.''

{}``But for my satisfaction, if you will have the goodness to ring
for Mary; stay: I am sure you will have the still greater goodness
of going yourself into my bedroom, and bringing me the small inlaid
box which you will find on the upper shelf of the closet.''

Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did as she was
desired. The box was brought and placed before her, and Mrs.\ Smith,
sighing over it as she unlocked it, said\mbox{---}

{}``This is full of papers belonging to him, to my husband; a small
portion only of what I had to look over when I lost him. The letter
I am looking for was one written by Mr.\ Elliot to him before our
marriage, and happened to be saved; why, one can hardly imagine. But
he was careless and immethodical, like other men, about those things;
and when I came to examine his papers, I found it with others still
more trivial, from different people scattered here and there, while
many letters and memorandums of real importance had been destroyed.
Here it is; I would not burn it, because being even then very little
satisfied with Mr.\ Elliot, I was determined to preserve every document
of former intimacy. I have now another motive for being glad that
I can produce it.''

This was the letter, directed to {}``Charles Smith, Esq. Tunbridge
Wells,'' and dated from London, as far back as July, 1803:\mbox{---}

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\noun{Dear Smith},\mbox{---} I have received yours.
Your kindness almost overpowers me. I wish nature had made such hearts
as yours more common, but I have lived three-and-twenty years in the
world, and have seen none like it. At present, believe me, I have
no need of your services, being in cash again. Give me joy: I have
got rid of Sir Walter and Miss. They are gone back to Kellynch, and
almost made me swear to visit them this summer; but my first visit
to Kellynch will be with a surveyor, to tell me how to bring it with
best advantage to the hammer. The baronet, nevertheless, is not unlikely
to marry again; he is quite fool enough. If he does, however, they
will leave me in peace, which may be a decent equivalent for the reversion.
He is worse than last year.

{}``I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it. The name of
Walter I can drop, thank God!\ and I desire you will never insult
me with my second W.\ again, meaning, for the rest of my life, to
be only yours truly,\mbox{---}\noun{Wm.\ Elliot}.'' 
\end{quotation}
Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in a glow; and
Mrs.\ Smith, observing the high colour in her face, said\mbox{---}

{}``The language, I know, is highly disrespectful. Though I have
forgot the exact terms, I have a perfect impression of the general
meaning. But it shows you the man. Mark his professions to my poor
husband. Can any thing be stronger?''\ 

Anne could not immediately get over the shock and mortification of
finding such words applied to her father. She was obliged to recollect
that her seeing the letter was a violation of the laws of honour,
that no one ought to be judged or to be known by such testimonies,
that no private correspondence could bear the eye of others, before
she could recover calmness enough to return the letter which she had
been meditating over, and say\mbox{---}

{}``Thank you. This is full proof undoubtedly; proof of every thing
you were saying. But why be acquainted with us now?''\ 

{}``I can explain this too,'' cried Mrs.\ Smith, smiling.

{}``Can you really?''\ 

{}``Yes. I have shewn you Mr.\ Elliot as he was a dozen years ago,
and I will shew him as he is now. I cannot produce written proof again,
but I can give as authentic oral testimony as you can desire, of what
he is now wanting, and what he is now doing. He is no hypocrite now.
He truly wants to marry you. His present attentions to your family
are very sincere: quite from the heart. I will give you my authority:
his friend Colonel Wallis.''

{}``Colonel Wallis!\ you are acquainted with him?''\ 

{}``No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that;
it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence. The stream is
as good as at first; the little rubbish it collects in the turnings
is easily moved away. Mr.\ Elliot talks unreservedly to Colonel Wallis
of his views on you, which said Colonel Wallis, I imagine to be, in
himself, a sensible, careful, discerning sort of character; but Colonel
Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to whom he tells things which
he had better not, and he repeats it all to her. She in the overflowing
spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to her nurse; and the nurse
knowing my acquaintance with you, very naturally brings it all to
me. On Monday evening, my good friend Mrs.\ Rooke let me thus much
into the secrets of Marlborough Buildings. When I talked of a whole
history, therefore, you see I was not romancing so much as you supposed.''

{}``My dear Mrs.\ Smith, your authority is deficient. This will
not do. Mr.\ Elliot's having any views on me will not in the least
account for the efforts he made towards a reconciliation with my father.
That was all prior to my coming to Bath. I found them on the most
friendly terms when I arrived.''

{}``I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but\mbox{---}''

{}``Indeed, Mrs.\ Smith, we must not expect to get real information
in such a line. Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands
of so many, to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another,
can hardly have much truth left.''

{}``Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to judge of the
general credit due, by listening to some particulars which you can
yourself immediately contradict or confirm. Nobody supposes that you
were his first inducement. He had seen you indeed, before he came
to Bath, and admired you, but without knowing it to be you. So says
my historian, at least. Is this true? Did he see you last summer or
autumn, `somewhere down in the west,' to use her own words, without
knowing it to be you?''\ 

{}``He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme. I happened
to be at Lyme.''

{}``Well,'' continued Mrs.\ Smith, triumphantly, {}``grant my
friend the credit due to the establishment of the first point asserted.
He saw you then at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly
pleased to meet with you again in Camden Place, as Miss Anne Elliot,
and from that moment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in his
visits there. But there was another, and an earlier, which I will
now explain. If there is anything in my story which you know to be
either false or improbable, stop me. My account states, that your
sister's friend, the lady now staying with you, whom I have heard
you mention, came to Bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long
ago as September (in short when they first came themselves), and has
been staying there ever since; that she is a clever, insinuating,
handsome woman, poor and plausible, and altogether such in situation
and manner, as to give a general idea, among Sir Walter's acquaintance,
of her meaning to be Lady Elliot, and as general a surprise that Miss
Elliot should be apparently, blind to the danger.''

Here Mrs.\ Smith paused a moment; but Anne had not a word to say,
and she continued\mbox{---}

{}``This was the light in which it appeared to those who knew the
family, long before you returned to it; and Colonel Wallis had his
eye upon your father enough to be sensible of it, though he did not
then visit in Camden Place; but his regard for Mr.\ Elliot gave him
an interest in watching all that was going on there, and when Mr.\ Elliot
came to Bath for a day or two, as he happened to do a little before
Christmas, Colonel Wallis made him acquainted with the appearance
of things, and the reports beginning to prevail. Now you are to understand,
that time had worked a very material change in Mr.\ Elliot's opinions
as to the value of a baronetcy. Upon all points of blood and connexion
he is a completely altered man. Having long had as much money as he
could spend, nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence,
he has been gradually learning to pin his happiness upon the consequence
he is heir to. I thought it coming on before our acquaintance ceased,
but it is now a confirmed feeling. He cannot bear the idea of not
being Sir William. You may guess, therefore, that the news he heard
from his friend could not be very agreeable, and you may guess what
it produced; the resolution of coming back to Bath as soon as possible,
and of fixing himself here for a time, with the view of renewing his
former acquaintance, and recovering such a footing in the family as
might give him the means of ascertaining the degree of his danger,
and of circumventing the lady if he found it material. This was agreed
upon between the two friends as the only thing to be done; and Colonel
Wallis was to assist in every way that he could. He was to be introduced,
and Mrs.\ Wallis was to be introduced, and everybody was to be introduced.
Mr.\ Elliot came back accordingly; and on application was forgiven,
as you know, and re-admitted into the family; and there it was his
constant object, and his only object (till your arrival added another
motive), to watch Sir Walter and Mrs.\ Clay. He omitted no opportunity
of being with them, threw himself in their way, called at all hours;
but I need not be particular on this subject. You can imagine what
an artful man would do; and with this guide, perhaps, may recollect
what you have seen him do.''

{}``Yes,'' said Anne, {}``you tell me nothing which does not accord
with what I have known, or could imagine. There is always something
offensive in the details of cunning. The man\oe{}uvres of selfishness
and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which
really surprises me. I know those who would be shocked by such a representation
of Mr.\ Elliot, who would have difficulty in believing it; but I
have never been satisfied. I have always wanted some other motive
for his conduct than appeared. I should like to know his present opinion,
as to the probability of the event he has been in dread of; whether
he considers the danger to be lessening or not.''

