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• P E R S UAS I O N.

7 a.

BY

JAN E A U S T E N,
AUTHOR of “seNSE AND SENSIBILITY,” “PRIDE AND PREJUDICE,”
“MANSFIELD PARK,” “EMMA.”

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WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN & CO.,

LONDON, NLE W YORK, AND M E L B O U R N E.
1891. -

(All rights reserved.)

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voluME THE FIRST.
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CHAPTER I.

SIR WALTER ELLIOT of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire

was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up
any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation
for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there
his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by
contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents;
there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic
affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt. As he
turned over the almost endless creations of the last cen
tury—and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he
could read his own history with an interest which never
failed — this was the page at which the favourite volume
always opened:—
“ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.

“Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July

15. 1784, Elizabeth, daughter of James Stevenson, Esq.
of South Park, in the county of Gloucester; by which
lady (who died 1800) he has issue, Elizabeth, born June 1.
1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, No
vember 5, 1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791.”
Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from
the printer's hands; but Sir Walter had improved it by
adding, for the information of himself and his family,
these words, after the date of Mary's birth, --“Married,

514241
216 .** .. : PERSUASION.

December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles

Musgrove, Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somer
set," and by inserting most accurately the day of the
month on which he had lost his wife.
Then folk,wed the history and rise of the ancient and
respectable family, in the usual terms: how it had been
first settled ip, Cheshire, how mentioned in Dugdale, serv
ing the office, of high sheriff, representing a borough in
three successive parliaments, exertions of loyalty, and dig
nity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II., with all
the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming al
together two handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding
with the arms and motto,-“Principal seat, Kellynch Hall,
in the county of Somerset,” and Sir Walter's handwriting
again in this finale, —
“Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq. great
grandson of the second Sir Walter.”
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's
character – vanity of person and of situation. He had
been remarkably handsome in his youth, and, at fifty
four, was still a very fine man. Few women could think
more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could
the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with
the place he held in society. He considered the blessing
of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy;
and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the
constant object of his warmest respect and devotion.
His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his
attachment; since to them he must have owed a wife of
very superior character to any thing deserved by his own.
Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman, sensible and
amiable, whose judgment and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady
Elliot, had never required indulgence afterwards. She
had humoured, or softened, or concealed his failings, and
promoted his real respectability for seventeen years; and
though not the very happiest being in the world herself,
had found enough in her duties, her friends, and her
children, to attach her to life, and make it no matter of
indifference to her when she was called on to quit thern
 PERSUASION. 217

Three girls, the two eldest sixteen and fourteen, was an

awful legacy for a mother to bequeath; an awful charge
rather to confide to the authority and guidance of a con
ceited, silly father. She had, however, one very intimate
friend, a sensible, deserving woman, who had been
brought, by strong attachment to herself, to settle close by
her, in the village of Kellynch ; and on her kindness and
advice Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best help and
maintenance of the good principles and instruction which
she had been anxiously giving her daughters.
This friend and Sir Walter did not marry, whatever
might have been anticipated on that head by their acquaint
ance. Thirteen years had passed away since Lady Elliot's
death, and they were still near neighbours and intimate
friends; and one remained a widower, the other a widow.
That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and
extremely well provided for, should have no thought of a
second marriage, needs no apology to the public, which is
rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a wo
man does marry again, than when she does not ; but
Sir Walter's continuing in singleness requires explana
tion. Be it known, then, that Sir Walter, like a good
father (having met with one or two private disappoint
ments in very unreasonable applications), prided himself
on remaining single for his dear daughter's sake. For one
daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any
thing, which he had not been very much tempted to do.
Elizabeth had succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possi
ble of her mother's rights and consequence; and being
very handsome, and very like himself, her influence had
always been great, and they had gone on together most
happily. His two other children were of very inferior
value. Mary had acquired a little artificial importance
by becoming Mrs. Charles Musgrove;(but Anne, with an
elegance of mind and sweetness of character, which must
have placed her high with any people of real understand
ing, was nobody with either father or sister; her word had
no weight; her convenience was always to give way-she
was only Anne.
*To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and
 218 1*ERSUASION.

highly valued god-daughter, favourite, and friend. Lady

Russell loved them all; but it was only in Anne that she
could fancy the mother to revive again.
A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty
girl, but her bloom had vanished early; and as, even in
its height, her father had found little to admire in her (so
totally different were her delicate features and mild dark
eyes from his own), there could be nothing in them, now
that she was faded and thin, to excite his esteem. He
had never indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever
reading her name in any other page of his favourite work.
All equality of alliance must rest with Elizabeth; for
Mary had merely connected herself with an old country
family of respectability and large fortune, and had, there
fore, given all the honour, and received none: Elizabeth
would, one day or other, marry suitably.
It sometimes happens, that a woman is handsomer at
twenty-nine than she was ten years before; and, generally
. speaking, if there has been neither ill health nor anxiety,
it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost.
It was so with Elizabeth – still the same handsome Miss
Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago; and Sir
Walter might be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age,
or, at least, be deemed only half a fool, for thinking him
self and Elizabeth as blooming as ever, amidst the wreck
of the good looks of every body else; for he could
plainly see how old all the rest of his family and acquaint
ance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every
face in the neighbourhood worsting; and the rapid increase
of the crow's fott about Lady Russell's temples had long
been a distress to him.
T Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal con
tentment. Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kel
lynch Hall, presiding and directing with a self-possession
and decision which could never have given the idea of her
being younger than she was. For thirteen years had she
been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic
law at home, and leading the way to the chaise and four,
#hd walking immediately after Lady Russell out of all the
drawing-rooms and dining-rooms in the country. Thir
 PERSUASION. 219

teen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening every

ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded; and
thirteen springs shown their blossoms, as she travelled up
to London with her father, for a few weeks annual enjoy
ment of the great world. She had the remembrance of all
this; she had the consciousness of being nine-and-twenty,
to give her some regrets and some apprehensions; she
was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever;
but she felt her approach to the years of danger, and would
have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited by
baronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two. Then
might she again take up the book of books with as much
enjoyment as in her early youth ; but now she liked it
not. Always to be presented with the date of her own
birth, and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest
sister, made the book an evil; and more than once, when
her father had left it open on the table near her, had she
closed it, with averted eyes, and pushed it away.
She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that
book, and especially the history of her own family, must
ever present the remembrance of. The heir presumptive,
the very William Walter Elliot, Esq. whose rights had been
so generously supported by her father, had disappointed
her.
She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had
known him to be, in the event of her having no brother,
the future baronet, meant to marry him; and her father
had always meant that she should. He had not been
known to them as a boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's
death, Sir Walter had sought the acquaintance; and though
his overtures had not been met with any warmth, he had
persevered in seeking it, making allowance for the modest
drawing back of youth; and, in one of their spring ex
cursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first bloom,
Mr. Elliot had been forced into the introduction.
He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in
the study of the law; and Elizabeth found him extremely
agreeable, and every plan in his favour was confirmed.
He was invited to Kellynch Hall: he was talked of and”
expected all the rest of the year; but he never came.
220 PERSUASION.

The following spring he was seen again in town, found

equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and expected,
and again he did not come; and the next tidings were
that he was married. Instead of pushing his fortune in
the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, he
had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich
woman of inferior birth.
Sir Walter had resented it. As the head of the house,
he felt that he ought to have been consulted, especially
after taking the young man so publicly by the hand: “For
they must have been seen together,” he observed, “once
at Tattersal's, and twice in the lobby of the House of
Commons.” His disapprobation was expressed, but appa
rently very little regarded. Mr. Elliot had attempted no
apology, and shown himself as unsolicitous of being longer
noticed by the family, as Sir Walter considered him un
worthy of it: all acquaintance between them had ceased.
This very awkward history of Mr. Elliot was still, after
an interval of several years, felt with anger by Elizabeth,
who had liked the man for himself, and still more for
being her father's heir, and whose strong family pride
could see only in him a proper match for Sir Walter
Elliot's eldest daughter. There was not a baronet from
A to Z whom her feelings could have so willingly acknow
ledged as an equal. Yet so miserably had he conducted
himself, that though she was at this present time (the
summer of 1814) wearing black ribands for his wife, she
could not admit him to be worth thinking of again. The
disgrace of his first marriage might, perhaps, as there was
no reason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring, have been
got over, had he not done worse; but he had, as by the
accustomary intervention of kind friends, they had been
informed, spoken most disrespectfully of them all, most
slightingly and contemptuously of the very blood he be
longed to, and the honours which were hereafter to be his
own. This could not be pardoned.
Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations;
such the cares to alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness
and the elegance, the prosperity and the nothingness, of
her scene of life-such the feelings to give interest to a
 PERSUASION. 221

long, uneventful residence in one country circle, to fill the

vacancies which there were no habits of utility abroad, no
talents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.
But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was
beginning to be added to these. Her father was growing
distressed for money. She knew, that when he now took
up the baronetage, it was to drive the heavy bills of his
tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of Mr. Shepherd,
his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch property was
good, but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the
state required in its possessor. While Lady Elliot lived,
there had been method, moderation, and economy, which
had just kept him within his income; but with her had
died all such right-mindedness, and from that period he
had been constantly,exceeding it. It had not been possible
for him to spend less: he had done nothing but what Sir
Walter Elliot was imperiously called on to do; but blame
less as he was, he was not only growing dreadfully in debt,
but was hearing of it so often, that it became vain to
attempt concealing it longer, even partially, from his
daughter. He had given her some hints of it the last
spring in town; he had gone so far even as to say, “Can
we retrench P does it occur to you that there is any one
article in which we can retrench P” —and Elizabeth, to do
her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm, set
seriously to think what could be done, and had finally pro
posed these two branches of economy, —to cut off some
unnecessary charities, and to refrain from new furnishing
the drawing-room; to which expedients she afterwards
added the happy thought of their taking no present down
to Anne, as had been the usual yearly custom. But these
measures, however good in themselves, were insufficient for
the real extent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter
found himself obliged to confess to her soon afterwards.
Elizabeth had nothing to propose of deeper efficacy. She
felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did her father; and
they were neither of them able to devise any means of
lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity,
or relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.
There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter
P

}\
%22 PERSUASrON.

eould dispose of; but had every acre been alienable, it

would have made no difference. He had condescended to
mortgage as far as he had the power, but he would never
condescend to sell. No ; he would never disgrace his name
so far. The Kellynch estate should be transmitted whole
and entire, as he had received it.
Their two confidential friends, Mr. Shepherd, who lived
in the neighbouring market town, and Lady Russell, were
called on to advise them; and both father and daughter
seemed to expect that something should be struck out by
one or the other to remove their embarrassments and re
duce their expenditure, without involving the loss of any
indulgence of taste or pride.

CHAPTER II.

MR. SHEPHERD, a civil, cautious lawyer, who, whatever

might be his hold or his views on Sir Walter, would rather
have the disagreeable prompted by any body else, excused
himself from offering the slightest hint, and only begged
leave to recommend an implicit reference to the excellent
judgment of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense
he fully expected to have just such resolute measures ad
vised as he meant to see finally adopted.
Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject,
and gave it much serious consideration. She was a woman
rather of sound than of quick abilities, whose difficulties
in coming to any decision in this instance were great,
from the opposition of two leading principles. She was of
strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;
but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as
solicitous for t e credit of the family, as aristocratic in her
ideas of what was due to them, as any body of sense ant'
honesty could well be. She was a benevolent, charitable
good woman, and capable of strong attachments, most
correct in her conduct, strict in her notions of decorum, and
 1*ERSUASION. 223

with manners that were held a standard of good-breeding.

