Chapter Chapter 10 · Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur.

. Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur.

Anne had soon been in company with all the four together often enough

to have an opinion, though too wise to acknowledge as much at home,

where she knew it would have satisfied neither husband nor wife; for

while she considered Louisa to be rather the favourite, she could not

but think, as far as she might dare to judge from memory and

experience, that Captain Wentworth was not in love with either. They

were more in love with him; yet there it was not love. It was a little

fever of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love with

some. Charles Hayter seemed aware of being slighted, and yet Henrietta

had sometimes the air of being divided between them. Anne longed for

the power of representing to them all what they were about, and of

pointing out some of the evils they were exposing themselves to. She

did not attribute guile to any. It was the highest satisfaction to her

to believe Captain Wentworth not in the least aware of the pain he was

occasioning. There was no triumph, no pitiful triumph in his manner. He

had, probably, never heard, and never thought of any claims of Charles

Hayter. He was only wrong in accepting the attentions (for accepting

must be the word) of two young women at once.

After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter seemed to quit the

field. Three days had passed without his coming once to Uppercross; a

most decided change. He had even refused one regular invitation to

dinner; and having been found on the occasion by Mr Musgrove with some

large books before him, Mr and Mrs Musgrove were sure all could not be

right, and talked, with grave faces, of his studying himself to death.

It was Mary’s hope and belief that he had received a positive dismissal

from Henrietta, and her husband lived under the constant dependence of

seeing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that Charles Hayter was

wise.

One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth

being gone a-shooting together, as the sisters in the Cottage were

sitting quietly at work, they were visited at the window by the sisters

from the Mansion-house.

It was a very fine November day, and the Miss Musgroves came through

the little grounds, and stopped for no other purpose than to say, that

they were going to take a _long_ walk, and, therefore, concluded Mary

could not like to go with them; and when Mary immediately replied, with

some jealousy at not being supposed a good walker, “Oh, yes, I should

like to join you very much, I am very fond of a long walk;” Anne felt

persuaded, by the looks of the two girls, that it was precisely what

they did not wish, and admired again the sort of necessity which the

family habits seemed to produce, of everything being to be

communicated, and everything being to be done together, however

undesired and inconvenient. She tried to dissuade Mary from going, but

in vain; and that being the case, thought it best to accept the Miss

Musgroves’ much more cordial invitation to herself to go likewise, as

she might be useful in turning back with her sister, and lessening the

interference in any plan of their own.

“I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a long

walk,” said Mary, as she went up stairs. “Everybody is always supposing

that I am not a good walker; and yet they would not have been pleased,

if we had refused to join them. When people come in this manner on

purpose to ask us, how can one say no?”

Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned. They had taken

out a young dog, who had spoilt their sport, and sent them back early.

Their time and strength, and spirits, were, therefore, exactly ready

for this walk, and they entered into it with pleasure. Could Anne have

foreseen such a junction, she would have staid at home; but, from some

feelings of interest and curiosity, she fancied now that it was too

late to retract, and the whole six set forward together in the

direction chosen by the Miss Musgroves, who evidently considered the

walk as under their guidance.

Anne’s object was, not to be in the way of anybody; and where the

narrow paths across the fields made many separations necessary, to keep

with her brother and sister. Her _pleasure_ in the walk must arise from

the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year

upon the tawny leaves, and withered hedges, and from repeating to

herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of

autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind

of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet,

worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of

feeling. She occupied her mind as much as possible in such like musings

and quotations; but it was not possible, that when within reach of

Captain Wentworth’s conversation with either of the Miss Musgroves, she

should not try to hear it; yet she caught little very remarkable. It

was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate

footing, might fall into. He was more engaged with Louisa than with

Henrietta. Louisa certainly put more forward for his notice than her

sister. This distinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech

of Louisa’s which struck her. After one of the many praises of the day,

which were continually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth added:—

“What glorious weather for the Admiral and my sister! They meant to

take a long drive this morning; perhaps we may hail them from some of

these hills. They talked of coming into this side of the country. I

wonder whereabouts they will upset to-day. Oh! it does happen very

often, I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of it; she would as

lieve be tossed out as not.”

“Ah! You make the most of it, I know,” cried Louisa, “but if it were

really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved a man, as

she loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever

separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven

safely by anybody else.”

It was spoken with enthusiasm.

“Had you?” cried he, catching the same tone; “I honour you!” And there

was silence between them for a little while.

Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again. The sweet

scenes of autumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet,

fraught with the apt analogy of the declining year, with declining

happiness, and the images of youth and hope, and spring, all gone

together, blessed her memory. She roused herself to say, as they struck

by order into another path, “Is not this one of the ways to Winthrop?”

But nobody heard, or, at least, nobody answered her.

Winthrop, however, or its environs—for young men are, sometimes to be

met with, strolling about near home—was their destination; and after

another half mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures, where the

ploughs at work, and the fresh made path spoke the farmer counteracting

the sweets of poetical despondence, and meaning to have spring again,

they gained the summit of the most considerable hill, which parted

Uppercross and Winthrop, and soon commanded a full view of the latter,

at the foot of the hill on the other side.

Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was stretched before

them; an indifferent house, standing low, and hemmed in by the barns

and buildings of a farm-yard.

Mary exclaimed, “Bless me! here is Winthrop. I declare I had no idea!

Well now, I think we had better turn back; I am excessively tired.”

Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles walking

along any path, or leaning against any gate, was ready to do as Mary

wished; but “No!” said Charles Musgrove, and “No, no!” cried Louisa

more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the

matter warmly.

Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring his resolution

of calling on his aunt, now that he was so near; and very evidently,

though more fearfully, trying to induce his wife to go too. But this

was one of the points on which the lady shewed her strength; and when

he recommended the advantage of resting herself a quarter of an hour at

Winthrop, as she felt so tired, she resolutely answered, “Oh! no,

indeed! walking up that hill again would do her more harm than any

sitting down could do her good;” and, in short, her look and manner

declared, that go she would not.

After a little succession of these sort of debates and consultations,

it was settled between Charles and his two sisters, that he and

Henrietta should just run down for a few minutes, to see their aunt and

cousins, while the rest of the party waited for them at the top of the

hill. Louisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan; and, as she

went a little way with them, down the hill, still talking to Henrietta,

Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfully around her, and saying

to Captain Wentworth—

“It is very unpleasant, having such connexions! But, I assure you, I

have never been in the house above twice in my life.”

She received no other answer, than an artificial, assenting smile,

followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne

perfectly knew the meaning of.

The brow of the hill, where they remained, was a cheerful spot: Louisa

returned; and Mary, finding a comfortable seat for herself on the step

of a stile, was very well satisfied so long as the others all stood

about her; but when Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away, to try for a

gleaning of nuts in an adjoining hedge-row, and they were gone by

degrees quite out of sight and sound, Mary was happy no longer; she

quarrelled with her own seat, was sure Louisa had got a much better

somewhere, and nothing could prevent her from going to look for a

better also. She turned through the same gate, but could not see them.

Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry sunny bank, under the

hedge-row, in which she had no doubt of their still being, in some spot

or other. Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not do; she was sure

Louisa had found a better seat somewhere else, and she would go on till

she overtook her.

Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down; and she very soon

heard Captain Wentworth and Louisa in the hedge-row, behind her, as if

making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the

centre. They were speaking as they drew near. Louisa’s voice was the

first distinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of some eager

speech. What Anne first heard was—

“And so, I made her go. I could not bear that she should be frightened

from the visit by such nonsense. What! would I be turned back from

doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right,

by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person I may

say? No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have made

up my mind, I have made it; and Henrietta seemed entirely to have made

up hers to call at Winthrop to-day; and yet, she was as near giving it

up, out of nonsensical complaisance!”

“She would have turned back then, but for you?”

“She would indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.”

“Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! After the hints

you gave just now, which did but confirm my own observations, the last

time I was in company with him, I need not affect to have no

comprehension of what is going on. I see that more than a mere dutiful

morning visit to your aunt was in question; and woe betide him, and her

too, when it comes to things of consequence, when they are placed in

circumstances requiring fortitude and strength of mind, if she have not

resolution enough to resist idle interference in such a trifle as this.

Your sister is an amiable creature; but _yours_ is the character of

decision and firmness, I see. If you value her conduct or happiness,

infuse as much of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no

doubt, you have been always doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding

and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended

on. You are never sure of a good impression being durable; everybody

may sway it. Let those who would be happy be firm. Here is a nut,” said

he, catching one down from an upper bough, “to exemplify: a beautiful

glossy nut, which, blessed with original strength, has outlived all the

storms of autumn. Not a puncture, not a weak spot anywhere. This nut,”

he continued, with playful solemnity, “while so many of his brethren

have fallen and been trodden under foot, is still in possession of all

the happiness that a hazel nut can be supposed capable of.” Then

returning to his former earnest tone—“My first wish for all whom I am

interested in, is that they should be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be

beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her

present powers of mind.”

