Austen Said:

he replied, impatiently;

He stopped.

said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for his departure,

Elinor's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this extraordinary conversation, was now softened again; — yet she felt it her duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.

A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first rousing himself, broke it thus:

said Elinor, while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion;

said he with a heavy sigh. —

Elinor made no answer.

Her thoughts were silently fixed

From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and said —

He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers; — he pressed it with affection.

said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting he was to go.

Elinor assured him that

and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very encouraging.

said he,

Elinor stopped him with a reproof.

he replied —

And with these words, he almost ran out of the room.

Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to think even of her sister.

which

made her think of him as

as

she soon acknowledged within herself

She felt that

But

she felt that

When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor's heart was full. The past, the present, the future, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her mother's expected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby's leaving the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another carriage. — Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment's horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it.

Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced almost the conviction of Marianne's being no more, had no voice to inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but SHE, waiting neither for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; — and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend; — and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press Colonel Brandon's hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.

As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor's delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep; — but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her. Mrs. Dashwood WOULD sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed. But the rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits. Willoughby,

as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself,

felt that

and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.

The shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had been much softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival, that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away, as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as

she repeatedly declared herself,

Elinor could not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without

sometimes wondering

But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to think only of what would increase it.

as she now began to feel,

— and in her recovery she had yet another source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.

Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and not surprised, was all silent attention.

Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because

and therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.

Here, however, Elinor perceived, — not the language, not the professions of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother's active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it chose.

said Elinor,

replied her mother seriously,

answered Elinor,

Elinor could NOT remember it; — but her mother, without waiting for her assent, continued,

She paused. — Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.

added Mrs. Dashwood,