She had a cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking,
rational and consistent; but she had prejudices on the
side of ancestry; she had a value for rank and conse
quence, which blinded her a little to the faults of those
who possessed them. Herself the widow of only a knight,
she gave the dignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir
Walter, independent of his claims as an old acquaintance,
an attentive neighbour, an obliging landlord, the husband
of her very dear friend, the father of Anne and her sisters,
was, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension entitled to a
great deal of compassion and consideration under his pre
sent difficulties.
They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt,
But she was very anxious to have it done with the least
possible pain to him and Elizabeth. She drew up plans
of economy, she made exact calculations, and she did,
what nobody else thought of doing, she consulted Anne,
who never seemed considered by the others as having any
interest in the question. She consulted, and in a degree
was influenced by her, in marking out the scheme of re
trenchment, which was at last submitted to Sir Walter.
Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of
honesty against importance. She wanted more vigorous
measures, a more complete reformation, a quicker release
from debt, a much higher tone of indifference for every
thing but justice and equity.
“If we can persuade your father to all this,” said Lady
Russell, looking over her paper, “ much may be done. If
he will adopt these regulations, in seven years he will be
clear; and I hope we may be able t2 convince him and
Elizabeth that Kellynch Hall has a respectability in
itself which cannot be affected by these reductions; and
that the true dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far
from lessened, in the eyes of sensible people, by his acting
like a man of principle. What will he be doing, in fact,
but what very many of our first families have done, or
ought to do? There will be nothing singular in his case;
and it is singularity which often makes the worst part of
our suffering, as it always does of our conduct. I have great
224 PERSUAS ION.

hope of our prevailing. We must be serious and decided;

for, after all, the person who has contracted debts must
pay them; and though a great deal is due to the feelings
of the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your
father, there is still more due to the character of an honest
man.”
This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father
to be proceeding, his friends to be urging him. She con
sidered it as an act of indispensable duty to clear away the
claims of creditors, with all the expedition which the most
comprehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw no
dignity in any thing short of it. She wanted it to be
prescribed, and felt as a duty. She rated Lady Russell's
influence highly ; and as to the severe degree of self-denial,
which her own conscience prompted, she believed there
might be little more difficulty in persuading them to a
complete, than to half a reformation. Her knowledge of
her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the
sacrifice of one pair of horses would be hardly less painful
than of both, and so on, through the whole list of Lady
Russell's too gentle reductions.
How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been
taken is of little consequence. Lady Russell's had no
success at all—could not be put up with—were not to be
borne. “What! every comfort of life knocked off!
Journeys, London, servants, horses, table, – contractions
and restrictions every where. To live no longer with the
decencies even of a private gentleman l No, he would sooner
quit Kellynch Hall at once, than remain in it on such
disgraceful terms.”
“Quit Kellynch Hall.” The hint was immediately
taken up by Mr. Shepherd, whose interest was involved in
the reality of Sir Walter's retrenching, and who was per
fectly persuaded that nothing would be done without a
change of abode. “Since the idea had been started in
the very quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple,”
he said, “ in confessing his judgment to be entirely on
that side. It did not appear to him that Sir Walter could
materially alter his style of living in a house which had
such a character of hospitality and ancient dignity to sup
 PERSUASION. 22.5

port, zi, any other place Sir Walter might judge for
hi:::self; and would be looked up to, as regulating the
modes of life, in whatever way he might choose to model
his household.”
Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very
few days more of doubt and indecision, the great question
of whither he should go was settled, and the first outline
of this important change made out.
There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or
another house in the country. All Anne's wishes had
been for the latter. A small house in their own neigh
bourhood, where they might still have Lady Russell's
society, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure of
sometimes seeing the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was
the object of her ambition. But the usual fate of Anne
attended her, in having something very opposite from her
inclination fixed on. She disliked Bath, and did not think
it agreed with her; and Bath was to be her home.
Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but
Mr. Shepherd felt that he could not be trusted in London,
and had been skilful enough to dissuade him from it, and
make Bath preferred. It was a much safer place for a gen
tleman in his predicament: he might there be important
at comparatively little expense. Two material advantages
of Bath over London had of course been given all their
weight, its more convenient distance from Kellynch, only
fifty miles, and Lady Russell's spending some part of
every winter there; and to the very great satisfaction of
Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected change
had been for Bath, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were induced
to believe that they should lose neither consequence nor
enjoyment by settling there.
Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne's
known wishes. It would be too much to expect Sir Walter
to descend into a small house in his own neighbourhood.
Anne herself would have found the mortifications of it
more than she foresaw, and to Sir Walter's feelings they
must have been dreadful. And with regard to Anne's

| dislike of Bath, she considered it as a prejudice and mis

take, arising first, from the circumstance of her having
226 PERSUASION,

been three years at school there, after her mother's death,

and, secondly, from her happening to be not in perfectly
good spirits the only winter which she had afterwards
spent there with herself.
Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and disposed
to think it must suit them all; and as to her young friend's
health, by passing all the warm months with her at Kel
lynch Lodge, every danger would be avoided; and it was,
in fact, a change which must do both health and spirits
good. Anne had been too little from home, too little seen.
Her spirits were not high. A larger society would im
prove them. She wanted her to be more known. -

The undesirableness of any other house in the same

neighbourhood for Sir Walter was certainly much strength
ened by one part, and a very material part of the scheme,
which had been happily engrafted on the beginning. He
was not only to quit his home, but to see it in the hands
of others; a trial of fortitude which stronger heads than
Sir Walter's have found too much. Kellynch Hall was to
be let. This, however, was a profound secret; not to be
breathed beyond their own circle.
Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being
known to design letting his house. Mr. Shepherd had
once mentioned the word “advertise;” but never dared
approach it again: Sir Walter spurned the idea of its being
offered in any manner; forbad the slightest hint being
dropped of his having such an intention; and it was only
on the supposition of his being spontaneously solicited by
some most unexceptionable applicant, on his own terms,
and as a great favour, that he would let it at all.
How quick come the reasons for approving what we
like ! Lady Russell had another excellent one at hand,
for being extremely glad that Sir Walter and his family
were to remove from the country. Elizabeth had been lately
forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted.
It was with a daughter of Mr. Shepherd, who had re
turned, after an unprosperous marriage, to her fathcr's
house, with the additional burden of two children. She
was a clever young woman, who understood the art of
pleasing; the art of pleasing, at least, at Kellynch Ha!! #
 PERSUASION. 22*

and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as

to have been already staying there more than once, in spite
of all that Lady Russell, who thought it a friendship quite
out of place, could hint of caution and reserve. -

Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with

Elizabeth, and seemed to love her, rather because she would
love her, than because Elizabeth deserved it. She had ne
ver received from her more than outward attention, nothing
beyond the observances of complaisance; had never succeeded
in any point which she wanted to carry, against previous
inclination. She had been repeatedly very earnest in trying
to get Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open
to all the injustice and all the discredit of the selfish ar
rangements which shut her out, and on many lesser oc
casions had endeavoured to give Elizabeth the advantage of
her own better judgment and experience—but always in
vain: Elizabeth would go her own way; and never had she
pursued it in more decided opposition to Lady Russell than
in this selection of Mrs. Clay; turning from the society of
so deserving a sister, to bestow her affection and confidence
on one who ought to have been nothing to her but the ob
ject of distant civility.
From situation, Mrs. Clay was, in Lady Russell's esti
mate, a very unequal, and in her character, she believed, a
very dangerous companion; and a removal that would leave
Mrs. Clay behind, and bring a choice of more suitable
intimates within Miss Elliot's reach, was therefore an object
of first-rate importance.

CHAPTER III.

“I Must take leave to observe, Sir Walter,” said Mr.

Shepherd one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down
the newspaper, “that the present juncture is much in our
favour This peace will be turning all our rich naval officers
228 PERSUASION.

ashore. They will be all wanting a home. Could not be

a better time, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants,
very responsible tenants. Many a noble fortune has been
made during the war. If a rich admiral were to come in
our way, Sir Walter **

“He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd,” replied Sir

Walter; “that's all I have to remark. A prize, indeed,
would Kellynch Hall be to him; rather the greatest prize
of all, let him have taken ever so many before—hey,
Shepherd?”
Mr. Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit,
and then added,—
“I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of
business, gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I
have had a little knowledge of their methods of doing bu
siness; and I am free to confess that they have very liberal
notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants as any
set of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir Walter,
what I would take leave to suggest is, that if in consequence
of any rumours getting abroad of your intention — which
must be contemplated as a possible thing, because we know
how difficult it is to keep the actions and designs of one
part of the world from the notice and curiosity of the other,
— consequence has its tax – I, John Shepherd, might
conceal any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would
think it worth their while to observe me; but Sir Walter
Elliot has eyes upon him which it may be very difficult to
elude; and, therefore, thus much I venture upon, that it
will not greatly surprise me if, with all our caution, some
rumour of the truth should get abroad; in the supposition
of which, as I was going to observe, since applications will
unquestionably follow, I should think any from our wealthy
naval commanders particularly worth attending to — and
beg leave to add, that two hours will bring me over at any
time, to save you the trouble of replying.”
Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising
and pacing the room, he observed sarcastically,–
“There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I
imagine, who would not be surprised to find themselves in
a house of this description.”
 PERSUASION. 229

“They would look around them, no doubt, and bless

their good fortune," said Mrs. Clay, for Mrs. Clay was pre
sent: her father had driven her over, nothing being of so
much use to Mrs. Clay's health as a drive to Kellynch
“but I quite agree with my father in thinking a sailor
might be a very desirable tenant. I have known a good
deal of the profession; and besides their liberality, they
are so neat and careful in all their ways | These valuable
pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if you chose to leave them,
would be perfectly safe. Every thing in and about the
house would be taken such excellent care of ! The gardens
and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order as
they are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of
your own sweet flower-garden's being neglected.”
“As to all that,” rejoined Sir Walter coolly, “sup
posing I were induced to let my house, I have by no means
made up my mind as to the privileges to be annexed to it.
I am not particularly disposed to favour a tenant. The
park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers,
or men of any other description, can have had such a range;
but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the
pleasure grounds is another thing. I am not fond of the
idea of my shrubberies being always approachable; and I
should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard with
respect to her flower-garden. I am very little disposed to
grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour,
I assure you, be he sailor or soldier.”
After a short pause, Mr. Shepherd presumed to say,–
“In all these cases there are established usages which
make every thing plain and easy between landlord and
tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands.
Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant has more
than his just rights. I venture to hint, that Sir Walter
Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shep
herd will be for him.”
Here Anne spoke,—
“The navy, I think, who have done so much for us,
have at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for
all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can
230 PERSUASION•

give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we

must all allow.”
“Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says is very
true,” was Mr. Shepherd's rejoinder, and “Oh, certainly,
was his daughter's; but Sir Walter's remark was, soon
afterwards,—
“The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry
to see any friend of mine belonging to it.”
“Indeed!” was the reply, and with a look of surprise.
“Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two
strong grounds of objection to it. First, as being the
means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue dis
tinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers
and grandfathers never dreamt of ; and, secondly, as it cuts
up a man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows
old sooner than any other man; I have observed it all my
life. A man is in greater danger in the navy of being in
sulted by the rise of one whose father his father might
have disdained to speak to, and of becoming prematurely
an object of disgust himself, than in any other line. One
day last spring, in town, I was in company with two men,
striking instances of what I am talking of,-Lord St. Ives,
whose father we all know to have been a country curate,
without bread to eat: I was to give place to Lord St. Ives,
and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking
personage you can imagine; his face the colour of ma
hogany, rough and rugged to the last degree, all lines and
wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side, and nothing but a dab
of powder at top.– “In the name of heaven, who is that
old fellow P” said I to a friend of mine who was standing
near (Sir Basil Morley).—“Old fellow !' cried Sir Basil,
“it is Admiral Baldwin. What do you take his age to be P'
—“Sixty, said I, ‘or perhaps sixty-two.”—“Forty,’ replied
Sir Basil, ‘forty, and no more. Picture to yourselves my
amazement: I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwir.
I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea
faring life can do; but to a degree, I know it is the same
with them all: they are all knocked about, and exposed to
every climate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be
 PERSUASION. 231

seen. It is a pity they are not knocked on the head at

once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's age.”
“Nay, Sir Walter,” cried Mrs. Clay, “this is being
severe indeed. Have a little mercy on the poor men. We
are not all born to be handsome. The sea is no beautifier,
certainly ; sailors do grow old betimes; I have often ob
served it; they soon lose the look of youth. But then, is
not it the same with many other professions, perhaps most
other ? Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off;
and even in the quieter professions, there is a toil and a
labour of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves
a man's looks to the natural effect of time. The lawyer
plods, quite care-worn : the physician is up at all hours,
and travelling in all weather; and even the clergyman—”
she stopt a moment to consider what might do for the cler
gyman –“ and even the clergyman, you know, is obliged
to go into infected rooms, and expose his health and looks
to all the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as I
have long been convinced, though every profession is ne
cessary and honourable in its turn, it is only the lot of those
who are not obliged to follow any, who can live in a re
gular way, in the country, choosing their own hours,
following their own pursuits, and living on their own pro
perty, without the torment of trying for more; it is only
their lot, I say, to hold the blessings of health and a good
appearance to the utmost : I know no other set of men
but what lose something of their personableness when they
cease to be quite young.”
It seemed as if Mr. Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak
Sir Walter's good will towards a naval officer as tenant,
had been gifted with foresight; for the very first appli
cation for the house was from an Admiral Croft, with
whom he shortly afterwards fell into company in attend
ing the quarter sessions at Taunton ; and, indeed, he had
received a hint of the Admiral from a London correspond
ent. By the report which he hastened over to Kellynch
to make, Admiral Croft was a native of Somersetshire,
who having acquired a very handsome fortune, was wish
ing to settle in his own country, and had come down to
Taunton in order to look at some advertised places in that
232 PERSUASION.