{}``Lessening, I understand,'' replied Mrs.\ Smith. {}``He thinks
Mrs.\ Clay afraid of him, aware that he sees through her, and not
daring to proceed as she might do in his absence. But since he must
be absent some time or other, I do not perceive how he can ever be
secure while she holds her present influence. Mrs.\ Wallis has an
amusing idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the marriage
articles when you and Mr.\ Elliot marry, that your father is not
to marry Mrs.\ Clay. A scheme, worthy of Mrs.\ Wallis's understanding,
by all accounts; but my sensible nurse Rooke sees the absurdity of
it.\  `Why, to be sure, ma'am,' said she, `it would not prevent his
marrying anybody else.' And, indeed, to own the truth, I do not think
nurse, in her heart, is a very strenuous opposer of Sir Walter's making
a second match. She must be allowed to be a favourer of matrimony,
you know; and (since self will intrude) who can say that she may not
have some flying visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through
Mrs.\ Wallis's recommendation?''\ 

{}``I am very glad to know all this,'' said Anne, after a little
thoughtfulness. {}``It will be more painful to me in some respects
to be in company with him, but I shall know better what to do. My
line of conduct will be more direct. Mr.\ Elliot is evidently a disingenuous,
artificial, worldly man, who has never had any better principle to
guide him than selfishness.''

But Mr.\ Elliot was not done with. Mrs.\ Smith had been carried
away from her first direction, and Anne had forgotten, in the interest
of her own family concerns, how much had been originally implied against
him; but her attention was now called to the explanation of those
first hints, and she listened to a recital which, if it did not perfectly
justify the unqualified bitterness of Mrs.\ Smith, proved him to
have been very unfeeling in his conduct towards her; very deficient
both in justice and compassion.

She learned that (the intimacy between them continuing unimpaired
by Mr.\ Elliot's marriage) they had been as before always together,
and Mr.\ Elliot had led his friend into expenses much beyond his
fortune. Mrs.\ Smith did not want to take blame to herself, and was
most tender of throwing any on her husband; but Anne could collect
that their income had never been equal to their style of living, and
that from the first there had been a great deal of general and joint
extravagance. From his wife's account of him she could discern Mr.\ Smith
to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits,
and not strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and
very unlike him, led by him, and probably despised by him. Mr.\ Elliot,
raised by his marriage to great affluence, and disposed to every gratification
of pleasure and vanity which could be commanded without involving
himself, (for with all his self-indulgence he had become a prudent
man), and beginning to be rich, just as his friend ought to have found
himself to be poor, seemed to have had no concern at all for that
friend's probable finances, but, on the contrary, had been prompting
and encouraging expenses which could end only in ruin; and the Smiths
accordingly had been ruined.

The husband had died just in time to be spared the full knowledge
of it. They had previously known embarrassments enough to try the
friendship of their friends, and to prove that Mr.\ Elliot's had
better not be tried; but it was not till his death that the wretched
state of his affairs was fully known. With a confidence in Mr.\ Elliot's
regard, more creditable to his feelings than his judgement, Mr.\ Smith
had appointed him the executor of his will; but Mr.\ Elliot would
not act, and the difficulties and distress which this refusal had
heaped on her, in addition to the inevitable sufferings of her situation,
had been such as could not be related without anguish of spirit, or
listened to without corresponding indignation.

Anne was shewn some letters of his on the occasion, answers to urgent
applications from Mrs.\ Smith, which all breathed the same stern
resolution of not engaging in a fruitless trouble, and, under a cold
civility, the same hard-hearted indifference to any of the evils it
might bring on her. It was a dreadful picture of ingratitude and inhumanity;
and Anne felt, at some moments, that no flagrant open crime could
have been worse. She had a great deal to listen to; all the particulars
of past sad scenes, all the minutiae of distress upon distress, which
in former conversations had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on now
with a natural indulgence. Anne could perfectly comprehend the exquisite
relief, and was only the more inclined to wonder at the composure
of her friend's usual state of mind.

There was one circumstance in the history of her grievances of particular
irritation. She had good reason to believe that some property of her
husband in the West Indies, which had been for many years under a
sort of sequestration for the payment of its own incumbrances, might
be recoverable by proper measures; and this property, though not large,
would be enough to make her comparatively rich. But there was nobody
to stir in it. Mr.\ Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing
herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her state of bodily
weakness, and from employing others by her want of money. She had
no natural connexions to assist her even with their counsel, and she
could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law. This was a
cruel aggravation of actually straitened means. To feel that she ought
to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble in the right
place might do it, and to fear that delay might be even weakening
her claims, was hard to bear.

It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne's good offices
with Mr.\ Elliot. She had previously, in the anticipation of their
marriage, been very apprehensive of losing her friend by it; but on
being assured that he could have made no attempt of that nature, since
he did not even know her to be in Bath, it immediately occurred, that
something might be done in her favour by the influence of the woman
he loved, and she had been hastily preparing to interest Anne's feelings,
as far as the observances due to Mr.\ Elliot's character would allow,
when Anne's refutation of the supposed engagement changed the face
of everything; and while it took from her the new-formed hope of succeeding
in the object of her first anxiety, left her at least the comfort
of telling the whole story her own way.

After listening to this full description of Mr.\ Elliot, Anne could
not but express some surprise at Mrs.\ Smith's having spoken of him
so favourably in the beginning of their conversation. {}``She had
seemed to recommend and praise him!''\


{}``My dear,'' was Mrs.\ Smith's reply, {}``there was nothing
else to be done. I considered your marrying him as certain, though
he might not yet have made the offer, and I could no more speak the
truth of him, than if he had been your husband. My heart bled for
you, as I talked of happiness; and yet he is sensible, he is agreeable,
and with such a woman as you, it was not absolutely hopeless. He was
very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched together. But she
was too ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had never loved her.
I was willing to hope that you must fare better.''

Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having
been induced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of the
misery which must have followed. It was just possible that she might
have been persuaded by Lady Russell! And under such a supposition,
which would have been most miserable, when time had disclosed all,
too late?

It was very desirable that Lady Russell should be no longer deceived;
and one of the concluding arrangements of this important conference,
which carried them through the greater part of the morning, was, that
Anne had full liberty to communicate to her friend everything relative
to Mrs.\ Smith, in which his conduct was involved.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 22}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 22}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 22}

Anne went home to think over all that she had heard. In one point,
her feelings were relieved by this knowledge of Mr.\ Elliot. There
was no longer anything of tenderness due to him. He stood as opposed
to Captain Wentworth, in all his own unwelcome obtrusiveness; and
the evil of his attentions last night, the irremediable mischief he
might have done, was considered with sensations unqualified, unperplexed.
Pity for him was all over. But this was the only point of relief.
In every other respect, in looking around her, or penetrating forward,
she saw more to distrust and to apprehend. She was concerned for the
disappointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling; for the mortifications
which must be hanging over her father and sister, and had all the
distress of foreseeing many evils, without knowing how to avert any
one of them. She was most thankful for her own knowledge of him. She
had never considered herself as entitled to reward for not slighting
an old friend like Mrs.\ Smith, but here was a reward indeed springing
from it! Mrs.\ Smith had been able to tell her what no one else could
have done. Could the knowledge have been extended through her family?
But this was a vain idea. She must talk to Lady Russell, tell her,
consult with her, and having done her best, wait the event with as
much composure as possible; and after all, her greatest want of composure
would be in that quarter of the mind which could not be opened to
Lady Russell; in that flow of anxieties and fears which must be all
to herself.

She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she intended, escaped
seeing Mr.\ Elliot; that he had called and paid them a long morning
visit; but hardly had she congratulated herself, and felt safe, when
she heard that he was coming again in the evening.

{}``I had not the smallest intention of asking him,'' said Elizabeth,
with affected carelessness, {}``but he gave so many hints; so Mrs.\ Clay
says, at least.''

{}``Indeed, I do say it. I never saw anybody in my life spell harder
for an invitation. Poor man! I was really in pain for him; for your
hard-hearted sister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty.''

{}``Oh!''\ cried Elizabeth, {}``I have been rather too much used
to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman's hints. However, when
I found how excessively he was regretting that he should miss my father
this morning, I gave way immediately, for I would never really omit
an opportunity of bring him and Sir Walter together. They appear to
so much advantage in company with each other. Each behaving so pleasantly.
Mr.\ Elliot looking up with so much respect.''

{}``Quite delightful!''\ cried Mrs.\ Clay, not daring, however,
to turn her eyes towards Anne. {}``Exactly like father and son! Dear
Miss Elliot, may I not say father and son?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ I lay no embargo on any body's words. If you will have
such ideas! But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions
being beyond those of other men.''

{}``My dear Miss Elliot!''\ exclaimed Mrs.\ Clay, lifting her
hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a
convenient silence.

