Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to Anne’s imagination to ponder over in a calmer hour;for while still hearing the sounds he had uttered, she was startled to other subjects by Henrietta,eager to make use of the present leisure for getting out,and calling on her companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should come in.
They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being perfectly ready, and tried to look it;but she felt that could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctance of her heart in quitting that chair,in preparing to quit the room, she would have found, in all her own sensations for her cousin,in the very security of his affection, wherewith to pity her.
Their preparations, however, were stopped short. Alarming sounds were heard;other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot,whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne felt an instant oppression,and wherever she looked saw symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom,the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or insipid talk,to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister. How mortifying to feel that it was so!
Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain Wentworth was acknowledged again by each,by Elizabeth more graciously than before. She even addressed him once,and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth was, in fact, revolving a great measure.The sequel explained it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying the proper nothings,she began to give the invitation which was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Musgroves.“To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends: no formal party.” It was all said very gracefully,and the cards with which she had provided herself, the “Miss Elliot at home,” were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensive smile to all,and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was,that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand the importance of a man of such an air and appearance as his.The past was nothing. The present was that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her drawing-room.The card was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.
The interruption had been short, though severe,and ease and animation returned to most of those they left as the door shut them out,but not to Anne. She could think only of the invitation she had with such astonishment witnessed,and of the manner in which it had been received; a manner of doubtful meaning,of surprise rather than gratification, of polite acknowledgement rather than acceptance.She knew him; she saw disdain in his eye,and could not venture to believe that he had determined to accept such an offering,as an atonement for all the insolence of the past. Her spirits sank.He held the card in his hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it.
“Only think of Elizabeth’s including everybody!” whispered Mary very audibly. “I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted!You see he cannot put the card out of his hand.”
Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow,and his mouth form itself into a momentary expression of contempt, and turned away,that she might neither see nor hear more to vex her.
The party separated. The gentlemen had their own pursuits,the ladies proceeded on their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged to them.She was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all the rest of the day,but her spirits had been so long exerted that at present she felt unequal to more,and fit only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent as she chose.
Promising to be with them the whole of the following morning, therefore,she closed the fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to Camden Place,there to spend the evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of Elizabeth and Mrs Clay for the morrow’s party,the frequent enumeration of the persons invited,and the continually improving detail of all the embellishments which were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in Bath,while harassing herself with the never-ending question,of whether Captain Wentworth would come or not?They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together.She generally thought he would come, because she generally thought he ought;but it was a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of duty or discretion,as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very opposite feelings.
She only roused herself from the broodings of this restless agitation,to let Mrs Clay know that she had been seen with Mr Elliot three hours after his being supposed to be out of Bath,for having watched in vain for some intimation of the interview from the lady herself,she determined to mention it, and it seemed to her there was guilt in Mrs Clay’s face as she listened.It was transient: cleared away in an instant;but Anne could imagine she read there the consciousness of having,by some complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing authority of his,been obliged to attend (perhaps for half an hour) to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir Walter.She exclaimed, however, with a very tolerable imitation of nature:—
“Oh!dear!very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my great surprise I met with Mr Elliot in Bath Street.I was never more astonished. He turned back and walked with me to the Pump Yard.He had been prevented setting off for Thornberry, but I really forget by what;for I was in a hurry, and could not much attend,and I can only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in his return.He wanted to know how early he might be admitted to-morrow. He was full of ‘to-morrow,’ and it is very evident that I have been full of it too, ever since I entered the house,and learnt the extension of your plan and all that had happened,or my seeing him could never have gone so entirely out of my head.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
One day only had passed since Anne’s conversation with Mrs Smith;but a keener interest had succeeded, and she was now so little touched by Mr Elliot’s conduct,except by its effects in one quarter, that it became a matter of course the next morning,still to defer her explanatory visit in Rivers Street.She had promised to be with the Musgroves from breakfast to dinner. Her faith was plighted,and Mr Elliot’s character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade’s head, must live another day.