immediate neighbourhood, which, however, had not suited

him; that accidentally hearing— (it was just as he had
foretold, Mr. Shepherd observed, Sir Walter's concerns
could not be kept a secret,) — accidentally hearing of the
possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding
his (Mr. Shepherd's) connection with the owner, he had
introduced himself to him in order to make particular
enquiries, and had, in the course of a pretty long confer
ence, expressed as strong an inclination for the place as a
man who knew it only by description could feel; and
given Mr. Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself,
every proof of his being a most responsible, eligible tenant.
“And who is Admiral Croft P” was Sir Walter's cold,
suspicious enquiry.
Mr. Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman's
family, and mentioned a place; and Anne, after the little
pause which followed, added, –
“He is rear-admiral of the white. He was in the
Trafalgar action, and has been in the East Indies since;
he has been stationed there, I believe, several years.”
“Then I take it for granted,” observed Sir Walter,
“that his face is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of
my livery.”
Mr. Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral
Croft was a very hale, hearty, well-looking man, a little
weather-beaten, to be sure, but not much, and quite the
gentleman in all his notions and behaviour, — not likely
to make the smallest difficulty about terms, – only wanted
a comfortable home, and to get into it as soon as possible,
– knew he must pay for his convenience, — knew what
rent a ready-furnished house of that consequence might
fetch, – should not have been surprised if Sir Walter had
asked more, — had enquired about the manor, — would be
glad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point
of it, —said he sometimes took out a gun, but never killed,
— quite the gentleman.
Mr. Shepherd was eloquent on the subject, pointing out
all the circumstances of the Admiral's family, which made
him peculiarly desirable as a tenant. He was a married
wnan, and without children; the very state to be wished
 PERSUASION. 233

for. A house was never taken good care "f, Mr. Shepherd
observed, without a lady: he did not know whether fur
niture might not be in danger of suffering as much where
there was no lady, as where there were many children. A
lady, without a family, was the very best preserver of fur
niture in the world. He had seen Mrs. Croft, too ; she
was at Taunton with the Admiral, and had been present
almost all the time they were talking the matter over.
“And a very well-spoken, genteel, shrewd lady, she
seemed to be,” continued he ; “asked more questions
about the house, and terms, and taxes, than the Admiral
himself, and seemed more conversant with business; and,
moreover, Sir Walter, I found she was not quite uncon
nected in this country, any more than her husband; that
is to say, she is sister to a gentleman who did live amongst
us once ; she told me so herself:-sister to the gentleman
who lived a few years back at Monkford. Bless me !
what was his name At this moment I cannot recollect
his name, though I have heard it so lately. Penelope,
my dear, can you help me to the name of the gentleman
who lived at Monkford, – Mrs. Croft's brother ?”
But Mrs. Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot
that she did not hear the appeal.
“I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd;
I remember no gentleman resident at Monkford since the
time of old Governor Trent.”
“Bless me! how very odd ! I shall forget my own
name soon, I suppose. A name that I am so very well
acquainted with ; knew the gentleman so well by sight;
seen him a hundred times; came to consult me once, I
remember, about a trespass of one of his neighbours;
farmer's man breaking into his orchard, – wall torn down,
-- apples stolen, — caught in the fact; and afterwards,
contrary to my judgment, submitted to an amicable com
promise. Very odd, indeed!"
After waiting another moment, -
“You mean Mr. Wentworth, I suppose?” said Anne.
Mr. Shepherd was all gratitude.
“Wentworth was the very name! Mr. Wentworth
was the very man. He had the curacy of Monkford, you
 234 perSUASION.

know, Sir Walter, some time back, for two or three years.
Came there about the year —5, I take it. You remember
him, I am sure.”
“Wentworth P Oh ay, Mr. Wentworth, the curate
of Monkford. You misled me by the term gentleman. I
thought you were speaking of some man of property:
Mr. Wentworth was nobody, I remember; quite uncon
nected; nothing to do with the Strafford family. One
wonders how the names of many of our nobility become
L so common.”
As Mr. Shepherd perceived that this connection of the
Crofts did them no service with Sir Walter, he mentioned
it no more; returning, with all his zeal, to dwell on the
circumstances more indisputably in their favour; their
age, and number, and fortune; the high idea they had
formed of Kellynch Hall, and extreme solicitude for the
advantage of renting it; making it appear as if they
- ranked nothing beyond the happiness of being the tenants
of Sir Walter Elliot: an extraordinary taste, certainly,
could they have been supposed in the secret of Sir Walter's
estimate of the dues of a tenant.
It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter must
ever look with an evil eye on any one intending to inhabit
that house, and think them infinitely too well off in being
permitted to rent it on the highest terms, he was talked
into allowing Mr. Shepherd to proceed in the treaty, and
authorising him to wait on Admiral Croft, who still re
mained at Taunton, and fix a day for the house being
seen.

Sir Walter was not very wise; but still he had expe
s rience enough of the world to feel, that a more unobjec
tionable tenant, in all essentials, than Admiral Croft bid
fair to be, could hardly offer. So far went his understand
# ing; and his vanity supplied a little additional soothing,
in the Admiral's situation in life, which was just high
enough, and not too high. “I have let my house to
Admiral Croft,” would sound extremely well; very much
better than to any mere Mr. ; a Mr. (save, perhaps,
some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of
explanation. An admiral speaks his own consequence,
 PERSUASION. 235

and, at the same time, can never make a baronet look small.
In all their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot
must ever have the precedence.
Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth:
but her inclination was growing so strong for a removal,
that she was happy to have it fixed and expedited by a
tenant at hand; and not a word to suspend decision was
uttered by her.
Mr. Shepherd was completely empowered to act; and
no sooner had such an end been reached, than Anne, who
had been a most attentive listener to the whole, left the
room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed
cheeks; and as she walked along a favourite grove, said,
with a gentle sigh, “A few months more, and he, perhaps,
may be walking here.”

CHAPTER IV,

HE was not Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monk

ford, however suspicious appearances may be, but a Cap
tain Frederick Wentworth, his brother, who being made
commander in consequence of the action off St. Domingo,
and not immediately employed, had come into Somerset.
shire, in the summer of 1806; and having no parent
living, found a home for half a year at Monkford. He
was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a
great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy; and Anne
an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste,
and feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side,
might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she
had hardly any body to love; but the encounter of such
lavish recommendations could not fail. They were gradually
acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in
love. It would be difficult to say which had seen highest
perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest;
 236 PERSUASION.

she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in

having them accepted.
A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a
short one. Troubles soon arose. Sir Walter, on being
applied to, without actually withholding his consent, or
saying it should never be, gave it all the negative of great
astonishment, great coldness, great silence, and a professed
resolution of doing nothing for his daughter. He thought
it a very degrading alliance; and Lady Russell, though
with more tempered and pardonable pride, received it as a
most unfortunate one.
Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and
mind, to throw herself away at nineteen; involve herself at
nineteen in an engagement with a young man, who had
nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of
attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain
profession, and no connections to secure even his farther
rise in that profession, would be, indeed, a throwing away,
which she grieved to think of ! Anne Elliot, so young;
known to so few, to be snatched off by a stranger without
alliance or fortune; or rather sunk by him into a state of
most wearing, anxious, youth-killing dependence ! It must
not be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any repre
sentations from one who had almost a mother's love, and
mother's rights, it would be prevented.
Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had been
lucky in his profession; but spending freely what had
come freely, had realised nothing. But he was confident
that he should soon be rich : full of life and ardour, he
knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a
station that would lead to every thing he wanted. He had
always been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Such
confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in
the wit which often expressed it, must have been enough for
Anne; but Lady Russell saw it very differently. His
sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very
differently on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the
evil. It only added a dangerous character to himself. He
was brilliant, he was headstrong. Lady Russell had little
 PERSUASION. 237

taste for wit; and of any thing approaching to imprudence

a horror. She deprecated the connection in every light.
Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more
than Anne could combat. Young and gentle as she was, it
might yet have been possible to withstand her father's ill
will, though unsoftened by one kind word or look on the
part of her sister; but Lady Russell, whom she had always
loved and relied on, could not, with such steadiness of
opinion, and such tenderness of manner, be continually
advising her in vain. She was persuaded to believe the
engagement a wrong thing; indiscreet, improper, hardly
capable of success, and not deserving it. But it was not a
merely selfish caution, under which she acted, in putting
an end to it. Had she not imagined herself consulting his
good, even more than her own, she could hardly have given
him up. The belief of being prudent and self-denying,
principally for his advantage, was her chief consolation
under the misery of a parting—a final parting; and every
consolation was required, for she had to encounter all the
additional pain of opinions, on his side, totally unconvinced
and unbending, and of his feeling himself ill used by so
forced a relinquishment. He had left the country in
consequence.
A few months had seen the beginning and the end of
their acquaintance; but not with a few months ended
Anne's share of suffering from it. Her attachment and
regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment of
youth; and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been
their lasting effect.
More than seven years were gone since this little history
of sorrowful interest had reached its close; and time had
softened down much, perhaps nearly all of peculiar attack
ment to him, but she had been too dependent on time
alone; no aid had been given in change of place (except
in one visit to Bath soon after the rupture), or in any
novelty or enlargement of society. No one had ever come
within the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison
with Frederick Wentworth, as he stood in her memory.
No second attachment, the only thoroughly natural, happy
and sufficient cure, at her time of life, had been possible to
Q
238 PERSUASION.

the nice tone of her mind, the fastidiousness of her taste,

in the small limits of the society around them. She had
Deen solicited, when about two-and-twenty, to change her
name by the young man who not long afterwards found
a more willing mind in her younger sister; and Lady
Russell had lamented her refusal; for Charles Musgrove
was the eldest son of a man, whose landed property and
general importance were second, in that country, only to
Sir Walter's, and of good character and appearance; and
however Lady Russell might have asked yet for something
more while Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to
see her at twenty-two so respectably removed from the
partialities and injustice of her father's house, and settled
so permanently near herself. But in this case Anne had
left nothing for advice to do; and though Lady Russell, as
satisfied as ever with her own discretion, never wished the
past undone, she began now to have the anxiety which
borders on hopelessness for Anne's being tempted, by some
man of talents and independence, to enter a state for which
she held her to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections
and domestic habits.
They knew not each other's opinion, either its constancy
or its change, on the one leading point of Anne's conduct,
for the subject was never alluded to; but Anne, at seven
and-twenty, thought very differently from what she had
been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady
Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided
by her; but she felt that were any young person in similar
circumstances to apply to her for counsel, they would
never receive any of such certain immediate wretchedness,
such uncertain future good. She was persuaded, that under
every disadvantage of disapprobation at home, and every
anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears,
delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a
happier woman in maintaining the engagement, than she
had been in the sacrifice.of it; and this, she fully believed,
had the usual share, had even more than an usual share of
all such solicitudes and suspense been theirs, without refer
ence to the actual results of their case, which, as it hap
pened, would have bestowed earlier prosperity than could
 PERSUASION. 239

be reasonably calculated on. All his sanguine expectations,

all his confidence, had been justified. His genius and
ardour had seemed to foresee and to command his pro
sperous path. He had, very soon after their engagement
ceased, got employ; and all that he had told her would
follow had taken place. He had distinguished himself,
and early gained the other step in rank, and must now,
by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune.
She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority,
but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of
his constancy, she had no reason to believe him married.
How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been how elo
quent, at least, were her wishes on the side of early warm
attachment, and a cheerful confidence in futurity, against
that over-anxious caution which seems to insult exertion
and distrust Providence ! She had been forced into pru
dence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older,
– the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.
With all these circumstances, recollections, and feelings,
she could not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was
likely to live at Kellynch without a revival of former
pain; and many a stroll and many a sigh were necessary
to dispel the agitation of the idea. She often told herself
it was folly, before she could harden her nerves sufficiently
to feel the continual discussion of the Crofts and their
business no evil. She was assisted, however, by that per
fect indifference and apparent unconsciousness, among the
only three of her own friends in the secret of the past,
which seemed almost to deny any recollection of it. She
could do justice to the superiority of Lady Russell's mo
tives in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth; she
could honour all the better feelings of her calmness; but
the general air of oblivion among them was highly im
portant from whatever it sprung; and in the event of
Admiral Croft's really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced
anew over the conviction which had always been most
grateful to her, of the past being known to those three
only among her connections, by whom no syllable, she
believed, would ever be whispered, and in the trust that
among his, the brother only with whom he had been
240 PERSUASION.

residing had received any information of their short-lives

engagement. That brother had been long removed from
the country; and being a sensible man, and, moreover, a
single man at the time, she had a fond dependence on no
human creature's having heard of it from him.
The sister, Mrs. Croft, had then been out of England,
accompanying her husband on a foreign station, and her
own sister, Mary, had been at school while it all occurred;
and never admitted by the pride of some, and the delicacy
of others, to the smallest knowledge of it afterwards.
With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance
between herself and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell,
still resident in Kellynch, and Mary fixed only three miles
off, must be anticipated, need not involve any particular
awkwardness.

CHAPTER V.

