No More Learning

If it were war now, he would have settled
it long ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to make long
courtships in time of war. How many days was it, my dear, between the
first time of my seeing you and our sitting down together in our
lodgings at North Yarmouth? "

"We had better not talk about it, my dear," replied Mrs Croft,
pleasantly; "for if Miss Elliot were to hear how soon we came to an
understanding, she would never be persuaded that we could be happy
together. I had known you by character, however, long before. "

"Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl, and what were we
to wait for besides? I do not like having such things so long in hand.
I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvass, and bring us home
one of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then there would always be
company for them. And very nice young ladies they both are; I hardly
know one from the other. "

"Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed," said Mrs Croft, in a
tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that her keener powers
might not consider either of them as quite worthy of her brother; "and
a very respectable family. One could not be connected with better
people. My dear Admiral, that post! we shall certainly take that
post. "

But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself they happily
passed the danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out her
hand they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart; and
Anne, with some amusement at their style of driving, which she imagined
no bad representation of the general guidance of their affairs, found
herself safely deposited by them at the Cottage.



Chapter 11


The time now approached for Lady Russell's return: the day was even
fixed; and Anne, being engaged to join her as soon as she was
resettled, was looking forward to an early removal to Kellynch, and
beginning to think how her own comfort was likely to be affected by it.

It would place her in the same village with Captain Wentworth, within
half a mile of him; they would have to frequent the same church, and
there must be intercourse between the two families. This was against
her; but on the other hand, he spent so much of his time at Uppercross,
that in removing thence she might be considered rather as leaving him
behind, than as going towards him; and, upon the whole, she believed
she must, on this interesting question, be the gainer, almost as
certainly as in her change of domestic society, in leaving poor Mary
for Lady Russell.

She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever seeing Captain
Wentworth at the Hall: those rooms had witnessed former meetings which
would be brought too painfully before her; but she was yet more anxious
for the possibility of Lady Russell and Captain Wentworth never meeting
anywhere. They did not like each other, and no renewal of acquaintance
now could do any good; and were Lady Russell to see them together, she
might think that he had too much self-possession, and she too little.

These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating her removal
from Uppercross, where she felt she had been stationed quite long
enough. Her usefulness to little Charles would always give some
sweetness to the memory of her two months' visit there, but he was
gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay for.

The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in a way which
she had not at all imagined. Captain Wentworth, after being unseen and
unheard of at Uppercross for two whole days, appeared again among them
to justify himself by a relation of what had kept him away.

A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found him out at
last, had brought intelligence of Captain Harville's being settled with
his family at Lyme for the winter; of their being therefore, quite
unknowingly, within twenty miles of each other. Captain Harville had
never been in good health since a severe wound which he received two
years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him had determined
him to go immediately to Lyme. He had been there for four-and-twenty
hours. His acquittal was complete, his friendship warmly honoured, a
lively interest excited for his friend, and his description of the fine
country about Lyme so feelingly attended to by the party, that an
earnest desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for going thither
was the consequence.

The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain Wentworth talked
of going there again himself, it was only seventeen miles from
Uppercross; though November, the weather was by no means bad; and, in
short, Louisa, who was the most eager of the eager, having formed the
resolution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as she liked, being
now armed with the idea of merit in maintaining her own way, bore down
all the wishes of her father and mother for putting it off till summer;
and to Lyme they were to go--Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa,
and Captain Wentworth.

The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning and return at
night; but to this Mr Musgrove, for the sake of his horses, would not
consent; and when it came to be rationally considered, a day in the
middle of November would not leave much time for seeing a new place,
after deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country required, for
going and returning. They were, consequently, to stay the night there,
and not to be expected back till the next day's dinner. This was felt
to be a considerable amendment; and though they all met at the Great
House at rather an early breakfast hour, and set off very punctually,
it was so much past noon before the two carriages, Mr Musgrove's coach
containing the four ladies, and Charles's curricle, in which he drove
Captain Wentworth, were descending the long hill into Lyme, and
entering upon the still steeper street of the town itself, that it was
very evident they would not have more than time for looking about them,
before the light and warmth of the day were gone.