She could not keep her appointment punctually, however; the weather was unfavourable,and she had grieved over the rain on her friends’ account, and felt it very much on her own,before she was able to attempt the walk. When she reached the White Hart,and made her way to the proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving quite in time,nor the first to arrive. The party before her were, Mrs Musgrove, talking to Mrs Croft,and Captain Harville to Captain Wentworth; and she immediately heard that Mary and Henrietta,too impatient to wait, had gone out the moment it had cleared, but would be back again soon,and that the strictest injunctions had been left with Mrs Musgrove to keep her there till they returned.She had only to submit, sit down, be outwardly composed,and feel herself plunged at once in all the agitations which she had merely laid her account of tasting a little before the morning closed.There was no delay, no waste of time. She was deep in the happiness of such misery,or the misery of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes after her entering the room, Captain Wentworth said—
“We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville, now, if you will give me materials.”
Materials were at hand, on a separate table; he went to it, and nearly turning his back to them all, was engrossed by writing.
Mrs Musgrove was giving Mrs Croft the history of her eldest daughter’s engagement,and just in that inconvenient tone of voice which was perfectly audible while it pretended to be a whisper.Anne felt that she did not belong to the conversation, and yet,as Captain Harville seemed thoughtful and not disposed to talk,she could not avoid hearing many undesirable particulars; such as,“how Mr Musgrove and my brother Hayter had met again and again to talk it over;what my brother Hayter had said one day, and what Mr Musgrove had proposed the next,and what had occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the young people had wished,and what I said at first I never could consent to,but was afterwards persuaded to think might do very well,” and a great deal in the same style of open-hearted communication: minutiae which,even with every advantage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs Musgrove could not give,could be properly interesting only to the principals.Mrs Croft was attending with great good-humour, and whenever she spoke at all,it was very sensibly. Anne hoped the gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied to hear.
“And so, ma’am, all these thing considered,” said Mrs Musgrove, in her powerful whisper,“though we could have wished it different, yet, altogether,we did not think it fair to stand out any longer, for Charles Hayter was quite wild about it,and Henrietta was pretty near as bad; and so we thought they had better marry at once,and make the best of it, as many others have done before them. At any rate, said I,it will be better than a long engagement.”
“That is precisely what I was going to observe,” cried Mrs Croft.“I would rather have young people settle on a small income at once,and have to struggle with a few difficulties together, than be involved in a long engagement. I always think that no mutual—”
“Oh!dear Mrs Croft,” cried Mrs Musgrove, unable to let her finish her speech,“there is nothing I so abominate for young people as a long engagement.It is what I always protested against for my children. It is all very well, I used to say,for young people to be engaged, if there is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months,or even in twelve; but a long engagement—”
“Yes, dear ma’am,” said Mrs Croft, “or an uncertain engagement, an engagement which may be long.To begin without knowing that at such a time there will be the means of marrying,I hold to be very unsafe and unwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they can. ”
Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt its application to herself,felt it in a nervous thrill all over her;and at the same moment that her eyes instinctively glanced towards the distant table,Captain Wentworth’s pen ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing, listening,and he turned round the next instant to give a look, one quick, conscious look at her.
The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same admitted truths,and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of a contrary practice as had fallen within their observation,but Anne heard nothing distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in confusion.
Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left his seat,and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though it was from thorough absence of mind,became gradually sensible that he was inviting her to join him where he stood.He looked at her with a smile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, “Come to me,I have something to say;” and the unaffected,easy kindness of manner which denoted the feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was,strongly enforced the invitation. She roused herself and went to him.The window at which he stood was at the other end of the room from where the two ladies were sitting,and though nearer to Captain Wentworth’s table, not very near. As she joined him,Captain Harville’s countenance re-assumed the serious,thoughtful expression which seemed its natural character.
“Look here,” said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying a small miniature painting, “do you know who that is?”
“Certainly: Captain Benwick.”
“Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But,” (in a deep tone), “it was not done for her.Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking together at Lyme, and grieving for him?I little thought then—but no matter. This was drawn at the Cape.He met with a clever young German artist at the Cape,and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her;and I have now the charge of getting it properly set for another!It was a commission to me!But who else was there to employ?I hope I can allow for him. I am not sorry, indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes it;” (looking towards Captain Wentworth,) “he is writing about it now.” And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole by adding, “Poor Fanny!she would not have forgotten him so soon!”
“No,” replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice. “That I can easily believe.”
“It was not in her nature. She doted on him.”
“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved.”
Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, “Do you claim that for your sex?” and she answered the question, smiling also, “Yes.We certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps,our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined,and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits,business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately,and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”
“Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon for men (which, however,I do not think I shall grant), it does not apply to Benwick.He has not been forced upon any exertion. The peace turned him on shore at the very moment,and he has been living with us, in our little family circle, ever since.”
“True,” said Anne, “very true; I did not recollect; but what shall we say now, Captain Harville?If the change be not from outward circumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature,man’s nature, which has done the business for Captain Benwick.”
“No, no, it is not man’s nature. I will not allow it to be more man’s nature than woman’s to be inconstant and forget those they do love,or have loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true analogy between our bodily frames and our mental;and that as our bodies are the strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most rough usage, and riding out the heaviest weather.”
“Your feelings may be the strongest,” replied Anne,“but the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are the most tender.Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer lived;which exactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments. Nay,it would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You have difficulties, and privations,and dangers enough to struggle with. You are always labouring and toiling,exposed to every risk and hardship. Your home, country, friends, all quitted. Neither time,nor health, nor life, to be called your own. It would be hard, indeed” (with a faltering voice),“if woman’s feelings were to be added to all this.”
“We shall never agree upon this question,” Captain Harville was beginning to say,when a slight noise called their attention to Captain Wentworth’s hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room.It was nothing more than that his pen had fallen down;but Anne was startled at finding him nearer than she had supposed,and half inclined to suspect that the pen had only fallen because he had been occupied by them,striving to catch sounds, which yet she did not think he could have caught.
“Have you finished your letter?” said Captain Harville.
“Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”
“There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready whenever you are. I am in very good anchorage here,” (smiling at Anne), “well supplied, and want for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all. Well,Miss Elliot,” (lowering his voice), “as I was saying, we shall never agree, I suppose,upon this point. No man and woman would, probably.But let me observe that all histories are against you—all stories, prose and verse.If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side the argument,and I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy.Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.”
“Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books.Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story.Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands.I will not allow books to prove anything.”
“But how shall we prove anything?”
“We never shall. We never can expect to prove any thing upon such a point.It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof. We each begin, probably,with a little bias towards our own sex;and upon that bias build every circumstance in favour of it which has occurred within our own circle;many of which circumstances (perhaps those very cases which strike us the most) may be precisely such as cannot be brought forward without betraying a confidence, or in some respect saying what should not be said.”
“Ah!” cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling,“if I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children,and watches the boat that he has sent them off in, as long as it is in sight,and then turns away and says, ‘God knows whether we ever meet again!’ And then, if I could convey to you the glow of his soul when he does see them again; when,coming back after a twelvemonth’s absence, perhaps, and obliged to put into another port,he calculates how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to deceive himself, and saying,‘They cannot be here till such a day,’ but all the while hoping for them twelve hours sooner,and seeing them arrive at last, as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours sooner still!If I could explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do, and glories to do,for the sake of these treasures of his existence!I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!” pressing his own with emotion.
“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly, “I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you,and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures!I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman.No, I believe you capable of everything great and good in your married lives.I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance,so long as—if I may be allowed the expression—so long as you have an object.I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you.All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it),is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.”
She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.
“You are a good soul,” cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on her arm, quite affectionately.“There is no quarrelling with you. And when I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied.”
Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs Croft was taking leave.
“Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,” said she. “I am going home,and you have an engagement with your friend.To-night we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party,” (turning to Anne).“We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understood Frederick had a card too,though I did not see it; and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”
Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste,and either could not or would not answer fully.
“Yes,” said he, “very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall soon be after you; that is,Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off.I shall be at your service in half a minute.”
Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter with great rapidity,was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated air, which shewed impatience to be gone.Anne knew not how to understand it. She had the kindest “Good morning, God bless you!” from Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look!He had passed out of the room without a look!
She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had been writing,when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, it was himself. He begged their pardon,but he had forgotten his gloves, and instantly crossing the room to the writing table,he drew out a letter from under the scattered paper,placed it before Anne with eyes of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a time,and hastily collecting his gloves, was again out of the room,almost before Mrs Musgrove was aware of his being in it: the work of an instant!