ON the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs. Croft's

seeing Kellynch Hall, Anne found it most natural to take
her almost daily walk to Lady Russell's, and keep out of
the way till all was over; when she found it most natural
# be sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing
them.
This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfac.
tory, and decided the whole business at once. Each lady
was previously well disposed for an agreement, and saw
mothing, therefore, but good manners in the other; and,
with regard to the gentlemen, there was such a hearty
good humour, such an open, trusting liberality on the
Admiral's side, as could not but influence Sir Walter, who
had besides been flattered into his very best and most
polished behaviour by Mr. Shepherd's assurances of his
being known, by report, to the Admiral, as a model of
good breeding.
The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved,
 PERSUASYON. 24 l

the Crofts were approved, terms, time, every thing, and

every body, was right; and Mr. Shepherd's clerks were set
to work, without there having been a single preliminary
difference to modify of all that “This indenture showeth.”
Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to
be the best-looking sailor he had ever met with, and went
so far as to say, that, if his own man might have had
the arranging of his hair, he should not be ashamed of
being seen with him any where; and the Admiral, with
sympathetic cordiality, observed to his wife as they drove
back through the Park, “I thought we should soon come
to a deal, my dear, in spite of what they told us at
Taunton. The Baronet will never set the Thames on
fire, but there seems no harm in him:”-reciprocal com
pliments, which would have been esteemed about equal.
The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and
as Sir Walter proposed removing to Bath in the course of
the preceding month, there was no time to be lost in
making every dependent arrangement.
Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed
to be of any use, or any importance, in the choice of
the house which they were going to secure, was very
unwilling to have her hurried away so soon, and wanted
to make it possible for her to stay behind, till she might
convey her to Bath herself after Christmas: but having
engagements of her own, which must take her from Kel
lynch for several weeks, she was unable to give the full
invitation she wished; and Anne, though dreading the
possible heats of September in all the white glare of Bath,
and grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad
of the autumnal months in the country, did not think
that, every thing considered, she wished to remain. It
would be most right, and most wise, and therefore must
involve least suffering, to go with the others.
Something occurred, however, to give her a different
duty. Mary, often a little unwell, and always thinking a
great deal of her own complaints, and always in the habit
of claiming Anne when any thing was the matter, was
indisposed; and foreseeing that she should not have a
day's health all the autumn, entreated, or rather required
242 PERSUASION.

her, for it was hardly entreaty, to come to Upper cross

Cottage, and bear her company as long as she should want
her, instead of going to Bath.
“I cannot possibly do without Anne,” was Mary's rea
soning; and Ekizabeth's reply was, “Then I am sure
Anne had better stay, for nobody will want her in Bath.”
To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style,
is at least better than being rejected as no good at all;
and Anne, glad to be thought of some use, glad to have
any thing marked out as a duty, and certainly not sorry
to have the scene of it in the country, and her own dear
country, readily agreed to stay.
This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's
difficulties, and it was consequently soon settled that Anne
should not go to Bath till Lady Russell took her, and that
all the intervening time should be divided between Upper
cross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.
So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was
almost startled by the wrong of one part of the Kellynch
Hall plan, when it burst on her, which was, Mrs. Clay's
being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Water and Eliza
beth, as a most important and valuable as\istant to the
latter in all the business before her. Lady Russell was
extremely sorry that such a measure should bave been
resorted to at all — wondered, grieved, and feare'; — and
the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs. Clay's being of
so much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very sare
aggravation.
Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but
she felt the imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly
as Lady Russell. With a great deal of quiet observation,
and a knowledge, which she often wished less, of her
father's character, she was sensible that results the most
serious to his family from the intimacy were more than
possible. She did not imagine that her father had at pre
sent an idea of the kind. Mrs. Clay had freckles, and a
projecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist, which he was conti
nually making severe remarks upon, in her absence; but
she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking, and
possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing man
ners, infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely
 PERSUASION, 243

ersonal might have been. Anne was so impressed by the

degree of their danger, that she could not excuse herself
from trying to make it perceptible to her sister. She had
little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of
such a reverse would be so much more to be pitied than
nerself, should never, she thought, have reason to reproach
her for giving no warning.
She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could
not conceive how such an absurd suspicion should occur to
her, and indignantly answered for each party's perfectly
\nowing their situation.
“Mrs. Clay,” said she, warmly, “never forgets who
she is; and as I am rather better acquainted with her
sentiments than you can be, I can assure you, that upon
the subject of marriage they are particularly nice; and
that she reprobates all inequality of condition and rank
more strongly than most people. And as to my father, I
really should not have thought that he, who has kept him
self single so long for our sakes, need be suspected now
If Mrs. Clay were a very beautiful woman, I grant you
it might be wrong to have her so much with me: not that
any thing in the world, I am sure, would induce my fa
ther to make a degrading match; but he might be rendered
unhappy. But poor Mrs. Clay—who, with all her merits,
can never have been reckoned tolerably pretty—I really
think poor Mrs. Clay may be staying here in perfect
safety. One would imagine you had never heard my fa
ther speak of her personal misfortunes, though I know you
must fifty times. That tooth of hers, and those freckles |
Freckles do not disgust me so very much as they do him.
I have known a face not materially disfigured by a few,
but he abominates them. You must have heard him no
tice Mrs. Clay's freckles.”
“There is hardly any personal defect,” replied Anne,
“which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile
one to.”
“I think very differently,” answered Elizabeth, shortly;
“an agreeable manner may set off handsome features, but
can never-alter plain ones. However, at any rate, as I
have a great deal more at stake on this point than any
244 PERSUASION,

body else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you

to be advising me.” *

Anne had done — glad that it was over, and not abso
lutely hopeless of doing good. Elizabeth, though resent.
ing the suspicion, might yet be made observant by it.
The last office of the four carriage horses was to draw:
Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, and Mrs. Clay to Bath. The
Party drove off in very good spirits: Sir Walter prepared
with condescending bows for all the afflicted tenantry and
cottagers who might have had a hint to show themselves;
and Anne walked up, at the same time, in a sort of deso
late tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the
first week.
Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady
Russell felt this break-up of the family exceedingly. Their
respectability was as dear to her as her own, and a daily
intercourse had become precious by habit. It was painful
to look upon their deserted grounds, and still worse to an–
ticipate the new hands they were to fall into ; and to
escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a
village, and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs.
Croft first arrived, she had determined to make her own
absence from home begin when she must give up Anne.
Accordingly, their removal was made together, and Anne
was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of
Lady Russell's journey.
Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few
years back had been completely in the old English style;
containing only two houses superior in appearance to
those of the yeomen and labourers, – the mansion of the
squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees, sub
stantial and unmodernised; and the compact, tight parsonage,
enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear
tree trained round its casements: but upon the marriage of
the young squire, it had received the improvement of a
farm-house elevated into a cottage for his residence; and
Uppercross Cottage, with its viranda, French windows,
and other prettinesses, was quite as likely to catch the tra
veller's eye, as the more consistent and considerable aspect
and premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a
mile farther on.
 PERSUASION. 245

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways
of Upper Cross as well as those of Kellynch. The two
families were so continually meeting, so much in the habit
of running in and out of each other's house at all hours,
that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone;
but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was
almost a matter of course. Though better endowed than
the elder sister, Mary had not Anne's understanding or
temper. While well, and happy, and properly attended
to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits; but any
indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources
for solitude; and, inheriting a considerable share of the
Elliot self-importance, was very prone to add to every other
distress that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used.
In person, she was inferior to both sisters, and had, even
in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being “a fine
girl.” She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty
little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which
had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of
four summers and two children; and, on Anne's appear
ing, greeted her with–
“So you are come at last! I began to think I should
never see you. I am so ill I can hardly speak. I have
not seen a creature the whole morning !”
“I am sorry to find you unwell,” replied Anne. “You
sent me such a good account of yourself on Thursday.”
“Yes, I made the best of it – I always do: but I was
very far from well at the time; and I do not think I ever
was so ill in my life as I have been all this morning—very
unfit to be left alone, I am sure. Suppose I were to be
seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to
ring the bell! So Lady Russell would not get out. I do not
think she has been in this house three times this summer.”
Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her hus
band. “Oh, Charles is out shooting. I have not seen
him since seven o'clock. He would go, though I told him
how ill I was. He said he should not stay out long; but
he has never come back, and now it is almost one. I as
sure you I have not seen a soul this whole long morning."
“You have had your little boys with you?”
246 PERSUASION.

“Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they

are so unmanageable that they do me more harm than
good. Little Charles does not mind a word I say, and
Walter is growing quite as bad." -

“Well, you will soon be better now,” replied Anne,

cheerfully. “You know I always cure you when I come.
How are your neighbours at the Great House?”
“I can give you no account of them. I have not seen
one of them to-day, except Mr. Musgrove, who just
stopped and spoke through the window, but without get
ting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was,
not one of them have been near me. It did not happen to
suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put
themselves out of their way.”
“You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning
is gone. It is early."
“I never want them, I assure you. They talk and
laugh a great deal too much for me. Oh Anne, I am
so very unwell! It was quite unkind of you not to come
on Thursday.”
“My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account
you sent me of yourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest
manner, and said you were perfectly well, and in no
hurry for me; and that being the case, you must be
aware that my wish would be to remain with Lady Russell
to the last: and besides what I felt on her account, I have
really been so busy, have had so much to do, that I could
not very conveniently have left Kellynch sooner.”
“Dear me ! what can you possibly have to do?”
“A great many things, I assure you. More than I can
recollect in a moment; but I can tell you some. I have
been making a duplicate of the catalogue of my father's
books and pictures. I have been several times in the gar
den with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him
understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for Lady
Russell. I have had all my own little concerns to
arrange, books and music to divide, and all my trunks to
repack, from not having understood in time what was
intended as to the waggons: and one thing I have had to do,
Mary, of a more trying nature; going to almost every house
 PERSUASION. 24

in the parish, as a sort of take-leave. I was told that

they wished it; but all these things took up a great deal
of time.”
“Oh, well;" and after a moment's pause, “but you.
have never asked me one word about our dinner at the
Pooles yesterday.”
“Did you go then ? I have made no enquiries, be
cause I concluded you must have been obliged to give up
the party.”
“Oh yes, I went. I was very well yesterday; no
thing at all the matter with me till this morning. It
would have been strange if I had not gone.”
“I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope
you had a pleasant party.”
“ Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand
what the dinner will be, and who will be there; and it is
so very uncomfortable, not having a carriage of one's own.
Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove took me, and we were so crowded!
They are both so very large, and take up so much room;
and Mr. Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I,
crowded into the back seat with Henrietta and Louisa ;
and I think it very likely that my illness to-day may be
owing to it.”
A little farther perseverance in patience and forced
cheerfulness on Anne's side produced nearly a cure on
Mary's. She could soon sit upright on the sofa, and be
gan to hope she might be able to leave it by dinner-time.
Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the other end
of the room, beautifying a nosegay: then she ate her
cold meat; and then she was well enough to propose a
little walk.
“Where shall we go?” said she, when they were ready.
“I suppose you will not like to call at the Great House
before they have been to see you?”
“I have not the smallest objection on that account,”
replied Anne. “I should never think of standing on such
ceremony with people I know so well as Mrs. and the
Miss Musgroves.”
“Oh, but they ought to call upon you as soon as
possible. They ought to feel what is due to you as my
24.8 PERSUASION•

sister. However, we may as well go and sit with them a

little while, and when we have got that over, we can enjoy
our walk.”
Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse
highly imprudent; but she had ceased to endeavour to
check it, from believing that, though there were on each
side continual subjects of offence, neither family could now
do without it. To the Great House accordingly they
went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square
parlour, with a small carpet and shining floor, to which
the present daughters of the house were gradually giving
the proper air of confusion by a grand piano-forte and a
harp, flower-stands and little tables placed in every direc
tion. Oh, could the originals of the portraits against the
wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the
ladies in blue satin have seen what was going on, have
been conscious of such an overthrow of all order and
neatness! The portraits themselves seemed to be staring
in astonishment.
The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of
alteration, perhaps of improvement. The father and mo
ther were in the old English style, and the young people
in the new. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove were a very good
sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much edu
cated, and not at all elegant. Their children had more
modern minds and manners. There was a numerous fa
mily; but the only two grown up, excepting Charles, were
Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies of nineteen and twenty,
who had brought from a school at Exeter all the usual
stock of accomplishments, and were now, like thousands of
other young ladies, living to be fashionable, happy, and
merry. Their dress had every advantage, their faces were
rather pretty, their spirits extremely good, their manners
unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence at
home, and favourites abroad. Anne always contemplated
them as some of the happiest creatures of her acquaint
ance: but still, saved as we all are by some comfortable
feeling of superiority from wishing for the possibility of
exchange, she would not have given up her own more ele
gant and cultivated mind for all their enjoyments; and en
 PERSUASION. 249

vied them nothing but that seemingly perfect good under

standing and agreement together, that good-humoured
mutual affection, of which she had known so little herself
with either of her sisters.
They were received with great cordiality. Nothing
seemed amiss on the side of the Great House family,
which was generally, as Anne very well knew, the least to
blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly
enough; and she was not at all surprised, at the end of
it, to have their walking party joined by both the Miss
Musgroves, at Mary's particular invitation.

CHAPTER VI.