{}``Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him.
I did invite him, you know. I sent him away with smiles. When I found
he was really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole
day to-morrow, I had compassion on him.''

Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to shew
such pleasure as she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival
of the very person whose presence must really be interfering with
her prime object. It was impossible but that Mrs.\ Clay must hate
the sight of Mr.\ Elliot; and yet she could assume a most obliging,
placid look, and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license
of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as she would have
done otherwise.

To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr.\ Elliot enter
the room; and quite painful to have him approach and speak to her.
She had been used before to feel that he could not be always quite
sincere, but now she saw insincerity in everything. His attentive
deference to her father, contrasted with his former language, was
odious; and when she thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs.\ Smith,
she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles and mildness,
or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.

She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as might provoke
a remonstrance on his side. It was a great object to her to escape
all enquiry or \emph{\'{e}clat}; but it was her intention to be as
decidedly cool to him as might be compatible with their relationship;
and to retrace, as quietly as she could, the few steps of unnecessary
intimacy she had been gradually led along. She was accordingly more
guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night before.

He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and where he could
have heard her formerly praised; wanted very much to be gratified
by more solicitation; but the charm was broken: he found that the
heat and animation of a public room was necessary to kindle his modest
cousin's vanity; he found, at least, that it was not to be done now,
by any of those attempts which he could hazard among the too-commanding
claims of the others. He little surmised that it was a subject acting
now exactly against his interest, bringing immediately to her thoughts
all those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.

She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really going out
of Bath the next morning, going early, and that he would be gone the
greater part of two days. He was invited again to Camden Place the
very evening of his return; but from Thursday to Saturday evening
his absence was certain. It was bad enough that a Mrs.\ Clay should
be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite should be added
to their party, seemed the destruction of everything like peace and
comfort. It was so humiliating to reflect on the constant deception
practised on her father and Elizabeth; to consider the various sources
of mortification preparing for them! Mrs.\ Clay's selfishness was
not so complicate nor so revolting as his; and Anne would have compounded
for the marriage at once, with all its evils, to be clear of Mr.\ Elliot's
subtleties in endeavouring to prevent it.

On Friday morning she meant to go very early to Lady Russell, and
accomplish the necessary communication; and she would have gone directly
after breakfast, but that Mrs.\ Clay was also going out on some obliging
purpose of saving her sister trouble, which determined her to wait
till she might be safe from such a companion. She saw Mrs.\ Clay
fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk of spending the morning
in Rivers Street.

{}``Very well,'' said Elizabeth, {}``I have nothing to send but
my love. Oh!\ you may as well take back that tiresome book she would
lend me, and pretend I have read it through. I really cannot be plaguing
myself for ever with all the new poems and states of the nation that
come out. Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications.
You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous the other
night. I used to think she had some taste in dress, but I was ashamed
of her at the concert. Something so formal and \emph{arrang\'{e}}
in her air!\ and she sits so upright! My best love, of course.''

{}``And mine,'' added Sir Walter. {}``Kindest regards. And you
may say, that I mean to call upon her soon. Make a civil message;
but I shall only leave my card. Morning visits are never fair by women
at her time of life, who make themselves up so little. If she would
only wear rouge she would not be afraid of being seen; but last time
I called, I observed the blinds were let down immediately.''

While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door. Who could it
be? Anne, remembering the preconcerted visits, at all hours, of Mr.\ Elliot,
would have expected him, but for his known engagement seven miles
off. After the usual period of suspense, the usual sounds of approach
were heard, and {}``Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Charles Musgrove'' were ushered
into the room.

Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by their appearance; but
Anne was really glad to see them; and the others were not so sorry
but that they could put on a decent air of welcome; and as soon as
it became clear that these, their nearest relations, were not arrived
with an views of accommodation in that house, Sir Walter and Elizabeth
were able to rise in cordiality, and do the honours of it very well.
They were come to Bath for a few days with Mrs.\ Musgrove, and were
at the White Hart. So much was pretty soon understood; but till Sir
Walter and Elizabeth were walking Mary into the other drawing-room,
and regaling themselves with her admiration, Anne could not draw upon
Charles's brain for a regular history of their coming, or an explanation
of some smiling hints of particular business, which had been ostentatiously
dropped by Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion as to whom
their party consisted of.

She then found that it consisted of Mrs.\ Musgrove, Henrietta, and
Captain Harville, beside their two selves. He gave her a very plain,
intelligible account of the whole; a narration in which she saw a
great deal of most characteristic proceeding. The scheme had received
its first impulse by Captain Harville's wanting to come to Bath on
business. He had begun to talk of it a week ago; and by way of doing
something, as shooting was over, Charles had proposed coming with
him, and Mrs.\ Harville had seemed to like the idea of it very much,
as an advantage to her husband; but Mary could not bear to be left,
and had made herself so unhappy about it, that for a day or two everything
seemed to be in suspense, or at an end. But then, it had been taken
up by his father and mother. His mother had some old friends in Bath
whom she wanted to see; it was thought a good opportunity for Henrietta
to come and buy wedding-clothes for herself and her sister; and, in
short, it ended in being his mother's party, that everything might
be comfortable and easy to Captain Harville; and he and Mary were
included in it by way of general convenience. They had arrived late
the night before. Mrs.\ Harville, her children, and Captain Benwick,
remained with Mr.\ Musgrove and Louisa at Uppercross.

Anne's only surprise was, that affairs should be in forwardness enough
for Henrietta's wedding-clothes to be talked of. She had imagined
such difficulties of fortune to exist there as must prevent the marriage
from being near at hand; but she learned from Charles that, very recently,
(since Mary's last letter to herself), Charles Hayter had been applied
to by a friend to hold a living for a youth who could not possibly
claim it under many years; and that on the strength of his present
income, with almost a certainty of something more permanent long before
the term in question, the two families had consented to the young
people's wishes, and that their marriage was likely to take place
in a few months, quite as soon as Louisa's. {}``And a very good living
it was,'' Charles added: {}``only five-and-twenty miles from Uppercross,
and in a very fine country: fine part of Dorsetshire. In the centre
of some of the best preserves in the kingdom, surrounded by three
great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than the other; and
to two of the three at least, Charles Hayter might get a special recommendation.
Not that he will value it as he ought,'' he observed, {}``Charles
is too cool about sporting. That's the worst of him.''

{}``I am extremely glad, indeed,'' cried Anne, {}``particularly
glad that this should happen; and that of two sisters, who both deserve
equally well, and who have always been such good friends, the pleasant
prospect of one should not be dimming those of the other\mbox{---}that
they should be so equal in their prosperity and comfort. I hope your
father and mother are quite happy with regard to both.''

{}``Oh!\ yes. My father would be well pleased if the gentlemen were
richer, but he has no other fault to find. Money, you know, coming
down with money\mbox{---}two daughters at once\mbox{---}it cannot
be a very agreeable operation, and it streightens him as to many things.
However, I do not mean to say they have not a right to it. It is very
fit they should have daughters' shares; and I am sure he has always
been a very kind, liberal father to me. Mary does not above half like
Henrietta's match. She never did, you know. But she does not do him
justice, nor think enough about Winthrop. I cannot make her attend
to the value of the property. It is a very fair match, as times go;
and I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall not leave
off now.''

{}``Such excellent parents as Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Musgrove,'' exclaimed
Anne, {}``should be happy in their children's marriages. They do
everything to confer happiness, I am sure. What a blessing to young
people to be in such hands! Your father and mother seem so totally
free from all those ambitious feelings which have led to so much misconduct
and misery, both in young and old. I hope you think Louisa perfectly
recovered now?''\ 

He answered rather hesitatingly, {}``Yes, I believe I do; very much
recovered; but she is altered; there is no running or jumping about,
no laughing or dancing; it is quite different. If one happens only
to shut the door a little hard, she starts and wriggles like a young
dab-chick in the water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses,
or whispering to her, all day long.''

Anne could not help laughing. {}``That cannot be much to your taste,
I know,'' said she; {}``but I do believe him to be an excellent
young man.''

{}``To be sure he is. Nobody doubts it; and I hope you do not think
I am so illiberal as to want every man to have the same objects and
pleasures as myself. I have a great value for Benwick; and when one
can but get him to talk, he has plenty to say. His reading has done
him no harm, for he has fought as well as read. He is a brave fellow.
I got more acquainted with him last Monday than ever I did before.
We had a famous set-to at rat-hunting all the morning in my father's
great barns; and he played his part so well that I have liked him
the better ever since.''

Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of Charles's
following the others to admire mirrors and china; but Anne had heard
enough to understand the present state of Uppercross, and rejoice
in its happiness; and though she sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh
had none of the ill-will of envy in it. She would certainly have risen
to their blessings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.

The visit passed off altogether in high good humour. Mary was in excellent
spirits, enjoying the gaiety and the change, and so well satisfied
with the journey in her mother-in-law's carriage with four horses,
and with her own complete independence of Camden Place, that she was
exactly in a temper to admire everything as she ought, and enter most
readily into all the superiorities of the house, as they were detailed
to her. She had no demands on her father or sister, and her consequence
was just enough increased by their handsome drawing-rooms.

Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal. She felt that
Mrs.\ Musgrove and all her party ought to be asked to dine with them;
but she could not bear to have the difference of style, the reduction
of servants, which a dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had
been always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It was a struggle
between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the better, and then
Elizabeth was happy again. These were her internal persuasions: {}``Old
fashioned notions; country hospitality; we do not profess to give
dinners; few people in Bath do; Lady Alicia never does; did not even
ask her own sister's family, though they were here a month: and I
dare say it would be very inconvenient to Mrs.\ Musgrove; put her
quite out of her way. I am sure she would rather not come; she cannot
feel easy with us. I will ask them all for an evening; that will be
much better; that will be a novelty and a treat. They have not seen
two such drawing rooms before. They will be delighted to come to-morrow
evening. It shall be a regular party, small, but most elegant.''
And this satisfied Elizabeth: and when the invitation was given to
the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary was as completely
satisfied. She was particularly asked to meet Mr.\ Elliot, and be
introduced to Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately
already engaged to come; and she could not have received a more gratifying
attention. Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling on Mrs.\ Musgrove
in the course of the morning; and Anne walked off with Charles and
Mary, to go and see her and Henrietta directly.

Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for the present.
They all three called in Rivers Street for a couple of minutes; but
Anne convinced herself that a day's delay of the intended communication
could be of no consequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart,
to see again the friends and companions of the last autumn, with an
eagerness of good-will which many associations contributed to form.

They found Mrs.\ Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves,
and Anne had the kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was exactly
in that state of recently-improved views, of fresh-formed happiness,
which made her full of regard and interest for everybody she had ever
liked before at all; and Mrs.\ Musgrove's real affection had been
won by her usefulness when they were in distress. It was a heartiness,
and a warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in the more, from
the sad want of such blessings at home. She was entreated to give
them as much of her time as possible, invited for every day and all
day long, or rather claimed as part of the family; and, in return,
she naturally fell into all her wonted ways of attention and assistance,
and on Charles's leaving them together, was listening to Mrs.\ Musgrove's
history of Louisa, and to Henrietta's of herself, giving opinions
on business, and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every
help which Mary required, from altering her ribbon to settling her
accounts; from finding her keys, and assorting her trinkets, to trying
to convince her that she was not ill-used by anybody; which Mary,
well amused as she generally was, in her station at a window overlooking
the entrance to the Pump Room, could not but have her moments of imagining.

A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. A large party
in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five minutes
brought a note, the next a parcel; and Anne had not been there half
an hour, when their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than
half filled: a party of steady old friends were seated around Mr.\ 
Musgrove, and Charles came back with Captains Harville and Wentworth.
The appearance of the latter could not be more than the surprise of
the moment. It was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel that
this arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing them together
again. Their last meeting had been most important in opening his feelings;
she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she feared from
his looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened
him away from the Concert Room, still governed. He did not seem to
want to be near enough for conversation.

She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried
to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:\mbox{---}{}``Surely,
if there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand
each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable,
misled by every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our
own happiness.'' And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as if
their being in company with each other, under their present circumstances,
could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions
of the most mischievous kind.

{}``Anne,'' cried Mary, still at her window, {}``there is Mrs.\ Clay,
I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her.
I saw them turn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed
deep in talk. Who is it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect.
It is Mr.\ Elliot himself.''

{}``No,'' cried Anne, quickly, {}``it cannot be Mr.\ Elliot, I
assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not
come back till to-morrow.''

As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her,
the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her
regret that she had said so much, simple as it was.

Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin,
began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting
still more positively that it was Mr.\ Elliot, calling again upon
Anne to come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir,
and tried to be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however,
on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three
of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the
secret. It was evident that the report concerning her had spread,
and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would
now spread farther.

{}``Do come, Anne'' cried Mary, {}``come and look yourself. You
will be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they
are shaking hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr.\ Elliot, indeed!
You seem to have forgot all about Lyme.''

To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did
move quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that
it really was Mr.\ Elliot, which she had never believed, before he
disappeared on one side, as Mrs.\ Clay walked quickly off on the
other; and checking the surprise which she could not but feel at such
an appearance of friendly conference between two persons of totally
opposite interest, she calmly said, {}``Yes, it is Mr.\ Elliot,
certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all,
or I may be mistaken, I might not attend;'' and walked back to her
chair, recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted
herself well.

The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them
off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began
with\mbox{---}

{}``Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like.
I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night.
A'n't I a good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for
us all. It holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will
not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play. Have not I
done well, mother?''\ 

Mrs.\ Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect
readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it,
when Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming\mbox{---}

{}``Good heavens, Charles!\ how can you think of such a thing? Take
a box for to-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to
Camden Place to-morrow night? and that we were most particularly asked
to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr.\ Elliot, and all
the principal family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them?
How can you be so forgetful?''\ 

{}``Phoo!\ phoo!''\ replied Charles, {}``what's an evening party?
Never worth remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner,
I think, if he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I
shall go to the play.''

{}``Oh!\ Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do,
when you promised to go.''

{}``No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the
word `happy.' There was no promise.''

{}``But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail. We
were asked on purpose to be introduced. There was always such a great
connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened
on either side that was not announced immediately. We are quite near
relations, you know; and Mr.\ Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly
to be acquainted with! Every attention is due to Mr.\ Elliot. Consider,
my father's heir: the future representative of the family.''

{}``Don't talk to me about heirs and representatives,'' cried Charles.
{}``I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to
the rising sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should
think it scandalous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr.\ Elliot
to me?''\ The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that
Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listening with his
whole soul; and that the last words brought his enquiring eyes from
Charles to herself.

Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he, half serious
and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for the play, and she, invariably
serious, most warmly opposing it, and not omitting to make it known
that, however determined to go to Camden Place herself, she should
not think herself very well used, if they went to the play without
her. Mrs.\ Musgrove interposed.

{}``We had better put it off. Charles, you had much better go back
and change the box for Tuesday. It would be a pity to be divided,
and we should be losing Miss Anne, too, if there is a party at her
father's; and I am sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all
for the play, if Miss Anne could not be with us.''

Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and quite as much
so for the opportunity it gave her of decidedly saying\mbox{---}

{}``If it depended only on my inclination, ma'am, the party at home
(excepting on Mary's account) would not be the smallest impediment.
I have no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy
to change it for a play, and with you. But, it had better not be attempted,
perhaps.'' She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done,
conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not even to
try to observe their effect.

It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day; Charles
only reserving the advantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting
that he would go to the play to-morrow if nobody else would.

Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire-place; probably
for the sake of walking away from it soon afterwards, and taking a
station, with less bare-faced design, by Anne.

{}``You have not been long enough in Bath,'' said he, {}``to enjoy
the evening parties of the place.''

{}``Oh!\ no. The usual character of them has nothing for me. I am
no card-player.''

{}``You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to like cards;
but time makes many changes.''

{}``I am not yet so much changed,'' cried Anne, and stopped, fearing
she hardly knew what misconstruction. After waiting a few moments
he said, and as if it were the result of immediate feeling, {}``It
is a period, indeed! Eight years and a half is a period.''

Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to Anne's imagination
to ponder over in a calmer hour; for while still hearing the sounds
he had uttered, she was startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager
to make use of the present leisure for getting out, and calling on
her companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should come in.

They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being perfectly ready, and
tried to look it; but she felt that could Henrietta have known the
regret and reluctance of her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing
to quit the room, she would have found, in all her own sensations
for her cousin, in the very security of his affection, wherewith to
pity her.

Their preparations, however, were stopped short. Alarming sounds were
heard; other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for
Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general
chill. Anne felt an instant oppression, and wherever she looked saw
symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom, the gaiety of the
room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or
insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister.
How mortifying to feel that it was so!

Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain Wentworth
was acknowledged again by each, by Elizabeth more graciously than
before. She even addressed him once, and looked at him more than once.
Elizabeth was, in fact, revolving a great measure. The sequel explained
it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying the proper nothings,
she began to give the invitation which was to comprise all the remaining
dues of the Musgroves. {}``To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends:
no formal party.'' It was all said very gracefully, and the cards
with which she had provided herself, the {}``Miss Elliot at home,''
were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensive smile to all,
and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The
truth was, that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand
the importance of a man of such an air and appearance as his. The
past was nothing. The present was that Captain Wentworth would move
about well in her drawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and
Sir Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.

The interruption had been short, though severe, and ease and animation
returned to most of those they left as the door shut them out, but
not to Anne. She could think only of the invitation she had with such
astonishment witnessed, and of the manner in which it had been received;
a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather than gratification,
of polite acknowledgement rather than acceptance. She knew him; she
saw disdain in his eye, and could not venture to believe that he had
determined to accept such an offering, as an atonement for all the
insolence of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his hand
after they were gone, as if deeply considering it.

{}``Only think of Elizabeth's including everybody!''\ whispered
Mary very audibly. {}``I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted!
You see he cannot put the card out of his hand.''

Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his mouth form itself
into a momentary expression of contempt, and turned away, that she
might neither see nor hear more to vex her.

The party separated. The gentlemen had their own pursuits, the ladies
proceeded on their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged
to them. She was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them
all the rest of the day, but her spirits had been so long exerted
that at present she felt unequal to more, and fit only for home, where
she might be sure of being as silent as she chose.

Promising to be with them the whole of the following morning, therefore,
she closed the fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to Camden
Place, there to spend the evening chiefly in listening to the busy
arrangements of Elizabeth and Mrs.\ Clay for the morrow's party,
the frequent enumeration of the persons invited, and the continually
improving detail of all the embellishments which were to make it the
most completely elegant of its kind in Bath, while harassing herself
with the never-ending question, of whether Captain Wentworth would
come or not? They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was
a gnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together. She
generally thought he would come, because she generally thought he
ought; but it was a case which she could not so shape into any positive
act of duty or discretion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of
very opposite feelings.

She only roused herself from the broodings of this restless agitation,
to let Mrs.\ Clay know that she had been seen with Mr.\ Elliot three
hours after his being supposed to be out of Bath, for having watched
in vain for some intimation of the interview from the lady herself,
she determined to mention it, and it seemed to her there was guilt
in Mrs.\ Clay's face as she listened. It was transient: cleared away
in an instant; but Anne could imagine she read there the consciousness
of having, by some complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing
authority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half an hour)
to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir Walter. She
exclaimed, however, with a very tolerable imitation of nature:\mbox{---}

{}``Oh!\ dear!\ very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my great
surprise I met with Mr.\ Elliot in Bath Street. I was never more
astonished. He turned back and walked with me to the Pump Yard. He
had been prevented setting off for Thornberry, but I really forget
by what; for I was in a hurry, and could not much attend, and I can
only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in his return.
He wanted to know how early he might be admitted to-morrow. He was
full of `to-morrow,' and it is very evident that I have been full
of it too, ever since I entered the house, and learnt the extension
of your plan and all that had happened, or my seeing him could never
have gone so entirely out of my head.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 23}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 23}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 23}

One day only had passed since Anne's conversation with Mrs.\ Smith;
but a keener interest had succeeded, and she was now so little touched
by Mr.\ Elliot's conduct, except by its effects in one quarter, that
it became a matter of course the next morning, still to defer her
explanatory visit in Rivers Street. She had promised to be with the
Musgroves from breakfast to dinner. Her faith was plighted, and Mr.\ Elliot's
character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade's head, must live another
day.

She could not keep her appointment punctually, however; the weather
was unfavourable, and she had grieved over the rain on her friends'
account, and felt it very much on her own, before she was able to
attempt the walk. When she reached the White Hart, and made her way
to the proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving quite
in time, nor the first to arrive. The party before her were, Mrs.\ Musgrove,
talking to Mrs.\ Croft, and Captain Harville to Captain Wentworth;
and she immediately heard that Mary and Henrietta, too impatient to
wait, had gone out the moment it had cleared, but would be back again
soon, and that the strictest injunctions had been left with Mrs.\ Musgrove
to keep her there till they returned. She had only to submit, sit
down, be outwardly composed, and feel herself plunged at once in all
the agitations which she had merely laid her account of tasting a
little before the morning closed. There was no delay, no waste of
time. She was deep in the happiness of such misery, or the misery
of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes after her entering the room,
Captain Wentworth said\mbox{---}

{}``We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville, now, if
you will give me materials.''

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he went to it, and nearly
turning his back to them all, was engrossed by writing.

Mrs.\ Musgrove was giving Mrs.\ Croft the history of her eldest
daughter's engagement, and just in that inconvenient tone of voice
which was perfectly audible while it pretended to be a whisper. Anne
felt that she did not belong to the conversation, and yet, as Captain
Harville seemed thoughtful and not disposed to talk, she could not
avoid hearing many undesirable particulars; such as, {}``how Mr.\ Musgrove
and my brother Hayter had met again and again to talk it over; what
my brother Hayter had said one day, and what Mr.\ Musgrove had proposed
the next, and what had occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the
young people had wished, and what I said at first I never could consent
to, but was afterwards persuaded to think might do very well,'' and
a great deal in the same style of open-hearted communication: minutiae
which, even with every advantage of taste and delicacy, which good
Mrs.\ Musgrove could not give, could be properly interesting only
to the principals. Mrs.\ Croft was attending with great good-humour,
and whenever she spoke at all, it was very sensibly. Anne hoped the
gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied to hear.

{}``And so, ma'am, all these thing considered,'' said Mrs.\ Musgrove,
in her powerful whisper, {}``though we could have wished it different,
yet, altogether, we did not think it fair to stand out any longer,
for Charles Hayter was quite wild about it, and Henrietta was pretty
near as bad; and so we thought they had better marry at once, and
make the best of it, as many others have done before them. At any
rate, said I, it will be better than a long engagement.''

{}``That is precisely what I was going to observe,'' cried Mrs.\ Croft.
{}``I would rather have young people settle on a small income at
once, and have to struggle with a few difficulties together, than
be involved in a long engagement. I always think that no mutual\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ dear Mrs.\ Croft,'' cried Mrs.\ Musgrove, unable to
let her finish her speech, {}``there is nothing I so abominate for
young people as a long engagement. It is what I always protested against
for my children. It is all very well, I used to say, for young people
to be engaged, if there is a certainty of their being able to marry
in six months, or even in twelve; but a long engagement\mbox{---}''

{}``Yes, dear ma'am,'' said Mrs.\ Croft, {}``or an uncertain engagement,
an engagement which may be long. To begin without knowing that at
such a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very
unsafe and unwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as
far as they can.''

Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt its application to
herself, felt it in a nervous thrill all over her; and at the same
moment that her eyes instinctively glanced towards the distant table,
Captain Wentworth's pen ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing,
listening, and he turned round the next instant to give a look, one
quick, conscious look at her.

The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same admitted truths,
and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of a contrary
practice as had fallen within their observation, but Anne heard nothing
distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in
confusion.

Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left
his seat, and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though
it was from thorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that
he was inviting her to join him where he stood. He looked at her with
a smile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, {}``Come
to me, I have something to say;'' and the unaffected, easy kindness
of manner which denoted the feelings of an older acquaintance than
he really was, strongly enforced the invitation. She roused herself
and went to him. The window at which he stood was at the other end
of the room from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer
to Captain Wentworth's table, not very near. As she joined him, Captain
Harville's countenance re-assumed the serious, thoughtful expression
which seemed its natural character.

{}``Look here,'' said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying
a small miniature painting, {}``do you know who that is?''\


{}``Certainly: Captain Benwick.''

{}``Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But,'' (in a deep tone,)
{}``it was not done for her. Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking
together at Lyme, and grieving for him? I little thought then\mbox{---}but
no matter. This was drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young
German artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my
poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her; and I have
now the charge of getting it properly set for another! It was a commission
to me! But who else was there to employ? I hope I can allow for him.
I am not sorry, indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes
it;'' (looking towards Captain Wentworth,) {}``he is writing about
it now.'' And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole by adding,
{}``Poor Fanny!\ she would not have forgotten him so soon!''\


{}``No,'' replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice. {}``That I can
easily believe.''

{}``It was not in her nature. She doted on him.''

{}``It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved.''

Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, {}``Do you claim that
for your sex?''\ and she answered the question, smiling also, {}``Yes.
We certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps,
our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live
at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced
on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some
sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual
occupation and change soon weaken impressions.''

