(Qiiir^U Untuerattg Sibtacg , jrtijara. Sfetn $^k LIBRARY OF LEWS BINGLEY WYNNE A.B., A.M. .COLUMBIAN COLLEGE. '71 .-73 V , ^JVASHINGTON. D. C. THE GIFT OF MRS. TVlARY A. WYNNE ^ AND JOHN Hi WYNNE CORNELL '98 1922 Cornell University Library PR 4034.M28 1857 Mansfield Park:a novel. 3 1924 013 208 404 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013208404 MANSFIELD PARK % Wahtl, BY JANE AUSTEN * SENSE AHD 8ENSIBILITT, ' "EMMA," "PERSUASION," "nORTBANGER ABBEY," ETC, NEW YORK : DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET^ 185T. V7. l-I. TiNSON, Stereotyper, Gkobgb Russell & Co., Printare. M^NSFIELr) I>A.RK. CHAPTER I. About thirty years ago, "Miss Maria Ward of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to capti- vate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lad)', with all the comforts and consequences of a handsome house and large income. All Huntingdon ex- claimed on the greatness of the match : and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it.- She had two sis- ters to be benefited by her elevation ; and such of their ac- quaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their mar- rying with almost equal advantage. But there certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them. Miss Ward, at the end of half-a-dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. Noriis, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse. Miss Ward^s match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not contemptible, Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an income in the living of Mansfield ; and Mr. and Mrs. Norms began their career of conjugal felicity with very little less than a thousand a year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her family, and by fixing on a Lieutenant of Marines, without education, fortune, or con- MANSFIELD PARK. nections, did it very thoroughly. She could hardly have made a more untoward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had interest, which, from priiiciple as well as pride, from a general wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing all that were connected with hin>-in situations of respectability, he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of Lady Bertram's sister : but her husband's profession was such as no interest could reach ; and before he had time to devise any other method of assist- ing them, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken place. It was the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces. To save herself from useless reiifonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actually married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil feelings, and a tem- per remarkably easy and indolent, would have contented her- self with merely giving up her sister, and thinking no more of the matter : but Mrs. Norris had a spirit of activity, which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her with all its possible ill-consequences. Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and angry ; and an answer, which comprehended each sister in its bitterness, and bestowed such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir Thomas, as Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself put an end to all intercourse between them for a considerable period. Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each other's existence during the eleven following years, or at least to make it very wonderful to Sir Thomas, that Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child. By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Price could' no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one connection that might possibly assist her. A large and still increasing family, a husband disabled for active service, but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter w"hich spoke so much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity of chil- MANSFIELD FARE. 6 dren, and such a want of almost every thing else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She was preparing for her ninth lying-in ; and after bewailing the circumstance and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future maintenance of the eight already in being. -Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world ; but what, could she do ? Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property ? No situation would be beneath him — or what did Sir Thomas think of Woolwich ? or how could a boy be sent out to the East ? ■; The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and profes- sions. Lady Bertram despatched money and baby-linen, and Mi's. Norris wrote the letters. Such were its immediate eflfects, and within a twelve month a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others, that she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that, much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more ; and at length she could not but own it to be her wish, that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number. " What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother could pos- sibly give ? The trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, compared with the benevolence of the action." Lady Bertram agreed with her instantly. " I think we cannot do better," said she ; " let us send for the child." Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a consent. He debated and hesitated : — it was a serious charge; — a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her family. He thought of his own four chil- dren — of his two sons — of cousins in love, with you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as 18 MANSFIELD PARK. you are ; — on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference." Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her nieces' minds ; and it is not very wonderful that, with all their promising talents and early infoi-mation, they should be entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity, and humility. In every thing but disposition, tbey were admirably taught. Sir Thomas did not know what was wanting, because, though a truly anxious father, he was not outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of his manner repressed all the flow of their spirits before him. To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention. She had not time for such cares. She was a woman who spent her days in sitting nicely dressed on a sofa, doing some long piece of needle- work, of little use and no beauty, thinking more of her pug than her children, but very indulgent to the latter, when it did not put herself to inconvenience, guided in every thing important by Sir Thomas, and in smaller concerns by her sister. Had she possessed greater leisure for the service of her girls, she would probably have supposed it unnecessary, for they were under the care of a governess, with proper masters, and could want nothing more. As for Fanny's being stupid at learning, " she could ' only say it was very unlucky, but some people were stupid, and Fanny must take more pains ; she did not know what else was to be done ; and, except her being so dull, she must add, she saw no harm in the poor little thing— and always' found her very handy and quick in carrying messages, and fetching what she wanted." Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity, was fixed at Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer in its favour much of her attachment to her former home, grew up there not unhappily among her cousins. There was no positive ill- nature in Maria or Julia ; and though Fanny was often mor- tified by their treatment of her, she thought too lowly of her own claims to feel injured by it. From about the time of her entering the family. Lady Bertram, in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great deal of indolence, gave up the house in town, which she had been usiMJ to occupy every spring, and remained wholly in the MANSFIELD PARK. 19 country, leaving Sir Thomas to attend his duty in Parliament, with whatever increase or diminution of comfort might arise from her absence. In the country, therefore, the Miss Ber- trams continued to exercise their memories, practise : their duets, and grow tall and womanly ; and their father saw them becoming in person, manner, and accomplishments, every thing that could satisfy his anxiety. His eldest son was careless and extravagant, and had already given him much uneasi- ness ; but his other children promised him nothing but good. His daughters, he felt, while they retained the name of Ber- tram, must be giving it new grace, and in quitting it he trusted would extend its respectable alliances ; and the character of Edmund, his strong good sense and uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, and happiness to himself and all his connections. He was to be a clergyman. Amid the cares and the complacency which his own chil- dren suggested. Sir Thomas did not forget to do what he could for the children of Mrs. Price ; he assisted her liberally in the education and disposal of her sons as they became old enough for a determinate pursuit ; and Fanny, though almost totally separated from her family, was sensible of the truest satisfac- tion in hearing of any kindness towards them, or of anything at all promising in their situation or conduct. Once, and once only in the c«urse of many years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest she saw nothing ; nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her ; but William determining soon after, her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire, before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their exquis- ite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious conference, may be imagined ; as well as the sanguine views and spirits of the boy even to the last, and the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund ; and he told her such charming things of what William was to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession, as made her gradually admit that the separation might have some use. Edmund's friendship never failed her : his leaving Eton for 20 MANSFIELD PARK. Oxford made no change in his kind dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunities of proving them. Without any display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing too much, he was always true to her interests, and considerate of her feelings, trying'to make her good quahties understood, and to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being more apparent ; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement. Kept back as she was by every body else, his single support could not bring her forward ; but his attentions were other- wise of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the daily portion of history ; but he re- commended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment : he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and height- ened its attraction by judicious praise. In return for such services she loved him better than any body in the world except William : her heart was divided between the two. CHAPTER m. The first event of any importance in "the family was the death of Mr. Norris, which happened when Fanny was about fifteen, and necessarily introdueed alterations and novelties. Mrs. Norris, on quitting the Parsonage, removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a small house of Sir Thomas's in the village, and consoled herself for the loss of her husband by considering that she could do very well without him ; and for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter economy. The living was hereafter for Edniund ; and had his uncle died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some friend to hold till he were old -enough for orders. But Tom's extravagance had, previous to that event, been so great, as to render a different disposal of 'the next presentation necessary, and the younger , brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder. There was another family living actually held for Edmund; but though this circumstance had made the arrangement aomewhat easier to Sir Thomas's conscience, he could not but feel it to be an act of injustice, and he earnestly tried to impress his eldest son with the same conviction, in the hope of its producing a better effect than any thing he had yet been able to say or do. " I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified man- ner ; " I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust I may pity your feelings as a brother on the occasion. You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty, years, per- haps for life, of more than half the income which ought to be his. It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I hope it 22 MANSFIELD PAEK. will), to procure him better preferment ; but it must not be forgotten, that no benefit of that sort would have been be- yond his natural claims on us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for the certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the urgency of your debts." Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow ; but escap- ing as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect, first, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his friends ; secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece of work of it ; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon. On Mr. Norris's death, the presentation became the right of a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield ; and on proving to be a hearty man of forty -five, seemed likely to dis.appoint Mr. Bertram's calculations. But " no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, plied well with good things,, would soon pop ofi"." He ha,d a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children ; and they entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair report of being very respectable, agreeable people. The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sis- ter-in-law to claim her share in their niece, the change in Mrs. Norris's situation, and the improvement in Fanny's age, seeming not merely to do away any former objection to their living together, but even to give it the most decided eligibility ; and as his own circumstances were rendered less fair than here- tofore;' by some recent losses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest son's extravagance, it became not unde- sirable to himself to be relieved from the expense of her sup- port, and the obligation of her future provision. In the ful- ness of his belief that such a thing must be, he mentioned it§ probability to his wife : and the first time of the subject's occurring to her again, happening to be when Fanny was pre- sent, she calmly observed to her, " So, Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister. How shall you like it?" Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her aunt's words, " Going to leave you ?" " Yes, my- dear, why should you be astonished ? You have been five years with us, and my sister always meant to take MANSFIELD PARK. 23 you when Mr. Norris d;ed. But you must come up and tack on my patterns all the same." The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unexpected. She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, and could not love her. " I shall be very sorry to go away," said she, with a fal- tering voice. " Yes, I dare say you will ; thafs natural enough. I sup- pose you have had as litle to vex you since you came into this house as any creature in the world." " I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny, modestly. " No, my my dear ; I hope not. I have always found you a very good girl." " And am I never to live here again ?" " Never, my dear ; but you are sure of a comfortable home. It can make very little difference to you, whether you are in one liouse or the other." Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart : she could not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think of living with her aunt with anything like satisfaction. As soon as she met. with Edmund, she told him her distress. " Cousin," said she, " something is going to happen whicli I do not like at all ; and though you have often persuaded me into being reconciled to things that I disliked at first, you will not be able to do it now. I am going to live entirely with my aunt ^Norris." "Indeed!" "Yes, my aunt Bertram has- just told me so. It is quite settled. I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House, I suppose as soon as she, is removed there." " Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I should call it an excellent one." " Oh, cousin !" " It has everything else in its favour. My aunt is acting like a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing a friend and companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love of money does not interfere. You will be what you ought to be to her. 1 hope it does not distress you very much, Fanny." • " Indeed it does : I cannot like it. I love this house and 24 MANSFIELD PARK. everything in it : I shall love nothing there. You know how uncomfortable I feel with her." " I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child : but it was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never knew how to be pleasant to children. But you are now of an Sge to be treated better ; I think she is behaving better already ; and when you are her only companion, you must be impor- tant to her." " I can never be important to any one." '' What is to prevent you ?" " Everything. My situation — my foolishness and awk- wardness." " As to your foolishijess and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using >the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness with- out wishing to return it, I do not know any better qualifi- cations for a friend and companion." " You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise ; " how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me. Oh, cousin, if I am to go away, I shall remember your goodness to the last moment of my life." " Why, indeed Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at such a distance as the White House. You speak as if you were going two hundred miles off, instead of only across the park; but you will belong to us almost as much as ever. The two families will be meeting every day in the year. The only difference will be, that living with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought forward as you ought to be. Here, there are too many, whom you can hide behind ; but with her you will be forced to speak for yourself." " Oh, do not say so." " I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs. Norris is much better fitted than my mother for having the charge of you now. She is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she really interests herself about, and she will force you to do justice to your natural powers." Fanny sighed, and said, " " I cannot see things as you do • MANSFIELD FARK. 25 but I ought to believe you to be right rather than myself; and I am very muoli obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to what must be. If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me, it would be delightful to feel myself of conse- sequence to anybody. ! — Here, I know I am of none, and yet T love the place so well." " The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though you quit the house. You will have as free a command of the park and gardens as ever. Elven your constant little heart need not take fright at such a nominal change. You will have the same *alks to frequent, the same library to choose from, the same people to look at, the same horse to ride." " Very true. Yes, dear old grey pony. Ah, cousin, when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what ter- rors it gave me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good — (oh, how I have trembled at my uncle's opening his lips if horses were talked of) ; — and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of my fears, and convince me that I should like it after a little while, and feel how right you proved to be, — I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well." " And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris will be as good for your mind as riding has been for your health — and as much for your ultimate happiness, too." So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate service it could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, for Mrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking her. It had never occurred to her, on the present occasion, but as a thing to be carefully avoided. To prevent its being expected, she had fixed on the smallest habitation which could rank as genteel among the buildings of Mansfield parish, the White House being just large enough to receive herself and fier' servants, and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very particular point. The spare rooms at the Parsonage had never been wanted, but the absolute necessity of a spare room for a friend was now never for- gotten. Not all her precautions, however, could save her from being suspected of something better ; or, perhaps, her very display of the importance of a spare room might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose it really intended for 26 MASrSFJELD PAKE. Fanny. Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a cer- tainty by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris, — " I think; sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when Fanny goes to live with you ?" Mrs. Norris almost started. " Live with me, dear Lady Bertram, what do you mean ?" " Is not she to live with you ? — I thought you had settled it with Sir Thomas ?" " Me ! never. I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thoitl 1 ndr he to me. Fanny live with me ! the last thing in thf world for me to think of, or for anybody to wish that reajW>(jOws us both. GoojJ heavens! what could I do with FaUx'^ I — Me ! a poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfit for any- thing, my spirits quite broken down, what could I do with a girl at her time of life, a girl of fifteen ! the very age of all others to need most attention and care, and put the cheer- fulest spirits to the test. Sure Sir Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing ! Sir Thomas is too much my friend. Nobody that wishes me well, I am sure, would propose it. How came Sir Thomas to speak to you about it ?" " Indeed I do not know. I suppose he thought it best." " But what did he say ? He could not say he mshed me to take Fanny. I am sure in his heart he could not vrish me to do it." " No, he only said he thought it very likely — and I thought so too. We both thought it would be a comfort to you. But if you do not like it, there is no more to be said. She is no incumbrance here." " Dear sister ! If you consider my unhappy state, how can she be any comfort to me 3 Here am I,' a poor, desolate widow, deprived of the best of husbands, my health gone in attending and nursing him, my spirits still worse, all my peace in this world destroyed, with barely enoug£ to support me in the rank of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so as not to disgrace the memory of the dear departed — what possible comfort could I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny 1 If I could wish it for my own sake, I would not do so unjust a thing by the poor girl. She is in good hands, and sure of doing well. I must struggle through my sorrows and difiBculties as I can." MANSFIELD-PARK. 27 " Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone ?" "Dear Lady Bertram ! what am I fit -for but solitude? Now and then I shall hope to have a friend in my little cot- tage (I shall always have a bed for a friend) ; but the most part of my future days will be spent in utter seclusion. If I can but make both ends meet, that's all I ask for." " I hope, sister, things are not so very bad with you neither — considering Sir Thomas says you will have six hundred a year." " Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot live as I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to be a better manager. I have been a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall not be ashamed to practise economy now. My situation is as much altered as my income. A great many things were due from poor Mr. Norris as clergyman of the parish that cannot be expected from me. It is unknown how much was cgnsumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At the White House, matters must be better looked after. I must live within my income, or I shall be miserable ; and I own it would give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more — to lay by a little at the end of the year." " I dare say you will. You always do, don't you ?" " My object. Lady Bertram, is to be of use to those that come after me. It is for your children's good that I wish to be richer. I have nobody else to care for ; but I should be very glad to think I could leave a little trifle among them worth their having.'' " You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about them. They are sure of being well provided for. Sir Thomas will take care of that." "Why, you know Sir Thomas's means will be rather straitened, if the Antigua estate is to make such poor returns." " Oh, that will soon be settled. Sir Thomas has been writ- ing about it, I know." " Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, " I can only say that my sole desire is to be of use to your family ; and so"^if Sir Thomas should ever speak again about my taking Fanny, you will be able to say that my health and spirits put it quite out of the question — besides that, I really 28 MANSFIELD PABK. should not have a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend." Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her husband to convince him how much he had mistaken his sister-in-law's views ; and she was from that moment perr fectly safe from all expectation, or the slightest allusion- to it from him. He could not but wonder "at her refusing to do any thing for a niece, whom she had been so forward to adopt ; , but as she took early care to mate him, as well as Lady Ber- tram, understand that-whatever she possessed was designed for their family, he soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same time that it was advantageous and complimen- tary to them, would enable him better to provide for Fanny himself. Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears of a removal ; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on the dis- covery, conveyed some consolation to Edmand for his disap- pointment in what he had expected to oe so essentially serviceable to her. Mrs. Norris toot possession of the White House, the Grants arrived at the Parsonage, and these events over, every thing at Mansfield went on for some time as usual. The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and sociable, gave great satisfaction in the main among their new acquaintance. They had their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out. The Doctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good dinner every day ; and Mrs. Grant, in- stead of contriving to gratify him at little expense, gave her coot as high wages as they did at Mansfield Park, and was scarcely ever seen in her offices. Mrs. Norris could not speat with any temper of such grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were regularly consumed in the house. " Nobody loved jjjenty and hospitality more than herself — nobody more hated pitiful doings — the Parsonage she believed had never been wanting in comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad character in her time, but this was a way of going on that she could not understand. A fine lady in a country parsonage was quite out of place. Her store-room she thought might have been good enough for Mrs. Grant to go into. Enquire where she would, she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than five thousand pounds." MANSFIELD ■ PARK. 29 Lady Bertram listened without much interest to this sort of invective. She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist, iSit she felt all the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant's being so well settled in life without being handsome, and expressed her astonishment on that point almost as often, though not so diffusely, as Mrs. Norris discussed the other. These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year before another event arosie of such importance in the family as might fairly claim some place in the thoughts and conversation of the ladies. Sir Thomas found it expedient to go to Antigua himself, for the better arrangement of his affairs, and he took his eldest son with him, in the hope of detaching him from some bad connections at home. They left England with the probability of being nearly a twelvemonth absent. The necessity of the measure in. a pecuniary light, and the hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to the effort of quitting the rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to the direction of others at their present most in- teresting " time of life. He could not think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply his place with them, or rather to perform what should have been her own ; but in Mrs. Norris's ' watchful attention, and in Edmund's judgment, he had suffi- cient confidence tQ make him go without fears for their conduct. Lady Bertram did not at all like to have her husband leave her ; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for nis safety, or solicitude for his comfort, being one of those persons who think nothing can be dangerous, or difficult, or fatiguing to any body but themselves. The Misses Bertram were much to be pitied on the occasion ; not for their sorrow, but for their want of it. Their father was no object of love to them ; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most wel- come. They were relieved by it from all restraint ; and without aiming at one gratification that would probably have been forbidden by Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immedi- ately at their own disposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny's relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her cousins' ; but a more tender nature suggested that her feelings were ungrateful, and she really 30 MANSFIELD PAKK. grieved because she could not grieve. " Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers, ^nd who was gone perhaps never to retufh ! that she should see him go without a tear ! it was a shameful insensibility. He had said to her, moreover, on the very last morning, that he hoped she might see William again in tBe course of the ensuing winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to Mansfield as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be known' to be in England. " This was so thoughtful and . kind !" and would he only have smiled upon her and called her " my dear Fanny," while he said it, every former frown or cold address might have been forgotten. But he had ended his speech in a way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, " If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side en- tirely without improvement — though I fear he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten." She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was gone ; and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite. CHAPTER IV. Tom Bebteam had of late spent so little of his time at home that he could be only nominally missed ; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund could supply Es place in carv- ing, talking to the steward, writing to the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her from all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular, but that of directing her letters." The earliest intelligence of the travellers' safe arrival in Antigua, after a favourable voyage, was received ; though not before Mrs. Nowis had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund participate them whenever she could get him alone ; and as she depended on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's assurances of their both being alive and well made it necessary to lay by her agitation and affection- ate preparatory speeches for a while. The winter came and passed without their being called for ; the accounts continued perfectly good ; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilettes, displaying their accomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, in addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those of her sister, and Mrs. Grant's wasteful doings to overlook, left her very little occasion to be occupied even in fears for the absent. The Misses Bertram were now fully established among the belles of the neighbourhood ; and as they joined to beauty 81 32 MANSFIELD PARE. and brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy, and care- fully forrned to general civility and obligingness, they pos- sessed its favour as well as its admiration. Their vanity was in such good order, thsjt they seemed to be quite free from it, and gave themselves no airs ; while the praises attending such behaviour, secured and brought round by their aunt, served to strengthen them in believing they had no faults. Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. She was too indolent even to accept a mother's gratification in witnessing their success and enjoyment at the expense of any personal trouble, and the charge was made over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a post of such honour- able representation, and very thoroughly relished the means it afibrded her of mixing in society without having horses to hire. Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season ; but she enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's comp^ion, when they called away the rest of the family ; and as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became every thing to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her ; and the tranquil- lity of such evenings, her perfect security in such a tete-a-tete from any sound of unMndness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom known a pause in its alarms or em- barrassments. As to her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of the balls, and whom Ed- mund had danced with ; but thought too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be admitted to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of any nearer concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her ; for though it brought no William to England, the never failing hope of his arrival was worth much. The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend the old grey pony ; and for some time she was in danger of feel- ing the loss in her health as well as in her afiections • for in spite of the acknowledged importance of her riding on horse- back, no measures were taken for mounting her again, " be- cause," as it was observed by her aunts, " she might ride one of her cousin's horses at any time when they did not want them ;" and as the Misses Bertram regularly wanted theii MANSFIELD PABK. 33 horses every fine day, and had no idea of carrying their oblig- ing manners to the sacrifice of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May ; and Fanny either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at the instigation of the others Lady Bertram holding exercise to be' as unnecessary for every body as it was unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all day, thinking every body ought to walk as much. Edmund was absent at this time, or the evil would have .been earliej remedied. When he returned, to understand how Fanny was situated, and per- ceived its ill efieots, there seemed with him but one thing to be done ; and that " Fanny must have a horse," was the resolute declaration with which he opposed whatever could be urged by the supineness of his mother or the economy of his aunt, to make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help thinking that some steady old thing might be found among the numbers belonging to the Park, that would do vastly well ; or that one might be borrowed of the steward ; or that per- haps Dr. Grant might now and then lend them the pony he sent to the post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady's horse of her own in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas had never intended it ; and she must say, that to be making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great expenses of his stable at a time when a large pan of his income was unsettled, seemed to her very unjustifiable. " Fanny must have a horse," was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the sameiight. Lady Bertram did : she entirely agreed with her son as to the necessity of it, and as to its being considered necessary by his father ; — she only pleaded against there being any hurry ; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. He would be at home in September, — and where would be the harm of only waiting till September. Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help paying more attention to what she said, and at length determined on a method of proceeding which would 2* 34 MANSFIELD PARK. obviate the risk of his father thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two of them were hunters ; the third, a useful road- horse ; this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride ; he knew where such a one was to be met with ; and having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure ; with a very little trouble, she^ became exactly calculated for the pur- pose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. She had not supposed before, that any thing could ever suit her like the old grey pony ; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far beyond any former pleasure of the sort ; and the addition it was ever receiving in the consideration of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, was beyond all her words to express. She regarded her cousin as an example of every thing good and great, as possessing worth which no one but herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her, as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender. As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the pro- perty of Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use ; and had Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection again, he might have been excused in her eyes for not waiting till Sir Thomas's returned in September, for when September came. Sir Thomas was still abroad, and with- out ajty near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourable circumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to turn all his thoughts towards England ; and the very great uncertainty in- which every thing was then involved determined him on sending home his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's health ;, but to very little pur- pose, as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas's sending away his son seemed to her so like a parent's care, under the influence of a foreboding of evil to himself^ that she could not help feeling dreadful presentiments ; and as the long evenings of autumn came on, was so terribly haunted by MANSFIELD PARK. 35 these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-roora of the Park. The return of winter engagements, however, -was not without its effect ; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece, as tolerably to quiet her nerves. " If poor Sir Thomas were fated never to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria well married," she very often thought ; always when they were in company of men of for- tune, and particularly on the introduction of a young man who had recently succeeded to one of t^ largest estates and fin^t places in the country. Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense ; but as there was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady was well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty ; and as a marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father's, as well as ensure her the house in town, which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous in promoting the match, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance its desirableness to either party ; and, among other means, by seeking an intimacy with the gentle- man's mother, who at present lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram to go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. It was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself very desirous that her son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had ever seen. Miss Bertram seemed, by jjer amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment, and admired the nice discernment of character which could so well distinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all — perfectly faultless — an angel ; and, of course, so surrounded by admirers, must be difficult in her 36 MANSFIELD PARK. choice : but yet, as far as Mrs. Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance, Mr. Rusliworth appeared precisely the young man to deserve and attach her. After dancing- with each other at a proper number of balls, the young people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a due reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much to the satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many- weeks past, felt the expediency of Mr. Rushworth's marrying Miss Bertram. It was some moifths before Sir Thomas's consent could be received ; but, in the mean while, as no one felt a doubt of his most cordial pleasure in the connection, the intercourse of the two families was carried on without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecy, than Mrs. Norris's talking of it every where as a matter not to be talked of at present. Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault in the business ; but no representation of his aunt's could induce him to find Mr. Rushworth a desirable compan- ion. He could allow his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her happiness should centre in a large income ; nor could he refrain from often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth's company, — " If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow." Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard nothing but the perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connection exactly of the right sort, — in the same county, and the same interest, — and his most hearty concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that the marriage should not take place before his return, which he was again looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes of settling every thing to his entire satisfao tion, and lea\lBQg Antigua before the end of the summer. , Such was the state of afiairs in the month of July ; and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the village received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were young MANSFIELD PARK. SY paople of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, thB daughter twenty thousand pounds. As children, their sister had been always very fond of them ; but, as her own mar- riage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the care of -a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle's house they had found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite, to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl ; and it was the lady's death which now obliged her protegee, after some months' further trial at her uncle's house, to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his mis- tress under his own roof ; and to this Mrs. Grant was indebt- ed for her sister's proposal of coming to her, a measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expedient on the other ; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run through the usual resources of ladies residing in the country without' a family of children, — having more than filled her favourite sitting room with pretty furniture, and made a choice collection of plants and poultiy — was very much in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as long as she remained single, was highly agreeable ; and her chief anxiety was, lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a young woman who had been mostly used to London. Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehen- sions, though they arose principally from doubts of her sister's style of living and tone of society ; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house, that she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. To any thing like a per- manence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry Crawford had, unluckily, a great dislike : he could not accommodate his sister in an article of such importance ; but he escorted her with the utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as read- 38 MANSFIELD PARK. ily engaged to fetch her away again, at half an hour's notice, j^henever she were weary of the place.' , -j m' ' The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Mxss Crawford found a sister without preciseness or rusticity— a sfcter's husband who looked the gentleman, and a house com- Adious and weir fitted up ; and Mrs. Grant received in thosS-whom she hoped to love better than ever, a young man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Craw- ford was remarkably pretty, Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant immediately gave them credit for every thing else. She was delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object; and having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, she thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister's. She had not waited her arrival to look 9ut for a suitable match for her ; she had fixed on Tom Bertram ; the eldest son of a Baronet was not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in her ; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been three hours in the house before she told her what she had planned. Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such conse- quence so very near them, and not at all displeased either at her sister's early care, or the choice it had fallen on. Matri- mony was her object, provided she could marry well ; and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that objection could no more be made to his person than to his situation in life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to think of it seriously. The scheme was soon repeated to Henry. " And now," added Mrs. Giant, " I have thought of some- thing to make it quite complete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; and therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very happy." Henry bowed and thanked her. " My dear sister," said Maiy, " if you can persuade him into any thing of the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight MANSFIELD PABK. 39 to me to find myself allied to any body so clever, and I shall only regret that you have not half a dozen daughters to dis- pose of. If you can persuade Henry to marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. All that English abilities can do has been tried already. I have three very particular friends who have been all dying for him in their turn ; and the pains which they, their mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trici him into marrying, is inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Misses Bertram do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry." " My dear brother, I will not believe this of you." " No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I am of a cautious temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in, a hurry. Nobody can think more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of the poet, ' Heaven's last best gift.' " " There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detesta- ble — the Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him." " I pay very little regard," said Mrs. Grant, " to what any young person says on the subject of marriage. If they pro- fess a disinclination for it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person." Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feel- ing no disinclination to the state herself. " Oh yes, I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have every body marry if they can do it properly : I do not like to have people throw themselves away ; but every body should marry as soon as they can do it to advantage." CHAPTER V. The young people were pleased with each other from the first. On each side there was much to attract, and their acquaintance soon promised as early an intimacy as good man- ners would warrant. Miss Crawford's beauty did her no dis- service with the Misses Bertram. They were too handsome themselves to dislike any woman for being so too, and were almost as much charmed as their brothers with her ■ lively dark eye, clear brown complexion, and general prettiness. Had she been tall, full formed, and fair, it might have been more of a trial : but as it was, there could be no comparison ; and she was most allowably a sweet pretty girl, wHle they were the finest young women in the country. Her brother was not handsome : no, when they first saw him he was absolutely plain, black and plain ; but still he was the gentleman, with a pleasing address. The second meeting proved him not so very plain : he was plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, and his teeth were so good, and he was so well made, that one soon forgot he was plain ; and after a third interview, after dining in company with him at the Parsonage, he was no longer allowed to be called so by any body. He was, in feet, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever known, and they were equally delighted with him. Miss Bertram's engagement made him in equity the property of Julia, of which Julia was fully aware ; and before he' had been at Mansfield a week she was quite ready to be fallen in love with. Maria's notions on the subject were more confused and indistinct. She did not want to see or understand. " There MANSFIELD PARK. 41 could be no harm in her liking an agreeable man— every body knew her situation — Mr. Crawford must take care of himself." Mr. Crawford did not mean to be in any danger ; the Misses Bertram were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased ; and he began with no object but of making them like him. He did not want them to die of love ; but with sense and tem- per which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself g^eat latitude on such points. " I like your Misses Bertram exceedingly, sister," said he, as he returned from attending them, to their carriage after the said dinner visit ; " they were very elegant, agreeable girls." " So they are, indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it. But you like Julia best." " Oh yes, I like Julia best." " But do you really ? for Miss Bertram is in generaj, thought, the handsomest." " So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every feature, and I prefer her countenance — but I like Julia best. Miss Bertram is certainly the handsomest, and I have found her the most agreeable, but I shall always like Julia best, because you order me." " I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you will like her best at last." " Do not I tell you that I like her best at first ? " And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Eemember that, my dear brother. Her choice is made." " Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied with herself. Her cares are over, and she feels that she may exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. All is sate vrith-.a lady engaged ; no harm can be done." " Why, as to that, Mr. Rushworth is a very good sort of young man, and it is a great match for her." " But Miss Bertram does not care three, sti^a-rt^ for him ; that is your opinion of your intimate friend. / do not subscribe to it. I am sure Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Eushworth. I could see it in her eyes, when he was men- tioned. I think too well of Miss Bertram to suppose she yould ever give her hand without her heart." 42 MANSFIELD PAKK. " Mary, how shall we manage him ?" " We must leave him to himseli^ I believe. Talking does no good. He will be taken in at last." " But I would not have him taken in, I would not have him duped ; I would have it all fair and honourable." " Oh dear — let him stand his chance and be taken in. It will do just as well. Every body is taken in at some period or other." " Not always in marriage, dear Mary." " In marriages especially. With all due respect to such of the present company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant, there is not one in a hundred of either sex who is not taken in when they marry. Look where I will, I see that it is so ; and I feel that it must be so, when I consider that it is, of all transactions, the one in which people expect most from others, and are least honest themselves." " Ah ! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in Hill Street." " My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the state ; but, however, speaking from my own observation, it is a manoeuvering business. I know so many who have married in the full expectation and confidence of some one particular advantage in the connection, or accomplishment or good quality in the person, who have found themselves entirely deceived, and been obliged to put up with exactly the reverse I What is this but a take in ?" " My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. I beg your pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Depend upon it, you see but half. You see the evil, but you do not see the consolation. There will be little rubs and disappoint- inents every where, and we are all apt to expect too much ; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another ; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better ; we find comfort somewhere — and those evil-minded observers, dearest Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken in and deceived than the parties themselves." " Well done, sister ! I honour your espi-it du corps. When I am a wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish my friends in general would be so too. It would save me many a heart-ache," MANSFIELD PARK. 43 " You are as bad as your brother, Mary ; but we will cure you both. Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any taking in. Stay with us, and we will cure you." The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very willing to stay. Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a present home, and Henry equally ready to lengthen his visit. He had come, intending to spend only a few days with them ; but Mansfield promised well, and there was nothing to call him elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them both with her, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it so ; a talking pretty young woman like Miss Crawford is always pleasant society to an indolent, stay-at-home man ; and Mr. Crawford's being his guest was an excuse for drinking claret every day. The Misses Bertram's admiration of Mr. Crawford was more rapturous than any thing .which Miss Crawford's habits made her likely to feel. She acknowledged, however, that the Messrs. Bertram were very fine young men, that two such young men were not often seen together in London, and that their manners, particularly those of the eldest, were very good. He had been much even in London, and had more liveliness and gallantry than Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred ; and, indeed, his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an early presentiment that she should like the eldest best. She knew it was her way. Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, at any rate ; he was the sort of young man to be generally liked, his agreeableness was of the kind to be oftener found agreeable than some endowment of a higher stamp, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, a large acquaintance, and a great deal to say ; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, and a baronetcy, did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt that he and his situation might do. She looked about her with due consideration, and found almost every thing in his favour, a park, a real park, five miles round, a spacious modern-built house, so well placed and well screened as to deserve to be in any collection of engravings of gentlemen's seats in the king- dom, and wanting only to be completely new furnished — pleasant sisters, a quiet mother, and an agreeable man himself with the advantage of being tied up from much gaming at 44 MANSFIELD PAEK. present, by a promise to his father, and of being Sir Thomas hereafter. It might do very well : she believed she should accept him ; and she began accordingly to interest herself a little about the horse which he had to run at the B races. These races were to call him away not long after their acquaintance began ; and as it appeared that the family did not, from his usual goings on, expect him back again for many weeks, it would bring his passion to an early proof. Much was said on his side to induce her to attend the races, and schemes were made for a large party to them, with all the eagerness of inclination, but it would only do to be talked of. And Fanny, what was she doing and thinking all this while ? and what was her Opinion of the new-comers ? Few young ladies of eighteen could be less called on to speak their opinion than Fanny. In a quiet way, very little attended to, she paid her tribute of admiration to Miss Crawford's beauty ; but as she still continued to thintMr. Crawford very plain, in spite of her two eousins having repeatedly proved the con- trary, she never mentioned him. The notice which she excited herself, was to this effect. " I begin now to understand you all, except Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, as she was walking with the Messrs. Bertram. " Pray, is she out, or is she not ? I am puzzled. She dined at the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being out ; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she is." Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, " I believe I know what you mean — but I wUl not undertake to answer the question. My cousin is grown up. She has the age and sense of a woman, -but the outs and not outs are be- yond me." " And yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascer- tained. The distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, generally speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not suppose it possible to be mistaken as to a girl's being out or not. A girl not out, has always the same sort of dress ; a close bonnet, for instance, looks very demure and never says a word. You may smile — but it is so I assure you — and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The MANSFIKLD PARK. 45 most objectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such very little time from reserve to quite the opposite — to confidence ! Tliat is the faulty part of the present system. One does not like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to evefy thing — and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to speak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say yi the evening, which the rest of the family were look- ing forward to with a more equal degree of strong interest. Independent of his two cousins' enjoyment in it, the evening was to him of no higher value than any other appointed meeting of the two families might be. In ev-ery meeting there was a hope of receiving further confirmation of Miss Craw- ford's attachment ; but the whirl of a ball-room, perhaps, was not particularly favourable to the excitement or expression of serious feelings. ^To engage her early for the two first dances, was all the command of individual happiness which he felt in his power, and the only preparation for the ball which he could enter into, in spite of all that w.as passing around him on the subject, from morning till night. Thursday was the day of the ball; and on Wednesday morning, Fanny, still unable to satisfy herself as to what she ought to wear, determined to seek the counsel of the more enlightened, and apply to Mrs. Grant and her sister, whose acknowledged taste would certainly bear her blameless ; and as Edmund and William were gone to Northampton, and she had reason to think Mr. Crawford likewise out, she walked down to the Parsonage without much fear of wanting an opportunity for private discussion ; and the privacy of such a discussion was a most important part of it to Fanny, being -more than half ashamed of her own solicitude. She met Miss Crawford within a few yards of the Parson- age, just setting out to call on her, and as it seemed to her, that her friend, though obliged to insist on turning back, was unwilling to lose her walk, she explained her business at once, and observed, that if she would be so kind as to give her opinion, it might be all talked over as well without doors 234 MANSFIELD PARK. as within. Miss Crawford appeared gratified by tlie applica- tion, and after a moment's thought urged Fanny's returning with her in a much more cordial manner than before, and proposed their going up into her room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grknt, who were together in the drawing-room. It was just the plan to suit Fanny ; and with a great deal of gratitude on her side for such ready and kind attention, they proceeded, in doors and upstairs, and were soon deep in the interesting subject. Miss Crawford, pleased with the appeal, gave her all het best judgment and taste, made everything easy by her suggestions, and tried to make every thing agreeable by her encouragement. The dress being settled in all its grander parts,—" But -what shall you have by way of necklace ?" said Miss Crawford. " Shall not you wear your brother's cross ?" And as she spoke she was undoing a small parcel, which Fanny had observed in her hand when they met. Fanny acknowledged her wishes and doubts on this point ; she did not know how either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it. She was answered by having a small trinket- box placed before her, and being requested to choose from among several gold chains and necklaces. Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawford was provided, and such the object of her intended visit ; stnd in the kindest manner she now urged Fanny's taking one for the cross and to keep for her sake, saying every thing she could think of to obviate the scruples which were making Fanny start back at first with a look of horror at the proposal. "You see what a collection I have," said shei, — "more by half than I ever use or think of. I do not offer them as new. I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must forgive the liberty, and oblige me." Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift was too valuable. But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case with so much affectionate earnestness through all the heads of William and the cross, and the ball, and herself, as to be finally successful, Fanny found herself obliged to yield, that she might not be accused of pride or indifference, or some other littleness ; and having with modest reluctance given her consent, proceeded to make the selection. She MANSFIELD PAKE. 235 looked and louked, longing to know which mig-ht he least va'.uahle ; and was determined in her choice at last, hy fancy- ing there was op"e necklace more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest. It was of gold prettily worked ; and though Fanny would have preferred a longer and a plainer chain as more adapted for her purpose, she hoped, in fixing on this, to be choosing what Miss Crawford least wished to keep. Miss Crawford smiled her perfect approbation ; and hastened to complete the gift by putting the necklace round her, and making her see how well it looked. Fanny had not a word to say against its beoomingness, and excepting what remained of her scruples, was, exceedingly pleased with an acquisition so very apropos. She would rather perhaps have been obliged to some other person. But this was an im- worthy feeling. Miss Crawford had anticipated her wants with a kindness which proved her a real friend. " When I wear ihis necklace I shall always think of you," said she, " and feel tow very kind you were." " You must think of somebody else, too, when you wear that necklace," replied Miss Crawford. " You must think of Henry, for it was his choice in the first place. He gave it to me, anS. with the necklace' I make over to you all the duty of remembering the original giver. It is to be a family re- membrancer. Th'e sister is not to be in your mind without bringing the brother too." Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would have returned the present' instantly. To take what had been the gift of another person — of a brother too, — impossible ! — it must not be ! — and with an eagerness and embarrassment quife diverting to her companion, she laid down the necklace again on its cotton, and seemed resolved either to take another or none at all Miss Crawford thought she had never seen a prettier consciousness. " My dear child," said she, laughing, " what are you afraid of ? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by jt? — ox are you imiagining he would be too much flattered by seeing round your lovely throat an ornament which his money purchased three years ago, before he knew there was such a throat in the world ?— or perhaps — looking archly — 236 MANSFIELD PAEK. you suspect a confederacy between us, and that what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at his desire ?" With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a thought. " Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, more seriously but without at all believing her, " to convince me that you suspect no trick, and are as unsuspicious of compliment as I have always found you, take the necklace, and say no more about it. Its being a gift of my brother's need not make the smallest difference in your accepting it, as I assure you it makes none in my willingness to part with it. He is always giving me something or other. I have such innumerable presents from him that it is quite impossible for me to value, or for him to remember half. And as for this necklace, I do not suppose- 1> have worn it six times : it is very pretty — but I never think of it ; and though you would be most heartily welcome to any other in my trinket-box, you have happened to "fix on the very one which, if I have a choice, I would rather part vrith and see in your possession than any other. Say no more against it, I entreat you. Such a trifle is not worth half so many words." Fanny dared not make any further opposition ; and with renewed but less happy thanks, accepted the necklace again, for there was an expression in Miss Crajvford's eyes which she could not be satisfied with. It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford's change of manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried to please her — he was gallant — he was attentive — ^he" was something like what he had been to her cousins : he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity as he had cheated them ; and whether he might not have sonde concern in this necklace ! She could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss Crawford, compbisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a friend. Reflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possession of what she had so much wished for did not bring much satisfao^ tion, she now walked home again — with a change rather than a diminution of cares since her treading that path before. CHAPTER XXVn. On reaching home, Fanny went immediaiely up stairs to- deposit this unexpected acquisition, this doubtful good of a necklace, in some favourite box in the east room which held all her smaller treasures : but on opening the door, what was her surprise to find her cousin Edmund there writing at the table ! Such a sight having never occurred before, was almost as wonderful as it was welcome. " Fanny," said he directly, leaving his seat and his pen, and meeting her with something in his hand, " I beg your pardon for being' here. I came to look for you, and after waiting a little while in hope of your coming in, was making use of your inkstand to explain my errand. You will find the beginning of a note_to yourself; but I can now speak my business, which is merely to beg your acceptance of this little trifle — a chain for William's cross. You ought to have had it a week ago, but there has been a delay from my brother's not being town by several days so soon as I expected ; and T have only just now received it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain itself, Fanny. I endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your taste ; but at any rate I know you will be kind to my intentions, and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love of one of your oldest friends." And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, over- powered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could attempt to speak ; but quicken ad by one sovereign wish she then called out, " Oh, cousin, stop a moment, pray stop !" He turned back. " I cannot attempt to thank you," she continued, in a very . 28T 238 MAK6FIELD PARK. agitated manner ; " thanks are out of the question. I feel much more than I can possibly express. Your goodness in thinking of me in such a way is beyond " " If this is all you have to say, Fanny '' smiling and turning away again. " No, no, it is not. I want to consult you." Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel he had just put into her hand, and seeing before her, in all the niceness of jewellers' packing, a plain gold chain perfectly simple and neat, she could not help bursting forth again, — " Oh, this is beautiful, indegd ! this is the very things precisely what I wished for ! this is the only ornament I have ever had a desire to possess. It will exactly suit my cross. They must and shall be worn together. It comes, too, in such an accept- able moment, Oh, cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is." " My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too much. I am most happy that you like the chain, and that it should be here -in time for to-mori'ow ; but your thanks are far beyond the occasion. Believe me, I have no pleasure in the world superior to that of contributing to yours. No, I can safely say, I have no pleasure so complete, so unalloyed. It is without a drawback." Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have lived an hour without saying another word ; but Edmund, after waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, " But what is it that you want to consult me about ?" It was about the necklace, which she was now most ear- nestly longing to return, and hoped to obtain his approbation of her doing. She gave the history of her recent visit, and now her raptures might well be over ; for Edmund was so struck with the circumstance, so dehghted with what Miss Crawford had done, so gratified by such a coincidence of conduct between them, that Fanny could not but admit the superior power of one pleasure over his own mind, though it might have its drawback. It was some time before she could get his attention to her plan, or any answer to her demand of his opinion ; he was in a reverie of fond reflection, uttering only now and then a few half sentences of praise ; MANSFIELD PARK. 239 but when he did awake and understand, he was very decided in opposing what she wished. " Return the necklace ? No, my dear Fanny, upon no ac- count. It would be mortifying her severely. There can hardly be a more unpleasant sensation than the having any thing returned on our hands, which we have given with a reasonable hope of its contributing to the comfort of a friend. Why should she lose a pleasure which she has shown herself so deserving of?" " If it had been given to me in the first instance,'' said Fanny, " I should not have thought of returning it ; but being her brother's present, is not it fair to suppose that she would rather not part with it, when it is not wanted ?" " She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable at least ; and its having been originally her brother's gift makes no diflFerence, for as she was not prevented from offering, nor you from taking it on that account, it ought not to affect your keeping it. No doubt it is handsomer than mine, and fitter for a ball-room." " No, it is not handsomer, not at all hansomer in its way, and for my purpose not half so fit. The chain will agree with William's cross beyond all comparison better than the necklace." " For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it be a "sac- rifice — I am sure you will, upon consideration, make that sacrifice rather than give pain to one wbo has been so stu- dious of your comfort. Miss Crawford's attentions to you have been — not more than you were justly entitled to — I am the last person to think that could be — but they have been invariable ; and to be returning them with what must have something the air of gratitude, though I know it could nevei- have the meaning, is not in your nature I am sure. Wear the necklace, as you are engaged to do, to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was not ordered with any reference to the ball, be kept for commoner occasions. This is my advice. I would not have the shadow of a coolness between the two whose intimacy I ^ave been observing with the greatest pleasure, and in whose characters there is so much general resemblance in true generosity and natural delicacy as to make the few slight differences, resulting principally 240 MAWSFIELD PARK. from situation, no reasonable hinderance to a perfect friend- ship. I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise," he repeated, his voice sinking a little, " between the two dearest objects I have on earth." He was gone as he spoke ; and Fanny remained to tran- quillise herself as she could. She was one of his two dearest — that must support her. But the other ! — the first ! She had never heard him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than what she had long perceived, it was a stab ; for it told of his own convictions and views. They were decided. He would marry Miss Crawford. It was a stab, in spite of every long-standing expectation ; and she was obliged to repeat again and again that she was one of his two dearest, before the words gave her any sensation. Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve him, it would be — oh, how different would it be — how far more tolerable ! But he was deceived in her ; he gave her merits which she had -not ; her faults were what they had ever been, but he saw them no longer. Till she had shed many tears over this deception, Fanny could not subdue her agitation ; and the dejection which followed could only be relieved by the influ- ence of fervent prayers for his happiness. It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to over- come all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness in her affection for Edmund. To call or to fancy it a loss, a dis- appointment, would be a presumption ; for which she had not words strong enough to satisfy her own humility. To think of him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in her be insanity. To her, he could be nothing under any ciiGumstances— nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea occur to her pven enough to be reprobated and for- bidden ? It ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of judging of Miss Crawford's character and the privilege of true solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart. She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined to do her duty ; but having also many of the feelings of youth and nature, let her not be much wondered at, if, after making all these good resolutions on the side of self-gover& MANSFIELD PARK. 241 ment, she seized the scrap of paper on which Edmund had begun writing to her, as a treasure beyond all her hopes, and reading with the tenderest emotion these words, " My very dear Fanny, you must do me the favour to accept — " looked it up with the chain, as the dearest part of the gift. It was the only thing approaching to a letter which she had ever received from him ; she might never receive another ; it was impossible that she ever should receive another so perfectly gratifying in the occasion and the style. Two lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most distinguished author — never more completely blessed the researches of the fondest biographer. The enthusiasm of a woman's love is even beyond the biographer's. To her, the handwriting itself, independent of any thing it may convey, is a blessedness. Never were such characters cut by any other human being, as Edmund's commonest hand-writing gave ! This specimen,writ- ten in haste as it was, had not a fault ; and there was a felicity in the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement of " My very dear Fanny," which she could have looked at for ever. Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she was able, in due time, to go down and resume her usual employments near her aunt Bertram, and pay her the usual observances without any apparent want of spirits. Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came ; and opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, unmanageable days often volunteer, for soon after breakfast a very friendly note was brought from Mr. Crawford to William, stating, that as he found himself obliged to go to London on the morrow for a few days, he could not help trying to procure a companion ; and therefore hoped that if William could make up his mind to leave Mansfield half a day earlier than had been proposed, he would accept a place in his carriage. Mr. Crawford meant to be in town by his uncle's accustomary late dinner hour, and William was invited to dine with him at the Admiral's. The proposal was a very pleasant one to William himself, who enjoyed the idea of travelling post with four horses and such a good-humoured, agreeable friend ; and in likening it to going up with despatches, was saying at once every thing in favour of its happiness and dignity which his 11 242 MANSFIELD FARE. imagination could suggest; and Fanny, from a different motive, was exceedingly pleased : for the original plan was tbat William should go up by the mail from Northampton the following night which would not have allowed him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth coach ; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having William spared from the fatigue of such a journey, to think of any tiling else. Sir Thomas approved of it for another reason. His nephew's introduction to Admiral Crawford might be of service. The Admiral, he believed, had interest. Upon the whole, it was a very joyous note. Fanny's spirits lived on it half the morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its writer being himself to go away. As for the ball so near at hand, she had too many agitations and fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have, by the many young ladies looking forward to the same event in situations more at ease, but under circumstances of less novelty, less interest, less peculiar gratification than would be attributed to her. Miss Price, known only by name to half the people invited, was now to make her first appearance, and must be regarded as the Queen of the evening. Who could be happier than Miss Price ? But Miss Price had not been brought up to the trade of coming out ; and had she known in what light this ball was, in general, considered respecting her, it would very much have lessened her comfort by increas- ing the fears she already had, of doing wrong and being looked at. To dance without much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see William enjoy himself and be able to keep away from her aunt Norris, was the height of her ambition, and seemed to comprehend her greatest possibility of happiness. As these were the best of her hopes, they could not always prevail ; and in the course of a long morning spent principally with her two aunts, she was often under the influence of much less sanguine views. William, determined to make this last day a day of thorough enjoyment, was out snipe shooting ; Edmund, she had too MANSFIELD FARE. 243 much reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage ; and left alone to bear the worrying of Mrs. Norris, who was cross because the housekeeper would have her own way with the supper, and whom she could not avoid though the housekeeper might, Fanny was worn down at last to think every thing an evil belonging to the ball, and when sent off with a parting worry to dress, moved as languidly towards her own room, and felt, as incapable of happiness as if she had been allowed no share in it. As she walked slowly up stairs she thought of yesterday ; it had been about the same hour that she had returned from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the east room. " Suppose I were to find him there again io-day 1" said she to herself, in a fond indulgence of fancy. " Fanny," said a voice at that moment near her. Starting and looking up, she saw across the lobby she had just reached Edmund himselt^ standing at the head of a different staircase. He came towards her. " You look tired and fagged, Fanny. You have been walking too far." " No, I have not been out at all." " Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse. You had better have gone out." Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make no answer ; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness, she believed he had soon ceased to think of her countenance. He did not appear in spirits ; something unconnected with her was probably amiss. They proceeded up stairs together, their rooms being on the same floor above. " I come from Dr. Grant's," said Edmund presently. " You may guess my errand there, Fanny." And he looked so con- scious that Fanny could think but of one errand, which turned her too sick for speech. " I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances," was the explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life again, enabling her, as she found she was expected to speak, to utter something like an enquiry a» to the result. " Yes," he answered, " she is engaged to me ; but (with a smile that did not sit easy) she says it is to be the last time that she ever will dance with me. She is not serious — I think, I hope, I am sure she is not serious — but I would rather not hear it. She never has danced with a 244 MANSFIELD PAEK. clergyman, she says, and she never will. For my own sake, I could wish there had been no ball just at — I mean not this very week, this very day — to-raorrow I leave home." Fanny struggled for speech, and said, " I am very sorry that any thing has occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day of pleasure. My uncle meant it so." " 0, yes, yes, and it will be a day of pleasure. It will all end right. I am only vexed for a moment. In fact, it is not that I consider the ball as ill-timed ; — what does it signiiy ? But, Fanny," stopping her, by taking her hand, and speaking low and seriously, " you know what all this means. You see how it is ; and could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and why I am vexed. Let me talk to you a little. You are a kind, kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this morning, and cannot get the better of it. I know her disposition to be as sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former companions makes her seem, gives to her conversation, to her professed opinions, sometimes a tinge of wrong. She does not think evil, but she speaks it — speaks it in playfulness, — and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul." " The effect of education, " said Fanny, gently. Edmund could not but agree to it. " Yes, that uncle and aunt 1 They had injured the finest mind ! for sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it does appear more than manner ; it appears as if the mind itself was tainted." Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, and therefore, after a moment's consideration, said, " If you only want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can ; but I am not qualified for an adviser. Do not ask advice of me. I am not competent." " You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an oflBce, but you need not be afraid. It is a subject on which I should never ask advice ; it is the sort of subject on which it had better never be asked ; and few, I imagine, do ask it, but when they want to be influenced against their conscience. I only want to talk to you." " One thing more. Excuse the liberty — but take care how you talk to me. Do not tell me anything now, which here- after you may be sorry for. The time may come " MANSFIELD PARK. 245 The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke. " Dearest Fanny. !" cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his lips, with almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Crawford's, " you are all considerate thought ! But it is un- necessary here. . The time will never come. No such time as you allude to will ever come. I begin to think it most improbable ; the chances grow less and less ; and even if it should — there will be nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need be afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples ; and if they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise her character more by the recol- lection of the faults she once had. You are the only being upon earth to whom I should say vfhat I have said ; but you have always known my opinion of her , you can bear me witness, Fanny, that I have never been blinded. Hov? many a time have we talked over her little errors ! You need not fear me ; I have almost given up every serious idea of her ; but I must be a blockhead indeed if, whatever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy without the sin- cerest gratitude." He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen. He had said enough to give Fanny some happier feelings than she had lately know^n, and with a brighter look, she answered, " Yes, cousin, I am convinced that you would be incapable of any thing else, though perhaps some might not. I cannot be afraid of hearing any thing you wish to say. Do not check yourself. Tell me whatever you like." They were now on the second floor, and the appearance of a housemaid prevented any further conversation. For Fanny's present comfort it was concluded, perhaps, at the happiest moment : had he been able to talk another five minutes, there is no saying that he might not have talked away all Mss Crawford's faults and his own despondence. But as it was, they parted with looks on his side of grateful affection, and with some very precious sensations on hers. She had felt nothing like it for hours. Since the first joy from Mr. Craw- ford's note to William had worn away, she had been in a state absolutely the reverse ; there had been no comfort around, no hope within her. Now every thing was smiling. Wil- liam's good fortune returned again upon her mind, and 246 MANSFIELD FARE. seemed of greater value than at first.- The ball, too—such an evening of pleasure before her ! It was now a real animation ; and she began to dress for it with much of the happy flutter which belongs to a ball. All went well — she did not dislike her own looks ; and when she came to the necklaces again, her good fortune seemed complete, for upon trial the one given her by Miss Crawford would by no means go through the ring of the cross. She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear it ; but it was too large for the purpose. His, there- fore, must be worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the chain and the cross, those memorials of the two most beloved of her heart, those dearest tokens so formed for each other by every thing real and imaginary — and put them round her neck, and seen and felt how full of William and Edmund they were, she was able without an effort, to resolve on wearing Miss Crawford's necklace too. She acknowledged it to be right. Miss Crawford had a claim ; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere with the stronger claims, the truer kindness of another, she could do her jus- tice even with pleasure to herself. The necklace really look- ed very well ; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably satisfied with herself and all about her. Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion, with an unusual degree of wakefulness. It had really oc- curred to her, unprompted, that Fanny, preparing for a ball, might be glad of better help than the upper housemaid's, and when dressed herself, she actually sent her own maid to assist her ! too late, of course, to be of any use. Mrs. Chapman had just reached the attic floor, when Miss Price came out of her room completely dressed, and only civilities were neces- sary ; but Fanny felt her aunt's attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs.Chapman could do themselves. CHAPTER XXVm. Her uncle and both her aunts were in the drawing-room when Fanny went down. To the former she was an interest- ing object, and he saw with pleasure the general elegance of her appearance, and her being in remarkably good looks. The neatness and propriety of her dress were all that he would allow himself to commend in her presence, but upon her leav- ing the room again soon afterwards, he spoke of her beauty with very decided praise. " Yes," said Lady Bertram, '' she looks very well. I sent Chapman to her." " Look well ! Oh yes," cried Mrs. Norris, " she has good reason to look well with all her advantages ; brought up in this family as she has been, with all the benefit of her cousins' manners before her. Only think, my dear Sir Thomas, what extraordinary advantages you and I have been the means of giving her. The very gown you have been taking notice of is your own generous present to her when dear Mrs. Rush- worth married. What would she have been if we had not taken her by the hand ? Sir Thomas said no more ; but when they sat down to table the eyes of the two young men assnred him, that the subject might be gently touched again when the ladies with- drew, with more success. Fanny saw that she was approved ; and the consciousness of looking well made her look still bet- ter. From a variety of causes she was happy, and she was soon made still happier ; for in following her aunts out of the room, Edmund, who was holding open the door, said, as she passed him, " You must dance with me, Fanny ; you must S48 MANSFIELD PARK. keep two dances for me ; any two that you like, except the first." She had nothing more to wish for. She had hardly ever been in a state so nearly approaching high spirits in her life. Her cousins' former gaiety on the day of a ball was" no longer surprising to her ; she felt it to be indeed very charm- ing, and was actually practising her steps about the drawing- room as long as she could be safe from the notice of her aunt; Norris, who was entirely taken up at first in fresh arrang- ' ing and injuring the noble fire which the buttler had pre- i pared. Half an hour followed, that would have been at least lan- guid under any other circumstances, but Fanny's happiness still prevailed. It was but to think of her conversation with Edmund ; and what was the restlessness of Mrs. Norris ? What were the yawns of Lady Bertram ? The gentlemen joined them ; and soon after began the sweet expectation of a oirrrige, when a general spirit of ease and enjoyment seemed diffused, and they all stood about and talked and laughed, and every moment had its pleasure and its hope. Fanny felt that there must be a struggle in Edmund's cheerfulness, but it was delightful to see the effort so successfully made. When the carriages were really heard, when the guests began really to assemble, her own gaiety of heart was much subdued : the sight of so many straiigers threw her back into herself; and besides the gravity and tbrmality of the first great circle, which the manners of neither Sir Thomas not Lady Bertram were of a kind to do away, she found herself occasionally called on to endure something worse. She was introduced here and there by her uncle, and forced to be spoken to, and to courtesy, and speak again. This was a hard duty, and she was never summoned to it, without look- ing at William, as he walked about at his ease in the back ground of the scene, and longing to be with him. The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a favourable epoch. The stiffness of the meeting soon gave way before their popular manners and more diffused intimacies : — little groups were formed, and everybody grew comfoijtable. Fanny felt the advantage ; and, drawing back from the toils of civil- ity, would have been again most happy, could she have kept MANSFIELD FARE. 249 her eyes from wandering between Edmund and Mary Craw- ford. She looked all loveliness — and what might not be the end of it ? Her own musings were brought to an end on perceiving Mr. Crawford before her, and her thoughts were put into another channel by his engaging her almost instantly for the two first dances. Her happiness on this occasion was very much a-la-mortal, finely checkered. To be secure of a partner at first was a most essential good — for the moment of beginning was now growing seriously near ; and she so little understciod her own claims as to think that if Mr. Crawford had not asked her she must have been the last to be sought after, and should have received a partner only through a series of enquiry, and bustle, and interference, which would have been terrible ; but at the same time there was a point- edness in his manner of asking her, which she did not like, and she saw his eye glancing for a moment at her necklace — with a smile — she thought there was a smile — which made her blush and feel wretched. And though there was no secoud glance to disturb hor, though his object seemed then to be only quietly agreeable, sbe could not get the better of her embarrassment, heightened as it was by the idea of his perceiving it, and had no composure till he turned away to some one else. Then she could gradually rise up to the gen- uine satisfaction of having a partner, a voluntary partner, secured against the dancing began. When the company were moving into the ball-room she found herself for the first time near Miss Crawford, whose eyes and smiles were immediately and more unequivocally directed as her brother's had been, and who was beginning to speak on the subject, when Fanny, anxious to get the story over, hastened to give the explanation of the second necklace — the real chain. Miss Crawford listened ; and all her intended compliments and insinuations to Fanny were forgot- ten : she felt only one thing ; and her eyes, bright as they had 'been before, showing they could yet be brighter, she ex- (•laimed with eager pleasure, " Did he ? Did Edmund ? That was like himself. No other man would have thought of it. I honour him beyond expression." And she looked around as if longing to tell him so. He was not near, he was attending a party of ladies out of the room ; and Mrs. n* 250 MANSFIELD PARE. Grant coming up to the two girls and taking an arm of each, they followed with the rest. Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking long even of Miss Crawford's feelings. They were in the ball- room, the violins were playing, and her mind was in a flutter that forbad its fixing on any thing serious. She must watch the genera] arrangements and see how every thing was done. In a few minutes Sir Thomas came to her, and asked if she were engaged ; and the " Yes, sir, to Mr. Crawford," was exactly what he had intended to hear. Mr. Crawford was not far off; Sir Thomas brought him to her, saying something which discovered to^ Fanny, that she was to lead the way and open the ball ; an idea that had never occurred to her before. Whenever she had thought on the minutiae of the evening, it had been as a matter of course that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford ; and the impression was so strong, that though her uncle spoke the contrary, she could not help an exclamation of surprise, a hint of her unfitness, an entreaty even to be excused. To be urging her opinion against Sir Thomas's, was a proof of the extremity of the case ; but such was her horror at the first suggestion, that she could actually look him in the face and say she hoped it might be settled otherwise ; in vain, however : Sir Thomas smiled, tried to encourage her, and then looked too serious, and said too decidedly — " It must be so, my dear," for her to hazard another word ; and she found herself the next moment con- ducted by Mr. Crawford to the top of the room, and standing there to be joined by the rest of the dancers, couple after couple as they were formed. She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many elegant young women ! The distinction was too great. It was treating her like her cousins ! And her thoughts flew to those absent cousins with most unfeigned and truly tender regret, that they were not at home to take their own place in the room, and have their share of a pleasure which would have been so very delightful to them. So often as she had heard them wish for a ball at home as the greatest of all feli- cities ! And to have them away when it was given — and for her to be opening the ball — and with Mr. Crawford too ! She hoped they would not envy her that distinction now ; but MANSFIELD PARK. 251 when she looked back to the state of things in the autumn, to what they had all been to each other when once dancing in that house before, the present arrangement was almost more than she could understand herself. The; ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to Fanny, for the first dance at least : her partner was in excel- lent spirits, and tried to impart them to her ; but she was a great deal too much frightened to have any enjoyment, till she could suppose herself no longer looked at. Youngs pretty, and gentle, however, she had no awkwardnesses that were not as good as graces, and there were few persons pres- ent that were not disposed to praise her. She was attractive, she was modest, she was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr. Crawford. It was enough lo give her general favour. Sir Thomas himself was watching her progress down the dance with much complacency ; he was proud of his niece ; and without attributing all her per- sonal beauty, as Mrs. Norris seemed to do, to her transplanta- tion to Mansfield, he was, pleased with himself for having supplied every thing else—education and manners she owed to him. "^ Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas's thoughts as he stood ; and having, in spite of all his wrongs towards her, a general prevailing desire of recommending herself to him, took an opportunity of stepping aside to say something agree- able of Fanny. Her praise was warm, and he received it as she could wish, joining in it as far as discretion, and polite- ness, and slowness of speech would allow, and certainly ap- pearing to greater advantage on the subject than his lady did, soon afterwards, when Mary, perceiving her on a sofa very near, turned round before she began to dance, to compliment her on Miss Price's looks. " Yes, she does look very well," was Lady Bertram's placid reply. " Chapman helped her dress. I sent Chapman to her." Not but that she was really pleased to have Fanny admired ; but she was so much more struck with her own kindness in sending Chapman to her, that she could not get it out of her head. Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of grati-' fying her by commendation of Fanny ; to her, it was as the 2S2 ^ MANSFIEU} PARE. occasion offered. " Ah, ma'am, how much we want dear Mrs. Rushworth and Julia to night !" and Mrs. Norris paid ^er with as many smiles and courteous words as she had 'time for, amid so much occupation as she found for herself, in making up card-tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas, and trying to move all the chaperons to a better part of the room. Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in her intentions to please. She meant to be giving her little heart a happy flutter, and filling her with sensations of delight- ful self-consequence ; and misinterpreting Fanny's blushes, still thought she must be doing so — when she went to her after the two first dances, and said, with a significant look, " Perhaps you can tell me why my brother goes to town to- morrow ? He says he has business there, but will not tell me what. The first time he ever denied me his confidence ! But this is what we all come to. All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must apply to you for information. Pray, ■what is Henry going for 1" Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrass- ment allowed. " Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, laughing, " I must suppose it to be purely for the pleasure of conveying your brother, and talking of you by the way." Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discon- tent, while Miss Crawford wondered she did not smile, and thought her over-anxious, or thought her odd, or thought her any thing rather than insensible of pleasure in Henry's attentions. Fanny had a good deal of enjoyment in the course of the evening ; but Henry's attentions had very little to do with it. She would much rather not have been asked by him again so very soon, and she wished she had not been obliged to suspect that his previous enquiries of Mrs. Norris, about the supper hour, were all for the sake of securing her at that part of the evening. But it was not to be avoided : he made her feel that she was the object of all ; though she could not say that it was unpleasantly done, that there was indelicacy or ostentation in his manner— and sometimes, . when he talked of William, he was really not unagreeable, and showed even a warmth of heart which did him credit. But still his attentions made no part of her satisfaction. She MANSFIELD PARK. 253 was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw bow perfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five minutes that she could wait about with him and hear his account of his partners : she was happy in knowing herself admired, and she was happy in having the two dances with Edmund still to look forward to, during the greatest part of the evening, her hand being so eagerly sought after, that her indefinite engagement with him was in continual perspective. She was happy even when they did take place ; but not from any flow of spirits on his side, or any such expressions of tender gallantry as had blessed the morning. His mind was fagged, and her happiness sprung from being the friend with whom it could find repose. " I am worn out with civility," said he. " I have been talking incessantly all night, and with nothing to say. But with you, Fanny, there may be peace. You will not want to be talked to. Let us have the luxury of silence." Fanny would hardly even speak her agreement. A weariness, arising probably, in great measure, from the same feelings which he had acknowledged in the morning, was peculiarly to be respected, and they went down their two dances together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any looker-on, that Sir Thomas had been bring- ing up no wife for his younger son. The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss Crawford had been in gay spirits when they first danced together, but it was not her gaiety that could do him good ; it rathet sank than raised his comfort ; and afterwards — for he found hiraself still impelled to seek her again — she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking of the pro- fession to which he was now on the point of belonging. They had talked — and they had been silent — he had reasoned — she had ridiculed — and they had parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny, not able to refrain entirely from observing them, had seen enough to be tolerably satisfied. It was bar- barous to be happy when Edmund was suffering ; yet some happiness must and would arise from the very conviction that he did' suffer. When her two dances with him were over, her inclination and strength for more were pretty well at an end ; and Sir Thomas having seen her rather walk than dance down the 254 MANSFIELD FARE. shortening set, breathless, and with her hand at her side, gave his orders for her sitting down entirely. From that time'Mr. Crawford sat down likewise. " Poor Fanny !" cried William, coming for a moment to visit her, and working awa^nis partner's fan as if for life : — - " how soon she is knocked up ! Why, the sport is but just begun. I hope we shall keep it up these two hours. How can you be tired so soon ?" " So soon ! my good friend," said Sir Thomas, producing his watch with all necessary caution — "it is three o'clock, and your sister is not used to these sort of hours." " Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I go. Sleep as long as you can, and never mind me." " Oh, William." " What ! Did she think of being up before you set off?" " Oh yes, sir," cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her seat to be nearer her uncle ; " I must get up and breakfast with him. It will be the last time, you know, ihe last morning." " You had better not. He is to have breakfasted and be gone by half-past nine. — Mr. Crawford, I think you call for him at half-past nine ?" Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears in her eyes for denial ; and it ended in a gracious " Well, well," which was permission. " Yes, half-past nine," said Crawford to William, as the latter was leaving them, " and I shall be punctual, for there will be no kind sister to get up for me" And in a low tone to Fanny, " I shall have only a desolate house to hurry from. Your brother will find my ideas of time and his own very different to-morrow." After a short consideration. Sir Thomas asked Crawford to join the early breakfast party in that house instead of eating alone : he should himself be of it ; and the readiness with which his invitation was accepted convinced him that the suspicions whence, he must confess to himself, this very ball had in great measure sprung, were well founded. Mr. Craw- ford was in love with Fanny. He had a pleasing antici- pation of what would be. His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just done. She had hoped to have William all to herself, the last morning. It would have MANSFIELD PARK. 255 been an unspeakable indulgence. But though her wishes were overthrown, there was no spirit of murmuring within her. On the contrary, she was so totally unused to have her pleasure consulted, or to have any thing take place at all in the way she could desire, that she was more disposed to wonder and rejoice in having carried her point so far, than to repine at the counteraction which followed. Shortly afterwards, Sir Thomas was again interfering a little with her inclination, by advising her to go immediately to bed. " Advise " was the word, but it was the advice of absolute power, and she had only to rise and, with Mr. Craw- ford's very cordial adieus, pass quietly away ; stopping at the entrance door, like the Lady of Branxholm Hall, " one moment and no more," to view the happy scene, and take a last look at the five or six determined couple, who were still hard at work — and then, creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the ceaseless country-dance, feverish with hopes and fears, soup and negus, sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in spite of every thing, that a ball was indeed delightful. In thus sending her away, Sir Thomas perhaps might not be thinking merely of her health. It might occur to him, that Mr. Crawford been sitting by her long enough, or he might mean to recommend her as a wife by showing her persuadableness. CHAPTER XXIX. The ball was over — and the breakfast was soon over too ; the last kiss was given, and William was gone. Mr. Craw- ford had, as he foretold, been very punatual, and short and pleasant had been the meal. After seeing William to the last moment, Fanny walked back into the breakfast room with a very saddened heart, to grieve over the melancholy change ; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in peace, conceiving, perhaps, that the deserted chair of each young man might exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remaining cold pork bones and mustard in William's plate, might but divide her feelings with the broken egg-shells in- Mr. Crawford's. She sat and cried con amore as her uncle intended, but it was con amove frater- nal and no other. William was gone, and she now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and selfish solici- tudes unconnected with him. Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even think of her aunt Norris in the meagreness and cheerlessness of her own small house, without reproaching herself for some little want of attention to her when they had been last toge- ther ; much less could her feelings acquit her of having done and said and thought every thing by William, that was due to him for a whole fortnight. It was a heavy, melancholy day. Soon after the second breakfast, Edmund bade them good-by for a week, and mounted his horse for Peterborough, and then all were gone. Nothing remained of last night but remembrances, which she had nobody to share in. She talked to her aunt Bertram — 256 MANSFIELD FARE. 25'r she must talk to somebody of the ball ; but her aunt had seen so little of what had passed, and had so little curiosity, that it was heavy work. Lady Bertram was not certain of any body's dress or any body's place at supper, but her own. " She could not recollect what it was that she heard about one of the Misses Maddox, or what it was that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny ; she was not sure whether Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford or of William when he said that he was the finest young man in the room ; somebody had whispered something to her, she had forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be." And these were her longest speeches and clearest communications : the rest was only a languid " Yes — yes — very well — did you ? did he ? — I did not see that — I should not know one from the other." This was very bad. It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp answers would have been ? but she being gone home with all the supernumerary jellies to nurse a sick maid, there was peace and good humour in their little party, though it could not boast much beside. The evening was heavy like the day : — " I cannot think what is the matter with me," said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things were removed " I feel quite stupid. It must be sitting up so late last night. Fanny, you must do something to keep me awake. I cannot work. Fetch the cards, — I feel so very stupid." The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with her aunt till bedtime ; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself, no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond the reckoning of the game : — " And tliat makes thirty-one ; four in hand and eight in crib. You are to deal, ma'am ; shall I deal for you ?" Fanny thought and thought again of the difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy in the drawing-room, and out of the drawing- room, and every where. Now it was languor, and all but solitude. A good night's rest improved her spirits. She could think of William the next day more cheerfully; and as the morning afforded her an opportunity of talking over Thursday night 258 MANSFIELD PARE. with Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, in a very handsome style, with all the heightenings of imagination, and all the laughs of playfulness which are so essential to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards bring her mind without much effort into its every-day state, and easily conform to the tranquillity of the present quiet week. They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a whole day together, and he was gone on whom the comfort and cheerfulness of every family-meeting and every meal chiefly depended. But this must be learned to be endured. He would soon be always gone ; and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, and even answer them without such wretched feelings as she had formerly known. " We miss our two young men," was Sir Thomas's obser- vation on both the first and second day, as they formed their very reduced circle after dinner; and in consideration of Fanny's swimming eyes, nothing more was said on the first day than to drink their good health ; but on the second it led to something farther. William was kindly commended and his promotion hoped for. " And there is no reason to suppose," added Sir Thomas, " but that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent. As to Edmund, we must learn to do without him. This will be the last winter of his belong- ing to us, as he has done." " Yes," satd Lady Bertram, " but I wish he was not going away. They are all going away, I think. I wish they would stay at home." This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just applied for permission to go to town with Maria ; and as Sir Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the permission should be granted. Lady Bertram, though in her own good nature she would not have prevented it, was lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia's return, which would otherwise have taken place about this time. A great deal of good sense followed on Sir Thomas's side tending to reconcile his wife to the arrangement. Every thing that a considerate, parent ought to feel was advanced for her use ; and every thing that an affectionate mother must feel in promoting her MANSFIELD FARE. 259 children's enjoyment was attributed to her nature. Lady Bertram agreed to it all with a calm " Yes ;" and at the end of a quarter of an hour's silent consideration spontaneously observed, " Sir Thomas, I have been thinking — and I am very glad we took Fanny as we did, for now the others are away, we feel the good of it." Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by ad- ding. - " Very true. We show Fanny what a good girl we think her by praising her to her face — she is now a very val- uable companion. If we have been kind to her, she is now quite as necessary to us" i' Yes," said Lady Bertram, presently ; " and it is a comfort to think that we shall always have Aer.'' Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and then gravely replied, " She will never leave us, I hope, till in- vited to some other home that may reasonably promise her greater happiness than she knows here." " A.nd tliat is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas. Who should invite her ? Maria might be very glad to see her at Sotherton now and then, but she would not think of asking her to live there — and I am sure she is better off here — and besides, I cannot do without her." The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage. To the young lady at least in each family it brought very different feelings. What was tranquillity and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to Mary. Something arose from difference of disposition and habit — one so easily satisfied, the other so unused to endure ; but still more might be imputed to difference of circumstances. In some points of interest they were exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny's mind, Edmund's absence, was really in its cause and its tendency a relief To Mary it was every way painful. She felt the want of his society every day, almost every hour ; and was too much in want of it to derive any thing but irritation from considering the object for which he went. He could not have devised anything more likely to raise his consequence than this week's absence, occurring as it did at the very time of her brother's going away, of William Price's going too, and completing the sort of general break-up 260 MANSFIELD PARK. of a party which had been so animated. She felt it keenly. They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for. Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions, and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball,) she could not help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again for the almost daily meetings they lately had. His absence was unnecessarily long. He should not have planned such an absence — he should not have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mansfield was so near. Then she be- gan to blame herself. She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been. It was ill-bred — it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her heart. Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad, but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and brought no Edmund — when Saturday came and still no Edmund — and when, through the slight communication with the other family which Sunday produced, she learnt that he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend. If she had felt impatience and regret before, — if she had been sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong effect on him, — she now felt and feared it all tenfold more. She had, moreover to contend with one disagreeable emotion en- tirely new to her — jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen had sisters — he might find them attractive. But at any rate his stay- ing away at a time when, according to all preceding plans, she was to remove to London, meant something that she could not bear. Had Henry returned as he talked of doing at the end of three or four days, she should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became absolutely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to learn something more. She could not live any longer in such solitary wretchedness ; and she made her way to the Park, through diflSculties of walking whic"h she had deemed unconquerable a week before, for the chance of MANSFIELD PARK. 261 hearing a little in addition, for the sake of at least hearing his name. The first half hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram were together, and- unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope for nothing. But at last Lady Bertram left the room — and then almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as well regulated as she could : — " And how do you like your cousin Edmund's staying away so long? Being the only young person at home, I consider you as the greatest sufferer. You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you ?" " I do not know," said Fanny, hesitatingly. " Yes — I had not particularly expected it." " Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is the general way all young men do.". "He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before." " He fiuds the house more agreeable now. He is a very — a very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help being rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London, as will now undoubtedly be the case. I am look- ing for Henry every day, and as soon as he comes there will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield. I should like to have seen him once more, I confess. But you must give my com- pliments to him. Yes — I think it must be compliments. Is not there a something wanted, Miss Price, in our language — a something between compliments and — and love — to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together ? So many months' acquaintance ! But compliments may be suffi- cient here. Was his letter a long one ! Does he give you much account of what he is doing ? Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for ?" " I only heard a part of the letter : it was to my uncle — but I believe it was very short ; indeed I am sure it was but a few lines. All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. A few days longer, or some days longer, I am not quite sure which." " Oh, if he wrote to his father — but I thought it might have been to Lady Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his father, no wonder he was concise. Who could write chat 262 MANSFIELD PARK. to Sir Thomas ? If he had written to you, there would have been more particulars. You would have heard of balls and parties. He would have sent you a description of every thing and every body. How many Misses Owen are there ?" " Three grown up." " Are they musical ?" " I do not at all know. I never heard." " That is the first question, you know," said Miss Crawford, trying to appear gay and unconcerned, " which every woman who plays herself is sure to ask about another. But it is very foolish to ask questions about any young ladies — about any three sisters just grown up ; for one knows, without being told, exactly what they are — all very accomplished and pleas ing, and oree very pretty. There is a beauty in every family, — it is a regular thing. Two play on the piano-forte, and one on the harp — and all sing — or would sing if they were taught — or sing all the better for not being taught — or some- thing like it." " I know nothing of the Misses Owen," said Fanny, calmly. " You know nothing and you care less, as people say. Never did tone express indifference plainer. Indeed, how can one care for those one has never seen ? Well, when your cousin comes back, he will find Mansfield very quiet ; — all the noisy ones gone, your brother and mine and myself I do not like the idea of leaving Mrs. Grant, now the time draws near. She does not like my going." Fanny felt obliged to speak. " You cannot doubt your being missed by many," said she. " You will be very much missed." Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or see more, and then laughingly said, " Oh, yes, missed^ as every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away ; that is, there is a great difference felt. But I am not fishing ; don't compliment me. If I am missed, it will appear. I may be discovered by those who want to see me. I shall not be in any doubtful, or distant, or unapproachable region." Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Crawford was disappointed ; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant assurance of her power, from one who she thought must know ; and her spirits were clouded again. MANSFIELD PAEK. 263 " The Misses Owen," — said she, soon afterwards, — '' suppose you were to have one of the Misses Owen settled at Thornton- Lacey,: how should you like it ? Stranger things have hap- pened. I dare say they are trying for it. And they are quite in the right, for it would be a very pretty establishment for them. I do not at all wonder or blame them. It is every body's duty to do as well for themselves as they can. Sir Thomas Bertram's son is somebody ; and now he is in their own line. Their father is a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all clergymen together. He is their lawful property, he fairly belongs to them. You don't speak, Fanny — Miss Price — you don't speak. But honestly now, do not you rather expect it than otherwise ?" " No," said Fanny, stoutly, " I do not expect it at all." " Not at all !" cried Miss Crawford, with alacrity. " I won- der at that. But I dare say you know exactly — I always imagine you are — perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all — or not at present." " No, I do not," said Fanny, softly, hoping she did not err either in the belief or the acknowledgment of it. Her companion looked at her keenly ; and gathering greater spirit from the blush soon produced from such a look, only said, " He is best off as he is," and turned the subject. CHAPTER XXX. Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home again in spirits which might have defied almost another week of the same small party in the same bad weather, had they been put to the proof ; but as that very evening brought her brother down from London again in quite, or more than quite, his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing further to try her own. His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but the promotion of gaiety ; a day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke — suspected only of concealing something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself And the next day did bring a surprise to her. Henry had said he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes — but he was gone above an hour ; and when his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried out, " My dear Henry, where can you possibly have been all this time ?" he had only to say that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny. " Sitting with them an hour and a half !" exclaimed Mary. But this was only the beginning of her surprise. " Yes, Mary," said he, drawiug her arm within his, and walking along the sweep as if not knowing where he was — " I could not get away sooner — Fanny looked so lovely ! T am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it astonish you ? No : you must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price." The surprise was now complete ; for, in spite of whatever his consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having 264 MANSFIELD PARK. 265 any such views had never entered his sister's imagination ; and she looked so truly the astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly. The conviction of his determination once admitted, it was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure with the surprise. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connection with the Bertram family, and to be not dis- pleased with her brother's marrying a little beneath him. "Yes, Mary," was Henry's concluding assurance. "I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began — but this is the end of them. I have (I flatter myself) made no inconsiderable progress in her affections ; but my own are entirely fixed." " Lucky, lucky girl !" cried Mary, as soon as she could speak — " what a match for her ! My dearest Henry, this must be my first feeling; but my second, which you shall have as sincerely, is that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish and desire' it. You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude and devotion. Exactly what you deserve. What an amazing match for her! Mrs. Norris often talks of her luck; what will she say now? The delight of all the family, indeed! And she has some true friends in it. How they will rejoice! But tell me all about it. Talk to me for ever. When did you begin to think seriously about her ?'" Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a question, though nothing be more agreeable than to have it asked. " How the pleasing plague had stolen on him " he could not say ; and before he had expressed the same senti- ment with a little variation of words three times over, his sis- ter eagerly interrupted him with, " Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took you to London ! This was your business ! You chose to consult the Admiral, before you made up your mind." But this he stoutly denied. He knew his uncle too well to consult him on any matrimonial scheme. The Admiral hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune. "When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, "he will dote on her. She is exactly the woman to do away 12 266 MANSFIELD FARE. every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral, for she is exactly such a woman as he thinks does not exist in the world. She is the very impossibility he would describe — if indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody his own ideas. But till it is absolutely settled — settled beyond all interference — ^he shall know nothing of the matter. No, Mary, you are quite mistaken. You have not discovered my business yet." " Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price — won- , derful — quite wonderful ! That Mansfield, should have done so much for^that you should have found your fate in Mans- field ! But you are quite right, you could not have chosen better. There is not a better girl in the .world, and you do not want for fortune ; and as to her connections, they are more than good. The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this country. She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram ; that will be enough for the world. But go on, go on. Tell me more. What are your plans ? Does she know her own happiness ?" " No." " What are you waiting for 1" " For — for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is not like her cousins ; but I think I shall not ask in vain." " Oh, no, you cannot. Were you even less pleasing — sup- posing her not to love you already, (of which, however, I can have little doubt,) — ^you would be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your own immediately. From my soul I do not think she would marry you without love ; that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her ; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse." As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was aa happy to tell as she could be to listen ; and a conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensa- tions, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty efface and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme. The gentle- MANSFIELD PARK. 2 6 "7 ness, modesty, and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on, — that sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can never t)elieve it absent. Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance ? Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her brother ! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness ? What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love in view ? Then, her understanding was beyond every suspi- cion, quick and clear ; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name ; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regu- larity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well prin- cipled and religious. '■' I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he, and that is what I want." Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice ia her prospects. " The more I think of it,'' she cried, " the more am I con- vinced that you are doing quite right ; and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl " most likely to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both find your good in it." " It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature ; but I did not know her then. And shd will have no reason to lament the hour that first put it into my head. I will make her very happy, Mary, happier than she has ever yet Lu'-a 268 MAKSFIELD PARK. herself, or ever seen any body else. I will not tate her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood ; perhaps Stanwix Lodge. I shall let a seven years' lease of Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word. I could name three people now, who would give me my own terms and thank me." - " Ha !" cried Mary ; " settle in Northamptonshire ! That is pleasant I Then we shall be all together." When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid ; but there was no need of confusion ; for her brother saw her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and replied but to invite her in the kindest man- ner to his own house, and to claim the best right in her. " You must give us more than half your time," said he. " I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself, for we shall- both have a right in you. Fanny will be so truly your sister 1" Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances ; but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer. " You will divide your year between London and Northamp- tonshire ?" "Yes." " That's right ; and in London, of course, a house of your own ; no longer with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learnt to sit over your dinner, as if it were the best blessing of life ! — You are not sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you ; but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart." " Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The Admi- ral has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one another." Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could MANSFIELD PARK. 269 not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant : time' would discover it to him ; but she could not help this reflection on the Admiral. " Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose. the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason which my poor ill used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would pre- vent the marriage, if possible ; but I know you, I know that a wife you loved would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gentleman." The impossibility of not doing every thing in the world to make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer. " Had you seen her this morning, Mary," he continued, attending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her, and for her, her colour beautifully heightened as she bent over the work, then returning to her seat to finish a note which she was previously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if it were a matter of course that she was not to have a moment at her own command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at intervals to me or listening, and as if she liked to listen to what I said. Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing." " My dearest Henry," cried Mary, stopping sl^ort, and smiling in his face, " how glad I am to see you so much in love ! It quite delights me. But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say ?" " I care neither whai they say nor what they feel. They will now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them anygood. And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," he added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler- 270 MANSFIELD PARK. tone, " Mrs. Rnshworth will be very angry; It will be a bit- ter pill to her; that is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments' ill-flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten ; for I am not such a coxcomb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's, though / was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will feel a diflference indeed, a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour of every being who approaches her ; and it will be the completion of my happi- ness to know that I am the doer of it, that I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due. Now she is depen- dent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgottea." "Nay; Henry, not by all, not forgotten by all ; not friend- less or» forgotten. Her cousin Edmund never forgets her." " Edmund — true, I believe he is (generally speaking) kind to. her ; and so is Sir Thomas in his way, but it is the way of a rich, superior, longworded, arbitrary uncle. What can Sir Thomas and Edmund together do, what do they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world to what I shall do ?" CHAPTER XXXI. Henrt Crawford was at Mansfield Park again the next morning, and at an earlier hour than- common visiting war- rants. The two ladies were together in the breakfast-room, and fortunately for him, Lady Bertram was on the very point of quitting it as he entered. She was almost at the door, and not choosing by any means to take so much trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentence about being waited for, and a " Let Sir Thomas know," to the ser- vant. Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some letters, said, with a most anima- ted look, " I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone : I have been wishing it more than you can have any idea. Knowing as I do what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne that any one in the house should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother is a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your bro- ther's promotion. Here are the letters which announce it, this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, like to see them." Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To see the expression of her eyes, the change of her com- plexion, the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough.. She took the letters as he gave them. The first was from the Admiral to inform his nephew, 272 MANSFIELD PARK. in a few words, of his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself, by which it appeared that his Lord had the very great happiness of attending to the recom- mendation of Sir Charles ; that Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the circumstance of Mr. Wil- liam Price's commission as Second Lieutenant of H. M. Sloop Trush being made out was spreading general joy through a wide circle of great people. While her hand was trembling under these letters, her eye running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the event : " I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, " great as it is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you, who has a right to be happy ? I have almost grudged myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the world. I have not lost a moment, however. The post was late this morning, but there has not been since a moment's de- lay. How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the subject, I will not attempt to describe ; how severely mortified, how cruelly disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in London ! I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have detained me half the time from Mansfield. But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, and exerted himself immediately, there were diflScul- ties from the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and knowing in what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday, trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be followed by such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, has exerted him- self as I knew he would after seeing your brother. He was delighted -with him. I would not allow myself, yesterday, to say how delighted, or to repeat half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all till Ms praise should be proved MANSFIELD PARK. 27.3 the praise, of a friend, as this day does prove it. JVow I may say that even / could not require William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they passed together." " Has this been all your doing, then ?" cried Fanny, " Good Heaven ! how very, very kind ! Have you really — was it by your dfesire — I beg your pardon^ but I am bewil- dered. Did Admiral Crawford apply ? — how was it 1 — I am stupefied." Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no crea- ture ; he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary ; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participa- tion of his feelings, but this had been his business ; and he spoke with suQh a glow of what his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding in the deepest interest, in twofold motives, in views and wishes more than could be told, that Fanny could not have remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attenll ; but her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying only when he paused, " How kind ! how very kind ! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you. Dearest, dearest William !" She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, " I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible." But this could not be suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. " She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his further ex- planation, before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that every thing he had 12* 274 MANSFIELD PARK. , done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessira and unequalled attachment to her, she was exceed- ingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour ; she could not hut feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved ; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before ; and she would not allow herself to show half the displeasure she felt, because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her. "While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful of any thing that injured only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, " Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't. I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, offer- • ing himself, hand, fortune, every thing to her acceptance. It was so ; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion in- creased ; and though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer. " No, no, no," she cried, hiding her face. " This is all non- sense. Do not distress me. I can Bear no more of this. Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words cp,n express ; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen to such — No, no, don't think of me. But you are not thinking of me. I know it is all nothing." She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room they were in. It was no time for further assurances or entreaty, though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone seemed to his sanguine and preassured mind to stand in the -way of the happiness he sought was a cruel necessity. She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the east room in the utmost confusion of contrary feeling, before MANSFIELD PARK. 2'75 Sir Thomas's politeness or apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joyful intelligence which his visiter came to communicate. She was feeling, thinking, trembling, about every thing ; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It was all beyond belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehen- sible ! But such were his habits, that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted — she knew not what to say — how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle ? But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy.. She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again ; he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her ; and in that case how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William ! She would not stir farther from the east room than the head of the great staircase, till she had satisfied terself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house ; but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyftil as she could desire, and very kind and communicative ; and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards, the close, that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return arid dine there that very day. This was a most un- welcome hearing, for though he might, think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon. She tried to get the better of it ; tried very hard, as the dinner hour approached, to feel and appear as usual ; but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and uncom- fortable when their visiter entered the room. She could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrence of circum- stances to give her so many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's promotion. 276 MANSFIELD PARK Mr. Crawford was not only in the room — he was soon close to her. He had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not look at him, bnt there was no consciousness of past folly in his voice. She opened her note immediately, glad to have any thing to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fldgetings of her aunt Norris, who was also to dine there, screened her a little from view. " My dear Fanny, — for so I may now always call you, to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at Miss Price for at least the last six weeks, — ^I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of general con- gratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and approval. Go on my dear, Fanny, aad without fear ; there can be no difficulties worth naming. I choose to suppose that the assurance of my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes. "Yours, aflfectionately, "M. C." These were not expressions to do Fanny any good ; for though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attach- ment and even to appear to believe it serious. She did not know what to do, or what to think. There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious ; there was perplexity and agitation every way. She was distressed whenever Mr. Craw- ford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often ; and she was afraid there was a something in his voice and man- ner in addressing her very different from what they were when he talked to the others. Her comfort ia that day's dinner was quite destroyed ; she could hardly eat any thing ; and when Sir Thomas good humouredly observed, that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame from the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation ; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the right hand, where he sat, she felt that his were immediately direc- ted towards her. MANSFIELD PARK. 211 She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join even when William was the subject, for his commission came all from the right hand too, ' and there was pain in the con- nexion. She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and be- gan to be in despair of ever getting away ; but at last they were in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would, while her aunts finished the subiect of William's ap- pointment in their own style. Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas as with any part of it. '■'■Now Wil- liam would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difierence to his uncle, for it was unknown how much he had cost his uncle ; and, indeed, it would make some differ- ence in her presents, too. She was very glad that she had given William what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in her power, without material inconve- nience, just at that time, to give him something rather consid- erable ; that is, for her, with her limited means, for now it would alj be useful in helping to fit up his cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he would have many things to buy, though to be sure bis father and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting every thing very cheap — but she was very glad that she had contributed her mite to- wards it." " I am glad you gave him something considerable,'' said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, " for I gave him only £10." " Indeed !" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. " Upon my word, he must have gone of with his pockets well lined ! and at no expense for his journey to London either 1" " Sir Thomas told me £10 would be enough." Mrs. Norris being not at all inclined to question its suffi- ciency, began to take the matter in another point. " It is amazing," said she, " how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world ! They little think how much it comes to, or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts, pay for them in' the course of the year. Now, here are my sister Price's children ; take them altogether, I dare say nobody would be- 278 MANSFIELD FARE. lieve what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what / do for them." " Very true, sister, as you say. But poor things ! they can- not help it ; and you know it makes very little difference to- Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl, if he goes to the East Indies ; and I shall give him a commission for any thing else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the EastTEndies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny." Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was very eaijiestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. There was every thing in the world against their being serious, but his words and manner. Every thin^ natural, probable, reasonable, was against it : all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, had been admired by so many, and had flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors — who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him — who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly xtn all such points — who was every thing to every body, and seemed to find no one essential to him ? And further, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding any thing of a serious nature in- such a quarter : Nothing could be more unnatural in either. Fanny was ashamed of her own doubts. Every thing might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it towards her. ^he had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in main- taining the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room ; for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not know how to class among the common meaning ; in any other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried to believe it no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women. She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all MANSFIELD PARK. 2T9 engaged with Mrs. Nbrris, and she careftilly refused him eyery opportunity. At last — it seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, though not remarkably late — he began to talk of going away ; but the comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, " Have you nothing to send to Mary ? No answer toJier note ? She will be disappoint- ed if she receives, nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line." " Oh yes, certainly," cried Fanny rising in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away, — " I will write directly." She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say. She bad read Miss Crawford's note only once ; and how to reply to any thing so imperfectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpractised in such a sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and fears as to style, she would have felt them in abundance : but something must be instantly written ; and with only one decided feeling, that of. wishing not to appear to think any thing really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand : " I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dear- est William. The rest of your note I know means nothing ; but I am so unequal to any thing of the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no further notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his man- ners ; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, be- have differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note, " I remain, dear Miss Crawford, " Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, or kindness, that might assist the plan. Mt. Crawford's steadiness was honoured, and Fanny was praised, and the con- nection was still the most desirable in the world. At Mans- field Park Mr. Crawford would always be welcome ; he had only to consult his own judgment and feelings as- to the fre- quency of his visits, at present or in future. In all the niece's family and friends there could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject ; the influence of all who loved her must incline one way. Every thing was said that could encourage, every encou- ragement received with grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the best of friends. Satisfied that tlie cause was now on a footing the most pro- per and hopeful. Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all further importunity with his niece, and to show no open interference. Upon her disposition he believed kindness might be the best way of working. Entreaty should be from one quarter only. The forbearance of a family on a point, respecting which she could be in no doubts of their wishes, might be their surest MANSFIELD PARK. 29Q means of forwarding it. Accordingly on this principk Sir Thomas took the first opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity, intended to be overcoming, " Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. Crawford again, and learnt from him exactly how matters stand between you. He is a most extraordinary young man, and whatever be'the event, you must feel that you have created an attachment of no common character ; though, young as you are, and little acquainted with the transient, varying, unsteady nature of love, as it generally ex- ists, you cannot be struck as I am with all that is wonderful in a perseverance of this sort against discouragement. With him, it is entirely a matter of feeling, he claims no merit in it, perhaps is entitled to none. Yet, having chosen so well, his constancy has a resj«ectable stamp. Had his choice been less unexceptionable, I should have condemned his persever- ing." "Indeed, sir," said Fanny, "I am very sorry that Mr. Crawford should continue to — I know that it is paying me' a very great compliment, and I feel most undeservedly honoured, but I am so perfectly convinced, and I have told him so, that it never will be in my power " " My dear," interrupted Sir Thomas, " there is no occasion for this. Your feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and regrets must be to you. There is nothing more to be said or done. From this hour the subject is never to be revived between us. You will have nothing to fear, or to be agitated about. You cannot suppose -me capable of trying to persuade you to marry against your inclinations. Your hap- piness and advantage are all that I have in view, and nothing is required of you but to bear with Mr. Crawford's endeavours to convince you that they may not be incompatible with his. He proceeds at his own risk. You are on safe ground. I have engaged for your seeing him whenever he calls, as you might have done had nothing of this sort occurred. You will see him with the rest of us, in the same manner, and, as much as you can, dismissing the recollection of every thing unplea- sant. He leaves Northamptonshire so soon, that even this slio-ht sacrifice cannot be often demanded. The future must be very uncertain. A.nd now, my dear Fanny, this subject is closed between us." 300 MANSFIELD PARK. The promised departure was all that Fanny could thini of with much satisfaction. Her uncle's kind expressions, how- ever, and forbearing manner, were sensibly felt ; and when she considered how much of the truth was unknown to hira, she believed she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he pursued. He who had married a daughter to Mr. Rushworth. Romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him. She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty easier than it now was. She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr. Crawford's attachment would hold out for ever ; she could not but ima- gine that steady, unceasing discouragement from herself would put an end to it in time. How much time she might, in her own fancy, allot for its dominion, is another concern. It would not be fair to enquire into a young lady's exact esti- mate of her own perfections. In spite of his intended silence, Sir Thomas found himself once more obliged to mention the subject to his niece, to pre- pare her briefly for its being imparted to her aunts ; a measure which he would still have avoided, if possible, but which became necessary from the totally opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford, as to any secrecy of proceeding. He had no idea of concealment. It was all known at the Parsonage, where he loved to talk over the future with both his sisters ; and it would be rather gratifying to him to have enlightened wit- nesses of the progress of his success. When Sir Thomas understood this, he felt the necessity of making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the business without delay ; though, on Fanny's account, he almost dreaded the effect of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much as Fanny herself. He deprecated her mistaken, '^"'' well-meaning zeal. ' Sir Thomas, indeed, was, by this time, not very far from classing Mrs. Norris as one of those well-meaning people who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable things. Mrs. NorriSj, however, relieved him. He pressed for the strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece ; she not only promised, but did observe it. She only looked her increased ill-will. Angry she was, bitterly angry ; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer, than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, MANSFIELD PARE. 801 who ought to have been Mr. Crawford's choice ; and, indepen- dently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her ; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress. Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion than she deserved ; and Fanny could have blessetl her for allowing her only to see her displeasure, and not to hear it. Lady Bertram toot it differently. She had been a beauty, and a prosperous beauty, all her life ; and beauty and wealth were all that excited her respect. To know Fanny to be sought in marriage b/ajjian of fortune, raised her, therefore, very much in her opinion. By convincing her that Fanny ' was very pretty, which she had been doubting about before, and that she would be advantageously married, it made her feel a sort of credit in calling her niece. "Well, Fanny," said she, as soon as they were alone together afterwards,— ^and she really had known something like impatience to be alone with her, and her countenaiidfe, as she spoke, had extraordinary animation,- — "Well Fanny, I have had a very agreeable surprise this morning. I must just speak of it once, I told Sir Thomas I must once, and tlten J shall have done. I give you joy, my dear niece." And looking at her complacently, she added, " Humph — we cer- tainly are a handsome family." Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say ; when hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side, she presently answered, — " My dear aunt, you cannot wish me to do differently from what I have done, I am sure. You cannot wish me to marry ; for you would miss me, should not you ? — Yes, I am sure you would miss me too much for that." " No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when such an offer as this comes in your way. I could do very well without you, if you were married "to a man of such good estate as Mr. Crawford. And you must be aware, Fanny, that it is every young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable offer as this." This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of advice, which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the 802 MANSFIELD FARE. course of eight years and a half. It silenced her.- She felt how unprofitable contention would be. If her aunt's feelings were against her, nothing could be hoped from attacking her understanding. Lady Bertram was quite talkative. "I will tell you what, Fanny," said she, — "I am sure he fell in love with you at the ball ; I am sure the mischief was done that evening. You did look remarkably well. Every body said so. Sir Thomas said so. And you know you had Chapman to help you dress. I am very glad I sent Chap- man to you. I shall tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that evening." And still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts, she soon afterwards added, — " And I will tell you what, Fanny— which is more than I did for Maria — the next time pug has a litter you shall have a puppy." CHAPTER XXXrV. Edmund had great things -to hear on his return. Many- surprises were awaiting him. The first that occurred was not least in interest, — the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through the village, as he rode into it. He had concluded, — he had meant them to be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm ; and he found himself receiving a welcome unquestionably friendly from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off", and as farther, much farther from him in inclination than any distance could express. Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected any thing rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the proper- est state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand. William's promotion, with all his particulars, he was soon master of; and -with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratiiying sensation, and unvarying cheerfulness alljiin- ner-time. After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had 8U8 304 MANSFIELD PARK. Fanny.'s history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him. - Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much longer than usual in die dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her ; and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly ; and at that moment she thought that, but for the occupation and the ■scene which the tea-things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess. He was not intending, however, by such action, to be con- veying to her that unqualified approbation and encourage- ment which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened every feel- ing of affection. He was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His surprise was not so great as his father's, at her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him w.ith any thing like a preference, he had always believed it to be rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not jregard the connection as more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him ; and while honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted- to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to consider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, Edmund trusted that every thing would work out a happy conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time by any word, or look, or movement. MANSFIELD PARK. 305 Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Ed- mund's return, Sir Thomas felt himself more th^n licensed to ask him to stay dinner ; it was really a necessary compli- ment. He staid of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement for, him might be ex- tracted from her manners ; and it was so little, so very, very little, (every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was iiot hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else), that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. Fanny was worth it all ; he held her to be worth every effort of patience, every exer- tion of mind — but 'he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer ; and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner. In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity. " We have not been so silent all the time," replied his mother. " Fanny has been reading to me, ■and only put the book down upon hearing you coming." And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a volume of Shakspeare. " She often reads to me out of those books ; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's — What's his name, Fanny ? — when we heard your footsteps." Crawford took the volume. "Let me have the pleasure of finishing that speech to your ladyship," said he. "I shall find it immediately. And by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find i^, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech. Not a look, or an offer of 306 MANSFIELD PARK. help had Fanny given ; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes ; she was forced to listen ; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good reading, however, she had been long used ; her uncle read well — her cousins all- — Edmund very well ; but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn ; for with the happiest knack, the hap- piest power of jumping and guessing, he could always light, at will, on the best scene, or the best speeches of each ; and whether it were dignity or pride, or tenderness or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic. His aicting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again ; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram. Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needle-work, which, at the beginning, seemed to occupy her totally ; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it — and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and work- ing as hard as ever ; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him,„he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too. " That play must be a favourite with you," said he ; "you read as if you knew it well." " It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied Crawford : " but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakspeare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw flenry the Eighth acted, — or I have heard of it from MANSFIELD PARK. 30*7 somebody who did — I am not certain which. But Shak- speare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them every where ; one is intimate with him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately." " No doubt one is familiar with Shakspeare in a degree," said Edmund, " from one's earliest years. His celebrated passages are quoted by every body : they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakspeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions ; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common enough ; to know him pjetty thor- oughly is, perhaps, not uncommon ; but to read him well aloud is no every-day talent." " Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bow of mock gravity. Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her ; yet both feel- ing that it cguld not be. Her praise had been given in her attention ; that must content them. Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too. " It was really like being at a play," said she. " I wish Sir Thomas had been here." Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with all her incompetency and languor,, could feel this, the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating. " You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Craw- ford," said her Myship soon afterwards — " and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are set- tled there. I do, indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk." " Do you, ma'am ?" cried he, with quickness. " No, no, that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham ! Oh, no." And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, " that lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham." 308 MANSFIELD PARK. Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to con- vey the full meaning of the protestation ; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not. The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders and failures, with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment,: all proceeding from the first cause, want of early attention and habit ; and Fanny was listening again with great enter- tainment. " Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile, " how little the art of reading has been studied ! how little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to ! I speak rather of the past, however, than the present. There is now a spirit of improvement abroad ; but -among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, most have thought reading was reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths ; and, besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly ; in every congregation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise." Ediiiund had already gone through the service once since his ordination ; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success ; questions which being made — though with the vi- vacity of friendly interest and quick taste — without any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund MANSFIELD PARK. 309 knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying ; and when Crawford proceeded- to ask his opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in which partic- ular passages in the service should be delivered, showing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit, and good nature together, could do ; or at feast, she would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects. " Our liturgy," observed Crawford, " has beauties, which not even a carele'ss, slovenly Style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundances and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be (here was a glance at Fanny) ; -that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and long- ing to have it to read myself — Did you speak?" stepping eagerly to Fanny, and~ addressing her in a softened voice ; and upon her saying, " No," he added, " Are you sure ycdi did not speak ! I saw your lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander. Are- not you going to tell me s6?" " No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to — even supposing " — '■ — She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word, not by the dint of sev- eral minutes of supplication and waiting. He then retijrned to his former station, and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption. " A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well ; that is, the rules and tricks of composition are oftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself 310 MANSFIELD PARK. There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn thread-bare in all common hands ; who can say any thing new or striking, any thing that rouses the attention, without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not (in his public capac- ity) honour enough. I should like to be such a man." Edmund laughed. " I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a London audience. I could not preach, but to the educated ; to those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I dp not know that I should be fond of preaching often ; now and then, perhaps, once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half-a-dozen Sundays together ; but not for a constancy ; it would not do for a constancy." Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning ; and as Edmund per- ceived, by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as pos- sible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be per- suaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover ; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of ''A most desirable Estate in South Wales " — " To Parents and Guar- dians " — and a " Capital season'd Hunter." Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying, by every thing in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Craw- ford, and avoid both his looks and enquiries ; and he, unre- pulsable, was persisting in both. " What di'd that shake of the head mean ?" said he. MANSriELD PARK. 31 1 " What was it meant to express ? Disapprobation, I fear But of what ? What had I been saying to displease you ? Did you think me speaking improperly ? lightly, irreverently on the subject ? Only tell rae if I was — only tell me if I was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you ; for one moment put down your work. What did that shake of the head mean ?" In vain was her " Pray, sir, don't — pray, Mr. Crawford " — repeated twice over ; and in vain did she try to move away. In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbour- hood, he went on, re-urging tbe same questions as before. She grew more agitated and displeased. " How can you, sir 1 You quite astonish me — I wonder how you can " " Do I astonish you ?" said he. " Do you wonder 1 Is there any thing in my present entreaty that you do not under- stand ? I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to wonder long." In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing. " You shook your head at my aclmowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy. Yes, tbat was the word. Constancy, I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with my body. I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought ?" " Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking — "perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment." Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up ; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another. He had always something to entreat the explanation of The opportunity was too fair. None such had occured since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady Berti'am's being just on the other side of ?12 MANSFIELD PARK. the table was a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility. " Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant answers — " I am happier than I was, becajise I now understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me unstead}' — easily swayed by the whim of the moment — easily tempted — easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder that But we shall see. It is not by protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged, it is not by telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for me — absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall prove, that as far as you can be deserved by any body, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit ; all that I know. Tou have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human crea- ture. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what— not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees any thing like it ; but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. There I build my confidence. By thai right I do and will deserve you ; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes — Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny — Nay — (seeing her draw back displeased) forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right — but by what other name can I call yon 1 Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any oth^r ? No, it is ' Fanny' that I think of all day, and dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you." Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, tlie very sound which she had I)een long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed. The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of teaboard, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her MAN8FIELI) FABE. 313 from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Craw- ford was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected. Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who might speak and hear. But though the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on look- ing at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened to, without some profit to the speaker. 14 CHAPTER XXXV. Edmund had determined that it belonged entirely to Fanny to choose whether her situation with regard to Crawford should be mentioned between them or not ; and that if she did not lead the way, it should never be touched on by him ; but after a day or two of mutual .reserve, he was induced by his father to change his mind, and try what his influence might do for his friend. A day, and a very early day was actually fixed for the Orawfords' departure ; and Sir Thomas thought it might be as well to make one more effort for the young man before he left Mansfield, that all his profession and vows of unshaken attachment might have as much hope to sustain them as pos- sible. Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection of Mr. Cravfford's character in that point. He wished him to be a model of constancy ; and fancied the best means of effecting it would be by not trying him too long. Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage in the business ; he wanted to know Fanny's feelings. She had been used to consult him in every difficulty, and beloved her too well to bear to be denied her confidence now ; he hoped to be of service to her, he thought he must be of service to hor — whom 'else had she to open her heart to ? If she did not need counsel, she must need the comfort of communica- tion. Fanny estranged from him, silent and reserved, was an niinatural state of things ; a state which he must break through, and which he could easily learn to think she was ^^•ant'Tlo■ him to break throughi' MANSFIELD PARK. 315 " I will speak to her, sir ; I will take the first opportunity of speaking to her alone," was the result of such thoughts as these ; and upon Sir Thomas's information of her being at that very time walking alone in the shrubbery, he instantly joined her. " I am come to walk with you, Fanny," said he. " Shall I ?" — (drawing her arm within his,) " it is a long while since we have had a comfortable walk together." She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her •spirits were low. " But, Fanny^ ' he presently added, " in order to have a com- fortable walk, something more is necessary than merely pacing this gravel together. You must talk to me. I know you have something on your mind. I know what you are think- ing of. You cannot suppose me uninformed. Am I to hear of it from every body but Fanny herself?" Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, " If you hear of it from every body, cousin, there can b^ nothing for me to tell." " Not of facts, perhaps ; but of feelings, Fanny. , No one but you can tell me them. I do not mean to press you, how- ever. If it is not what you wish yourself, I have done. I had thought it might be a relief." " I am afraid we think too ' differently for me to find any relief in talking of what I feel." "Do vou suppose that we think differently? I have no idea of it. I dare say, that on a comparison of our opinions, they would be found as much alike as they have been used to be: to the point — I consider Crawford's proposals as most advantageous and desirable, if you could return his affection. I consider it as most natural that all your family should wish you could return it ; but tliat as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in refusing him. Can there be any dis- agreement between us here ?" _,. " Oh, no ! But I thought you blamed me I thought you were against me. This is such a comfort !" " This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had you sought it. But how could you possibly suppose me aga;inst you ? How could you imagine me an advocate for marriage without love ? Were I even careless in general on such mat- 316 MANSFIELD PAEK. ters, how could you imagine me so where your happiness was at stake ?" " My unole thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you." " As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. I may be sorry, I may be surprised — though hardly that, for you had not had time to attach yourself : but I think you perfectly right. Can it admit of a question ? It is dis- graceful to us if it does. You did not love him — nothing could have justified your accepting him." Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days. "So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quite mistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the matter does not end here. Crawford's is no common attach- ment ; he perseveres, with the hope of creating that regard which had not been created before. This, we know, must be a work of time. But (with an afiectipnate smile), let him succeed at last, Fanny, let him succeedj^ast. You have proved yourself upright and disinterested, prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted; and then you will be the perfect model of at woman, which I have always believed you bom for." " Oh ! never, never, never ; he never will succeed with me." And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Ed- mund, and which she blushed at the recollection of herself, when she saw his looV, and heard him reply, " Never 1 Fanny : — so very determined and positive ! This is not like yourself, your rational self." " I mean," she cried sorrowfully, correcting herself, " that I think I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for — I think I never shall return his regard." " I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than Crawford can be, j;hat the man who means to make you love him (you having due notice of his intentions,) must have verv up-hill work, for there are all your early attachments and habits in battle array; and before he can get your heart for his own use, he has to unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and inanimate, which so many years' growth has confirmed, and which are considerably- tightened for the moment by the very idea of separation. I know that the appre- hension of being forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be Mansfield park. 317 arming you against him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell you what he was trying for. I wish he had known you as well as I do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should have won you. My theoretical and his practical knowledge toge- ther, could not have failed. He should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, that time, proving him (as I firmly believe it will) to deserve you by his steady aflfection, will give him his reward. I cannot suppose that you have not the wish to love him — the natural wish of gratitude. You must have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorry for your own indiflference." " We are so totally unlike,'' said Fanny, avoiding a direct answer, " we are so very, very different in all our inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we sbould ever be tolerably happy together, even if I could like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable." "You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong. You are quite enough alike. You have tastes in common. You have moral and literary tastes in common. You have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings ; and, Fanny, who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakspeare the other night, will think you unfitted as com- panions ? You forget yourself ; there is a decided difference in your tempers, I allow.- He is lively, you are serious ; but so much the better ; his spirits will support yours. It is your disposition to be easily dejected, and to fancy diflBculties greater than they are. His cheerfulness will counteract this. He sees difficulties no where ; and his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support to you. Your being so,far unlike, Fanny, does not in the smallest degree make against the pro- bability of your happiness together : do not imagine it. I am myself convinced that it is rather a favourable circum- stance. I am perfectly persuaded that the tempers had better be unlike ; I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the manners, in the inclination for much or little company, in the propensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, friendly to matrimonial happiness. I exclude extremes of course ; and a very close resemblance in all those points would be the 318 MANSFIELD PARK. likeliest way to produce an extreme. A counteraction gentle and continual, is the best safeguard of manners and con- duct." Full welljjould Fanny guess where his thoughts were now. Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speak- ing of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Par- sonage only the preceding day. After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minutes, Fanny feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr Crawford, and said, " It is not merely in temper'that I consider him as total- ly unsuited to myself; though in that respect, I think the diflference between us too great, infinitely too great ; his spirits often oppress me — but there-is something in him which I object to still more. I must say, cousin, that I cannot ap- prove his character. I have not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very improperly and unfeelingly — I may speak of it now because it is all over — so improperly by poor Mr. Rush- worth, not seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, which — in short, at the time of the play, I received an impression which will never be got over." " My dear Fanny," replied Edmund, scarcely hearing her to the end, "let us not, any of us, be judged by what we appeared at that period _of general folly. The time of the play is a time which I hate to recollect. Maria was wrong, Crawford was wrong, we were all wrong together ; but none so wrong as myself Compared with me all the rest were blameless. I was playing the fool with my eyes open." " As a bystander," said Fanny, " perhaps I saw more than you did ; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous " " Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more im- proper than the whole business. I am shocked whenever I think that Maria could be capable of it ; but if she could un- dertake the part, we must not be surprised at the rest." " Before the play, I am much mistaken, if Julia did not think he was paying her attentions." < " Julia ! — I have heard before from some one of his being MANSFIELD . PARK. 319 in love with Julia, but I could never see anything of it. And, Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my sisters' good quali- ties, I think it very possible that they might, one or both, be more desirous of being admired by Crawford, and might show that desire rather more unguardedly than was perfectly pru- dent. I can remember that they were evidently fond of his society ; and with such encouragement a man like Crawford, lively, and it may be a little unthinking, might be led on to — there could be nothing very striking, because it is clear that he had no pfetensions ; his heart was reserved for you. And I must say, that its being for you has raised him inconceiva- bly in my opinion. It does him the highest honour ; it shows his proper estimation of the blessing of domestic tappiness, and pure attachment. It proves him unspoiled by his uncle. It proves him, in short, every thing that I had been used to wish to believe him, and feared he was not." " I atn persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious subjects." " Say rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious subjects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it be otherwise, with such an education and adviser ? Ijnder the disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, is it not wonderful that they should be what they are ? Craw- ford's /eeZin^s, I am ready to acknowledge, have hitherto been too much his guides. Happily, those feelings have generally been good. You will supply the rest ; and a most fortunate man he is to attach himself to such a creature — to a woman who, firm as a rock in her own principles, has a gentleness of, character so well adapted to recommend them. He has cho- sen his partner, indeed, with rare felicity. He will make you happy, Fanny, "I know he will make you happy ; but you will make him everything." -' " I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in a shrinking accent — " in such an office of high responsibil- ity.'?' " As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything ! — fancy- ing everything too much for you 1 Well, though I may not be able to persuade you into different feelings, you will be persuaded into them, I trust. I confess myself sincerely anx- ious that you may. I have no common interest in Crawford's 320 MANSFIELD PARK. well doing. Next to your happiness, Fanny, his has"the first claim on me. You are aware of my having no common in- terest in Crawfcffd." Fanny was too well aware of it, to have anything to say ; and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutual silence and abstraction. Edmund first began again : — " I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not depend- ed upon_ her seeing every thing in so just a light. I knew she was very fond of you, but yet I was afraid of her not estimating your worth to her brother quite as it deserved, and of her regretting that he had not rather fixed on some woman of distinction or fortune. I was afraid of the bras of those worldly maxims, which she has been too much used to hear. But it was very different. She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She desires the connection as warmly as your uncle or myself. We had a long talk about it. I should not have mentioned the subject, though very anxious to know her sentiments ; but I had not been in the room five minutes, before she began introducing it with all that open- ness of heart, and sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit s^d ingenuousness which are so much a part of herself. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity." " Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then ?" " Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisters together by themselves ; and when once we had begun we had not done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in." " It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford." " Yes, she laments it ; yet owns it may have been best You will see her, however, before she goes.** She is very angry with you, Fanny ; you must be prepared for that. She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine her anger. It is the regret and disappointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to every thing he may wish for, at the first moment. She is hurt as you would be for William ; but she loves and esteems you with all her heart." " I knew she would be very angry with me." " My dearest Fanny," cried Edftiund, pressing hor arm closer to him, " do not let the idea of her anger distress you. MANSFIELD PARK. 321 It is anger to be talked of rather than felt. Her heart is made for love and kindness, not for resentment. I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise ; I wish you could have seen her countenance, when she said that you should be Henry's wife. And I observed, that she always spoke of you as ' Fanny,' which she was never used to do ; and it had a sound of most sisterly cordiality." " And Mrs. Grant, did she say — did she speak — was she there all the time?" " Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The sur- prise of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded. That you could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford seems more than they can understand. I said what I could for you ; but in good truth, as they stated the case — you must prove your- self to be in your senses as soon as you can, by a different con- duct ; nothing else will satisfy them. But this is tearing you. I have done. Do not turn away from me." " I should have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recol- lection and exertion, "that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex, at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain, that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself But even supposing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet him with any feeling answer- able to his own ? He took me wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to me before had any mean- ing ; and surely I was not to be teaching myself to like him only because he was taking, what seemed, very idle notice of me. In my situation, it would have been the extreme of van- ity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford. I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought it so, supposilig he had meant nothing. How then was I to be — to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me ? How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked for ? His sisters should consider me as well as him. The higher Nhis deserts, the more improper for me ever to have thought of him. And, and— we think very differently 14* 322 MANSFIELD PARK. of the nature of women, if they can imagine a woman s<> very soon capable of returning an affection as this seems to im- ply-" "My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this to be the truth ; and most worthy of you are such feelings. I had attributed them to you before. I thought I could un- derstand you. You have now' given exactly the explana- tion which I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant, and they were both better satisfied, though your warm-hearted friend was still run away with a little, by the enthusiasm of her fondness for Henry. I told them, that you were of all human creatures the one over whom habit had most power and, novelty least ; and that the very circum- stance of the novelty of Crawford's addresses were against him. Their being so new and so recent was all in their disfavour ; that you could tolerate nothing that yon were not used to ; and a great deal more to the same purpose, to give them a knowledge of your character. Miss Crawford made us laugh by her plans of eneouragement for her brother. She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in time, and of having his addresses most kindly received at the end of about ten years' happy marriage." Fanny could with difficulty give -the smile that was here asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt. She feared she had been doing wrong, saying too much, overacting the cau- tion which she had been fancying necessary, in guarding against one evil laying herself open- to another ; and to have Miss Crawford's liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation. Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and imme- diately resolved to forbear all further discussion ; and not even to' mention the name of Crawford again, except as it might be connected with what must be agreeable to her. On this principle he soon .afterwards observed, — "They go on Monday. You are- sure, therefore, of seeing your friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They really go on Monday ; and I was within a trifle of being persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day! I had almost promised it. What a difference it might have made ! These five or six more days at Lessingby might have been felt all my life !" MANSFIELD PARK. S23 " You were near staying there ?" " Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly con- sented. Had 1 received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you were all going on, I believe I should certainly have stayed; but I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight, and felt that I had been away long enough." "You spent your time pleasantly there?" " Yes ; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not. They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so. I took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting rid of it till I was in Mansfield again." " The Misses Owen — you liked them, did not you ?" " Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-huiiioured, unaffected girls. But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. Good-humoured, unaffected girls, will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women. They are two distinct or- ders of being. You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice." Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied ; he saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away, and attemptipg it no more, he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, Into the house. CHAPTER XXXVI. Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, or could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments, and he was satisfied. It had been, as he before presumed, too hasty a measure on Crawtbrd's side, and time must be given to make the idea first familiar, and then agree- able to her. She must be used to the consideration of his being in love with her, and then a return of affection might not be very distant. He gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his father: and recommended there being nothing more said to her, no farther attempts to influence or persuade ; but that everything should be left to Crawford's assiduities, and the natural workings of her own mind. Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's account of Fanny's dispofition he could believe to be just ; he supposed she had all those feelings, but he must consider it as very unfortunate that she had ; for, less willing than his son to trust to the future, he could not help fearing that if such very long allowances of time and habit were necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses properly, before the young man's inclinations for paying them were over. There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly, and hope the best. The promised visit from " her friend," as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said, and in ano- ther light so triumphant and secure, she was in every way an 824 MANSFIELD PARK. 325 object of painful alarm.- Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness were all fearful to encounter ; and the dependence of having others present when they met, was Fanny's only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the east room, and took no solitary walk in the shrub- bery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack. She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room., with her aunt, when Miss Crawford did come ; and the first misery over, and Miss Crawford looking and. speaking with much less particularity of expression than she had anticipated, Fauny began to hope there would be nothing worse to bB endured, than' a half hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much ; Miss Crawford ^'aS not the slave of oppor- ' tunity. She was determined to see Fanny alone, and there- fore s'aid to her tolerably soon, in it low voice, " I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere;" words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses, and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the con- trary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable. They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of countenance was over on Miss Crawford's side. She immedi- ately shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and taking her hand, seemed hardly able to help beginning directly. She said nothing, however, but, " Sad, sad girl ! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you," and had discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned up stairs, and took her guest to the apart- ment which was now always fit for comfortable use ; opening the door, however, with a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a more distressing scene before her than ever that- spot had yet witnessed. But the evil ready to burst on her, was at least delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford's idea* ; by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the east room again produced. " Ha !" she cried, with instant animation, "am I , here again? The east room. Once only was I in this room 326 MANSFIELD PARK. before," and after stopping to look about her, and seemingly to -retrace all that had then passed, she added, " once only before. . Do you remember it ? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too ; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in this part of the room ; here was your cousin, here was I, here were the chairs. Oh, why will such things ever pass away ?" Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet remembrances. " The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable ! The subject of it so very — very — what shall! say? He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. ' When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have of his looks and voice, as he said those words. It was curious, very curious, that we should have such a scene to play ! If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it" should be that week, that acting week. Say what you would, Fanny, it should be that ; for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did ! Oh, it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you ? Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak dis- respectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all." And having said so, with a degree of tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and now thought only too becom- ing, she turned away for a moment to recover herself. " I have had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may perceive," said she presently, with a playful smile, " but it is over now ; so let us sit down and be comfortable ; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do, I MANSFIELD PARK. 327 have not the heart -for it when it comes to the point." And embracing her very affectionately, "Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing, you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do any- thing but love you." • Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word " last." She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could ; arid Miss Craw- ford, yet farther softened by the sight of such emotion, hung aboift her with fondness, and said, " I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters ? I know we' shall. I feel that we are born .to be connected ; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny." Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, " But you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are going to a very particular friend." "Ye?, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for yea; p. But I have not the least inclination to go near he:^. I can think only of the friends I am leaving ; my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so much more heart among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you ; which, in common intercourse, one knows nothing of. I'wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a much better time for the visit — but now I cannot put her off. And when I have done with her, I must go to her sister. Lady Stornaway, because she was rather my most particular friend of the two ; but I have not cared much for her these three years." After this speech the two girls sat many minutes silent, each thoughtful ; Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friendship in the world, Mary on something of less philoso- phic tendency. She first spoke again. " How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you up stairs ; and setting off to find my way to the east room, without having an idea whereabouts it was 1 How well I remember what I was thinking of as I came along ; and my looking in and seeing you here, sitting at this table at work; 328 MANSFIKLP PARK. and then. your cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me here ! To be sure, your uncle's return- ing that very evening ! There never was any thing quite like it." Another short fit of abstraction followed ; when, shaking it off, she thus attacked her companion. " Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie ! Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh ! that I could transport you for a short time into our circle in town, that you might understand how your power over Henry is thought of there ! Oh, the envyings and heart-burnings of dozens and dozens ! the wonder, the incredulity that will be felt at hearing what you have done. Por as to secrecy, Henry is quite the hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should come to London to know how to esti- mate your conquest. If you were to see how he is courted, and how I am courted for his sake ! Now, I am well aware that I shall not be half so welcome to Mrs. Fraser in conse- quence of his situation with you. When she comes to know the truth, she will, very likely, wish me in Northamptonshire again ; for there is a daughter of Mr. Fraser by a first wife, whom she is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take. Oh, she has been trying for him to such a degree ! Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an idea of the sen- sation that you will be occasioning, of the curiosity there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall have to answer ! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my poor friend's sake, for I look upon the PVasers to be about as unhappy as most other married people. And yet it was a most desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all delighted. She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, and she had nothing ; but he turns out ill-tempered, and exigeant; and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five- and-twenty, to be as steady as himself And my friend does not manage him well ; she does not seem to know how to make the best of it. There is a spirit of irritation which, to say nothing worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In their house I shall call to mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield parson- MANSFIELD PARK. 329 age with respect. Even Dr. Grant does show a thorough con- fidence in my sister, and a certain consideration for her judg- ment, which mates one feel there is attachment ; but of that I shall see nothing with the Erasers. I shall be at Mansfield, for ever, Fanny. My own sister as a wife, Sir Thomas Ber- tram as a husband, are my standards of perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in ;' and yet there was nothing improper on her side ; she did not run into the match incon- siderately ; there was no want of foresight. She tooi three days to consider of his proposals ; and during those three days asked the advice of every body connected with her, whose opinion was worth having ; and especially applied to my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world made her judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the young people of her acquaintance ; and she was decidedly in favour of Mr. Eraser. This seems as if nothing were a security for matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues, for the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much sense, Fanny, as Mr. Rushworth, but much worse looking, and with a blackguard character. I had my doubts at the time about her being right, for he has not even the air of a gentleman, and now I am sure she was wrong. By-the-by, Flora Ross was dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be in love with him, I should never have done. It is you only, you, insensible Fanny, who can think of him with any thing like indifierenee. But are you so insensible as you pro- fess yourself? No, no, I see you are not." There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind. " Excellent creature ! I will not tease you. Every thing shall take its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that you must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as to what might be. You must have seen that he was try- ing to please you, by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball ? And then before the ball, the 830 MANSFIELD PABK. necklace ! Oh, you received it just as it was meant. You were as conscious as heart could desire. I remember it per- fectly." " Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the neck- lace beforehand ? Oh, Miss Crawford, that was not fair." "Knew of it ! it was his own doing entirely, his own thought. I am ashamed to say, that it had never entered my^ head ; but I was delighted to act on his proposal, for both your " I will not say," replied Fanny, " that I was not half afraid at the time of ifi being so ; for there was something in your look that frightened me — but not at first — I was as unsuspi- cious of it at first ! — indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of it, notjiing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your bro- ther's behaviour, certainly I was sensible of a particularity ; I had been sensible of it some little time, perhaps two or three weeks ; but then I considered it as meaning nothing ; I put it down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him and some part of this family in the sum- mer and autumn. I was quiet but I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford allowed himself in gallantries which did mean nothing." " Ah ! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault ; and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then Fanny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many ; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's sex ! Oh, I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph." Fanny shook her head. " I cannot think well of a man who spofts with any womaii's feelings ; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of." " I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy ; and when he has got you at Everingham, I do. not care how much you lecturehim. But this I will say, that-his fault, the MANSFIELD FARE. 331 liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife's happiness, as a tendency- to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any woman before ; that he loves you with all his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as pos- sible. If any man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you." Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say. " I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," continued Mary, presently, " than when he had succeeded in getting your brother's commission." She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here. " Oh yes. How very kind of him !" " I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trou- ble and scorns asking favours ; and there are so many young men's claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy creature William must be ! I wish we could see him." ■♦'Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford ; and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had been first watching her complacently and then musing on something else, suddenly called her atten- tion, by saying, " I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for thQugh we shall nominally part in the breakfast parlour, I must take leave of you here. And I do take leave, longing for a happy re-union, and trusting that when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our hearts to each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve." A very, yery kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied these words. " I shall see your cousin in town soon ; he talks of being there tolerably soon ; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course 332 MANSFIELD PARK. of the spring ; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia I am sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have two favours to ask, Fanny — one is your corres- pondence. You must write to me. And the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant and mate her amends for my being gone." The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not have been asked ; but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence ; it was impossible for her even not to accede to it more readily than her own judgment authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent afiiection. Her dis- position was peculiarly calculated to value a fond treatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it,, she was the more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides there was gratitude towards her, for having made their tete-a-tete so much less painful than her fears had predicted. It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without detection. Her secret was still her own ; and while that was the case, she thought she could resign herself to al- most every thing. Id the evening there was another parting. Henry Craw- ford came and sat some time with them ; and her spirits not being previously in the strongest state, her heart was. softened for a while -towards him — because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he were the husband of some other woman. When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand, he would not be denied it ; he said nothing, how- ever, or nothing that she heard, and when he bad left the room she was better pleased that such a token of friendship had passed. On the morrow the Crawfords were gone. CHAPTER XXXVII. Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was, that he should be missed ; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank in the loss of those attentions which at the time she had felt, or fanoied-an evil. She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering form ; and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again into nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her with this idea — but he could hardly tell with what success. He hardly knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. She was always so gentle and retiring, that her emotions were beyond his discrimination. He did not un- derstand her : he felt that he did not ; and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she stood affected on the present occasion, and whether she were more or less happy Jhan she had been. Edmund did not discern any symptom of regret, and thought his father a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four days could produce any. What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sis- ter, the -friend and companion, who had been so.much to her, should not be more visibly regretted. He wondered that Fan- ny spoke so seldom of her, and had so little voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation. Aias ! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have believed Mary's future fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she was determined the brother's should be, if she could have hoped her return thither to be as distant as she was much in- S?8 334 MANSFIELD PARK. clined to think his, she would have been light of heart indeed ; but the more she recollected and observed, the more deeply was she convinced that every thinaj was now in a fairer train foi Miss Crawford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been be- fore; On his side the inclination was stronger, en hers less equivocal. His objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away — nobody could tell "how ; and the doubts and hesitations of her ambition were equally got over — and equally without apparent reason. It could only be imputed to increasing attachment. His good and her bad feelings yielded to love, an^ such love must unite them. He was to go to town, as soon as some business relative to Thornton Lacey was completed — perhaps within a fortnight — he talked of going, he loved to' talk of it ; and when once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her acceptance must be as certain as his offer ; and yet there were bad feelings still remaining which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, independently, she believed independently of self. In their very last conversation. Miss Crawford, in spite of some amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been. Miss Crawford, still shown a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so ; darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them ; and she may be forgiven by older sages, for looking on the chance of Miss Crawford's future irapi'ovement as nearly des- perate, for thinking that if Edmund's influence in this season of love had already done so little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony. Experience might have hoped more for any young .people, so circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford's nature that participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to adopt the opin- ions of the man she loved and respected as her own. But as such were Fanny's persuasions, she suffered very much from them, and could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain. Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes, and MANSFIELD FARE. 335 his own observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of human nature, to expect to see the eftect of the Joss of power and consequence, on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of the lover producing a craving for their return ; and he was soon afterwards able to account for his not yet completely and indubitably seeing all this by the prospect of another visitor, whose approach he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits he was watching. William had obtained a ten days' leave of absence to be given to North-, amptonshire, and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to show his happiness and describe his uniform. He came, and he would have been delighted to show his uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appear- ance except on duty. So theTiniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness, and all the freshness of its wearer's feelings, must be worn away. It would be sunk into a badge of disgrace ; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless, than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant a year or two, and sees others made com- manders before him ? So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a scheme which placed Panny's chance of seeing the 2d lieutenant of H. M. S. Thrush in all his glory in another light. This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to Portsmouth, and spend a little time vidth her own family. It had occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his digni- fied musings, as a right and desirable measure ; but before he absolutely made, up his mind, he consulted his son. Edmund considered it in every way, and saw nothing but what was right. The thing .was good in itself, and could not be done at a better time ; and he had no doubt of it being highly- agreeable to Fanny. This was enough to determine vSir Thomas ; and a decisive " then so it shall be " closed that stage of the business ; Sir Thomas retiring from it with some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what he had communicated to his son ; for his prime motive in sending her away had very little to do with^the propriety of her seeing her parents again, and nothing at' all with any idea 336 MANSFIELD FABE. of making her happy. He certainly wished her to go will- ingly, but he as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended ; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies and luxuries of Mansfield Park would bring her mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster estimate s of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of which she had the offer. It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, which he must consider as at present diseased. A residence of eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little disordered her powers of comparing and judging. Her father's house would, in all probability, teach her the value of a good income ; and he trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had devised. Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong attack of them, when she first understood what was intended, when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, and brothers and sister, from who she had been divided, almost half her life, of returning for a cou- ple of months to the scenes of her infancy, with William for the protector and companion of her journey; and the cer- tainty of continuing to see William to the last hour of his remaining on land. Had she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been then, for she was delighted, but her' happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort; and though never a great talker, she was always more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the moment she could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when familiarised with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more largely to William and Edmund of what she felt ; but still there were emotions of tenderness that could not be jolothed in words. The remembrance of all her earliest plea- sures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had since grown oat of the separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before ; to fee' affection without fear or restraint ; to feel herself the equal ij^hose who surrounded her ; to be at peace MANSFIELD PARK. 337 from all mention of the Crawfords, safe from every look which could he fancied a reproach on their account. This was a prospect to be dwelt on with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged. Edmund, too — to* be two months from him (and perhaps she might be allowed to make her absence three) must do her good. At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, and safe from the perpetual irritation of knowing his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence, she should be able to reason herself into a properer state ; she should be able to think of him as in London, and arranging every thing there without wretchedness. What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a slight evil at Portsmouth. The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's being comfortable without her. She was of use to no one else ; hatthere she might be missed to a degree that she did not like to think of; and that part of the arrangement was, indeed, the hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish, and what only he could have accomplished at all. But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really resolved on any measure, he could always- carry it through ; and now, by dint of long talking on the subject, explaining and dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go; obtaining it rather from submission, however, than conviction, for Lady Bertram was convinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas .thought Fanny ought to go, and .therefore that she must. In the calmness of her own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own meditations, unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could not acknowledge any necessity for Fanny's ever going, near a father and mother who had done without her so long, while she was so useful to herself. And as to the not missing her, which under Mrs. Norris's discussion was the point attempted to be proved, she set herself very steadily against admitting any such thing. Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity. He called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and self-command as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her that Fanny could be very well spared (she 15 338 MANSFIELD PARK. being ready to give up all her own time to her as requested), and, in short, could not really be wanted or missed." " That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. " I dare say you are very right, but I am sure I shall miss her very much." The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny wrote to offer herself ; and her mother's answer, though short, was so kind, a few simple lines expressed so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect of seeing her child again, as to confirm all the daughter's views of happiness in being with her — convincing her that she should now find a warm and affectionate friend in the "mamma" who had certainly shown no remarkable fondness for her formerly ; but this she could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fret- fulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve. Now, when she knew better how to be useful and how to for- bear, and when her mother could be no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a houseful of little children, there would be leisure and inclination for every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and daughter ought to be to each other. William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It would be the greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her there still when he came in from his first cruise. And, besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush before she went out of harbour (the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in the service). And there we're several improvements in the Dock-yard, too, which he quite longed to show her. He did not scruple to add, that her being at home for a while would be a great advantage to every body. " I do not know how it is," said he, " but we seem to want some of your nice ways and orderliness at my father's. The house is always in confusion. You will set things going in a better way, I am sure. You will tell my mother how it all ought to be, and you will be so useful to Susan, and you will teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you. How right and comfortable it will all be '." MANSFIELD PARK. 339 By the time Mrs. Price's answer arrived, there remained but a very few days more to be spent at Mansfield ; and for part of one of those days the young travellers were in a good deal of alarm on the subject of their journey, for when the mode of it came to be talked of, and Mrs. Norris found that all her anxiety to save her brother-in-law's money was vain, and that in spite of her wishes and hints for a less expensive convey- ance of Fanny, they were to travel post ; when she saw Sir Thomas actually give William notes forl&ie purpose, she was struck with the idea of Ihere being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized with a strong inclination to go with them, — to go and see her poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must say that she had more than half a mind to go with the young people ; it would be such an indulgence to her ; she had not seen her poor dear sister Price for more than twenty years ; and it would be a help to the young people in their journey to have her older head to manage for them ; and. she could not help thinking her poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of her not to come by such an opportunity. William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea. All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be de- stroyed at once. With woeful countenances they looked at each other. Their suspense lasted an hour or two. No one interfered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs. Norris was left to settle the matter by herself ; and it ended to the infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection that she could not possibly be spared from Mansfield Park at present ; that she was a great deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram for her to be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a week, and therefore must cej-tainly sacrifice every other pleasure to that of being useful to them. It had, in fact, occurred to her that, though taken to Ports- mouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid paying her own expenses back again. So her poor , dear sister Price was left to all the disappointments of herj missing such an opportunity ; and another twenty years' ; absence, perhaps, begun. Edmund's plans were afiected by this Portsmouth journey 340 MANSriKLD PABK. this absence of Fanny's. He, too, had a sacrifice to make to Mansfield Park, as well as his aunt. He had intended, about this time, to be going to London, but he could not leave his father and mother just when every body else of most impor- tance to their comfort was leaving them ; and with an effort, felt but not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his happiness for ever. He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she must know every thing. It made the substance of one other confidential discourse about Miss Crawford ; and Fanny was the more affected from feeling it to be the last time in which Miss Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was alluded to by him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece, in the evening, to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good correspondent herself; and Edmund, at a con- venient moment, then added, in a whisper, " And / shall write to you, Fanny, when I have any thing worth writing about, any thing to say, that I think you will like to hear, and that you will not hear so soon from any other quarter." Had she doubted his meaning while she listened, the glow in his face, when she looked up at him, would have been deci- sive. For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter from Edmund should be a subject of terror ! She began to feel that she had not yet gone through all the changes of opinion and sentiment which the progress of time and varia- tion of circumstances occasion in this world of changes. The vicissitudes of the human mind had not yet been ex- hausted by her. Poor Fanny ! though going, as she did, willingly, and eagerly, the last evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness. Her heart was completely sad at parting. She had tears for every room in the house, much more for every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because she would miss her ; she kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling sobs, because she had displeased hina ; and as for Edmund, she could neither speak, nor look, nor think, when MANSFIELD PARK. 341 the last moment came with him; aud it was not till it was over that she knew he was giving her the aflFectionate fare- well of a brother. All this passed over night, for the journey was to begin very early in the morning ; and when the small, diminished party met at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked of as already advanced one stage. CHAPTER XXXVm. The novelty of travelling, and the happiness of being with William, soon produced their natural effect on Fanny's spirits, ■when Mansfield Pari was fairly left behind ; and bV the time their first stage was ended, and they were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was able to take leave of the old coachman, and send back proper messages, with cheerful looks. Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister, there was no end. Every thing supplied an amusement to the high glee of William's mind, and he was full of frolic and joke in the intervals of their higher-toned subjects, all of which ended, if they did not begin, in praise of the Thrush, conjectures bow she would be employed, schemes for an action with some superior force, which (supposing the first lieutenant out of the way — and William was not very merciful to the first lieuten- ant) was to give himself the next step as soon as possible, or speculations upon prize money, which was to be generously distributed at home, with only the reservation of enough to make the little cottage comfortable, in which he and Fanny were to pass all their middle and later life together. Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involved Mr. Crawford, made no part of their conversation. William knew what had passed, and from his heart lamented that his sister's feelings should be so cold towards a man whom he must con- sider as the first of human characters ; but he was of an age to be all for love, and therefore unable to blame ; and know- ing her wish on the subject, he would not distress her by the slightest allusion. She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by Mr. Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister within MANSFIELD FARE. 343 the three weeks ■which had passed since their leaving Mans- field, and in each letter there had heen a few lines from him- self, warm and determined, like his speeches. It was a corres- pondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and afiection- ate, was itself an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into reading from the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she had read the chief of the letter to him ; and then she had to listen to his admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments. There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a corres- pondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she did not love, and obliging her to administer to the ad- verse passion of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her present removal promised advantage. When no longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing. With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the dirty month of February. They entered Oxford, but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's college as they passed along, and made no stop any where, till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day. The next morning saw them oif again at an early hour ; and with no events, and no delays, they regularly advanced, and were in the environs ofTPortsmouth while there was yet daylight for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at the new buildings. They passed the , drawbridge, and entered the town ; and the light was only beginning to fail, as, guided by William's powerful voice, they were rattled into a narrow street, leading from the High Street, and drawn up before the door of a small house now inhabited by Mr. Price. Fanny was all agitation and flutter — all hope and appre- 344 MANSFIELD PARK. hension. The moment they stopped, a troUopy-looking maid- servant, seemingly in waiting for them at the door, stepped forward, and more intent on telling the news than giving them any help, immediately began with " The Thrush is gone out of harbour, please sir, and one of the officers has been here too " She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, " You are just in time. We have been looking for you this half hour. The Thrush went out of har- bour this morning. I saw her. It was a beautiful sight. And they think she will have her orders in a day or two. And Mr. Campbell was here at four o'clock to ask for you : he has got one of the Thrush's boats, and is going off to her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to go with him." A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed ; but he made no objection to her kissing him, though still entirely engaged in detailing farther particulars of the Thrush's going out of harbour, in which he had a strong right of interest, being to commence his career of seamanship in her at this very time. Another moment, and Fanny was in the narrow entrance- passage of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met her there with looks of true kindness, and with features which Fanny loved the more, because they brought her aunt Ber- tram's before her ; and there were her two sisters, Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of the family, about five — both glad to see her in their way, though with no advantage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did. not want. Would they but love her, she should be satisfied. She was then taken into a parlor, so small that her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on ; but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long MANSFIELD PARK. 345 enough to suspect any thing. She was gone again to the street door to welcome William. " Oh, my dear William, how glad I am to see you. But have you beard about the Thrush ?. She is gong out of harbour already, three days before we had any thought of it ; and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things ; they will never be ready in time; for she mayhave her orders to-morrow, perhaps. It tates me quite unwares. And now you must be off for Spit- head too. Campbell has been here, quite in a worry about you; and now what shall we do ? I thought to have had. such a comfortable evening with you, and here every thing comes upon me at once." Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that every thing was always for the best ; and making light of his .own incon- venience, in being obliged to hurry away so 'soon. "To be sure, I had-inuch rather she had stayed in harbour, that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort ; but as there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the Thrush lie at Spithead ? Near the Oanopus ? But no matter — here's Fanny it, the parlour, and why should we stay in the passage ? Come, mother, you have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet." In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, began with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants as travellers. " Poor dears ! how tired you must both be ! and now, what will you have ? I began to think you would never come. Betsey and I have been watching for you this half hour. And when did you get any thing to eat ? And what would you like now ? I could not tell whether you would be for some meat, or only a dish of tea after your journey, or else I would have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here, before there i§. time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand. It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like some tea, as soon as it can be got." They both declared they should prefer it to any thing. " Then, Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen, and see if 15* 846 MANSFIELD PARK. Rebecca has put the water on ; and tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended — but Betsey is a very handy little messenger." Betsey went with alacrity, proud to show her abilities before her jine new sister. " Dear me," continued the anxious mothet, '' what a sad fire we have got, and I dare say you are both starved with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken care of the fire." " I was up stairs, mamma, moving my things," said Susan, in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. " You know you had but just settled that my sister Eanny ^nd I should have the other room ; and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help." 'Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles ; first, the driver came to be paid — then there was, a squabble be- tween Sam and Rebecca, about the manner of cariying up his sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own way ; and lastly, in walked Mr. Price himself, his own loud voice preceding him, as with something of the oath kind he kicked away his son's portmanteau, and his daughter's band-box in the passage, and called out for a candle ; no candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room. Fanny, with doubting feelings, had risen to meet him, but ■ sank down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son's hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began — " Ha ! wel- come back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. Sharp is the word, you see. By G — , you are just in time. The doctor has been here enquiring for you : he has got one of the boats, and is to be ofi' for Spithead by six, so you had better go with him. I- have been to Turner's about your mess ; it is all in a way to be done. I should not wonder if you had your orders to-morrow : but you cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruise to the westward ; and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruise to the westward, with the Elephant. By G^, I wish you may. But old Scholey MANSFIELD PARK. 347 was saying, just now, that he thought you would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready, whatever happens. But by G — , you lost a fine sight by not being here in the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour. I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds. Old Scho- ley ran in at breakfast-time, to say she had slipped her moor- ings and was coming out. I jumped up, and made but two steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, she is one ; and there she lies at Spithead, and any body in England would take her for an. eight-and-twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lies close to the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the sheer hulk." " Ha !" cried William, 'Hhafs just where I should have put her myself. It's the best berth at Spithead. But here is my sister, sir, here is Fanny," "turning and leading her forward ; " It is so dark you do not see her." With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her, Mr. Price now received his daughter ; and, having given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again. Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by his language and his smell oi spirits ; and he talked on only to his son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warm- ly interested, as he was, in that subject, more than once tried . to make his father think of Fanny and her long absence and longvjourney. After sitting sometime longer, a candle was obtained ; but, as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey's re- ports from the kitchen, much hope of any under a consider- able period, William determined to go and change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea in comfort after- wards. As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, about eight and nine years old, rushed into it, just released from school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the Thrush was gone out of harbour ; Tom and Charles ; Charles had been born since Fanny's going away, but Tom 348 MANSriELD PARK. she had often helped to nurse, and now felt a particular plea- sure in seeing again. Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her, to try to trace the features of the baby she had^ loved, and talked to, of his infj^nt pre- ference of herself Tom, however, had no mind for such treatment : he came home, not to stand tad be talked to, but to run about and make a noise ; and both boys had soon burst away from her, and slammed the parlour door till her tem- ples ached. She had now seen all that were at home ; there remained only two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk in a public office in London, and the other midship- man on board an Indiaman. But though she had seen all the members of the family, she had not yet heard all the noise they could make. Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal more. William was soon calling out from the land- ingrplace of the second story, for his mother and for Rebecca. He was in distress for something that he had left there, and did not find again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his new hat, and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform waistcoat, which he had been pro- mised to have done for him, entirely neglected. Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and' Betsey, all went up to defend themselves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done, as well as it could, in a great hurry ; Wil- liam trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep her from being troublesome where she was ; the whole of which, as almost every door in the house was open, could be plainly distinguished in the parlour, except when drowned at inter- vals by the superior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each other up and down stairs, and tumbling about and hal- looing. Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house, and thinness of the walls, brought every thing so close to her, that, added to the fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to bear it. Within the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan, having disappeared with the others, -there were soon only her father and herself re- maining ; and he taking out a newspaper, the accustomary loan of a neighbor, applied himself to studying it, without MANSPIBLD PARK. 349 seeming to reooUeet her existence. The solitary candle was held between himself and the paper, without any reference to her possible convenience ; but she had nothing to do, and was glad to have the light screened from her aching head, as she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation. She was at home. But, alas ! it was not such a home, she had not such a welcome, as — she checked herself; ste was unreasonable. What right had she to be of importance to her family ? She could have none, so long lost sight of ! William's concerns must be dearest — they always had been — and he had every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about herself — to have scarcely an enquiry made after Mans- field ! It did pain her to have Mansfield forgotten ; the friends who had done so much — the dear, dear friends ! But here, one subject swallowed up all the rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the Thrush must be now pre-emi- nently interesting. A day or two might show the difference. She only was to blame. Yet she thought it would not have been so at Mansfield. No, in her uncle's house there would have been a consideration of times and seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, an attention towards every body which there was not here. The only interruption which thoughts like these received for nearly half an hour was from a sudden burst of her father's, not at all calculated to compose them. At a more than ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing in the passage, he exclaimed, " Devil take those young dogs ! How they are singing out ! Ay, Sam's voice louder than all the rest ! That boy is fit for a boatswain. Holla — you there — Sam — stop your confounded pipe, or I shall be after you." This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though within five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into the room together and sat down, Fanny could not consider it as a proof of any thing more than their being for the time tho- roughly fagged, which their hot faces and panting breaths seemed to prove — especially as they ■ were still kicking each other's shins, and hallooing out at sudden starts immediately under their father's eye. The next opening of the dooi- brought something more wel- come ; it was for the tea-things, which she had begun almost 350 MANSFIELD PARK. to despair of seeing that, evening. Susan and an attendant girl, whose inferior appearance informed Fanny, to her great surprise, that she had previously seen the upper servant, brought in every thing necessary for the meal ; Susan looking, as she put the kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable triumph of showing her activity and usefulness, and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an office. " She had been into the kitchen," she said, " to hurry Sally and help make the toast, and spread the bread and butter — or she did not know when they should have got tea — and she was sure her sister must want something after her journey." Fanny was very thankful. . She could not but own that she shonld be very glad of a little tea, and SusUn immediately set about making it, as if pleased to have the employment all to herself; and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than she could, acquitted herself very vrell. Fanny's spirit was as much refreshed as her body ; her head and heart were soon the better for such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, sensible countenance ; she was like Wil- "liam — and Fanny hoped to find her like him in disposition and good will towards herself. In this more placid state of things William re-entered, followed not far behind by his mother and Betsey. He, complete in his lieutenant's uniform, looking and moving all the taller, firmer and more graceful for it, and with the'hap- piest smile over his face, walked up directly to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at him for a moment in speech- less admiration, and then threw her arms round his neck to sob out her various emotions of pain and pleasure. Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered her- self; and wiping away her tears, was able to notice and ad- mire all the striking parts of his dress — ^listening with reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes of being on shore some part of every day -before they sailed, and even of getting her to Spit- head to see the sloc^. The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeon of Thrush, a very well-behaved young man, who came to call for his friend, and for whom there was with some contrivance MANSFIELD PARK. 351 found a chair, and with some hasty washing of the young tea- maker's, a cup and saucer ; and after another quarter of an hour of earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise, and bustle upon bustle, men and boys at last all in mo- tion together, the moment came for setting off; every thing was ready, William took leave, and all of them were gone — for the three boys, in spite of their mother's entreaty, deter- mined to see their brother and Mr. Campbell to the sally-port ; and Mr. Price walked off at the same time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper. Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for ; and accordingly, when Eebecca had been prevailed on to carry away the tea-things, and Mrs. Price had walked . about the room some time looking for a shirt sleeve, which Betsey at last hunted out from a drawer in the kitchen, the small party of females were pretty well composed, and the mother having lamented again over the impossibility 'of getting Sam ready in time, was at leisure to think of her eldest daughter and the friends she had come from. A few enquiries began : but one of the earliest — " How did her sister Bertram manage about her servants ? Was she as much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants ?" — soon led her mind away from Northamptonshire, and fixed it on her own domestic grievances ; and the shocking character of all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were the very worst, engrossed her completely. The Ber- trams were all forgotten in detailing the faults of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much to depose, and little Bet- sey a great deal more, and who did seem so thoroughly with- out a single recommendation, that Fanny could not help modestly presuming that her mother meant to part with her when her year was up. " Her year !" cried Mrs. Price ; " I am sure I hope I shall be rid of her before she has staid a year, for that will not be up till November. Servants are come to such a pass, my dear, in Portsmouth, that it is quite a miracle if one keeps them more than half a year. I have' no hope of ever being settled ; and if I was to part with Rebecca, I should only get something worse. And yet I do not think I am a very diflS- cult mistress to please; and I am sure the place is easy 352 MANSFIELD PARK. enough, for there is always a girl under her, and I often do half the work myself." Fanny was silent : but not from being convinced that there might not be a remedy found for some of those evils. As she now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but think par- ticularly of another sister, a very pretty little girl, whom she had left there not much younger when she went into North- amptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards. There had been something remarkably amiable about her. Fanny, in those early days, had preferred her to Susan ; and when the news of her death had at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been quite afflicted. The sight of Betsey brought the image of little Mary back again, but she would not have pained her mother by alluding to her for the world. While considering her with these ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time from Susan's. " What have you got there, my love ?" said Fanny, " come and show it to me." It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her own, and trying to get it away ; but the child ran to her mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, which she did very warmly, and evidently hoping to interest Fanny on her side. " It was very hard that she was not to have her own knife ; it was lier own knife ; little sister Mary had left it to her upon her death-bed, and she ought to have had it to keep herself long ago. But mamma kept it from her, and was always letting Betsey get hold of it ; and the end of it would be that Betsey would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mamma had promised her that Betsey should not have it in her own hands." Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour, and tenderness was wounded by her sister's speech and her mother's reply. " Now, Susan,'' cried"" Mrs. Price, in a complaining voice, " now, how can you be so cross 1 You are always quarrelling about that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor little Betsey ; how cross Susan is to you 1 But you - should not have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you to the drawer. You know I told vou not to touch it, because Susan MANSFIELD PARK. 363 is SO cross about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary little thought it would be such a bone of conten- tion when she gave it me to keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul ! she could but just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, ' Let sister Susan have my knife, , mamma, when I am dead and buried.' Poor little dear ! she was so fond of it, Fanny, that she would have it lie by her in bed, all through her illness. It was the gift of her good god- mother, old Mrs. Admiral Maxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death. Poor little sweet creature 1 Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My own Betsey (fondling her), you have not the luck of "such a good god- mother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of «uch; little people as you." Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, but a message to say she hoped her god-daughter was a good girl, and learnt- her book. There had been at one moment a slight murmur in the drawing-room at Mansfield Park, about send- ing her a Prayer-book ; but no second sound had been heard of such a purpose. Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home and taken down two old Prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but, upon examination, the ardour of generosity went off. One was found to have too small a print for a child's eyes, and the other to be too cumbersome for her to carry about. Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to accept the first invitation of going to bed ; and before Betsey had fin- ished her cry at being allowed to sit up only one hour extra- ordinary in honour of sister, she was off, leaving all below in confusion and noise again, the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she ought ^p be. There was nothing to raise her spirits in the. confined and scantily-furnished chamber that she was to share with Susan. The smallness of the rooms above and below, indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase, struck her beyciid her imagination. She soon learnt to think with respect of . her own little attic at Mansfield Park, in that house reckoned too small for any body's comfort, CHAPTER XXXIX. , Could Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's feelings, when she wrote her first letter to her aunt, he would not have de- spaired ; for though a good night's rest, a pleasant morning, the hope of soon seeing vVilliam again, and the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and Charles being gone to school, Sam on some project of his own, and her father on his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on the subject of home, there were still to her own perfect conscious- ness many draw-backs suppressed. Could he have seen only half that she felt before the end of a week, he would have thought Mr. Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own sagacity. Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first place, William was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the wind had changed, and he was sailed within four days from their reaching Portsmouth ; and during those days she had seen him only twice, in a short and hurried way, when he had come ashore on duty. -There had been no free con- versation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dock-yard, no acquaintance with the Thrush — nothing of all that they had planned and depended on. Every thing in that quarter failed her, except William's affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He stepped back again to the door to say, "Take care of Fanny, mother. She is tender, and not used to rough it like the rest of us. I charge you, take care of Fanny." William was gone ; and the home he had left her in was ■ — Fanny could not conceal it from her herself — in almost 854 MANSFIELD PARK. 355 every respect the veiy reverse of what she could have wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in the right place, nothing was done as it ought to be. She could not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her father, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser than she had been prepared for. He did not want abilities ; but he had no curiosity, and no informar tion beyond his profession ; he read only the newspaper and the navy-list ; he talked only of the dock-yard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank ; he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross. She had never been able to recall any thing approaching to tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had remained only a general impression of roughness and loudness ; and now he scarcely ever noticed ■her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke. Her disappointment in her mother was greater; the^e she had hoped much, and found almost nothing. Every flatter- ing scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to the ground. Mrs. Price was not unkind ; but instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. price's attachment had no other source. Her hefart and her time were already quite full ; she had neither leisure nor afifection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her. She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles, occupied, all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alter- nately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart ; her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants. Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle ; always busy without getting on, always behindhand and lamenting it, without altering her ways ; wishing to be an economist, with- out contrivance or regularity ; dissatisfied with hep servants, without skill to make them better, and whether helping, or 356 MANSFIELD PARK. reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power of engag- ing their respect. Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it, or any of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent, like Lady Bertram's ; and a situation of similar afflu- ence and do-nothing-ness would have been much, more suited to her capacity, than the exertions and self-denials of the one, which her imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. Norris would have been a more respecta- ble mother of nine children on a small income. Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of. She might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversa- tion, no affection towards herself; no curiosity to know her better, no desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that could lessen her sense of such feelings. Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her foreign education, from contributing her help to its com- forts, and therefore set about working for Sam immediately, and by working early and late, with perseverance and great despatch, did so much, that the boy was shipped off at last, with more than half his linen ready. She had great pleasure in feeling her usefulness, but could not conceive how they would have managed without her. Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rathe* regretted when he weut, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be employed in any errand in the town ; and though spum- ing the remonstrances of Susan, given as they were — though very reasonable in themselves, with ill-timed and powerless warmth, was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's services, and gentle persuasions ; and she found that the best of the three younger ones was gone in him; Tom and Charles MANSFIELD PAEK. 357 being at least as many years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling and reason, which might suggest the expediency of mating friends, and of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister soon despaired of making the smallest impression on them ; they were quite untameable by any means of address which she had spirits or time to attempt. Every afternoon brought a return of their riotous games all over the house ; and she very early learnt to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half-holiday. Betsey, too, a spoilt child, trained up to think the alphabet her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasui;e, and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost as ready to despair of being able to love or assist ; and of Susan's temper she had many doubts. Her continual disagreement with her mother, her rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with Belsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny, that though admitting they were by no means without provocation, she feared the dispo- sition that could push them to such length must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose to herself. Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund with moderate feelings. On the contrary, she could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Every thing where she now was was in full contrast to it. The elegance, propriety, regularity, harmony, and, perhaps, above all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of every thing opposite to them here. The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no super- added elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. It was the greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence was ever heard ; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness ; every body had their due importance ; every body's feelings were consulted. If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding sup- plied its place ; and as to the little irritations, sometimes introduced by. aunt Norris, they were short, they were 358 MANSFIELD PARK, trifling, they were as a a drop of water -to the ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here, every body was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was halloo'd for, and the servants halloo'd out their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke. » In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end of the week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures. '* CHAPTER XL. Fanny was right enough, in not expecting to hear from Miss Crawford now, at the rapid rate - in which their corres- pondence had begun ; Mary's next letter was after a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was not right in sup- posing that such an interval would be felt a great relief, to herself. Here was another strange revolution of mind 1 She was really glad to receive the- letter when it did come. In her present exile from good society, and distant from every thing that had been wont to intere^st her, a letter from one belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection, and some degree of elegance, was thoroughly acceptable. The usual plea of increasing engagements was made in excuse for not having written to her earlier ; " and now that I have begun," she continued, " my letter will not be worth your reading, for there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four lines passionnees from the 'most devoted H. 0. in the world, for Henry is in Norfolk; business called him to Everiugham ten days ago, or perhaps he only pretended to call, for the sate of being travelling at the same time that you were. But there he is, and, by-the- by, his absence may sufficiently account for any remissness of his sister's in, writing, for there has been no ' Well, Mary, when do you write to Fanny ? — Is not it time for you to write to Fanny?' to spur me On. At last, after various^ attempts at meeting, I have seen your cousins, ' dear Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth ;' they found me at home yesterday, and we were glad to see each other again. We seemed very glad to see each other, and I do really think we were a little. We had •360 MANSFIELD PARK. a vast deal to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs. Rushworth looked when your name was mentioned ? I did not use to think her wanting in self-possession, but she had not quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the whole Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were spoken of. There was no recovering the complexion from the moment that I spoke of ' Fanny,' and spoke of her as a sister should. But Mrs. Eushworth's day of good looks will come ; we have cards for her first party on the 28th. Then she will be in beauty, for she will open one of the best houses in Wimpole Street. I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascelles's, and prefer it to almost aiiy I know in London, and certainly she will then feel — to use a vulgar phrase — that she has got her pennyworth for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her such a house. I hope she will recollect it, and be satisfied, as well as she may, with moving the queen of a palace, though the king may appear best in the back ground ; and as I have uo desire to tease her, I shall never /orce your name upon her again. She wiU grow sober by degrees. From all that I hear and guess, Baron Wildenhaim'a attention to Julia continue, but I do not know that .he has any serious encouragement. She ought to do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine any liking in the case, for, take away his jants, and the poor Baron has nothing. What a difierence a vowel makes ! — if his rents were but equal to his rants ! Your cousin E9mund moves slowly ; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There may be some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be converted. I am unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a young one. Adieu, my dear sweet Fanny, this is a long letter from London : write me a pretty one in reply to gladden- Henry's eyes, when he comes back, and send me an account of all , the dashing young captains whom you dis- dain for his sake." There was great food for meditation in this letter, and chiefly for unpleasant meditation ; and yet, with all the uneasiness it supplied, it connected her with the absent, it told her of people and things about whom she had never felt so much curiosity as now, and she would have been glad to have been sure of such a letter every week. Her cor- MANSFIELD FARE. 361 respondence with her aunt Bertram was her only concern of higher interest. As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make amends for deficiencies at home, there was none within the circle of her father's" and mother's acquaintance to afford her the smallest satisfaction : she saw nobody in whose favour she could wish to overcome her own shyness and reserve. The men appeared to her all coarse, the women all pert, every body under-bred ; and she gave as little contentment as she received from introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young ladies who approached her at first with some respect, in consideration of her coming from a baronet's family, were soon ofiended by what they termed " airs ;" for as she neither played on the pianoforte nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther observation, admit no right of Supe- riority. The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils of home, the first which her judgment could entirely approve, and which gave any promise of durability, was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her. Susan had always behaved pleasantly to herself, but the determined character of her general manners had aston- ished and alarmed her, and it was at least a fortnight before she began to understand a disposition so totally different from her own. Susan saw that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason, should err in the method of reform was not wonderful ; and Fanny soon became more disposed to admire the natural light of the mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to censure severely the faults of conduct to which it led. Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which her own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive; that things, bad as they were, would have been worse but for such interposition, and that both her mother and Betsey were re- strained from some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity. 362 MANSFIELD PARK. In every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal ten- derness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was for ever producing evil around her she had never known. There was no gratitude for affection past or present to make her better bear with its excesses to the others. All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed Susan before her sister as an object of mingled compassion and respect. That her manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and language very often indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel; but she began to hope they might be rectified. Susan, she found, looked up to her and wished for her good opinion ; and new as any thing like an office of authority was to Fanny, new as it was to imagine herself capable of guiding or infortning any one, she did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, and endeavour to exercise for her advantage the juster notions of what was due to every body, and what would be wisest for herself, which her own more favoured education had fixed in her. Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, originated in an act of kindness by Susan, which, after many hesitations of delicacy, she at last worked hei:self up to. It had very early occurred to her, that a small sum of money might, perhaps, restore peace for ever on the sore subject of the silver knife, canvassed as it now was continually, and the riches which she was in possession of herself, her uncle having given her i£10 at parting, made her as able as she was willing to be generous. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, except on the very poor, so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing kindnesses among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to elevate herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time to determine that it would not be unbe- coming in her to make such a present. It was made, how- ever, at last; a silver knife was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great delight, its newness giving it every advantage over the other that could be desired ; Susan was established in the full possession of her own. Betsey hand- somely declaring that now she had got one so much prettier herself, she should never want that again— and no reproach MANSFIELD PARK. ' 363 seemed conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which Fanny had almost feared to be impossible. The deed tho- roughly answered ; a source of domestic altercation was entirely done away, and it was the means of opening Susan's heart to her, and giving her something more to love and be interested in. Susan showed that she had delicacy : pleased as she was to be mistress of proper^ which she had been struggling for at least two years, s^Js^*' feared that her sister's judgment had been against her, and that a reproof was designed her for having so struggled as to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house. Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, blamed herself for having contended so warmly ; and from that hour Fanny, understanding the worth of her disposition, and perceiving how fully she was inclined to seek her good opinion, and refer to her judgment, began to feel again the blessing of affection, and to entertain the hope of being useful to a mind so much in need of help, and so much deserving it. She gave advice — advice too sound to be resisted by a good understanding, and given so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect temper ; and she had the happiness of observing its good effects not unfrequently ; more was not expected by one, who, while seeing all the obligation and ex- pediency of submission and forbearance, saw also with sym- pathetic acuteness of feeling all that must be hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder on the subject soon became — not that Susan should have been provoked into dis- respect and impatience against her better knowledge — but that so much better knowledge, so many good notions, should have been hers at all ; and that, brought up in the midst of negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opinions of what ought to be — she, who had had no cousin Edmund to direct her thoughts or fix her principles. The intimacy thus begun between them was a material advantage to each. By sitting together up stairs, they avoided a great deal, of the disturbance of the house ; Fanny had peace, and Susan learnt to think it no misfortune to be quietly employed. They sat without a fire ; but that was a privation familiar even to Fanny, and she suffered the less because reminded by it of the east room. It was the only 364 MANSFIELD PARE, point of resemblance. In space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the remembrance of all her books and boxes, and varioug comforts there. By degrees the girls came to spend thd chief of the morning up stairs, at first only in working and talking ; but afte%a /ew days, the remem- brance of the said books grew so polen|*and stimulative, that Fanny found it impossible not to try^Bwoks again. There were none in her father's house ; but^Tealth is luxurious and daring ; and some of hers 'foii^its way to a circulating library. She became a subSfepCer ; amazed at - being any thing in propria persmia, ai^^d at her own doings in every way ; to be a renter, a cteos&r of books ! And to be having any one's improvement in view in her choice ! But so it was. Susan had read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own first pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry which she delighted in herself. In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of the recollections of Mansfield, which were too apt to seize her mind if her fingers only were busy ; and, especially at this time, hoped it might be useful in diverting her thoughts from pursuing Edmund to London, whither, on the authority of her aunt's last letter, she knew he was gone. She had no doubt of what would ensue. The promised notification was hanging over her head. The postman's knock within the neighbourhood was beginning to bring its daily terrors, and if reading could banish the idea for even half an hour, it was something gained. CHAPTER XLI. A WEEK was gone since Edmund might be supposed in town, and Fanny had heard nothing of him. There were three diflferent conclusions to be drawn from his silence, between which her mind was in fluctuation ; each of them at times being held the most probable. Either his going had been again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter- writing ! ■ One morning about this time, Fanny having now been nearly four weeks from Mansfield — a point which she never failed to think over and calculate every day — as she and Susan were preparing to remove, as usual, up stairs, they were stopt by the knock of a visiter, whom they felt they could not avoid, from Rebecca's alertness in going to the door, a duty which always interested her beyond any other. It was a gentleman's voice ; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room. Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon ; and she found that she had been able to name him to her mother, and recall her remembrance of the name, as that of " William's friend,"' though she could not previously have believed herself capable of uttering a syllable at such a mo- ment. The consciousness of his being known there only as William's friend was some support. Having introduced him, however, and being all re-seated, the terrors that occurred of what this visit might lead to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of fainting away. 865 366 MANSFIELD PARK. While trying to keep herself alive, their visiter, who had at first approached her with as animated a countenance as > ever, was wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time to recover, while he devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending to her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same time with a degree of friendliness, of interest at least, which was making his manner perfect. Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish of appearing to advantage before him, she was over- flowing with gratitude, artless, maternal gratitude, which could not be unpleasing. Mr. Price was out, which she re- gretted very much. Fanny was just recovered enough to feel that she could not regret it ; for to her many other sources of uneasiness was added the severe one of shame for the home in which he found her. She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet mole ashamed of her father, than of all the rest. They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could never tire ; and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his com- mendation as even her heart could wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man in her life ; and was only astonished to find, that so great and so agreeable as he was, he should be come down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to the Port-admiral, nor the commissioner, nor yet with the intention of going over to the island, nor of seeing the dock- yard. Nothing of all that she had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the employment of wealth, had brought hitn to Portsmouth. He had reached it late the night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy ofiicer or two of his aquaintance since his arrival, but had no object of that kind in coming. By the time he had given all this information, it was not unreasonable to suppose, that Fanny might be looked at and spoken to ; and'^Be was tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he had spent half an hour with his sister, the even- ing before his leaving London ;" that she had sent her best MANSFIEI.P PARK. 367 and kindest love, but had had no time for writing; that he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcely twenty-four hours in London, after his return from Norfolk, before he set off again ; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in town, he understood, a few days ; that he had not seen him himself, but that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and was to dine, as yestp.rday with the Frasers. Fanny listened collectedly, even to tlie last-mentioned cir- cumstance ; nay, it seemed a relief to her worn mind to be at any certainty ; and the words, " then by this time it is all settled," passed internally, without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush. After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which her interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the expediency of an early walk. " It was a lovely morning, and at that season of the year a fine morning so often turned ofi^, that it was wisest for every body not to delay their exercise ;" and such hints producing nothing, he soon proceeded to a positive recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters, to take their walk without- loss of time. Now they came to an understanding. Mrs. Price, it ap- peeared, scarcely ever stirred out of doors, except on a Sun- day : she owned she could seldom, with her large family, find time for a walk. " Would she not, then, persuade her her daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the pleasure of attending them ?" Mrs. Price was greatly obliged, and very complying. " Her jdaughters were very much confined — Portsmouth was a very sad place — they did not often get out — and she knew they had some errands in the town, which they would ba'very glad to do." And the consequence was, that Fann^'*Strange as it was-^strange, awkward, and distressing-^pand herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards' the High Street, with Mr. Crawford. -^_ It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion ; for they were hardly in the High Street, before they met her father, whose appearance was not the better from its being Saturday. He stopt ; and, ungentleman-like as he looked, Fanny was oblige'd-to introduce him to Mr. Crawford. She 368 MANSFIELD PARK. could not have a doubt of the manner in which Mr. Crawford must be struck. He must be ashamed and disgusted altoge- ther. He must soon give her up, and cease to have the smallest inclination for the match : and yet, though she had been so much wanting his affection to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost as bad as the complaint ; and I believe there is scarcely a young lady in the United Kingdoms who would not rather put up with the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man than have him driven away by the vulgarity of her nearest relations. Mr. Crawford probably could not regard his future father- in-law with any idea of taking him for a model in dress ; but (as Fanny instantly, and to her great relief, discerned,) her father was a very different man, a very different Mr. Price in his behaviour to this most highly respected stranger, from what he was in his own family at home. His manners now, though not polished, were more than passable ; they were grateful, animated, manly ; his expressions were those of an attached father, and a sensible man ; — his loud tones did very well in the open air, and there was not a single oath to be heard. Such was his instinctive compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford ; and be the consequence what it might, Fanny's immediate feelings were infinitely soothed. The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an offer of Mr. Price's to take Mr. Crawford into the dock yard, which Mr. Crawford, desirous of accepting as a favour, what was intended as such, though he had seen the dock yard again and again, and hoping to be so much the longer with Fanny, was very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if the Misses Price were not afraid of the fatigue ; and as it was somehow or other ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were not at all afraid, to the dock yard they were all to go ; and, but for Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, without the smallest considera- tion for his daughter's errands in the High Street. He took oare, however, that they should be allowed to go to the shops they came out expressly to visit ; and it did not delay thera long, for Fanny could so little bear to excite impatience, or be waited for, that before the gentlemen, as they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon the last naval regula- MANSFIELD PARK. 369 tions, or settle the number of three deckers now in commis- sion, their companions were ready to proceed. They were then to set forward for the dock-yard at once, and the walk would have been conducted (according to Mr. Crawford's opinion) in a singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed the entire regulation of it, as the two girls, he found, would have been left to follow, and keep up with them or not, as they could, while they walked on together at their own hasty pace. He was able to introduce some improvement occasionally, though by no means to the extent he wished ; he absolutely would not walk away from them ; and, at any crossing, or any crowd, when Mr. Price was only caUing out, "Come, girls — come, Fan — come. Sue — take care of your- selves — keep a sharp lookout," he would give them his par- ticular attendance. Once fairly in the dock-yard, he began to reckon upon some happy intercourse with Fanny, as they were very soon joined by a brother lounger of Mr. Price's, who was come to take his daily survey of how things went on, and who must prove a far more worthy companion than himself; and after a time the two oflBcers seemed very well satSsfied in going about together and discussing matters of equal and never-fail- ing interest, while the young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard, or found a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to look at. Fanny was most con- veniently in want of rest. Crawford could not have wished her more fatigued or more ready to sit down ; but he could have wished her sister away. A quick looking girl of Susan's age was the very worst third in the world — totally different from Lady Bertram — all eyes and ears ; and there was no introducing the main point befoie her. He must content himself with being only generally agreeable, and letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with the indulgence, now and then, of a look or hint for the better informed and con- scious Fanny. Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk of: there he had been some time, and every thing there was ris- ing in importance from his present schemes. Such a man could come from no place, no society, without importing something to amuse ; his journeys and his acquaintance were all of use, and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to 16* 370 MANSFIELD PARK. her. For Fanny, somewhat more was related than the acci- dental agreeableness of the parties he had been in. For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and (he believed) industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing — of meaning to bias him against the deserving — and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratu- late himself upon it, and to feel, that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants, whom he had never seen before ; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly ; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and oppressed ! Nothing could be more grateful to her ; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look when it was all frightened off, by his adding a something toQ^ointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Evevingham, a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last : but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her. He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and that it would be as well to talk of something else, and turned to Mansfield. He could not have chosen better ; that was a topic to bring back her attention and her looks almost instantly. It was a real indulgence to her to hear or to speak of Mansfield. Now so long divided from every body who knew the place, she felt it quite the voice of a friend when he MANSFIELD PARR. 8'71 mentioned it, and led the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties and comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed her to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as having the sweetest of all sweet tempers. He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so ; he looked forward with the hope of spending much, very much of his time there — always there, or in the neighbour- hood. He particularly built upon a very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that it would be so; he depended upon it ; a summer and autumn infinitely superior to the last. As animated, as diversified, as social — but with circumstances of superiority indescribable. " Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued, " what a society will be comprised in those houses ! And at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth may be added, some small hunting-box in the vicinity of every thing so dear — for as to any partnership in Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram once good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee two ob- jections, two fair, excellent, irresistible objections to that plan." Fanny was doubly silenced here ; though when the moment was passed, could regret that she had not forced herself into the acknowledged comprehension of one half of his meaning, and -encouraged him to say something more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which she must learn to speak of, and the weakness that shrunk from it would soon be quite unpardonable. When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished, or bad time for, the others were ready to return ; and in the course of their walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's privacy for telling Fanny that his only business in Portsmouth was to see her, that he was come d■ She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted l^vith the house and grounds as she could, aud spent her days very happily in so doing, while those who might otherwise have attended to her were shut up, or wiolly occupied each with the person quite dependent on them, at this time, for every thing like comfort; Edmund ti'jing to bury his own feelings in exertions for the relief of his brother's, and Fanny devoted to her aunt Bertram, returning to every former office with more than former zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who seemed so much to want her. -To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and lament, was all Lady Bertram's consolation. To be listened to and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sym- pathy in return, was every thing that could be done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points ; and she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to think little' of guilt and infamy. Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious. After a time, Eanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts to other subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupation ; but whenever Lady Bertram was fixed on the event, she could see it only in one light, as comprehend- ing the loss of a daughtOT, and a disgrace never to be wiped off. Fanny learnt from her all the particulars which had yet transpired. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator ; but MANSFIELD PARK. 411 with the help of some letters to and from Sir Thomas, and what she already knew herself, and could reasonably combine, she was soon able to understand quite as much as she wished of the circumstances attending the story. Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twickenham, with a family whom she had just grown inti- mate Tvith — a family of lively, agreeable manners, and pro- bably of morals and discretion to suit — for to their house Mr. Crawford had constant access at all times. His having been in the same neighbourhood, Fanny already knew. Mr. Rush- worth had been gone, at this time, to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother, and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends without any restraint, without even Julia ; for Julia had removed from Wimpole Street two or three weeks before, on a visit to some relations of Sir Thomas ; a removal which her father and mother were now disposed to attribute to some view of convenience on Mr. Yates's account. Very soon after the Rushworths' return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had received a letter from an old and most par- ticular friend in London, who, hearing and witnessing a good deal to alarm him in that -quarter, wrote to recommend Sir Thomas's coming to London himself, and using his influence with his daughter to put an end to an intimacy which was already exposing her to unpleasant remarks, and evidently making Mr. Rushworth uneasy. ~ Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without communicating its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when it was followed by another, sent express from the same friend, to break to him -the almost desperate situation in which affairs then stood with the young people. Mrs. Rushworth had left her husband's house ; Mr. Rushworth had been in great anger' and distress to him (Mr. Harding) for his advice ; • Mr. Harding feared there had been at least very flagrant- indiscretion. The maid-servant of Mr. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He was doing all in his power to quiet every thing, with the hope of Mrs. Rushworth's return, but was so much counteracted in Wimpole Street by the influence of Mr. Rushworth's mother, that the worst conse- quences might be apprehended. This dreadful communication could not be kept from the 412 MANSFIELD PARK. rest of thfi family. Sir Thomas set off; Edmund would go with him ; and the otheis had been left in a state of wretch- edness, inferior only to what followed the receipt of the next letters from London. - Every thing was by that time public beyond a hope. The servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the mother, had exposure in her power, and, supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced. The two ladies, even in the short time they h^d been together, had disagreed ; and the bitter- ness of the elder against her daughter-in-law might, perhaps, arise almost as much from the personal disrespect with which she had herself been treated, as from sensibility for her son. However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had jishe been less obstinate, or of less weight with her son, who was always guided by the last speaker, by the_person who fi9ul£lT^t.hold of and shut him j^^^the case would sHlTEave been hopeless7for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear again, and there was every reason to conclude her to be concealed some- where with Mr. Crawford, who had quitted his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the very day of her absenting herself. Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a Uttle longer in town, in the hope of discpvering, and snatching her from farther vice, though all was lost on the side of character. His present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There was but one of his children who was not at this time a source of misery to him. Tom's complaints had been greatly heightened by the shock of his sister's conduct, and bis re- covery so much thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertram had been struck by the difference, and all her alarms were regularly sent off to her husband ; and Julia's elopement, the additional blow which had met him on his arrival in London, though its force had been deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She. saw that it was. His letters ex- pressed bow much he deplored it. Under any circumstances it would have been an unwelcome alliance, but to have it so clandestinely formed, and such a period chosen for its com- pletion, placed Julia's feelings in a most unfavourable light, and severely aggravated the folly of her choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the worst .manner, and at the worst time ; and though Julia was yet as more pardonable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but regard the step she MANBFIELD PARK. 413 had taken, as opening the worst probabilities of a conclusion hereafter like her sister's. Such was his opinion of the set into which she had thrown herself. Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no com- fort but in Edmund. Evefy other child must be racking his heart. His displeasure. against herself she trusted, reasoning differently from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. She should be justified. Mr. Crawford would have fully acquitted her conduct in refusing him, but this, though most material to herself, would be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was terrible to her ; but what could her justification, or her gratitude and attachment do for him ? His stay must be on Edmund alone. She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave his father no present pain. It was of a much less poig- nant nature than what the others excited ; but Sir Thomas was considering his' happiness as very deeply involved in the ' offence of his'^ister and friend, cut off by it as he must be from the woman 'whom he had been pursuing with undoubted?! attachment, and strong probability of success ; and who in every thing but this despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connection. He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf in addition to all the rest when they were in town : he had seen or conjectured his feel- ings ; and having reason to think that one interview with Miss Crawford had takei> place, from which Edmund derived only increased" distress, had been as anxious on that account as on others to get him out of town, and had engaged him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the secret of her uncle's feelings. Sir Thomas not in the secret of Miss Crawford's character. Had he been privy to her conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty. That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did not admit of a doubt with Fanny ; and yet, till she knew that he felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient. She thought he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too much for her before, it would be most 414 MANSFIELD PAKE. consoling ; but that she found was not to be. She seldom saw him — never alone — he probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be inferred ? That his judgment sub- mitted to all his own peculiar and bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too' keenfy felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must be his state. He yield- ed, but it was with agonies which did not admit of speech. Long, long would it be ere Miss Crawford's name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal of such confidential intercourse as had been. It was long. They reached Mansfield on Tfmrsday, and it was not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening — a wet Sunday evening — the very time of all others when if a friend is at hand the heart must be opened, and every thing told — no one els^ in the room, except his mother, who after hearing an afiiecting sermon, had cried herself to sleep — it was impos- sible not to speak ; and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what came first, and the usual declaration that if she would listen to him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never tax her kindness in the same way again — she need not fear a repetition — it would be a sub- ject prohibited entirely — he entered upon the luxury of relat- ing circumstances and sensations of the first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he was quite convinced. How Fanny listened, vrith what cifriosity and concern, what pain and what delight, how the agitation of his voice was watched, and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on any object but himself, may be imagined. The opening was alarming. He had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invi- ted to see her. He had received a note from Lady Stornaway to beg him to call ; and regarding it as what was meant tabe the last, last interview of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness which Crawford's sis- ■ ter ought to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears that it should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, these fears were over. She had met him, he said, with a serious — certainly a serious — even an agitated air ; but before he had been able to speak one MANSFIELD PARK. 415 intelligible sentence, she had introduced the subject in a man- ner which he ovrned had shocked him. " I heard you were in town," said she — " I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two rela- tions?" — "I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke. She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel ! With a graver look and voice she then added — ' I do not mean to de- fend Henry at your sister's expense.' So she began — but how she went on, Fanny, is not fit — is hardly fit to be repeated to you. I cannot recall all her words. I would not dwell upon them if I could. Their substance was great anger at thefolly of each. She reprobated her brother's folly in being drawn on by a woman whom he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he adored; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such a situation, plunging into such " difiiculties under the idea of being really- loved by a man who had long ago made his inditierence clear. Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom — no harsher name than folly given ! So voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass it I No reluctance, no horror, no' feminine — sliaU I say ? no modest loathings ! This is what the world does. For where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so richly endowed ? — Spoilt, spoilt 1" After a little reflection, he went on.with a sort of desperate calmness — " I will tell you every thing, and then have done for ever. She saw it only as foll^, and- tha t folly stamped only_by' exposure. The want of common discretion, of caution — rhis goTng^down to Richmond for the whole, time of her being at Twickenham — her putting herself in the power of a servant ; — it was the detection, in short — oh, Fanny, it was the deteption^not the offenefi, which she reprobated. It was the irnprudence whjch^_had' brotight_Jhijigs^to_jextremityj^and obliged her iDrother to"giveup every dearer plan, in order to fly with her." He stopt. — "And what," said Fanny, (believing herself required to speak,) " what could you say ?" '' Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man stunned. She went on, began to talk of you ; — yes, then she began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, the loss of suol]^ a . There she spoke very rationally. But she has 416 MANSFIELD PARK. always done justice to you. ' He has thrown away,' said she, ' such a woman as he will never see again. She would have fixed him, she would have made hfm happy for ever.' — My dearest Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this retrospect of what might have been — but what never can be now. You do not wish me to be silent ? — if you do, give me but a loot, a word, and I have done." No look or word was given. " Thank God !" said he. " We were all disposed to wonder — ^but it seems to have been the merciful appointment of Pro- vidence that the heart which knew no guile should not suffer. She spoke of you with high praise and warm affection ; yet, even here, there was alloy, a dash of evil ; for in the midst of it she could exclaim, ' Why would not she have him ? It is all her fault. Simple girl ! — I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage, and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any other object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with Mrs. Eushworth again. It would have been all ended in a regular standing flirtation, in yearly meetings at Sotherton and Everingham.' Could you have believed it possible ? But the charm is broken. My ■ eyes are open." "Cruel!" said Fanny — "quiet cruel! At such a moment to give way to gaiety, and to speak with lightness, and to you ! Absolute cruelty." " Cruelty, do you call it ? We differ there. No, hers is not a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my feelings. The evil lies yet deeper ; in her total ^ignorance, unsuspiciousness of there being such feelings, in a perversion of mind which made it natural to her to treat the subject as she did. She was speaking only as she had been used to hear others speak, as she imagined every body else would speak. Hers are not faults of temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain to any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but think that for me, for my feelings, she would — Hers are faults of principle, Fanny, of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, vitiated mind. Perhaps it is best for me — since it leaves me so little to regret. Not so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased pain of MANSFIELD PARK. , 417 losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I told her so." " Did you ?" " Yes, when I left her I told her so." " How long were you together ? " Five-and-twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say, that what remained now to be done was to bring about a marriage between them. She spqte of it, Fanny, with a steadier voice than I can." He was obliged to pause more than once as he continued : " We must persuade Henry to marry her," said she; "and what with honour, and the cer- tainty of having shut himself out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must give up. I do not think that even he could now hope to succeed with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no insuperable difficulty. My influence,which is not small, shall all go thai way ; and, when once married, and properly supported by her own family, people of respectability as they are, she may recover her footing in society to a certain degree. In some circles we know, she would never be admitted, but with good dinners, and large parties, there will always be those who will be glad of her acquaintance ; and there is, undoubtedly, more liberality and candour on those points than formerly. What I advise is, that your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If, by any officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry's protection, there will be much less chance of his marrying her, than if she remain with him. I know how he is likely to be influenced. Let Sir Thomas trust to his honour and compassion, and it may all end well ; but if he get his daughter away, it will be destroying the chief hold." After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected, that Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender concern, was almost sorry that the subject had been entered on at all. It was long before he could speak again. ' At last, "Now, Fanny," said he, " I shall soon have done. I have told you the sulDstance of all that she said. As soon as I could speak, I replied that I had not supposed it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that house, as I had done, that any thing 18* 418 MANSFIELD PARK. could ocoijr to make me suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds in almost every sentence. That, though I had, in the course of our acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in oul' opinions, on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagination to con- ceive the difference could be such as she had now proved it. That the manner in which she treated the' dreadful crime committed by her brother and my sister — (with whom lay the greater seduction I pretended not to say) — but the man- ner in which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach but the right, considering its ill consequence only as they were to be braved or overborne by a defiance of decency and impudence in wrong; and, last of all, and above all, recommending to us a compliance, a compromise, an acquies- cence in the continuance of the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as I now thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought — all this together most grieviously convince me that I had never understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, it had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Crawford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past. That, perhaps, it was best for me, I had less to regret in sacrificing a friendship — feelings — hopes which must, at any rate, have been torn from me now. And yet, that I must and would confess, that, could I have restored her to what she had appeared to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness and esteem. This is what I said — the purport of it — but, as you may im- agine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I have repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly aston- ished — more than astonished. I saw her change counten- ance. She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mix- ture of many feelings — a great, though short struggle — half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame— but habit, habit carried it. She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as she answered, ' A pretty good lecture, upon my word. Was it part of your last sermon ? At this rate you will soon reform every body at Mansfield and Thorn- ton Lacey ; and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great society of Methodists, or as MAKSFIELD PARK. 419 a missionary into foreign parts.' She tried to speak care- lessly ; but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear. I only said in reply, that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge we could any of us acquire — the knowledge of ourselves and of our duty — to the lessons of affliction — and immediately' left the room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open behind me. ' Mr. Bertram,' said she. I looked back. ' Mr. Bertram,' said she, with a smile — but it was a smile ill- suited to the conyersation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite, in order to subdue me ; at least it appeared so to me. I resisted; it was the impulse- of the moment to resist, and still walked__2g. I have since — some- times — for a moment — regretted that I did not go back ; but I know I was right ; and such has been the end of our acquaintance ! And what an acquaintance has it been ! How have I been deceived ! Equally in brother and sister deceived ! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done." And such was Fanny's dependence on his words, that for five minutes she thought they had done. Then, however, it all came on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram's rousing thoroughly up, could really close such a conversation. Till that happened, they contin- ued to talk of Miss Ci'awford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delightful nature had made her, and hoT^ excel- lent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty to spe%k openly, felt more than- justified in adding to his knowledge of her real charac- ter, by some hint of -^vhat share his brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish for a complete recon- ciliation. This was not an agreeable intimation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a vast deal pleas- anter to have had her more disinterested in her attachment ; but his vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reasdn. He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had influenced her; only reserving for himself this consoling thought, that considering the many counteractions of oppos- ing habits, she had certainly been more attached to him than 420 MANSFIELD PARK. could Iiave been expected, and for his sake been more near doing right. Fanny thought exactly the same ; and they were also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible impression, which such a disappointment must make on his mind. Time would undoubtedly abate some- what of his sufferings, but still it was a sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of ; and as to his ever meeting with any woman who could — ^it was too impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny's friendship was all that he had to cling to. CHAPTER XLVm. Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore every body, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with it all the rest. My Fanny, indeed, at this very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of every thing. She must have been a happy creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she felt, for the distress of those around her: She had sources of delight that must force their way. She was returned to Mansfield Park, she was useful, she was beloved ; she was safe from Mr. Crawford ; and when Sir Thomas came back she had every proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of spirits, of his perfect approba- tion and increased regard ; and happy as all this must make her, she would still have been happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss Crawford. It is true, that Edmund was very far from happy himself. He was suflfering from disappointment and regret, grieving over what was, and wishing for what could never be. She knew it was so, and was sorry ; but it was with a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so much in harmony with every dearest sensation, that there are few who MANSFIELD PARK. * 421 might not have been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it. Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suflfer. He felt that he ought not to have allowed the mar- riage ; that his daughter's sentiments had been sufficiently known to him to render him culpable in authorising it ; that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom. These were reflections that required some time to soften ; but time will do almost every thing ; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. Eushworth's side for the misery she had occa- sioned, comfort was to be found greater than he had supposed, in his other children. Julia's match became a less desperate business than he had considered it at first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven ; and Mr. Yates, desirous of being really received into the family, was disposed to look up to him and be guided. He was not very solid ; but there was a hope of his becoming less trifling — of his being at least toler- ably domestic and quiet ; and, at any rate, there was comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts much less, than he had feared, and in being consulted and treated as the friend best worth attending to. There was comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he had learnt to think, .two advantages that he had never known before ; and the self-reproach arising from the deplor- able event in Wimpole Street, to which he felt himself acces- sory by all the dangerous intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind which, at the age of six-and- twenty, with no want of sense, or good companions, was dura- ble in its happy effects. He became what he ought to be, useful to his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself. Here was comfort indeed I and quite as soon as Sir Tho- mas could place dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was contributing to his father's ease by improvement in the only point in which he had given him pain before — ^improve- ment in his spirits. After wandering about and sitting under 422 • MANSFIELD PARE. trees with Fanny all the summer evenings,, he had so well talked his mind into submission, as to be very tolerably cheer- ful again. These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradu- ally brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of what was lost,, and in part reconciling him to him- self; though the anguish arising from the conviction of his own errors in the education of his daughters, was never to be entirely done away. Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the charac- ter of any young people must be the totally opposite treat- ment which Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home, where the , excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had been continually contrasted with his own severity. He saw how ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong in Mrs. Norris, by its reverse in himself, clearly saw that he had but increased the evil, by teaching them to repress their spirits in his presence, as to make their real disposition unknown to him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person who had been' able to attach them only by the blindness of her affection, and the excess of her praise. Here had been grievous mismanagement ; but, bad as it was, he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direful mistake in his plan of education. Something must have been wanting within, or time would have worn away much of its ill effect. He feared that principle, active prin- ciple, had been wanting ; that they had never been properly taught to govern their inclinations and tempers, by that sense of duty which can alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their religion, but never required to bring it into daily pi-actice. To be distinguished for elegance and ac- complishments — the authorised object of their youth — could have"had no useful influence that way, no moral effect on the inind. He had meant them to be good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and manners, not the dis- position ; and of the necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that could profit them. Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could MANSFIELD PARK. • 423 scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters with- out their understanding their first duties, or his being ac- quainted with their character and temper. The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth especially were made known to him only in their sad result. She was not to be prevailed on to ieave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disapointment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her temper so bad, ^nd her feelings for him so like hatred, as to make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce a voluntary separation. She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation in leaving him, than that she had divided them. What can exceed the misery of such a mind in such a situation 1 Mr. JRushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce ; and so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances as to make any better end, the effect of good luck, not to be reckoned on. She had' despised him, and loved another — and he had been very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity, and the disappointments of selfish pas- sion, can excite little pity. His punishment followed his con- duct, as did a deeper punishment the deeper guilt of his wife,,,. , He was released from the engagement to be mortified, s^^ unhappy, till some other pretty girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set forward on a second, and it is to be hoped more prosperous trial of the state — if duped, to be duped at least with good humour and good luck ; while she must withdraw with infinitely stronger feelings to a retire- ment and reproach, which could allow no second spring of hope or character. Where she could be placed, became a subject of most melancholy and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attachment seemed to augment with the demerits of her niece, would have had her received at home and countenanced by them all. Sir Thomas would not hear of it ; and Mrs. Norris's anger against Fanny was so much the greater, from consider- 424 MANSFIELD PARK. ing her residence there as the motive. She persisted in plac- ing his scruples to her account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly assured her, that had there been no young wo- man in question, had there been no young person of either sex belonging to hiin, to be endangered by the society, or hurt by the character of Mrs. Rushworth, he would never have offered so great an insult to the neighbourhood, as to expect it to notice her. As a daughter — he hoped a penitent one — she should be protected by him, and secured in every comfort, and supported by every encouragement to do right, which their relative situations admitted ; but farther than that he would not go. Maria had destroyed her own character, and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never CQuld be restored, be affording his sanction to vice, or, in seek- ing to lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing such misery in another man's family as he had known him- self. It ended in Mrs. Norris's resolving to quit Mansfield, and devote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establish- ment being formed for them in another country- — remote and private, where, shut up together with little society, on one side no affection, on the other" no judgment, it may be rea- sonably supposed that their tempers became their mutual pun- ishment. Mrs Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary comfort of Sir Thomas's life. His opinion of her had been sinking from the day of his return from Antigua : in every transaction together from that period, in their daily intercourse, in business, or in chat, she had been regularly losing ground in his esteem, and convincing him that either time had done her much dis-service, or that he had consider- ably over-rated her sense, and wonderfully borne with her manners before. He had felt her as an hourlj' evil, which was so riiuch the worse, as there seemed no chance of its ceas- ing but with life ; she seemed a part of himself, that must be borne for ever. To be relieved from her, therefore, was so great a felicity, that had she not left bitter remembrances behind her, there might have been danger of his learning almost to approve the evil which produced such a good. She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had never been able to attach even those she loved best ; and since Mrs. MANSriBLD PAKK. 425 Rush-worth's elopement her temper had been in a state of such irritation as to make her every where tormenting. Not even Fanny had tears for aunt Norris — not even when she was gon4 for ever. That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circum- stance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered, and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria. Her temper was naturally the easiest of the two; her feelings, though quick, were more controllable j and education had not given her so very hurtful a degree of self-consequence. She had submitted the best to the disappointment in Henry Crawford. After the first bitterness of the conviction of being slighted was over, she had been tolerably soon in a fair way of not thinking of him again ; and when the acquaintance was renewed in town, and Mr. Eushworth's house became Crawford's object, she had had the merit" of withdrawing her- self from it, and of choosing that time to pay a visit to her other friends, in order to secure herself from being again too much attracted. This had been her motive in going to her cousins. Mr. Yates's convenience had had nothing to do with it. She had been allowing his attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever accepting him ; and had not her sister's conduct burst forth as it did, and her increased dread of her father and of home, on that event — imagining its certain consequence to herself would be greater severity and restraint — made her hastily resolve on avoiding such immediate horrors at all risks, it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have succeeded. She had not eloped with any worse feelings than those of selfish alarm. It had appeared to her the only thing to be done. Maria's guilt had induced Julia's folly. Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening unde- signed and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one ami- able woman's afifeotions, could he have found sufficient exulta- 428 MANSFIELD PARK. tion in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained ; especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her consoitence in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward — and a reward very voluntarily bestowed — within a reasonable period from Edmund's marrying Mary. Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been decid- ing his own happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. Fraser's party : his staying was made of flattering conse- quence, and he was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Cariosity and vanity were both engaged, and the temptation of imme- diate pleasure was too strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice to right: he resolved to defer hts Norfolk journey, resolved that writing should answer the purpose of it, or that its purpose was unimportant — and staid.^ He saw Mrs. Rush- worth, was received by her with a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, and have established apparent indif- ference between them for ever; but he was mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman whose smiles had been so wholly at his command; he must exert himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment; it was anger on Fanny's account; he must get the better of it, and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment of himself In this spirit he began the attack; and by animated perse- verance had soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse — of gallantry — of flirtation which bounded his views; but in triumphing over the discretion, which, though beginning in anger, might have saved them both, he had put himself in the power of feelings on her side, more strong than be had supposed. She loved him : there was no withdrawing atten- tions, avowedly dear to her. He was entangled by his own MANSFIELD PARK. 421 vanity, with as little excuse of love as possible, and vfitBout the smallest inconstancy of mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and the Bertrams from a knowledge of whiit was passing became his first object. Secrecy could not have been more desirable for Mrs. Rushworth's credit than he felt it for his own. When he returned from Richmond, he would have been glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no'more. All that followed was the result of her imprudence; and he went off with her at last, because he could not help it, regretting Fanny, even at the moment, but regretting her infinitely more, when all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and a very few months had taught him, by the force of contrast, to place a yet higher value on the sweetness of her temper, the purity of her mind, and the excellence of her principles. That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should ' in a just measure attend his share of the offence, is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world, the penalty is less equal than couldr be wished ; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion "of vex- ation and regret — vexation that must rise sometimes to self- reproach, and regret to wretchedness — in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved. -^ After what had passed to wound and alienate the two families, the continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in such close neighbourhood would have been most distressing ; but the. absence of the latter, for some months purposely length- ened, ended very fortunately in the necessity, or at least the practicability, of a permanent removal. Dr. Grant; through an interest on which he had almost ceased to form hopes, suc- ceeded to a stall in Westminister, which, as affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield, an excuse for residence in London, and an increase of income to answer the expenses of the change, was highly acceptable to those who went, and those who staid. Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must have gone with some regret, from the scenes and people she had 428 MANSFIKLD PARK. been used to ; but the same happiness of disposition must in any place, and any society, secure her a great deal to enjoy, and she had again a home to offer Mary ; and Mary had had enough of her own friends, enough of vanity, ambition, love, and disappointment in the course of the last half year, to be in need of the true kindness of her sister's heart, and the rational tranquillity of her ways. They lived togetherj and when Dr. Grant had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary dinners in one week, they still lived together ; for Mary, though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a younger brother again, was long in finding among the dashing representatives, or idle heir appar- ents, who were at the command of her beauty, and her 20,000 pounds, any one who could satisfy the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorise a hope of the domestic happiness she had there learnt to estimate, or put Edmund Bertram sufficiently out of her head. Edmund had greatly the advantage of her in this respect. He had not to wait and wish with vacant affections for an object worthy to succeed her in them. Scarcely had he done regretting Mary Crawford, and observing to Fanny how im- possible it was that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it began to strike him whether a very differ- ent kind of woman might not do just as well — or a great deal better ; whether Fanny herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all her smiles, and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been ; and whether it might not be a possible, a hopeful undertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be foundation enough for wedded love. I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must varry much as to time in different people. I only entreat every body to believe that exactly at the- time when it was quite natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire, MANSFIELD PARK. 429 With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing worth, what could be more natural than the change ? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care, and her comfort depending on his kind- ness, an object to him of such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to sparkling dark ones. And being always with her, and always talking confidentially, and his feelings exactly in that favourable state which a recent disappointment gives, those soft^ light eyes could not be very long in obtaining the pre-§minenoe. Having once set out, and felt that he had done so, on this road to happiness, there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop him or make his progress slow ; no doubts of her deserving,'no fears from opposition of taste, no need of draw- ing new hopes of happiness from dissimilarity of temper. Her mind, disposition, opinions, and habits wanted no half concealment, no self-deception on the present, no reliance on future improvement. Even in the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's mental superiority. What must be his sense of' it now, therefore ? She was of course only too good for him ; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not impossible that encouragement from her should be long wanting. Timid, anxious, doubting as she was, it was still impossible that such tenderness as hers should not, at times, hold out the strongest hope of success, though it remained for a later period to tell him the whole delightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in knowing himself to have been so long the beloved of such a heart must have been great enough to warrant any strength of lan- guage in which he could clothe it to her or to himself; it must have been a delightful happiness. But there was happi- ness elsewhere which no description can reach. Let no one presume to give the feelings of a young woman on receiving 430 MANSFIELD PARK. the assurance of that affection of which she has scarcely allowed herself to entertain a hope. Their own inclinations ascertained, there was no difficulties behind, no drawback of poverty or parent. It was a match which Sir Thomas's wishes had even forestalled. Sick of ambitious and mercenary connections, prizing more and more the sterling good of principle and temper, and chiefly anxious to bind by the strongest securities all that remained to him of domestic felicity, he had pondered with genuine satisfaction on the more than possibility of the two young friends finding their mutual consolation in each other for all that had occurred of disappointment to either ; and the joyful consent which met Edmund's application, the high sense of having realised a great acquisition in the promise of FannyS for a daughter, formed just such a contrast with his early' opinion on the subject when the poor little girl's coming had ] i been first agitated, as time is for ever producing between the [plans and decisions of mortals, for their own instruction, and their neighbours' entertainment. Fanuy was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His char- itable kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself. His liberality had a rich repayment, and the general goodness of his intentions by her deserved it. He might have made her childhood happier ; but it had been an error of judgment only which had given hiui the appearance of harshness, and deprived him of her early love ; and now, on really knowing each other, their mutual attachment became very strong. After settling her at Thornton Lacey with every kind atten- tion to her comfort, the object of almost every day was to see her there, or to get her away from it. Selfishly dear as she bad long been to Lady Bertram, she could not be parted with willingly by her. No happiness of son or niece could make her wish the marriage. But it was possible to part with her, because Susan remained to supply her place. Susan became the stationary niece — delighted to be so ! — and equally well adapted for it by a readiness of mind, and an inclination for usefulness, as Fanny had been by sweetness of temper, and strong feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be spared. First as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as her substitute, she was established at MANSFIELD FARE. 431 Mansfield, with every appearance of equal permanency. Her more fearless disposition and happier nerves made every thing easy to her there. With quickness in understanding the tempers of those she had to deal vfith, and no natural timidity to restrain any consequent wishes, she was soon welcome, and useful to all ; and after Fanny'a removal succeeded so naturally to her influence over the hourly comfort of her aunt, as grad- ually to become, perhaps, the most beloved of the two. In her usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in William's continued good conduct, and rising fame, and in the general well-doing and success of the other members of the family, all assisting to advance each other, and doing credit to his countenance and aid. Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated rea- son to rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknow- f ledge the advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the '• consciousness of being born to struggle and endure. With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune or friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as secure as earthly happiness cab be. Equally formed for domestic life, and attached to country pleasure, their home was the home of affection and comfort ; and to complete the picture of good, the Requisition of Mansfield living by the death of Dr. Grant occurred just after they had been married long enough to begin to want an increase of income, and feel their distance from the paternal abode an inconvenience. ■ On that event they removed to Mansfield ; and the parson- sro-e there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with some painful sensa- tion of restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as every thing else within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had long been. THE END.