ANNE had not wanted this visit to Uppercross to learn

that a removal from one set of people to another, though at
a distance of only three miles, will often include a total
change of conversation, opinion, and idea. She had never
been staying there before, without being struck by it, or
without wishing that other Elliots could have her advan
tage in seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were
the affairs which at Kellynch Hall were treated as of such
general publicity and pervading interest; yet, with all this
experience, she believed she must now submit to feel that
another lesson, in the art of knowing our own nothingness
beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her; – for
certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the sub
ject which had been completely occupying both houses in
Kellynch for many weeks, she had expected rather more
curiosity and sympathy than she found in the separate, but
very similar remark of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove: – “So,
Miss Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what
part of Bath do you think they will settle in ?” And this,
without much waiting for an answer; – or in the young
ladies addition of— “I hope we shall be in Bath in the
winter; but remember, papa, if we do go, we must be in
250 PERSUASION,

a good situation — none of your Queen Squares for us!"

or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of –“ Upon my
word, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away
to be happy at Bath !”
She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in fu
ture, and think with heightened gratitude of the extraor
dinary blessing of having one such truly sympathising
friend as Lady Russell.
The Mr. Musgroves had their own game to guard and
to destroy . their own horses, dogs, and newspapers to en
gage them; and the females were fully occupied in all
the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours,
dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be
very fitting, that every little social commonwealth should
dictate its own matters of discourse; and hoped, ere long,
to become a not unworthy member of the one she was now
transplanted into. With the prospect of spending at least
two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her
to clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in
as much of Uppercross as possible.
She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not
so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible
to all influence of hers; neither was there any thing
among the other component parts of the cottage inimical
to comfort. She was always on friendly terms with her
brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly
as well, and respected her a great deal more than their mo
ther, she had an object of interest, amusement, and whole
some exertion.
Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and
temper he was undoubtedly superior to his wife; but not
of powers, or conversation, or grace, to make the past,
as they were connected together, at all a dangerous con
templation; though, at the same time, Anne could believe,
with Lady Russell, that a more equal match might have
greatly improved him; and that a woman of real under
standing might have given more consequence to his cha
racter, and more usefulness, rationality, and elegance to his
habits and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with much
zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away,
 PERSUASION. 251

without benefit from books, or any thing else. He had

very good spirits, which never seemed much affected by his
wife's occasional lowness; bore with her unreasonableness
sometimes to Anne's admiration; and, upon the whole,
though there was very cften a little disagreement, (in
which she had sometimes more share than she wished,
being appealed to by both parties,) they might pass for a
happy couple. They were always perfectly agreed in the
want of more money, and a strong inclination for a hand
some present from his father; but here, as on most topics,
he had the superiority, for while Mary thought it a great
shame that such a present was not made, he always con
tended for his father's having many other uses for his
money, and a right to spend it as he liked.
As to the management of their children, his theory was
much better than his wife's, and his practice not so bad.
“I could manage them very well, if it were not for Mary's
interference,” was what Anne often heard him say, and
had a good deal of faith in ; but when listening in turn
to Mary's reproach of “Charles spoils the children so that
I cannot get them into any order,” she never had the small
est temptation to say, “Very true.”
One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence
there was her being treated with too much confidence by
all parties, and being too much in the secret of the com
plaints of each house. Known to have some influence
with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least
receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.
“I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fan
cying herself ill,” was Charles's language; and, in an un
happy mood, thus spoke Mary: —“I do believe if Charles
were to see me dying, he would not think there was any
thing the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you would,
you might persuade him that I really am very ill— a great
deal worse than I ever own.”
Mary's declaration was, “I hate sending the children
to the Great House, though their grandmamma is always
wanting to see them, for she humours and indulges them
to such a degree, and gives them so much trash and sweet
things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross for
252 PERSUASION.

the rest of the day.” And Mrs. Musgrove took the first op
portunity of being alone with Anne, to say, “Oh, Miss
Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs. Charles had a little of
your method with those children. They are quite different
creatures with you! But to be sure, in general, they are so
spoiled ! It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way
of managing them. They are as fine healthy children as
ever were seen, poor little dears, without partiality; but
Mrs. Charles knows no more how they should be treated !
Bless me, how troublesome they are sometimes ! I assure
you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at
our house so often as I otherwise should. I believe Mrs.
Charles is not quite pleased with my not inviting them
oftener; but you know it is very bad to have children
with one, that one is obliged to be checking every moment;
‘don’t do this, and “don’t do that ; or that one can only
keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for
them.” -

She had this communication, moreover, from Mary.

“Mrs. Musgrove thinks all her servants so steady, that it
would be high treason to call it in question; but I am
sure, without exaggeration, that her upper house-maid and
laundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are gad
ding about the village all day long. I meet them wherever
Igo; and, I declare, I never go twice into my nursery with
out seeing something of them. If Jemima were not the
trustiest, steadiest creature in the world, it would be
enough to spoil her; for she tells me they are always
tempting her to take a walk with them.” And on Mrs.
Musgrove's side it was, “I make a rule of never inter
fering in any of my daughter-in-law's concerns, for I
know it would not do; but I shall tell you, Miss Anne,
because you may be able to set things to rights, that I have
no very good opinion of Mrs. Charles's nursery-maid: I
hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad;
and from my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a
fine-dressing lady, that she is enough to ruin any servants
she comes near. Mrs. Charles quite swears by her, I
know ; but I just give you this hint, that you may be
 PERSUASION. 253

upon the watch; because, if you see any thing amiss, you
need not be afraid of mentioning it.”
Again; it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs. Musgrove
was very apt not to give her the precedence that was her
due, when they dined at the Great House with other fami
lies; and she did not see any reason why she was to be con
sidered so much at home as to lose her place. And one
day, when Anne was walking with only the Miss Mus
groves, one of them, after talking of rank, people of rank,
and jealousy of rank, said, “I have no scruple of observ
ing to you, how nonsensical some persons are about their
place, because all the world knows how easy and indifferent
you are about it: but I wish any body could give Mary a
hint that it would be a great deal better if she were not so
very tenacious; especially, if she would not be always
putting herself forward to take place of mamma. Nobody
doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, but it
would be more becom’ng in her not to be always insisting on
t. It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the
world, but I kno it is taken notice of by many persons.”
How was Anne to set a” these matters to rights P She
could do little more than listen patiently, soften every griev
ance, and excuse each to the other; give them an hints of
the forbearance necessary between such near neighbours,
and make those hints broadest which were meant for her
sister's benefit.
In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very
well. Her own spirits improved by change of place and
subject, by being removed three miles from Kellynch :
Mary's ailments lessened by having a constant companion;
and their daily intercourse with the other family, since
there was neither superior affection, confidence, nor em
ployment in the cottage to be interrupted by it, was rather
an advantage. It was certainly carried nearly as far as
possible, for they met every morning, and hardly ever
spent an evening asunder; but she believed they should
not have done so well without the sight of Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove's respectable forms in the usual places, or without
the talking, laughing, and singing of their daughters.
She played a greatdeal better than either of the Miss Mus
R
 254 PERSUASION.

groves; but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp .

and no fond parents to sit by and fancy themselves de
lighted, her performance was little thought of, only out of
civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well aware.
She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure
only to herself; but this was no new sensation : excepting
one short period of her life, she had never, since the age
of fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, known
the happiness of being listened to, or encouraged by any
just appreciation or real taste. In music she had been
always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove's fond partiality for their own daughters' per
formance, and total indifference to any other person's,
gave her much more pleasure for their sakes than mortifi
cation for her own.
The party at the Great House was sometimes increased
by other company. The neighbourhood was not large,
but the Musgroves were visited by every body, and had
more dinner parties, and more callers, more visiters by
invitation and by chance, than any other family They
were more completely popular.
The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings
ended, occasionally, in an unpremeditated little ball.
There was a family of cousins within a walk of Upper
Cross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on the
Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any
time, and help play at anything, or dance any where; and
Anne, very much preferring the office of musician to a
more active post, played country dances to them by the
hour together; a kindness which always recommended her
musical powers to the notice of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
more than any thing else, and often drew this compli
ment, —“Well done, Miss Anne ! very well done, indeed !
Lord bless me! how those little fingers of yours fly
about !”
So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came ;
and now Anne's heart must be in Kellynch again. A be
loved home made over to others; all the precious rooms
and furniture, groves and prospects, beginning to own
other eyes and other limbs She could not think of
 PERSUASION 255.

much else on the 29th of September; and she had this

sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on
having occasion to note down the day of the month,
exclaimed, “Dear me! is not this the day the Crofts
were to come to Kellynch P I am glad I did not think of
it before. How low it makes me!”
The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and
were to be visited. Mary deplored the necessity for her
self. “Nobody knew how much she should suffer. She
should put it off as long as she could.” But was not easy
till she had talked Charles into driving her over on an
early day; and was in a very animated, comfortable state
of imaginary agitation when she came back. Anne had
very sincerely rejoiced in there being no means of her
going. She wished, however, to see the Crofts, and was
glad to be within when the visit was returned. They
came : the master of the house was not at home, but the
two sisters were together; and as it chanced that Mrs.
Croft fell to the share of Anne, while the Admiral sat by
Mary, and made himself very agreeable by his good-hu
moured notice of her little boys, she was well able to
watch for a likeness, and if it failed her in the features, to
catch it in the voice, or the turn of sentiment and ex
pression.
Mrs. Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a square
ness, uprightness, and vigour of form, which gave import
ance to her person. She had bright dark eyes, good teeth,
and altogether an agreeable face; though her reddened and
weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her having
been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her
seem to have lived some years longer in the world than her
real eight-and-thirty. Her manners were open, easy, and
decided, like one who had no distrust of herself, and no
doubts of what to do; without any approach to coarseness,
however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave her
credit, indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards
herself, in all that related to Kellynch; and it pleased her:
especially, as she had satisfied herself in the very first half
minute, in the instant even of introduction, that there was
not the smallest symptom of any knowledge or suspicion on
256 PERSUASION.

Mrs. Croft's side to give a bias of any sort. She was

quite easy on that head, and consequently full of strength
nd courage, till for a moment electrified by Mrs. Croft's
ddenly saying,
“It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my bro
her had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he
was in this country.”
Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but
the age of emotion she certainly had not.
“Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?”
added Mrs. Croft.
She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to
feel, when Mrs. Croft's next words explained it to be Mr.
Wentworth of whom she spoke, that she had said nothing
which might not do for either brother. She immediately
felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs. Croft should be think
ing and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and
with shame at her own forgetfulness, applied herself to the
knowledge of their former neighbour's present state with
proper interest.
The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were mov
ing, she heard the Admiral say to Mary, —
“We are expecting a brother of Mrs. Croft's here soon ;
I dare say you know him by name.”
He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys,
clinging to him like an old friend, and declaring he should
not go; and being too much engrossed by proposals of car
rying them away in his coat pocket, &c. to have another
moment for finishing or recollecting what he had begun,
Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she could,
that the same brother must still be in question. She could
not, however, reach such a degree of certainty as not to be
anxious to hear whether any thing had been said on the
subject at the other house, where the Crofts had previously
been calling.
The folks of Great House were to spend the evening of
this day at the Cottage; and it being now too late in the
year for such visits to be made on foot, the coach was be
ginning to be listened for, when the youngest Miss Mus
grove walked in. That she was coming to apologise, and
 PERSUASION 257

that they should have to spend the evening by themselves,

was the first black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be
affronted, when Louisa made all right by saying, that she
only came on foot, to leave more room for the harp, which
was bringing in the carriage.
“And I will tell you our reason,” she added, “ and all
about it. I am come on to give you notice, that papa and
mamma are out of spirits this evening, especially mamma;
she is thinking so much of poor Richard ' And we agreed
it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse her
more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why she is out
of spirits. When the Crofts called this morning, (they
called here afterwards, did not they?) they happened to
say, that her brother, Captain Wentworth, is just returned
to England, or paid off, or something, and is coming to see
them almost directly; and most unluckily it came into
mamma's head, when they were gone, that Wentworth, or
something very like it, was the name of poor Richard's
captain, at one time—I do not know when or where, but a
great while before he died, poor fellow ! And upon look
ing over his letters and things, she found it was so; and
is perfectly sure that this must be the very man, and her
head is quite full of it, and of poor Richard ! So we must
all be as merry as we can, that she may not be dwelling
upon such gloomy things."
The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family
history were, that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of
a very troublesome, hopeless son, and the good fortune to
lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had
been sent to sea, because he was stupid and unmanageable
on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any time
by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; sel
dom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intel
ligence of his death abroad had worked its way to Upper
cross, two years before.
He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they
could for him, by calling him “poor Richard,” been no
thing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable
Dick Musgrove, who had never done any thing to entitle
258 PERSUASION.

himself to more than the abbreviation or his name, living

or dead.
He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course
of those removals to which all midshipmen are liable, and
especially such midshipmen as every captain wishes to get
rid of, been six months on board Captain Frederick Went
worth's frigate, the Laconia; and from the Laconia he had.
under the influence of his captain, written the only two
letters which his father and mother had ever received from
him during the whole of his absence; that is to say, the
only two disinterested letters,—all the rest had been mere
applications for money.
In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet,
so little were they in the habit of attending to such matters,
so unobservant and incurious were they as to the names of
men or ships, that it had made scarcely any impression at
the time; and that Mrs. Musgrove should have been sud
denly struck, this very day, with a recollection of the name
of Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of
those extraordinary bursts of mind which do sometimes
OCCur.

She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she sup
posed; and the re-perusal of these letters, after so long an
interval, her poor son gone for ever, and all the strength of
his faults forgotten, had affected her spirits exceedingly,
and thrown her into greater grief for him than she had
known on first hearing of his death. Mr. Musgrove was,
in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached
the cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being
listened to anew on this subject, and afterwards, of all the
relief which cheerful companions could give.
To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth
repeating his name so often, puzzling over past years, and
at last ascertaining that it might, that it probably would.
turn out to be the very same Captain Wentworth wholm
they recollected meeting, once or twice, after their coming
back from Clifton;—a very fine young man; but thev
could not say whether it was seven or eight years ago.–
was a new sort of trial to Anne's nerves. She found, how
 PERSUASION. 259
ever, that it was one to which she must inure herself.
Since he actually was expected in the country, she must
teach herself to be insensible on such points. And not only
did it appear that he was expected, and speedily, but the
Musgroves, in their warm gratitude for the kindness he
had shown poor Dick, and very high respect for his cha
racter, stamped as it was by poor Dick's having been six
months under his care, and mentioning him in strong,
though not perfectly well-spelt praise, as “a fine dashing
felow, only two perticular about the schoolmaster,” were
bent on introducing themselves, and seeking his acquaint
ance, as soon as they could hear of his arrival.
The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of
their evening.

CHAPTER VII.

