第 十四 章 · The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon’s visit at the park, with his

. The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon’s visit at the park, with his

steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the

wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great

wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all

the comings and goings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with

little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must

be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could

have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape

them all.

“Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure,” said she. “I

could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may

be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two

thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do

think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can

it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the

truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare

say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be

she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a

notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about

Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his

circumstances _now_, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must

have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be

his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting

off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his

trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”

So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion varying with every

fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.

Elinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel

Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away,

which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that the

circumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or

variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of. It was

engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on

the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them

all. As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange

and more incompatible with the disposition of both. Why they should not

openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant

behaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not

imagine.

She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in

their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason

to believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at about six

or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that

income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of

his poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by them

relative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all,

she could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to their

general opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind

of their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her

making any inquiry of Marianne.

Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than

Willoughby’s behaviour. To Marianne it had all the distinguishing

tenderness which a lover’s heart could give, and to the rest of the

family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother. The

cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many more

of his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general

engagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him

out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest

of the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his

favourite pointer at her feet.

One evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the

country, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of

attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood’s happening

to mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly

opposed every alteration of a place which affection had established as

perfect with him.

“What!” he exclaimed—“Improve this dear cottage! No. _That_ I will

never consent to. Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch

to its size, if my feelings are regarded.”

“Do not be alarmed,” said Miss Dashwood, “nothing of the kind will be

done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it.”

“I am heartily glad of it,” he cried. “May she always be poor, if she

can employ her riches no better.”

“Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not

sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one

whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it

that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in

the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it

in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this

place as to see no defect in it?”

“I am,” said he. “To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider it as

the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I

rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in

the exact plan of this cottage.”

“With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,” said

Elinor.

“Yes,” cried he in the same eager tone, “with all and every thing

belonging to it;—in no one convenience or inconvenience about it,

should the least variation be perceptible. Then, and then only, under

such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at

Barton.”

“I flatter myself,” replied Elinor, “that even under the disadvantage

of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your

own house as faultless as you now do this.”

“There certainly are circumstances,” said Willoughby, “which might

greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of

my affection, which no other can possibly share.”

Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were

fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she

understood him.

“How often did I wish,” added he, “when I was at Allenham this time

twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! I never passed within

view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one

should live in it. How little did I then think that the very first news

I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country, would

be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate satisfaction

and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of prescience of

what happiness I should experience from it, can account for. Must it

not have been so, Marianne?” speaking to her in a lowered voice. Then

continuing his former tone, he said, “And yet this house you would

spoil, Mrs. Dashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by imaginary

improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance first

began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by us

together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance, and

every body would be eager to pass through the room which has hitherto

contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort than any

other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world could

possibly afford.”

Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should

be attempted.

“You are a good woman,” he warmly replied. “Your promise makes me easy.

Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy. Tell me that not

only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever find you

and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will always

consider me with the kindness which has made everything belonging to

you so dear to me.”

The promise was readily given, and Willoughby’s behaviour during the

whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.

“Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?” said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was

leaving them. “I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must

walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton.”

He engaged to be with them by four o’clock.