He had done, and was unanswered. It would have surprised Anne if Louisa

could have readily answered such a speech: words of such interest,

spoken with such serious warmth! She could imagine what Louisa was

feeling. For herself, she feared to move, lest she should be seen.

While she remained, a bush of low rambling holly protected her, and

they were moving on. Before they were beyond her hearing, however,

Louisa spoke again.

“Mary is good-natured enough in many respects,” said she; “but she does

sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense and pride—the Elliot

pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride. We do so wish

that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you know he wanted to

marry Anne?”

After a moment’s pause, Captain Wentworth said—

“Do you mean that she refused him?”

“Oh! yes; certainly.”

“When did that happen?”

“I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time;

but I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had

accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better; and

papa and mamma always think it was her great friend Lady Russell’s

doing, that she did not. They think Charles might not be learned and

bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore, she

persuaded Anne to refuse him.”

The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no more. Her own

emotions still kept her fixed. She had much to recover from, before she

could move. The listener’s proverbial fate was not absolutely hers; she

had heard no evil of herself, but she had heard a great deal of very

painful import. She saw how her own character was considered by Captain

Wentworth, and there had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity

about her in his manner which must give her extreme agitation.

As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and having found, and walked

back with her to their former station, by the stile, felt some comfort

in their whole party being immediately afterwards collected, and once

more in motion together. Her spirits wanted the solitude and silence

which only numbers could give.

Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be conjectured,

Charles Hayter with them. The minutiae of the business Anne could not

attempt to understand; even Captain Wentworth did not seem admitted to

perfect confidence here; but that there had been a withdrawing on the

gentleman’s side, and a relenting on the lady’s, and that they were now

very glad to be together again, did not admit a doubt. Henrietta looked

a little ashamed, but very well pleased;—Charles Hayter exceedingly

happy: and they were devoted to each other almost from the first

instant of their all setting forward for Uppercross.

Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth; nothing could

be plainer; and where many divisions were necessary, or even where they

were not, they walked side by side nearly as much as the other two. In

a long strip of meadow land, where there was ample space for all, they

were thus divided, forming three distinct parties; and to that party of

the three which boasted least animation, and least complaisance, Anne

necessarily belonged. She joined Charles and Mary, and was tired enough

to be very glad of Charles’s other arm; but Charles, though in very

good humour with her, was out of temper with his wife. Mary had shewn

herself disobliging to him, and was now to reap the consequence, which

consequence was his dropping her arm almost every moment to cut off the

heads of some nettles in the hedge with his switch; and when Mary began

to complain of it, and lament her being ill-used, according to custom,

in being on the hedge side, while Anne was never incommoded on the

other, he dropped the arms of both to hunt after a weasel which he had

a momentary glance of, and they could hardly get him along at all.

This long meadow bordered a lane, which their footpath, at the end of

it was to cross, and when the party had all reached the gate of exit,

the carriage advancing in the same direction, which had been some time

heard, was just coming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft’s gig. He and

his wife had taken their intended drive, and were returning home. Upon

hearing how long a walk the young people had engaged in, they kindly

offered a seat to any lady who might be particularly tired; it would

save her a full mile, and they were going through Uppercross. The

invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss Musgroves were

not at all tired, and Mary was either offended, by not being asked

before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pride could

not endure to make a third in a one horse chaise.

The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an

opposite stile, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again,

when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment to say something

to his sister. The something might be guessed by its effects.

“Miss Elliot, I am sure _you_ are tired,” cried Mrs Croft. “Do let us

have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three,

I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You

must, indeed, you must.”

Anne was still in the lane; and though instinctively beginning to

decline, she was not allowed to proceed. The Admiral’s kind urgency

came in support of his wife’s; they would not be refused; they

compressed themselves into the smallest possible space to leave her a

corner, and Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her,

and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.

Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had

placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she

owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give

her rest. She was very much affected by the view of his disposition

towards her, which all these things made apparent. This little

circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone before. She

understood him. He could not forgive her, but he could not be

unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering it with

high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and

though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer,

without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former

sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship;

it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not

contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that

she knew not which prevailed.

Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of her companions were at

first unconsciously given. They had travelled half their way along the

rough lane, before she was quite awake to what they said. She then

found them talking of “Frederick.”

“He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls, Sophy,”

said the Admiral; “but there is no saying which. He has been running

after them, too, long enough, one would think, to make up his mind. Ay,

this comes of the peace. 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.