{}``Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon
for men (which, however, I do not think I shall grant), it does not
apply to Benwick. He has not been forced upon any exertion. The peace
turned him on shore at the very moment, and he has been living with
us, in our little family circle, ever since.''

{}``True,'' said Anne, {}``very true; I did not recollect; but
what shall we say now, Captain Harville? If the change be not from
outward circumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature,
man's nature, which has done the business for Captain Benwick.''

{}``No, no, it is not man's nature. I will not allow it to be more
man's nature than woman's to be inconstant and forget those they do
love, or have loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true analogy
between our bodily frames and our mental; and that as our bodies are
the strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most rough
usage, and riding out the heaviest weather.''

{}``Your feelings may be the strongest,'' replied Anne, {}``but
the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are
the most tender. Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer
lived; which exactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments.
Nay, it would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You have
difficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to struggle with.
You are always labouring and toiling, exposed to every risk and hardship.
Your home, country, friends, all quitted. Neither time, nor health,
nor life, to be called your own. It would be hard, indeed'' (with
a faltering voice), {}``if woman's feelings were to be added to all
this.''

{}``We shall never agree upon this question,'' Captain Harville
was beginning to say, when a slight noise called their attention to
Captain Wentworth's hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room.
It was nothing more than that his pen had fallen down; but Anne was
startled at finding him nearer than she had supposed, and half inclined
to suspect that the pen had only fallen because he had been occupied
by them, striving to catch sounds, which yet she did not think he
could have caught.

{}``Have you finished your letter?''\ said Captain Harville.

{}``Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.''

{}``There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready whenever you are.
I am in very good anchorage here,'' (smiling at Anne,) {}``well
supplied, and want for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all. Well,
Miss Elliot,'' (lowering his voice,) {}``as I was saying we shall
never agree, I suppose, upon this point. No man and woman, would,
probably. But let me observe that all histories are against you\mbox{---}all
stories, prose and verse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could
bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side the argument, and
I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something
to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's
fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.''

{}``Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples
in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own
story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen
has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.''

{}``But how shall we prove anything?''\ 

{}``We never shall. We never can expect to prove any thing upon such
a point. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof.
We each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and
upon that bias build every circumstance in favour of it which has
occurred within our own circle; many of which circumstances (perhaps
those very cases which strike us the most) may be precisely such as
cannot be brought forward without betraying a confidence, or in some
respect saying what should not be said.''

{}``Ah!''\ cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling,
{}``if I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he
takes a last look at his wife and children, and watches the boat that
he has sent them off in, as long as it is in sight, and then turns
away and says, `God knows whether we ever meet again!' And then, if
I could convey to you the glow of his soul when he does see them again;
when, coming back after a twelvemonth's absence, perhaps, and obliged
to put into another port, he calculates how soon it be possible to
get them there, pretending to deceive himself, and saying, `They cannot
be here till such a day,' but all the while hoping for them twelve
hours sooner, and seeing them arrive at last, as if Heaven had given
them wings, by many hours sooner still! If I could explain to you
all this, and all that a man can bear and do, and glories to do, for
the sake of these treasures of his existence! I speak, you know, only
of such men as have hearts!''\ pressing his own with emotion.

{}``Oh!''\ cried Anne eagerly, {}``I hope I do justice to all
that is felt by you, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that
I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures!
I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment
and constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you capable
of everything great and good in your married lives. I believe you
equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance,
so long as\mbox{---}if I may be allowed the expression\mbox{---}so
long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you love lives,
and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is
not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving
longest, when existence or when hope is gone.''

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart
was too full, her breath too much oppressed.

{}``You are a good soul,'' cried Captain Harville, putting his hand
on her arm, quite affectionately. {}``There is no quarrelling with
you. And when I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied.''

Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs.\ Croft was taking
leave.

{}``Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,'' said she.
{}``I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.
To-night we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party,''
(turning to Anne.) {}``We had your sister's card yesterday, and I
understood Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it; and
you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?''\ 

Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either
could not or would not answer fully.

{}``Yes,'' said he, {}``very true; here we separate, but Harville
and I shall soon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready,
I am in half a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall
be at your service in half a minute.''

Mrs.\ Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter
with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated
air, which shewed impatience to be gone. Anne knew not how to understand
it. She had the kindest {}``Good morning, God bless you!''\ from
Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look! He had passed
out of the room without a look!

She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had
been writing, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened,
it was himself. He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves,
and instantly crossing the room to the writing table, he drew out
a letter from under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with
eyes of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a time, and hastily collecting
his gloves, was again out of the room, almost before Mrs.\ Musgrove
was aware of his being in it: the work of an instant!

The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyond
expression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to {}``Miss
A.\ E.\mbox{---},'' was evidently the one which he had been folding
so hastily. While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick,
he had been also addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended
all which this world could do for her. Anything was possible, anything
might be defied rather than suspense. Mrs.\ Musgrove had little arrangements
of her own at her own table; to their protection she must trust, and
sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very
spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following
words:

\begin{quotation}
{}``I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such
means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony,
half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings
are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more
your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has
an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been,
weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have
brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not
seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited
even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you
must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant
hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I
can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on
others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed.
You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men.
Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F.\ W.

{}``I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or
follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough
to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.'' 
\end{quotation}
{}

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Half and hour's solitude
and reflection might have tranquillized her; but the ten minutes only
which now passed before she was interrupted, with all the restraints
of her situation, could do nothing towards tranquillity. Every moment
rather brought fresh agitation. It was overpowering happiness. And
before she was beyond the first stage of full sensation, Charles,
Mary, and Henrietta all came in.

The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediate
struggle; but after a while she could do no more. She began not to
understand a word they said, and was obliged to plead indisposition
and excuse herself. They could then see that she looked very ill,
were shocked and concerned, and would not stir without her for the
world. This was dreadful. Would they only have gone away, and left
her in the quiet possession of that room it would have been her cure;
but to have them all standing or waiting around her was distracting,
and in desperation, she said she would go home.

{}``By all means, my dear,'' cried Mrs.\ Musgrove, {}``go home
directly, and take care of yourself, that you may be fit for the evening.
I wish Sarah was here to doctor you, but I am no doctor myself. Charles,
ring and order a chair. She must not walk.''

But the chair would never do. Worse than all! To lose the possibility
of speaking two words to Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet,
solitary progress up the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting
him) could not be borne. The chair was earnestly protested against,
and Mrs.\ Musgrove, who thought only of one sort of illness, having
assured herself with some anxiety, that there had been no fall in
the case; that Anne had not at any time lately slipped down, and got
a blow on her head; that she was perfectly convinced of having had
no fall; could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding her
better at night.

Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled, and said\mbox{---}

{}``I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly understood. Pray
be so good as to mention to the other gentlemen that we hope to see
your whole party this evening. I am afraid there had been some mistake;
and I wish you particularly to assure Captain Harville and Captain
Wentworth, that we hope to see them both.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my word. Captain
Harville has no thought but of going.''

{}``Do you think so? But I am afraid; and I should be so very sorry.
Will you promise me to mention it, when you see them again? You will
see them both this morning, I dare say. Do promise me.''

{}``To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if you see Captain
Harville anywhere, remember to give Miss Anne's message. But indeed,
my dear, you need not be uneasy. Captain Harville holds himself quite
engaged, I'll answer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare
say.''

Anne could do no more; but her heart prophesied some mischance to
damp the perfection of her felicity. It could not be very lasting,
however. Even if he did not come to Camden Place himself, it would
be in her power to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.
Another momentary vexation occurred. Charles, in his real concern
and good nature, would go home with her; there was no preventing him.
This was almost cruel. But she could not be long ungrateful; he was
sacrificing an engagement at a gunsmith's, to be of use to her; and
she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude apparent.

They were on Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something
of familiar sound, gave her two moments' preparation for the sight
of Captain Wentworth. He joined them; but, as if irresolute whether
to join or to pass on, said nothing, only looked. Anne could command
herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively. The cheeks
which had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitated
were decided. He walked by her side. Presently, struck by a sudden
thought, Charles said\mbox{---}

{}``Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street,
or farther up the town?''\ 

{}``I hardly know,'' replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.

{}``Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place?
Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take
my place, and give Anne your arm to her father's door. She is rather
done for this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I
ought to be at that fellow's in the Market Place. He promised me the
sight of a capital gun he is just going to send off; said he would
keep it unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it;
and if I do not turn back now, I have no chance. By his description,
a good deal like the second size double-barrel of mine, which you
shot with one day round Winthrop.''