The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyond expression. The letter,with a direction hardly legible, to “Miss A. E.—,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also addressing her!On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her.Anything was possible, anything might be defied rather than suspense.Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements of her own at her own table;to their protection she must trust, and sinking into the chair which he had occupied,succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:
“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach.You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late,that such precious feelings are gone for ever.I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it,eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman,that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been,weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath.For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this?Can you fail to have understood my wishes?I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings,as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write.I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice,but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature!You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men.Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W.
“I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party,as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening or never. ”
Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from.Half an hour’s solitude and reflection might have tranquillized her;but the ten minutes only which now passed before she was interrupted,with all the restraints of her situation, could do nothing towards tranquillity.Every moment rather brought fresh agitation. It was overpowering happiness.And before she was beyond the first stage of full sensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta all came in.
The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediate struggle;but after a while she could do no more. She began not to understand a word they said,and was obliged to plead indisposition and excuse herself.They could then see that she looked very ill, were shocked and concerned,and would not stir without her for the world. This was dreadful. Would they only have gone away,and left her in the quiet possession of that room it would have been her cure;but to have them all standing or waiting around her was distracting, and in desperation, she said she would go home.
“By all means, my dear,” cried Mrs Musgrove, “go home directly, and take care of yourself,that you may be fit for the evening. I wish Sarah was here to doctor you,but I am no doctor myself. Charles, ring and order a chair. She must not walk.”
But the chair would never do. Worse than all!To lose the possibility of speaking two words to Captain Wentworth in the course of her quiet,solitary progress up the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting him) could not be borne.The chair was earnestly protested against, and Mrs Musgrove,who thought only of one sort of illness, having assured herself with some anxiety,that there had been no fall in the case; that Anne had not at any time lately slipped down,and got a blow on her head; that she was perfectly convinced of having had no fall;could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding her better at night.
Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled, and said—
“I am afraid, ma’am, that it is not perfectly understood.Pray be so good as to mention to the other gentlemen that we hope to see your whole party this evening.I am afraid there had been some mistake;and I wish you particularly to assure Captain Harville and Captain Wentworth, that we hope to see them both.”
“Oh!my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my word. Captain Harville has no thought but of going.”
“Do you think so?But I am afraid; and I should be so very sorry. Will you promise me to mention it, when you see them again?You will see them both this morning, I dare say. Do promise me.”
“To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if you see Captain Harville anywhere,remember to give Miss Anne’s message. But indeed, my dear, you need not be uneasy.Captain Harville holds himself quite engaged, I’ll answer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare say.”
Anne could do no more; but her heart prophesied some mischance to damp the perfection of her felicity.It could not be very lasting, however. Even if he did not come to Camden Place himself,it would be in her power to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.Another momentary vexation occurred. Charles, in his real concern and good nature,would go home with her; there was no preventing him. This was almost cruel.But she could not be long ungrateful; he was sacrificing an engagement at a gunsmith’s,to be of use to her; and she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude apparent.
They were on Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something of familiar sound,gave her two moments’ preparation for the sight of Captain Wentworth. He joined them; but,as if irresolute whether to join or to pass on, said nothing, only looked.Anne could command herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively.The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitated were decided.He walked by her side. Presently, struck by a sudden thought, Charles said—
“Captain Wentworth, which way are you going?Only to Gay Street, or farther up the town?”
“I hardly know,” replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.
“Are you going as high as Belmont?Are you going near Camden Place?Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place,and give Anne your arm to her father’s door. She is rather done for this morning,and must not go so far without help, and I ought to be at that fellow’s in the Market Place.He promised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going to send off;said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it;and if I do not turn back now, I have no chance. By his description,a good deal like the second size double-barrel of mine, which you shot with one day round Winthrop. ”
There could not be an objection. There could be only the most proper alacrity,a most obliging compliance for public view;and smiles reined in and spirits dancing in private rapture.In half a minute Charles was at the bottom of Union Street again,and the other two proceeding together: and soon words enough had passed between them to decide their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow. There they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union, than when it had been first projected; more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other’s character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act, more justified in acting. And there, as they slowly paced the gradual ascent, heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children, they could indulge in those retrospections and acknowledgements, and especially in those explanations of what had directly preceded the present moment, which were so poignant and so ceaseless in interest. All the little variations of the last week were gone through; and of yesterday and to-day there could scarcely be an end.