A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known

to be at Kellynch, and Mr. Musgrove had called on him,
and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged
with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross by the end of another
week. It had been a great disappointment to Mr. Mus
grove, to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impa
tient was he to show his gratitude, by seeing Captain Went
worth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that
was strongest and best in his cellars. But a week must
pass; only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and then, she sup
posed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that
she could feel secure even for a week.
Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr
Musgrove's civility, and she was all but calling there in
the same half hour ! She and Mary were actually setting
forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards
learned, they must inevitably have found him, when
they were stopped by the eldest boy's being at that mo
ment brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The
child's situation put the visit entirely aside; but she could
260 PrizsUAS10N.

not hear of her escape with indifference, even in the midst

of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on his
account.
His collar-bone was found to be dislocated, and such in
jury received in the back, as roused the most alarming
ideas. It was an afternoon of distress, and Anne had every
thing to do at once—the apothecary to send for—the fa
ther to have pursued and informed—the mother to support
aut keep from hysterics—the servants to control—the
youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to
attend and soothe;—besides sending, as soon as she recol
lected it, proper notice to the other house, which brought
her an accession rather of frightened, enquiring companions,
than of very useful assistants.
Her brother's return was the first comfort—he could
take best care of his wife, and the second blessing was the
arrival of the apothecary. Till he came and had examined
the child, their apprehensions were the worse for being
vague; they suspected great injury, but knew not where;
but now the collar-bone was soon replaced, and though Mr.
Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and
spoke low words both to the father and the aunt, still they
were all to hope the best, and to be able to part and eat
their dinner in tolerable ease of mind; and then it was,
just before they parted, that the two young aunts were able
so far to digress from their nephew's state, as to give the
information of Captain Wentworth’s visit; staying five mi
nutes behind their father and mother, to endeavour to express
how perfectly delighted they were with him, how much hand
somer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than
any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been
at all a favourite before—how glad they had been to hear
papa invite him to stay dinner—how sorry when he said it
was quite out of his power—and how glad again, when he
had promised to reply to papa and mamma's farther pressing
invitationsto come and dine with them on themorrow, actually
on the morrow ! And he had promised it in so pleasant a
manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention just
as he ought ! And, in short, he had looked and said every
things with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them
 PERSUASION. 261

all, their heads were both turned by him And off they
ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently more ful!
of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.
The same story and the same raptures were repeated,
when the two girls came with their father, through the
gloom of the evening, to make enquiries; and Mr. Mus
grove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir,
could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there
would be now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth
off, and only be sorry to think that the cottage party, pro
bably, would not like to leave the little boy, to give him
the meeting. “Oh no ; as to leaving the little boy,”
both father and mother were in much too strong and re
cent alarm to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of
the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to
theirs.
Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards showed more of
inclination; “the child was going on so well — and he
wished so much to be introduced to Captain Wentworth,
that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening; he
would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half
an hour.” But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife,
with “Oh no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you
go away. Only think, if any thing should happen.”
The child had a good night, and was going on well the
next day. It must be a work of time to ascertain that no
injury had been done to the spine; but Mr. Robinson found
nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began
consequently to feel no necessity for longer confinement.
The child was to be kept in bed, and amused as quietly as
possible; but what was there for a father to do? This
was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in
him, who could be of no use at home, to shut himself up.
His father very much wished him to meet Captain Went
worth, and there being no sufficient reason against it, he
ought to go; and it ended in his making a bold public de
claration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning
to dress directly, and dine at the other house.
“Nothing can be going on better than the child,” said
262 PERSUASION.

he; “so I told my father just now that I would come, and
he thought me quite right. Your sister being with you,
my love, I have no scruple at all. You would not like to
leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use. Anne
will send for me if any thing is the matter.”
Husbands and wives generally understand when oppo
sition will be vain. Mary knew, from Charles's manner of
speaking, that he was quite determined on going, and that
it would be of no use to tease him. She said nothing,
therefore, till he was out of the room; but as soon as there
was only Anne to hear, —
“So, you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with
this poor sick child — and not a creature coming near us
all the evening ! I knew how it would be. This is always
my luck. If there is any thing disagreeable going on,
men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad
as any of them. Very unfeeling ! I must say it is very
unfeeling of him, to be running away from his poor little
boy; talks of his being going on so well. How does he
know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a
sudden change half an hour hence P I did not think
Charles would have been so unfeeling. So, here he is to
go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor
mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am
sure, I am more unfit than any body else to be about the
child. My being the mother is the very reason why my
feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it.
You saw how hysterical I was yesterday.”
“But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your
alarm — of the shock. You will not be hysterical again. I
dare say we shall have nothing to distress us. I perfectly
understand Mr. Robinson's directions, and have no fears;
and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband.
Nursing does not belong to a man, it is not his province.
A sick child is always the mother's property, her own feel
ings generally make it so.”
“I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but
I do no know that I am of any more use in the sick room
than Charles, for I cannot be always scolding and teasing
a poor child when it is ill; and you saw, this morning,
 PERSUASION. 263

that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin kick

ing about, I have not nerves for the sort of thing.”
“But could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending
the whole evening away from the poor boy?”
“Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I?
Jemima is so careful. And she could send us word every
hour how he was. I really think Charles might as well
have told his father we would all come. I am not more
alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was dread
fully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different
to-day.”
“Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for
yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband.
Leave little Charles to my care. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
cannot think it wrong, while I remain with him.”
“Are you serious?” cried Mary, her eyes brightening.
“Dear me! that's a very good thought, very good, in
deed. To be sure, I may just as well go as not, for I am of
no use at home — am I? and it only harasses me. You,
who have not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the pro
perest person. You can make little Charles do any thing;
he always minds you at a word. It will be a great deal
better than leaving him with only Jemima. Oh, I will cer
tainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as
Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted
with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind
being left alone. An excellent thought of yours, indeed,
Anne! I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly.
You can send for us, you know, at a moment's notice, if
any thing is the matter; but I dare say there will be no
thing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if
I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child.”
The next moment she was tapping at her husband's
dressing-room door; and as Anne followed her up stairs,
she was in time for the whole conversation, which began
with Mary's saying, in a tone of great exultation, —
“I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more
use at home than you are. If I were to shut myself up
for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade
him to do any thing he did not like. Anne will stay;
264 PERSUASION.

Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. -:

is Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which
will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the
other house since Tuesday.”
“This is very kind of Anne,” was her husband's an
swer, “and I should be very glad to have you go; but it
seems rather hard that she should be left at home by her
self, to nurse our sick child.”
Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause; and
the sincerity of her manner being soon sufficient to convince
lim, where conviction was at least very agreeable, he had
no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone,
though he still wanted her to join them in the evening,
when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly
urged her to let him come and fetch her; but she was
quite unpersuadable; and this being the case, she had ere
long the pleasure of seeing them set off together in high
spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, how
ever oddly constructed such happiness might seeem; as for
herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort as
were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to
be of the first utility to the child; and what was it to her
if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant,
making himself agreeable to others !
She would have liked to know how he felt as to a
meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist
under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent
or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he
need not have waited till this time; he would have done
what she could not but believe that in his place she should
have done long ago, when events had been early giving
him the independence which alone had been wanting.
Her brother and sister came back delighted with their
new acquaintance, and their visit in general. There had
been music, singing, talking, laughing, all that was most
agreeable; charming manners in Captain Wentworth, no
shyness or reserve; they seemed all to know each other
perfectly, and he was coming the very next morning to
shoot with Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but
mot at the Cottage, though that had been preposed at first;
 bERSUASION, 265

but then he had been pressed to come to the Great House

instead, and he seemed afraid of being in Mrs. Charles
Musgrove's way, on account of the child; and therefore,
somehow, they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles's
being to meet him to breakfast at his father's.
Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her
He had enquired after her, she found, slightly, as might
suit a former slight acquaintance, seeming to acknowledge
such as she had acknowledged, actuated, perhaps, by the
same view of escaping introduction when they were to
meet.
The morning hours of the Cottage were always later
than those of the other house; and on the morrow, the
difference was so great, that Mary and Anne were not
more than beginning breakfast when Charles came in to say
that they were just setting off, that he was come for his
dogs, that his sisters were following with Captain Went
worth, his sisters meaning to visit Mary and the child, and
Captain Wentworth proposing also to wait on her for a few
minutes, if not inconvenient; and though Charles had an
swered for the child's being in no such state as could make
it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not be satisfied
without his running on to give notice.
Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was de
lighted to receive him; while a thousand feelings rushed
on Anne, of which this was the most consoling, that it
would soon be over. And it was soon over. In two mi
nutes after Charles's preparation, the others appeared;
they were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain
Wentworth's ; a bow, a courtesy passed; she heard his
voice — he talked to Mary; said all that was right; said
something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy
footing: the room seemed full-full of persons and voices
— but a few minutes ended it. Charles showed himself at
the window, all was ready, their visiter had bowed and
was gone; the Miss Musgroves were gone too; suddenly
resolving to walk to the end of the village with the sports
men: the room was cleared, and Anne might finish her
breakfast as she could.
366 PERSUASION.

“It is over ! it is over !” she repeated to herself agam

and again, in nervous gratitude. “The worst is over !”
Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him.
They had met. They had been once more in the same
rOOIn.

Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and

try to be feeling less. Eight years, almost eight years
had passed, since all had been given up. How absurd to
be resuming the agitation which such an interval had ba
nished into distance and indistinctness | What might not
eight years do? Events of every description, changes,
alienations, removals, — all, all must be comprised in it;
and oblivion of the past — how natural, how certain too !
It included nearly a third part of her own life.
Alas ! with all her reasonings, she found, that to
retentive feelings eight years may be little more than no
thing.
Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this
like wishing to avoid her ? And the next moment she was
hating herself for the folly which asked the question,
On one other question, which perhaps her utmost wis
dom might not have prevented, she was soon spared all
suspense; for after the Miss Musgroves had returned and
finished their visit at the Cottage, she had this spontaneous
information from Mary: —
“Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne
though he was so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him
what he thought of you, when they went away; and he
said, ‘You were so altered he should not have known you
again.”
Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sisters in
a common way; but she was perfectly unsuspicious of be
ing inflicting any peculiar wound.
“Altered beyond his knowledge !” Anne fully sub
mitted, in silent, deep mortification. Doubtless it was so;
and she could take no revenge, for he was not altered, or
not for the worse. She had already acknowledged it to
herself, and she could not think differently, let him think
of her as he would. No ; the years which had destroyed
ner youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing,
 pKRSUASION. 267

manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal ad.

vantages. She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth.
“So altered that he should not have known her again!”
These were words which could not but dwell with her.
Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them.
They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation;
they composed, and consequently must make her happier.
Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something
like them, but without an idea that they would be carried
round to her. He had thought her wretchedly altered, and,
in the first moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt. He
had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill; de
serted and disappointed him ; and worse, she had shown a
feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided,
confident temper could not endure. She had given him up
to oblige others. It had been the effect of over-persuasion.
It had been weakness and timidity.
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had ne
verseen a woman since whom he thought her equal; but,
except from some natural sensation of curiosity, he had no
desire of meeting her again. Her power with him was
gone for ever.
It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and being
turned on shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could
be properly tempted; actually looking round, ready to fall
in love with all the speed which a clear head and quick taste
could allow. He had a heart for either of the Miss Mus
groves, if they could catch it; a heart, in short, for any
pleasing young woman who came in his way, excepting Anne
Elliot. This was his only secret exception, when he said to
his sister, in answer to her suppositions,—
“Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish
match. Any body between fifteen and thirty may have me
for asking. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few
compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man. Should
not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society
among women to make ninri nice?”
He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright,
proud eye spoke the happy conviction that he was nice; and
Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts, when he more
208 PERSUASION.

seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with.

“A strong mind, with sweetness of manner,” made the first
and the last of the description.
“This is the woman I want,” said he. “Something a little
inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be
much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have
thought on the subject more than most men.”

CHAPTER VIII.

FROM this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were

repeatedly in the same circle. They were soon dining in
company together at Mr. Musgrove's, for the little boy's
state could no longer supply his aunt with a pretence for
absenting herself; and this was but the beginning of other
dinings and other meetings.
Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be
brought to the proof; former times must undoubtedly be
brought to the recollection of each ; they could not but
be reverted to; the year of their engagement could not but
be named by him in the little narratives or descriptions
which conversation called forth. His profession qualified
him, his disposition led him, to talk; and “That was in
the year six; ” “That happened before I went to sea, in
the year six,” occurred in the course of the first evening
they spent together: and though his voice did not falter,
and though she had no reason to suppose his eye wandering
towards her while he spoke, Anne felt the utter impossi
bility, from her knowledge of his mind, that he could be
unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. There
must be the same immediate association of thought, though
she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain.
They had no conversation together, no intercourse but
what the commonest civility required. Once so much to
each other ! Now nothing There had been a time, when
 PERSUASION. 269

of all the large party now filling the drawing-room at Up

percross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to
speak to one another. With the exception, perhaps, of
Admiral and Mrs. Croft, who seemed particularly attached
and happy, (Anne could allow no other exception, even
among the married couples,) there could have been no two
hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison,
no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers;
nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become ac
quainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.
When he talked, she heard the same voice, and dis
cerned the same mind. There was a very general ignorance
of all naval matters throughout the party; and he was very
much questioned, and especially by the two Miss Mus
groves, who seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him,
as to the manner of living on board, daily regulations, food,
hours, &c.; and their surprise at his accounts, at learning
the degree of accommodation and arrangement which was
practicable, drew from him some pleasant ridicule, which
reminded Anne of the early days when she too had been
ignorant, and she too had been accused of supposing sailors
to be living on board without any thing to eat, or any cook
to dress it if there were, or any servant to wait, or any
knife and fork to use. -

From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a

whisper of Mrs. Musgrove's, who, overcome by fond re
grets, could not help saying,
“Ah! Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my
poor son, I dare say he would have been just such another
by this time.”
Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs.
Musgrove relieved her heart a little more; and for a few
minutes, therefore, could not keep pace with the conversation
of the others. When she could let her attention take
its natural course again, she found the Miss Musgroves just
fetching the navy list— (their own navy list, the first that
had ever been at Uppercross)— and sitting down together
to pore over it, with the professed view of finding out the
ships which Captain Wentworth had commanded.
* S
270 PERSUASION.

“Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for

.he Asp.”
“You will not find her there. Quite worn out and
broken up. I was the last man who commanded her.
Hardly fit for service then. Reported fit for home service
for a year or two,- and so I was sent off to the Wes
Indies.”
The girls looked all amazement. -

“The Admiralty,” he continued, “entertain themselves,

now and then, with sending a few hundred men to sea in
a ship not fit to be employed. But they have a great many
to provide for; and among the thousands that may just as
well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to
distinguish the very set who may be least missed.”
“Phoo! phoo!” cried the Admiral, “what stuff these
young fellows talk! Never was a better sloop than the
Asp in her day. For an old built sloop, you would not
see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her ! He knows there
must have been twenty better men than himself applying
for her at the same time. Lucky fellow to get any thing
so soon, with no more interest than his.”
“I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you,” replied Cap
tain Wentworth, seriously. “I was as well satisfied with
my appointment as you can desire. It was a great object
with me, at that time, to be at sea, – a very great object.
I wanted to be doing something.”
“To be sure, you did. What should a young fellow,
like you, do ashore, for half a year together ? If a man
has not a wife, he soon wants to be afloat again.”
“But, Captain Wentworth,” cried Louisa, “how vexed
you must have been when you came to the Asp, to see what
an old thing they had given you.”
“I knew pretty well what she was before that day,”
said he, smiling. “I had no more discoveries to make
than you would have as to the fashion and strength of any
old pelisse, which you had seen lent about among half your
acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which,
at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself. Ah !
she was a dear old Asp to me. She did all that I wanted.
I knew she would. I knew that we should either go to
 PERSUASION. 271

the bottom together, or that she would be the making of

me; and I never had two days of foul weather all the time
I was at sea in her; and after taking privateers enough to
be very entertaining, I had the good luck, in my passage
home the next autumn, to fall in with the very French
frigate I wanted. I brought her into Plymouth; and here
was another instance of luck. We had not been six hours
in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days
and nights, and which would have done for poor old Asp,
in half the time; our touch with the Great Nation not
having much improved our condition. Four-and-twenty
hours later, and I should only have been a galla at Captain
Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the news
papers; and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have
thought about me.”
Anne's shudderings were to herself alone; but the Miss
Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, in their
exclamations of pity and horror.
“And so then, I suppose,” said Mrs. Musgrove, in a
low voice, as if thinking aloud,—“ so then he went away
to the Laconia, and there he met with our poor boy.—
Charles, my dear,” beckoning him to her, “do ask Cap
tain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor
brother. I always forget.”
“It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had been left
ill at Gibraltar, with a recommendation from his former
captain to Captain Wentworth.”
“Oh ! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need
not be afraid of mentioning poor Dick before me, for it
would be rather a pleasure to hear him talked of, by such
a good friend.” -

Charles being somewhat more mindful of the probabi

lities of the case, only nodded in reply, and walked away.
The girls were now hunting for the Laconia; and Cap.
tain Wentworth could not deny himself the pleasure of
taking the precious volume into his own hands to save
them the trouble, and once more read aloud the little state
ment of her name and rate, and present non-commissioned
class, observing over it that she too had been one of the
best friends man ever had.
2"2 PERSUASION.

“Ah, those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia!

How fast I made money in her. A friend of mine and I
had such a lovely cruise together off the Western Islands.
– Poor Harville, sister ! You know how much he wanted
money—worse than myself. He had a wife. Excellent
fellow ! I shall never forget his happiness. He felt it all,
so much for her sake. I wished for him again the next
summer, when I had still the same luck in the Mediter
ranean.”
“And I am sure, sir,” said Mrs. Musgrove, “it was a
lucky day for us, when you were put captain into that
ship. We shall never forget what you did.”
Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Went
worth, hearing only in part, and probably not having Dick
Musgrove at all near his thoughts, looked rather in suspense,
and as if waiting for more.
“My brother,” whispered one of the girls; “mamma
is thinking of poor Richard.”
“Poor dear fellow !” continued Mrs. Musgrove; “he
was grown so steady, and such an excellent correspondent,
while he was under your care ! Ah, it would have been a
happy thing, if he had never left you. I assure you, Cap
tain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you.”
There was a momentary expression in Captain Went
worth's face at this speech, a certain glance of his bright
eye, and curl of his handsome mouth, which convinced
Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs. Musgrove's kind
wishes, as to her son, he had probably been at some pains
to get rid of him; but it was too transient an indtilgence
of self-amusement to be detected by any who under
stood him less than herself; in another moment he was
perfectly collected and serious; and almost instantly after
wards coming up to the sofa, on which she and Mrs. Mus
grove were sitting, took a place by the latter, and entered
into conversation with her, in a low voice, about her son,
doing it with so much sympathy and natural grace, as
showed the kindest consideration for all that was real and
unabsurd in the parent's feelings.
They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs. Musgrove
had most readily made room for him,--they were divided
 PERSUAS1ON. 273

only by Mrs. Musgrove. It was no insignifivar barrier

indeed. Mrs. Musgrove was of a comfortable sl. bstantial
size, infinitely more fitted by nature to express good cheer
and good humour than tenderness and sentiment; and
while the agitations of Anne's slender form, and pensive
face, may be considered as very completely screened,
Captain Wentworth should be allowed some credit for the
self-command with which he attended to her large fat
sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had
cared for. -

Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no neces

sary proportions. A large bulky figure has as good a right
to be in deep affliction as the most graceful set of limbs in
the world. But, fair or not fair, there are unbecoming
conjunctions, which reason will patronise in vain, – which
taste cannot tolerate, – which ridicule will seize.
The Admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns
about the room with his hands behind him, being called to
order by his wife, now came up to Captain Wentworth,
and without any observation of what he might be inter
rupting, thinking only of his own thoughts, began with, –
“If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring,
Frederick, you would have been asked to give a passage to
Lady Mary Grierson and her daughters.”
“Should I? I am glad I was not a week later then?”
The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He
defended himself; though professing that he would never
willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, excepting
for a ball, or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend.
“But, if I know myself,” said he, “this is from no
want of gallantry towards them. It is rather from feeling
how impossible it is, with all one's efforts, and all one's
sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board such as
women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry,
Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal
comfort high—and this is what I do. I hate to hear of
women on board, or to see them on board; and no ship,
under my command, shall every convey a family of ladies
any where, if I can help it.”
This brought his sister upon him.
274 PERSUASION.

“Oh, Frederick | But I cannot believe it of you. All

idle refinement! Women may be as comfortable on board
as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived
as much on board as most women, and I know nothing
superior to the accommodations of a man of war. I de
clare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even
at Kellynch Hall,” with a kind bow to Anne, “beyond
what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in ;
and they have been five altogether.”
“Nothing to the purpose,” replied her brother. “You
were living with your husband; and were the only woman
on board.”
“But you, yourself, brought Mrs. Harville, her sister,
her cousin, and the three children, round from Portsmouth
to Plymouth. Where was this superfine, extraordinary
sort of gallantry of yours, then?”
“All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist
any brother officer's wife that I could, and I would bring any
thing of Harville's from the world's end, if he wanted it.
But do not imagine that I did not feel it an evil in itself.”
“Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable.”
“I might not like them the better for that, perhaps.
Such a number of women and children have no right to be
comfortable on board.”
“My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray,
what would become of us poor sailors' wives, who often
want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our hus
bands, if every body had your feelings?"
“My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking
Mrs. Harville, and all her family, to Plymouth.”
“But I hate to hear you talking so, like a fine gentle
man, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational
creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water
all our days.”
“Ah, my dear,” said the Admiral, “when he has got
a wife, he will sing a different tune. When he is married,
if we have the good luck to live to another war, we shall
see him do as you and I, and a great many others, have
done. We shall have him very thankful to any body that
will bring him his wife.”
 PERSUASION. 275

“Ay, that we shall.”

“Now I have done,” cried Captain Wentworth. “When
once married people begin to attack me with—“Oh, you
will think very differently when you are married, I can
only say, ‘No, I shall not; and then they say again,
‘Yes, you will, and there is an end of it.”
He got up and moved away.
“What a great traveller you must have been, ma'am!”
said Mrs. Musgrove to Mrs. Croft.
“Pretty well, ma'am, in the fifteen years of my marriage
though many women have done more. I have crossed the
Atlantic four times, and have been once to the East Indies,
and back again, and only once; besides being in different
places about home–Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar. But
I never went beyond the Streights, and never was in the
West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you
know, the West Indies.”
Mrs. Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she
could not accuse herself of having ever called them any
thing in the whole course of her life.
“And I do assure you, ma'am,” pursued Mrs. Croft,
“ that nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man
of war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When
you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined;
though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in
one of them; and I can safely say, that the happiest part
of my life has been spent on board a ship. While we
were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared.
Thank God! I have always been blessed with excellent
health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little dis
ordered always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea,
but never knew what sickness was afterwards. The only
time that I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only
time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of
danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal,
when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North
Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all
manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what
to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next;
 27C PERSUASION

but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me,

and I never met with the smallest inconvenience.”
“Ay, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes, I am quite of
your opinion, Mrs. Croft,” was Mrs. Musgrove's hearty
answer. “There is nothing so bad as a separation. I am
quite of your opinion. I know what it is, for Mr. Mus
grove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when
they are over, and he is safe back again.”
The evening ended with dancing. On its being pro
posed, Anne offered her services, as usual; and though her
eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the in
strument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and
desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.
It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in
higher spirits than Captain Wentworth. She felt that he
had every thing to elevate him, which general attention
and deference, and especially the attention of all the young
women, could do. The Miss Hayters, the females of the
family of cousins already mentioned, were apparently ad
mitted to the honour of being in love with him; and as for
Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occu
pied by him, that nothing but the continued appearance of
the most perfect good-will between themselves could have
made it credible that they were not decided rivals. If he
were a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration,
who could wonder ?
These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne,
while her fingers were mechanically at work, proceeding
for half an hour together, equally without error, and with
out consciousness. Once she felt that he was looking at
herself,-observing her altered features, perhaps trying to
trace in them the ruins of the face which had once charmed
him; and once she knew that he must have spoken of her;
—she was hardly aware of it till she heard the answer;
but then she was sure of his having asked his partner
whether Miss Elliot never danced? The answer was,
“Oh no, never; she has quite given up dancing. She had
rather play. She is never tired of playing.” Once, too, he
spoke to her. She had left the instrument on the dancing
being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air
 PERSUASION. 277

which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of.

Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw
her, and instantly rising, said, with studied politeness, –
“I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;” and
though she immediately drew back with a decided negative
he was not to be induced to sit down again.
Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches.
His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than
any thing.

CHAPTER IX.

CAPTAIN WENTwoRTH was come to Kellynch as to a

home, to stay as long as he liked, being as taxoughly the
object of the Admiral's fraternal kindness as of his wife's.
He had intended, on first arriving, to proceed very soon
into Shropshire, and visit the brother settled in that county,
but the attractions of Uppercross induced him to put this
off. There was so much of friendliness, and of flattery,
and of every thing most bewitching in his reception there;
the old were so hospitable, the young so agreeable, that he
could not but resolve to remain where he was, and take all
the charms and perfections of Edward's wife upon credit a
little longer.
It was soon Uppercross with him almost every day.
The Musgroves could hardly be more ready to invite than
he to come, particularly in the morning, when he had no
companion at home; for the Admiral and Mrs. Croft were
generally out of doors together, interesting themselves in
their new possessions, their grass, and their sheep, and
dawdling about in a way not endurable to a third person,
or driving out in a gig, lately added to their establishment.
Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain
Wentworth among the Musgroves and their dependencies.
It was unvarying, warm admiration every where; but
this intimate footing was not more than established, when
a certain Charles Hayter returned among them, to be a
278 PERSUASION.

good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentwortn

very much in the way. -

Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a

very amiable, pleasing young man, between whom and
Henrietta there had been a considerable appearance of
attachment previous to Captain Wentworth’s introduction.
He was in orders; and naving a curacy in the neighbour
hood, where residence was not required, lived at his father's
house, only two miles from Uppercross. A short absence
from home had left his fair one unguarded by his atten
tions at this critical period, and when he came back he
had the pain of finding very altered manners, and of seeing
Captain Wentworth.
Mrs. Musgrove and Mrs. Hayter were sisters. They
had each had money, but their marriages had made a
material difference in their degree of consequence. Mr.
Hayter had some property of his own, but it was insignifi
cant compared with Mr. Musgrove's; and while the Mus
groves were in the first class of society in the country,
the young Hayters would, from their parents' inferior,
retired, and unpolished way of living, and their own de
fective education, have been hardly in any class at all, but
for their connection with Uppercross, this eldest son of
course excepted, who had chosen to be a scholar and a
gentleman, and who was very superior in cultivation and
manners to all the rest.
The two families had always been on excellent terms,
there being no pride on one side, and no envy on the other,
and only such a consciousness of superiority in the Miss
Musgroves, as made them pleased to improve their cousins.
Charles's attentions to Henrietta had been observed by her
father and mother without any disapprobation. “It
would not be a great match for her; but if Henrietta
liked him, - and Henrietta did seem to like him.”
Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain
Wentworth came ; but from that time Cousin Charles had
been very much forgotten.
Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain
Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne's
observation reached. Henrietta was perhaps the prettiest,
 - PERSUASION. 279

