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Chapter 14
The
sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's visit at the park,
with his steadiness in
concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the wonder
of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great
wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively
interest in all the comings and goings of all their
acquaintance. She
wondered, with little intermission what could be
the reason of it; was sure there must be some bad news,
and thought over every kind of distress that could have
befallen him, with a fixed determination that he
should not escape them all.
"Something
very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure," said she. "I could see it in his
face.
Poor man! I am
afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford
was never
reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left
everything
sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for
about money matters, for what else can it be?
I wonder whether it is so. I would give
anything to know the truth
of it. Perhaps
it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye,
I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I
mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in
the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always
rather
sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss
Williams. It is not so very likely he should be
distressed in his circumstances now, for he is a very
prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the
estate by this time. I wonder what it can be!
Maybe his sister is worse at Avignon,
and has sent for him over. His
setting
off in such a hurry seems very like it.
Well, I wish him out of all his trouble
with all my heart,
and a good wife into the bargain."
So
wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings.
Her opinion varying with every fresh
conjecture, and
all seeming equally probable as they arose.
Elinor, though she felt really interested
in the welfare of
Colonel Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his
going so suddenly away, which Mrs. Jennings was desirous
of her feeling; for besides that the circumstance did
not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or
variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of. It was
engrossed by
the extraordinary silence of her
sister and Willoughby on
the subject, which they must know to
be peculiarly interesting to them all.
As this silence continued, every day made
it appear more strange
and more incompatible with the disposition of both. Why they should not
openly acknowledge to her mother and herself,
what their constant behaviour to each other declared to have
taken place, Elinor could not imagine.
She
could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately
in their power; for
though Willoughby was
independent, there was no reason to
believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at
about six or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an
expense to which that income could hardly be equal, and he had
himself often complained of his poverty.
But for this strange kind of
secrecy maintained by them relative to their
engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all, she
could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to
their general opinions and practice, that a doubt
sometimes entered her mind of their being really engaged,
and this doubt was enough to prevent her making any
inquiry of Marianne.
Nothing
could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than Willoughby's
behaviour. To
Marianne it had all the distinguishing tenderness
which a lover's heart could give, and to the rest of the
family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a
brother. The
cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him
as his home; many more of his hours were spent there
than at Allenham; and if no general engagement collected
them at the park, the exercise which called him out in the
morning was almost certain of ending there, where
the rest of the day was spent by himself at the side of
Marianne, and by his favourite pointer at her feet.
One
evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left
the country, his
heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling
of attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs.
Dashwood's happening to mention her design of
improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly opposed every
alteration of a place which affection had
established as perfect with him.
"What!"
he exclaimed--"Improve this dear cottage! No. That I will
never consent to. Not
a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch to
its size, if my feelings are regarded."
"Do
not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood, "nothing of the kind will
be done;
for my mother will never have money enough to attempt
it."
"I
am heartily glad of it", he cried.
"May she always be poor, if she can employ
her
riches no better."
"Thank
you, Willoughby. But you may be assured
that I would not sacrifice one sentiment of
local attachment of yours, or of any one whom I loved,
for all the improvements in the world.
Depend upon it that whatever unemployed sum
may remain, when I make up my
accounts in the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly
by
than dispose of it in a manner so painful to
you. But are you
really so attached to this place as to see no
defect in it?"
"I
am," said he. "To
me it is faultless. Nay,
more, I consider it as the only form of
building in which happiness is attainable, and were I rich
enough I
would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in the
exact plan of this cottage."
"With
dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose," said
Elinor.
"Yes,"
cried he in the same eager tone, "with all and every thing
belonging to it;--in no
one convenience or inconvenience about it, should the
least variation be perceptible.
Then, and then only, under such a roof,
I might
perhaps be as happy at Combe as I
have been at Barton."
"I
flatter myself," replied Elinor, "that even under the
disadvantage of better rooms and a
broader staircase, you will hereafter find your own house
as faultless as you now do this."
"There
certainly are circumstances," said Willoughby, "which
might greatly endear it to
me; but this place will always have one claim of my affection,
which no other can possibly share."
Mrs.
Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes
were fixed so
expressively on Willoughby, as
plainly denoted how well she
understood him.
"How
often did I wish," added he, "when I was at Allenham this time
twelvemonth, that
Barton cottage were inhabited!
I never passed within view of it without
admiring its situation, and grieving that no one
should live in it. How little did I then think that the
very first news I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I
next came into the country, would be that Barton
cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate satisfaction and
interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of prescience
of what happiness I should experience from it, can account
for. Must it not
have been so, Marianne?" speaking to her
in a lowered voice. Then continuing his former tone, he
said, "And yet this house you would spoil, Mrs.
Dashwood? You would
rob it of its simplicity by imaginary
improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance
first
began, and in which so many happy hours have been since
spent by us together, you would degrade to the condition of a
common entrance, and every body would be eager to pass
through the room which has hitherto contained within
itself more real accommodation and comfort than any other
apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world
could possibly afford."
Mrs.
Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind
should be attempted.
"You
are a good woman," he warmly replied. "Your promise makes me
easy. Extend it a
little farther, and it will make me happy.
Tell me that not only your house will
remain the same, but that I
shall ever find you and yours as unchanged as your
dwelling; and that you will always consider me with the
kindness which has made everything belonging to you so dear to
me."
The
promise was readily given, and Willoughby's behaviour
during the whole of the
evening declared
at once his affection and happiness.
"Shall
we see you tomorrow to dinner?" said Mrs. Dashwood, when he
was leaving them. "I
do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must walk to the
park, to call on Lady Middleton."
He
engaged to be with them by four o'clock.
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