There could not be an objection. There could be only the most proper
alacrity, a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reined
in and spirits dancing in private rapture. In half a minute Charles
was at the bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceeding
together: and soon words enough had passed between them to decide
their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel
walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour
a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the
happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow. There
they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once
before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by
so many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned
again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union,
than when it had been first projected; more tender, more tried, more
fixed in a knowledge of each other's character, truth, and attachment;
more equal to act, more justified in acting. And there, as they slowly
paced the gradual ascent, heedless of every group around them, seeing
neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls,
nor nursery-maids and children, they could indulge in those retrospections
and acknowledgements, and especially in those explanations of what
had directly preceded the present moment, which were so poignant and
so ceaseless in interest. All the little variations of the last week
were gone through; and of yesterday and today there could scarcely
be an end.

She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr.\ Elliot had been the retarding
weight, the doubt, the torment. That had begun to operate in the very
hour of first meeting her in Bath; that had returned, after a short
suspension, to ruin the concert; and that had influenced him in everything
he had said and done, or omitted to say and do, in the last four-and-twenty
hours. It had been gradually yielding to the better hopes which her
looks, or words, or actions occasionally encouraged; it had been vanquished
at last by those sentiments and those tones which had reached him
while she talked with Captain Harville; and under the irresistible
governance of which he had seized a sheet of paper, and poured out
his feelings.

Of what he had then written, nothing was to be retracted or qualified.
He persisted in having loved none but her. She had never been supplanted.
He never even believed himself to see her equal. Thus much indeed
he was obliged to acknowledge: that he had been constant unconsciously,
nay unintentionally; that he had meant to forget her, and believed
it to be done. He had imagined himself indifferent, when he had only
been angry; and he had been unjust to her merits, because he had been
a sufferer from them. Her character was now fixed on his mind as perfection
itself, maintaining the loveliest medium of fortitude and gentleness;
but he was obliged to acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he learnt
to do her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to understand himself.
At Lyme, he had received lessons of more than one sort. The passing
admiration of Mr.\ Elliot had at least roused him, and the scenes
on the Cobb and at Captain Harville's had fixed her superiority.

In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa Musgrove (the
attempts of angry pride), he protested that he had for ever felt it
to be impossible; that he had not cared, could not care, for Louisa;
though till that day, till the leisure for reflection which followed
it, he had not understood the perfect excellence of the mind with
which Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison, or the perfect unrivalled
hold it possessed over his own. There, he had learnt to distinguish
between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will,
between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected
mind. There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the
woman he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly,
the madness of resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain
her when thrown in his way.

From that period his penance had become severe. He had no sooner been
free from the horror and remorse attending the first few days of Louisa's
accident, no sooner begun to feel himself alive again, than he had
begun to feel himself, though alive, not at liberty.

{}``I found,'' said he, {}``that I was considered by Harville an
engaged man! That neither Harville nor his wife entertained a doubt
of our mutual attachment. I was startled and shocked. To a degree,
I could contradict this instantly; but, when I began to reflect that
others might have felt the same\mbox{---}her own family, nay, perhaps
herself\mbox{---}-I was no longer at my own disposal. I was hers
in honour if she wished it. I had been unguarded. I had not thought
seriously on this subject before. I had not considered that my excessive
intimacy must have its danger of ill consequence in many ways; and
that I had no right to be trying whether I could attach myself to
either of the girls, at the risk of raising even an unpleasant report,
were there no other ill effects. I had been grossly wrong, and must
abide the consequences.''

He found too late, in short, that he had entangled himself; and that
precisely as he became fully satisfied of his not caring for Louisa
at all, he must regard himself as bound to her, if her sentiments
for him were what the Harvilles supposed. It determined him to leave
Lyme, and await her complete recovery elsewhere. He would gladly weaken,
by any fair means, whatever feelings or speculations concerning him
might exist; and he went, therefore, to his brother's, meaning after
a while to return to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.

{}``I was six weeks with Edward,'' said he, {}``and saw him happy.
I could have no other pleasure. I deserved none. He enquired after
you very particularly; asked even if you were personally altered,
little suspecting that to my eye you could never alter.''

Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a blunder for a
reproach. It is something for a woman to be assured, in her eight-and-twentieth
year, that she has not lost one charm of earlier youth; but the value
of such homage was inexpressibly increased to Anne, by comparing it
with former words, and feeling it to be the result, not the cause
of a revival of his warm attachment.

He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness of his own
pride, and the blunders of his own calculations, till at once released
from Louisa by the astonishing and felicitous intelligence of her
engagement with Benwick.

{}``Here,'' said he, {}``ended the worst of my state; for now I
could at least put myself in the way of happiness; I could exert myself;
I could do something. But to be waiting so long in inaction, and waiting
only for evil, had been dreadful. Within the first five minutes I
said, `I will be at Bath on Wednesday,' and I was. Was it unpardonable
to think it worth my while to come?\ and to arrive with some degree
of hope? You were single. It was possible that you might retain the
feelings of the past, as I did; and one encouragement happened to
be mine. I could never doubt that you would be loved and sought by
others, but I knew to a certainty that you had refused one man, at
least, of better pretensions than myself; and I could not help often
saying, `Was this for me?'''

Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to be said, but
the concert still more. That evening seemed to be made up of exquisite
moments. The moment of her stepping forward in the Octagon Room to
speak to him: the moment of Mr.\ Elliot's appearing and tearing her
away, and one or two subsequent moments, marked by returning hope
or increasing despondency, were dwelt on with energy.

{}``To see you,'' cried he, {}``in the midst of those who could
not be my well-wishers; to see your cousin close by you, conversing
and smiling, and feel all the horrible eligibilities and proprieties
of the match! To consider it as the certain wish of every being who
could hope to influence you! Even if your own feelings were reluctant
or indifferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his! Was
it not enough to make the fool of me which I appeared? How could I
look on without agony? Was not the very sight of the friend who sat
behind you, was not the recollection of what had been, the knowledge
of her influence, the indelible, immoveable impression of what persuasion
had once done\mbox{---}was it not all against me?''\


{}``You should have distinguished,'' replied Anne. {}``You should
not have suspected me now; the case is so different, and my age is
so different. If I was wrong in yielding to persuasion once, remember
that it was to persuasion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk.
When I yielded, I thought it was to duty, but no duty could be called
in aid here. In marrying a man indifferent to me, all risk would have
been incurred, and all duty violated.''

{}``Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus,'' he replied, {}``but
I could not. I could not derive benefit from the late knowledge I
had acquired of your character. I could not bring it into play; it
was overwhelmed, buried, lost in those earlier feelings which I had
been smarting under year after year. I could think of you only as
one who had yielded, who had given me up, who had been influenced
by any one rather than by me. I saw you with the very person who had
guided you in that year of misery. I had no reason to believe her
of less authority now. The force of habit was to be added.''

{}``I should have thought,'' said Anne, {}``that my manner to yourself
might have spared you much or all of this.''

{}``No, no!\ your manner might be only the ease which your engagement
to another man would give. I left you in this belief; and yet, I was
determined to see you again. My spirits rallied with the morning,
and I felt that I had still a motive for remaining here.''

At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any one in that house
could have conceived. All the surprise and suspense, and every other
painful part of the morning dissipated by this conversation, she re-entered
the house so happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary
apprehensions of its being impossible to last. An interval of meditation,
serious and grateful, was the best corrective of everything dangerous
in such high-wrought felicity; and she went to her room, and grew
steadfast and fearless in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.

The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up, the company assembled.
It was but a card party, it was but a mixture of those who had never
met before, and those who met too often; a commonplace business, too
numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Anne had never found
an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely in sensibility and happiness,
and more generally admired than she thought about or cared for, she
had cheerful or forbearing feelings for every creature around her.
Mr.\ Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him. The Wallises,
she had amusement in understanding them. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret\mbox{---}they
would soon be innoxious cousins to her. She cared not for Mrs.\ Clay,
and had nothing to blush for in the public manners of her father and
sister. With the Musgroves, there was the happy chat of perfect ease;
with Captain Harville, the kind-hearted intercourse of brother and
sister; with Lady Russell, attempts at conversation, which a delicious
consciousness cut short; with Admiral and Mrs.\ Croft, everything
of peculiar cordiality and fervent interest, which the same consciousness
sought to conceal; and with Captain Wentworth, some moments of communications
continually occurring, and always the hope of more, and always the
knowledge of his being there.