After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the
inns, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly
down to the sea. They were come too late in the year for any amusement
or variety which Lyme, as a public place, might offer. The rooms were
shut up, the lodgers almost all gone, scarcely any family but of the
residents left; and, as there is nothing to admire in the buildings
themselves, the remarkable situation of the town, the principal street
almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the Cobb, skirting round
the pleasant little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathing
machines and company; the Cobb itself, its old wonders and new
improvements, with the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching out to
the east of the town, are what the stranger's eye will seek; and a very
strange stranger it must be, who does not see charms in the immediate
environs of Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in
its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with its high grounds and extensive
sweeps of country, and still more, its sweet, retired bay, backed by
dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among the sands, make it the
happiest spot for watching the flow of the tide, for sitting in
unwearied contemplation; the woody varieties of the cheerful village of
Up Lyme; and, above all, Pinny, with its green chasms between romantic
rocks, where the scattered forest trees and orchards of luxuriant
growth, declare that many a generation must have passed away since the
first partial falling of the cliff prepared the ground for such a
state, where a scene so wonderful and so lovely is exhibited, as may
more than equal any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of
Wight: these places must be visited, and visited again, to make the
worth of Lyme understood.

The party from Uppercross passing down by the now deserted and
melancholy looking rooms, and still descending, soon found themselves
on the sea-shore; and lingering only, as all must linger and gaze on a
first return to the sea, who ever deserved to look on it at all,
proceeded towards the Cobb, equally their object in itself and on
Captain Wentworth's account: for in a small house, near the foot of an
old pier of unknown date, were the Harvilles settled. Captain
Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the others walked on, and he
was to join them on the Cobb.

They were by no means tired of wondering and admiring; and not even
Louisa seemed to feel that they had parted with Captain Wentworth long,
when they saw him coming after them, with three companions, all well
known already, by description, to be Captain and Mrs Harville, and a
Captain Benwick, who was staying with them.

Captain Benwick had some time ago been first lieutenant of the Laconia;
and the account which Captain Wentworth had given of him, on his return
from Lyme before, his warm praise of him as an excellent young man and
an officer, whom he had always valued highly, which must have stamped
him well in the esteem of every listener, had been followed by a little
history of his private life, which rendered him perfectly interesting
in the eyes of all the ladies. He had been engaged to Captain
Harville's sister, and was now mourning her loss. They had been a year
or two waiting for fortune and promotion. Fortune came, his
prize-money as lieutenant being great; promotion, too, came at last;
but Fanny Harville did not live to know it. She had died the preceding
summer while he was at sea. Captain Wentworth believed it impossible
for man to be more attached to woman than poor Benwick had been to
Fanny Harville, or to be more deeply afflicted under the dreadful
change. He considered his disposition as of the sort which must suffer
heavily, uniting very strong feelings with quiet, serious, and retiring
manners, and a decided taste for reading, and sedentary pursuits. To
finish the interest of the story, the friendship between him and the
Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which closed all
their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was now living with them
entirely. Captain Harville had taken his present house for half a
year; his taste, and his health, and his fortune, all directing him to
a residence inexpensive, and by the sea; and the grandeur of the
country, and the retirement of Lyme in the winter, appeared exactly
adapted to Captain Benwick's state of mind. The sympathy and good-will
excited towards Captain Benwick was very great.

"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the
party, "he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I
cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever. He is younger than
I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He will
rally again, and be happy with another. "

They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville was a tall, dark
man, with a sensible, benevolent countenance; a little lame; and from
strong features and want of health, looking much older than Captain
Wentworth. Captain Benwick looked, and was, the youngest of the three,
and, compared with either of them, a little man. He had a pleasing
face and a melancholy air, just as he ought to have, and drew back from
conversation.

Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Wentworth in manners,
was a perfect gentleman, unaffected, warm, and obliging. Mrs Harville,
a degree less polished than her husband, seemed, however, to have the
same good feelings; and nothing could be more pleasant than their
desire of considering the whole party as friends of their own, because
the friends of Captain Wentworth, or more kindly hospitable than their
entreaties for their all promising to dine with them. The dinner,
already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly, accepted
as a excuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth should
have brought any such party to Lyme, without considering it as a thing
of course that they should dine with them.

There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth in all this, and such
a bewitching charm in a degree of hospitality so uncommon, so unlike
the usual style of give-and-take invitations, and dinners of formality
and display, that Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by
an increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers. "These would
have been all my friends," was her thought; and she had to struggle
against a great tendency to lowness.

