الفصل الفصل 40 · “Well, Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon

. “Well, Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon

as the gentleman had withdrawn, “I do not ask you what the Colonel has

been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I _tried_ to keep out

of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his

business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I

wish you joy of it with all my heart.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elinor. “It _is_ a matter of great joy to me;

and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not

many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so

compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.”

“Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an’t the least astonished at it

in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more

likely to happen.”

“You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel’s general benevolence;

but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very

soon occur.”

“Opportunity!” repeated Mrs. Jennings—“Oh! as to that, when a man has

once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon

find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and

again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I

shall soon know where to look for them.”

“You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,” said Elinor, with a

faint smile.

“Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one,

I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as

ever I saw.”

“He spoke of its being out of repair.”

“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who should do

it but himself?”

They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the

carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to

go, said,—

“Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But,

however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite

alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too

full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to

tell your sister all about it.”

Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.

“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention

it at present to any body else.”

“Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you

would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as

Holborn to-day.”

“No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be

very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought

not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do _that_ directly. It is

of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of

course have much to do relative to his ordination.”

This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars

was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not

immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a

very happy idea, and she exclaimed;—

“Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much

the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness;

and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my

dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write

himself?—sure, he is the proper person.”

Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s

speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore

only replied to its conclusion.

“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to

announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”

“And so _you_ are forced to do it. Well _that_ is an odd kind of

delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to

write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not

heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to

bed.”

And away she went; but returning again in a moment,

“I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very

glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a

lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and

works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at

your leisure.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said,

and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.

How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to

Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between

them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have

been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too

much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen

in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.

He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he

came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not

returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss

Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular

business.

Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her

perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself

properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the

information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her

upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were

very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before

since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing

her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she

had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel

particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much

distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of

embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on

first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to

be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could

say any thing, after taking a chair.

“Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at

least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on

you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been

extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister;

especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that

I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford

tomorrow.”

“You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself,

and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as

possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been

able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she

said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on

the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable

office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel

Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that

understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in

offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it

were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so

respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the

living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and

such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary

accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your

views of happiness.”

What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected

that any one else should say for him. He _looked_ all the astonishment

which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of

exciting; but he said only these two words,—

“Colonel Brandon!”

“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the

worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern

for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the

unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I

am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and

likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and

his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”

“Colonel Brandon give _me_ a living!—Can it be possible?”

“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find

friendship any where.”

“No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in _you;_

for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I

feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no

orator.”

“You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely,

at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s

discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till

I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever

occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a

friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he _has_,

still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe

nothing to my solicitation.”

Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but

she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of

Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably

contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently

entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had

ceased to speak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,

“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have

always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him

highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly

the gentleman.”

“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther

acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be

such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost

close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he

_should_ be all this.”

Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her

a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he

might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the

mansion-house much greater.

“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, soon

afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not

allow me to give _you;_ to assure him that he has made me a very—an

exceedingly happy man.”

Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very

earnest assurance on _her_ side of her unceasing good wishes for his

happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on _his_,

with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of

expressing it.

“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him

out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”

And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the

past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of

Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.

When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people

whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a

great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important

secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to

it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do

right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him

very unwilling to accept your proposal?”

“No, ma’am; _that_ was not very likely.”

“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon

that.”

“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I

can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation

necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his

ordination.”

“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly

you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord

bless me!—I am sure it would put _me_ quite out of patience!—And though

one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think

it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure

somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in

orders already.”

“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why,

Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the

Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.

Ferrars!”

The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation

immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for

the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.

Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still

without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first

ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely

_may_ be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought,

for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the

ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen

beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It

seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to

do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them,

before Lucy goes to it.”

“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s

being enough to allow them to marry.”

“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year

himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for

it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford

Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t

there.”

Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not

waiting for any thing more.