It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently occupied in
admiring a fine display of greenhouse plants, that she said\mbox{---}

{}``I have been thinking over the past, and trying impartially to
judge of the right and wrong, I mean with regard to myself; and I
must believe that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I
was perfectly right in being guided by the friend whom you will love
better than you do now. To me, she was in the place of a parent. Do
not mistake me, however. I am not saying that she did not err in her
advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good
or bad only as the event decides; and for myself, I certainly never
should, in any circumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice.
But I mean, that I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had
done otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement
than I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered in
my conscience. I have now, as far as such a sentiment is allowable
in human nature, nothing to reproach myself with; and if I mistake
not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion.''

He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking again at her,
replied, as if in cool deliberation\mbox{---}

{}``Not yet. But there are hopes of her being forgiven in time. I
trust to being in charity with her soon. But I too have been thinking
over the past, and a question has suggested itself, whether there
may not have been one person more my enemy even than that lady? My
own self. Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight,
with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the \emph{Laconia},
if I had then written to you, would you have answered my letter? Would
you, in short, have renewed the engagement then?''\


{}``Would I!''\ was all her answer; but the accent was decisive
enough.

{}``Good God!''\ he cried, {}``you would! It is not that I did
not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other
success; but I was proud, too proud to ask again. I did not understand
you. I shut my eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice.
This is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every one sooner
than myself. Six years of separation and suffering might have been
spared. It is a sort of pain, too, which is new to me. I have been
used to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing
that I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just
rewards. Like other great men under reverses,'' he added, with a
smile. {}``I must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must
learn to brook being happier than I deserve.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 24}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 24}

\markboth{Persuasion}{Chapter 24}

Who can be in doubt of what followed? When any two young people take
it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance
to carry their point, be they ever so poor, or ever so imprudent,
or ever so little likely to be necessary to each other's ultimate
comfort. This may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe
it to be truth; and if such parties succeed, how should a Captain
Wentworth and an Anne Elliot, with the advantage of maturity of mind,
consciousness of right, and one independent fortune between them,
fail of bearing down every opposition? They might in fact, have borne
down a great deal more than they met with, for there was little to
distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth. Sir Walter
made no objection, and Elizabeth did nothing worse than look cold
and unconcerned. Captain Wentworth, with five-and-twenty thousand
pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could
place him, was no longer nobody. He was now esteemed quite worthy
to address the daughter of a foolish, spendthrift baronet, who had
not had principle or sense enough to maintain himself in the situation
in which Providence had placed him, and who could give his daughter
at present but a small part of the share of ten thousand pounds which
must be hers hereafter.

Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection for Anne, and no vanity
flattered, to make him really happy on the occasion, was very far
from thinking it a bad match for her. On the contrary, when he saw
more of Captain Wentworth, saw him repeatedly by daylight, and eyed
him well, he was very much struck by his personal claims, and felt
that his superiority of appearance might be not unfairly balanced
against her superiority of rank; and all this, assisted by his well-sounding
name, enabled Sir Walter at last to prepare his pen, with a very good
grace, for the insertion of the marriage in the volume of honour.

The only one among them, whose opposition of feeling could excite
any serious anxiety was Lady Russell. Anne knew that Lady Russell
must be suffering some pain in understanding and relinquishing Mr.\ Elliot,
and be making some struggles to become truly acquainted with, and
do justice to Captain Wentworth. This however was what Lady Russell
had now to do. She must learn to feel that she had been mistaken with
regard to both; that she had been unfairly influenced by appearances
in each; that because Captain Wentworth's manners had not suited her
own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting them to indicate a
character of dangerous impetuosity; and that because Mr.\ Elliot's
manners had precisely pleased her in their propriety and correctness,
their general politeness and suavity, she had been too quick in receiving
them as the certain result of the most correct opinions and well-regulated
mind. There was nothing less for Lady Russell to do, than to admit
that she had been pretty completely wrong, and to take up a new set
of opinions and of hopes.

There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in the discernment
of character, a natural penetration, in short, which no experience
in others can equal, and Lady Russell had been less gifted in this
part of understanding than her young friend. But she was a very good
woman, and if her second object was to be sensible and well-judging,
her first was to see Anne happy. She loved Anne better than she loved
her own abilities; and when the awkwardness of the beginning was over,
found little hardship in attaching herself as a mother to the man
who was securing the happiness of her other child.

Of all the family, Mary was probably the one most immediately gratified
by the circumstance. It was creditable to have a sister married, and
she might flatter herself with having been greatly instrumental to
the connexion, by keeping Anne with her in the autumn; and as her
own sister must be better than her husband's sisters, it was very
agreeable that Captain Wentworth should be a richer man than either
Captain Benwick or Charles Hayter. She had something to suffer, perhaps,
when they came into contact again, in seeing Anne restored to the
rights of seniority, and the mistress of a very pretty landaulette;
but she had a future to look forward to, of powerful consolation.
Anne had no Uppercross Hall before her, no landed estate, no headship
of a family; and if they could but keep Captain Wentworth from being
made a baronet, she would not change situations with Anne.

It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally satisfied
with her situation, for a change is not very probable there. She had
soon the mortification of seeing Mr.\ Elliot withdraw, and no one
of proper condition has since presented himself to raise even the
unfounded hopes which sunk with him.

The news of his cousin Anne's engagement burst on Mr.\ Elliot most
unexpectedly. It deranged his best plan of domestic happiness, his
best hope of keeping Sir Walter single by the watchfulness which a
son-in-law's rights would have given. But, though discomfited and
disappointed, he could still do something for his own interest and
his own enjoyment. He soon quitted Bath; and on Mrs.\ Clay's quitting
it soon afterwards, and being next heard of as established under his
protection in London, it was evident how double a game he had been
playing, and how determined he was to save himself from being cut
out by one artful woman, at least.

Mrs.\ Clay's affections had overpowered her interest, and she had
sacrificed, for the young man's sake, the possibility of scheming
longer for Sir Walter. She has abilities, however, as well as affections;
and it is now a doubtful point whether his cunning, or hers, may finally
carry the day; whether, after preventing her from being the wife of
Sir Walter, he may not be wheedled and caressed at last into making
her the wife of Sir William.

It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Elizabeth were shocked and
mortified by the loss of their companion, and the discovery of their
deception in her. They had their great cousins, to be sure, to resort
to for comfort; but they must long feel that to flatter and follow
others, without being flattered and followed in turn, is but a state
of half enjoyment.

Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady Russell's meaning to
love Captain Wentworth as she ought, had no other alloy to the happiness
of her prospects than what arose from the consciousness of having
no relations to bestow on him which a man of sense could value. There
she felt her own inferiority very keenly. The disproportion in their
fortune was nothing; it did not give her a moment's regret; but to
have no family to receive and estimate him properly, nothing of respectability,
of harmony, of good will to offer in return for all the worth and
all the prompt welcome which met her in his brothers and sisters,
was a source of as lively pain as her mind could well be sensible
of under circumstances of otherwise strong felicity. She had but two
friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs.\ Smith.
To those, however, he was very well disposed to attach himself. Lady
Russell, in spite of all her former transgressions, he could now value
from his heart. While he was not obliged to say that he believed her
to have been right in originally dividing them, he was ready to say
almost everything else in her favour, and as for Mrs.\ Smith, she
had claims of various kinds to recommend her quickly and permanently.

Her recent good offices by Anne had been enough in themselves, and
their marriage, instead of depriving her of one friend, secured her
two. She was their earliest visitor in their settled life; and Captain
Wentworth, by putting her in the way of recovering her husband's property
in the West Indies, by writing for her, acting for her, and seeing
her through all the petty difficulties of the case with the activity
and exertion of a fearless man and a determined friend, fully requited
the services which she had rendered, or ever meant to render, to his
wife.

Mrs.\ Smith's enjoyments were not spoiled by this improvement of
income, with some improvement of health, and the acquisition of such
friends to be often with, for her cheerfulness and mental alacrity
did not fail her; and while these prime supplies of good remained,
she might have bid defiance even to greater accessions of worldly
prosperity. She might have been absolutely rich and perfectly healthy,
and yet be happy. Her spring of felicity was in the glow of her spirits,
as her friend Anne's was in the warmth of her heart. Anne was tenderness
itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth's affection.
His profession was all that could ever make her friends wish that
tenderness less, the dread of a future war all that could dim her
sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor's wife, but she must pay the
tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible,
more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance. 
\end{document}