On quitting the Cobb, they all went in-doors with their new friends,
and found rooms so small as none but those who invite from the heart
could think capable of accommodating so many. Anne had a moment's
astonishment on the subject herself; but it was soon lost in the
pleasanter feelings which sprang from the sight of all the ingenious
contrivances and nice arrangements of Captain Harville, to turn the
actual space to the best account, to supply the deficiencies of
lodging-house furniture, and defend the windows and doors against the
winter storms to be expected. The varieties in the fitting-up of the
rooms, where the common necessaries provided by the owner, in the
common indifferent plight, were contrasted with some few articles of a
rare species of wood, excellently worked up, and with something curious
and valuable from all the distant countries Captain Harville had
visited, were more than amusing to Anne; connected as it all was with
his profession, the fruit of its labours, the effect of its influence
on his habits, the picture of repose and domestic happiness it
presented, made it to her a something more, or less, than gratification.

Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived excellent
accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves, for a tolerable
collection of well-bound volumes, the property of Captain Benwick. His
lameness prevented him from taking much exercise; but a mind of
usefulness and ingenuity seemed to furnish him with constant employment
within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, he glued; he made toys
for the children; he fashioned new netting-needles and pins with
improvements; and if everything else was done, sat down to his large
fishing-net at one corner of the room.

Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when they quitted the
house; and Louisa, by whom she found herself walking, burst forth into
raptures of admiration and delight on the character of the navy; their
friendliness, their brotherliness, their openness, their uprightness;
protesting that she was convinced of sailors having more worth and
warmth than any other set of men in England; that they only knew how to
live, and they only deserved to be respected and loved.

They went back to dress and dine; and so well had the scheme answered
already, that nothing was found amiss; though its being "so entirely
out of season," and the "no thoroughfare of Lyme," and the "no
expectation of company," had brought many apologies from the heads of
the inn.

Anne found herself by this time growing so much more hardened to being
in Captain Wentworth's company than she had at first imagined could
ever be, that the sitting down to the same table with him now, and the
interchange of the common civilities attending on it (they never got
beyond), was become a mere nothing.

The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again till the morrow,
but Captain Harville had promised them a visit in the evening; and he
came, bringing his friend also, which was more than had been expected,
it having been agreed that Captain Benwick had all the appearance of
being oppressed by the presence of so many strangers. He ventured
among them again, however, though his spirits certainly did not seem
fit for the mirth of the party in general.

While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the
room, and by recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in abundance
to occupy and entertain the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed
rather apart with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her
nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him. He was shy, and
disposed to abstraction; but the engaging mildness of her countenance,
and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well
repaid the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young man of
considerable taste in reading, though principally in poetry; and
besides the persuasion of having given him at least an evening's
indulgence in the discussion of subjects, which his usual companions
had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to
him in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling
against affliction, which had naturally grown out of their
conversation. For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather
the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and
having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone
through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets,
trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be
preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and
moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he showed himself so
intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and
all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he
repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a
broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so
entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he
did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was
the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who
enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could
estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but
sparingly.

His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion to his
situation, she was emboldened to go on; and feeling in herself the
right of seniority of mind, she ventured to recommend a larger
allowance of prose in his daily study; and on being requested to
particularize, mentioned such works of our best moralists, such
collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth
and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment as calculated to rouse
and fortify the mind by the highest precepts, and the strongest
examples of moral and religious endurances.

Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for the
interest implied; and though with a shake of the head, and sighs which
declared his little faith in the efficacy of any books on grief like
his, noted down the names of those she recommended, and promised to
procure and read them.

When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of
her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man
whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more
serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and
preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct
would ill bear examination.



Chapter 12


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah! " cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance at
Anne, "it is the very man we passed. "

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

"Pray," said Captain Wentworth, immediately, "can you tell us the name
of the gentleman who is just gone away? "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ay, true enough," (with a deep sigh) "only June. "

"And not known to him, perhaps, so soon. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh God! her father and mother! "

"A surgeon! " said Anne.

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

"Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain Benwick? He knows
where a surgeon is to be found. "

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

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

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

"Anne, Anne," cried Charles, "What is to be done next? What, in
heaven's name, is to be done next? "

Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(End of volume one. )



Chapter 13


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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