Austen Said:

The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within, regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the travellers — they had a rich reward in store, for every present inconvenience.

The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the house; and so strong was the persuasion that she DID, in spite of the ALMOST impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view. By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother's alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.

Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the carriage stopt at the door — of her doubt — her dread — perhaps her despair! — and of what SHE had to tell! — with such knowledge it was impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy; and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings's maid with her sister, she hurried down stairs.

The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby, assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the drawing-room, — she entered it, — and saw only Willoughby.

Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room, and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than supplication,

she replied with firmness,

he cried with vehemence,

in the utmost amazement —

She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel Brandon's arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was engaged. After a moment's recollection, therefore, concluding that prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by either.

said Elinor, impatiently; —

He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to hear her.

said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards —

Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater eagerness.

He rose up, and walked across the room.

speaking with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat —

a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks —

Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever.

She began to think that

— the strangeness of such a visit, and of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this impression she immediately rose, saying,

he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm;

cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand what he would be at.

The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment's recollection,

said he, with serious energy —

was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made her think him sincere.

he cried, in the same eager tone. —

Elinor bowed her assent.

said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and thoughtfulness on his own, —

Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,

he replied,

said Elinor, a little softened,

here he hesitated and looked down. —

he added, looking at her with an heightened colour and an enquiring eye —

returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart anew against any compassion for him,

cried Willoughby,

he warmly replied;

said Elinor, reproachfully;

They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.

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