Louisa had the higher spirits; and she knew not now,
whether the more gentle or the more lively character were
most likely to attract him.
Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, either from seeing little or
from an entire confidence in the discretion of both their
daughters, and of all the young men who came near them,
seemed to leave every thing to take its chance. There was
not the smallest appearance of solicitude or remark about
them in the Mansion-house; but it was different at the
Cottage: the young couple there were more disposed to
speculate and wonder; and Captain Wentworth had not
been above four or five times in the Miss Musgroves' com
pany, and Charles Hayter had but just re-appeared, when
Anne had to listen to the opinions of her brother and sister,
as to which was the one liked best. Charles gave it for
Louisa, Mary for Henrietta, but quite agreeing that to
have him marry either would be extremely delightful.
Charles “ had never seen a pleasanter man in his life;
and from what he had once heard Captain Wentworth
himself say, was very sure that he had not made less than
twenty thousand pounds by the war. Here was a fortune
at once; besides which, there would be the chance of
what might be done in any future war; and he was sure
Captain Wentworth was as likely a man to distinguish
himself as any officer in the navy. Oh, it would be a
capital match for either of his sisters.”
“Upon my word it would,” replied Mary. “Dear
me ! If he should rise to any very great honours!. If he
should ever be made a Baronet ! ‘Lady Wentworth’
sounds very well. That would be a noble thing, indeed,
for Henrietta! She would take place of me then, and
Henrietta would not dislike that, Sir Frederick and Lady
Wentworth ! It would be but a new creation, however,
and I never think much of your new creations.”
It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one pre
ferred on the very account of Charles Hayter, whose pre
tensions she wished to see put an end to. She looked down
very decidedly upon the Hayters, and thought would be
quite a misfortune to have the existing connection between
280 PeRSUASION.

the families renewed — very sad for herself and her

children. -

“You know,” said she, “I cannot think him at all a

fit match for Henrietta; and considering the alliances
which the Musgroves have made, she has no right to
throw herself away. I do not think any young woman
has a right to make a choice that may be disagreeable and
inconvenient to the principal part of her family, and be
giving bad connections to those who have not been used to
them. And, pray, who is Charles Hayter? Nothing but
a country curate. A most improper match for Miss Mus
grove of Uppercross.”
Her husband, however, would not agree with her here;
for besides having a regard for his cousin, Charles Hayter
was an eldest son, and he saw things as an eldest son
himself.
“Now you are talking nonsense, Mary,” was therefore
his answer. “ It would not be a great match for Hen
rietta, but Charles has a very fair chance, through the
Spicers, of getting something from the Bishop in the
course of a year or two; and you will please to remember,
that he is the eldest son; whenever my uncle dies, he
steps into very pretty property. The estate at Winthrop i.
not less than two hundred and fifty acres, besides the farin
near Taunton, which is some of the best land in the
country. I grant you, that any of them but Charles
would be a very shocking match for Henrietta, and in
deed it could not be; he is the only one that could be
possible; but he is a very good-natured, good sort of a
fellow ; and whenever Winthrop comes into his hands, he
will make a different sort of place of it, and live in a very
different sort of way; and with that property he will
never be a contemptible man,—good freehold property.
No, no: Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles
Hayter; and if she has him, and Louisa can get Captain
Wentworth, I shall be very well satisfied.”
“Charles may say what he pleases,” cried Mary to
Anne, as soon as he was out of the room, “but it would
be shocking to have Henrietta marry Charles Hayter:
a very bad thing for her, and still worse for me ; and
 PERSUASION. 281

therefore it is very much to be wished that Captain Went

worth may soon put him quite out of her head, and I have
very little doubt that he has. She took hardly any notice
of Charles Hayter yesterday. I wish you had been there
to see her behaviour. And as to Captain Wentworth’s
liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense to say
so; for he certainly does like Henrietta a great deal the
best. But Charles is so positive | I wish you had been
with us yesterday, for then you might have decided be
tween us; and I am sure you would have thought as I
did, unless you had been determined to give it against me.”
A dinner at Mr. Musgrove's had been the occasion
when all these things should have been seen by Anne;
but she had staid at home, under the mixed plea of a head
ach of her own, and some return of indisposition in little
Charles. She had thought only of avoiding Captain Went
worth ; but an escape from being appealed to as umpire
was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening.
As to Captain Wentworth's views, she deemed it of
more consequence that he should know his own mind early
enough not to be endangering the happiness of either sis
ter, or impeaching his own honour, than that he should
prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta. Either
of them would, in all probability, make him an affection
ate, good-humoured wife. With regard to Charles Hayter,
she had delicacy which must be pained by any lightness
of conduct in a well-meaning young woman, and a heart
to sympathise in any of the sufferings it occasioned; but
if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature of her
feelings, the alteration could not be understood too soon.
Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and
mortify him in his cousin's behaviour. She had too old
a regard for him to be so wholly estranged, as might in
two meetings extinguish every past hope, and leave him
nothing to do but to keep away from Uppercross; but
there was such a change as became very alarming, when
such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be regarded as
the probable cause. He had been absent only two Sun
days; and when they parted, had left her interested, even
to the height of his wishes, in his prospect of soon quit
282 PERSUASION.

ting his present curacy, and obtaining that of Uppercross

instead. It had then seemed the object nearest her heart,
that Dr. Shirley, the rector, who for more than forty years
had been zealously discharging all the duties of his office
but was now growing too infirm for many of them, should
be quite fixed on engaging a curate; should make his
curacy quite as good as he could afford, and should give
Charles Hayter the promise of it. The advantage of his
having to come only to Uppercross, instead of going six
miles another way; of his having, in every respect, a bet
ter curacy; of his belonging to their dear Dr. Shirley;
and of dear, good Dr. Shirley's being relieved from the
duty which he could no longer get through without most
injurious fatigue, had been a great deal, even to Louisa,
but had been almost every thing to Henrietta. When he
came back, alas! the zeal of the business was gone by.
Louisa could not listen at all to his account of a convers
ation which he had just held with Dr. Shirley: she was
at the window, looking Qut for Captain Wentworth; and
even Henrietta had at best only a divided attention to give,
and seemed to have forgotten all the former doubt and so
licitude of the negotiation.
“Well, I am very glad, indeed; but I always thought
you would have it – I always thought you sure. It did
not appear to me that—In short, you know, Dr. Shirley
must have a curate, and you had secured his promise. Is
he coming, Louisa P”
One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Mus
groves, at which Anne had not been present, Captain
Wentworth walked into the drawing-room at the Cottage,
where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who
was lying on the sofa.
The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne
Elliot deprived his manners of their usual composure:
he started, and could only say, “I thought the Miss Mus
groves had been here: Mrs. Musgrove told me I should
find them here,”—before he walked to the window to re
collect himself, and feel how he ought to behave.
“They are up stairs with my sister: they will be down
in a few moments, I dare say,” had been Anne's re
 i’ERsUASION. 283

ply, in all the confusion that was natural; and if the

child had not called her to come and do something for
him, she would have been out of the room the next mo
ment, and released Captain Wentworth as well as herself.
He continued at the window; and after calmly and po
litely saying, “I hope the little boy is better,” was silent
She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain
there to satisfy her patient; and thus they continued a few
minutes, when, to her very great satisfaction, she heard
some other person crossing the little vestibule. She hoped,
on turning her head, to see the master of the house; but
it proved to be one much less calculated for making mat
ters easy—Charles Hayter, probably not at all better
pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth, than Captain
Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne.
She only attempted to say, “How do you do? Will
not you sit down? The others will be here presently.”
Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window,
apparently not ill-disposed for conversation; but Charles
Hayter soon put an end to his attempts, by seating himself
near the table, and taking up the newspaper; and Captain
Wentworth returned to his window.
Another minute brought another addition. The younger
boy, a remarkably stout, forward child, of two years old,
having got the door opened for him by some one without,
made his determined appearance among them, and went
straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in
his claim to any thing good that might be giving away.
There being nothing to eat, he could only have some
play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick
brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt,
in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she
could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, en
treated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to
push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in
getting upon her back again directly.
“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You
are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”.
“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do yon not do
Q84 PERSUASION,

as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come
to me, Walter ; come to cousin Charles.”
But not a bit did Walter stir.
In another moment, however, she found herself in the
state of being released from him; some one was taking
him from her, though he had bent down her head so much,
that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around
her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she
knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.
Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly
speechless. She could not even thank him. She could
only haug over little Charles, with most disordered feelings,
His kindness in stepping forward to her relief, the man
ner, the silence in which it had passed, the little particu
lars of the circumstance, with the conviction soon forced
on her, by the noise he was studiously making with the
child, that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and
rather sought to testify that her conversation was the last
of his wants, produced such a confusion of varying, but
very painful, agitation, as she could not recover from, till
enabled, by the entrance of Mary and the Miss Musgroves,
to make over her little patient to their cares, and leave the
room. She could not stay. It might have been an oppor
tunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four
they were now altogether; but she could stay for none
of it. It was evident that Charles Hayter was not well
inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a strong
impression of his having said, in a vexed tone of voic",
after Captain Wentworth's interference, “You ought to
have minded me, Walter; I told you not to tease your
aunt;” and could comprehend his regretting that Captain
Wentworth should do what he ought to have done himself.
But neither Charles Hayter's feelings, nor any body's
feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better ar
ranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite
ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle;
but so it was, and it required a long application of solitude
and reflection to recover her.
 PERSUASION. 285

CHAPTER X.

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 them
selves 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 accept
ing 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 Hen
rietta, and her husband lived under the constant £".
286 PERSUASION.

ence 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 Mus
groves 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 every thing being
to be communicated, and every thing 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.
“Every body 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, which 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
 PERSUASION 287

Miss Musgroves, who evidently considered the walk as

under their guidance.
Anne's object was, not to be in the way of any body'N
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 has 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 be always with him, nothing should ever separate
us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven
safely by any body else.”
It was spoken with enthusiasm
QR8 PERSUASION.

“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, no
body 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 gra
dual ascent through large enclosures, where the ploughs
at work, and the fresh-made path, spoke the farmer coun
teracting 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 de
clare 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 showed her strength; and when
 PERSUASION. 289

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
isters, 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 scorn
fully around her, and saying to Captain Wentworth,–
“It is very unpleasant having such connections ! 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
290 PERSUASION,

hedge-row, behind her, as if making their way ack, 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 per
suaded. 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 com
pany 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 wo be
tide him, and her too, when it comes to things of conse
quence, 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 cha
racter 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 indeci
sive a character, that no influence over it can be depended on.
You are never sure of a good impression being durable:
every body 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 any
where. This nut,” he continued, with playful solemnity,
 PERSUASION. 291

“ while so many of its brethren have fallen and been trod

den under foot, is still in possession of all the happiness
that a hazel nut can be supposed capable of.” Then, re
turning 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 her 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 P”
After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said,- r !
-

“Do you mean that she refused him P” |

“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 Rus
sell'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 lis
tener's proverbial fate was not absolutely hers—she had
heard n w evil of herself: but she had heard a great deal of
292 verSUASION.

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 con
fidence 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.
Every thing now marked out Louisa for Captain Went
worth : nothing could be plainer; and where many divi
sions 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 be
longed. 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 shown herself dis
obliging 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
 PERSUASION. 293

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 foot
path, 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
full a 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 of
fended, 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 sur
mounting an opposite stile; and the Admiral was putting
his horse into 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 be
ginning 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 cir
2.94 PERSUASION

cumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone be

fore. 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 resent
ment, though perfectly careless of her, and though be-,
coming 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 er
companions were at first unconsciously given. They nad
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 Yar
mouth ?”
“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 P 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
 PERSUASION. 295
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 re
spectable 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
tage.
£)

CHAPTER XI.

THE time now approached for Lady Russell's return: the

day was even fixed; and Anne, being engaged to join her
as soon as she was resettled, was looking forward to an
early removal to Kellynch, and beginning to think how her
own comfort was likely to be affected by it.
It would place her in the same village with Captain
Wentworth, within half a mile of him; they would have
to frequent the same church, and there must be intercourse
between the two families. This was against her; but, on
the other hand, he spent so much of his time at Upper
cross, that in removing thence she might be considered
rather as leaving him behind, than as going towards him;
and, upon the whole, she believed she must, on this inte
resting question, be the gainer, almost as certainly as in her
change of domestic society, in leaving poor Mary for Lady
Russell. -

She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever

seeing Captain Wentworth at the hall: those rooms had
witnessed former meetings which would be brought too
painfully before her : but she was yet more anxious for the
Ap6 PERSUASION.

possibility of Lady Russell and Captain Wentworth never

smeeting any where. They did not like each other, and no
renewal of acquaintance now could do any good; and were
Lady Russell to see them together, she might think that he
'had too much self-possession, and she too little.
These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating
her removal from Uppercross, where she felt she had been
stationed quite long enough. Her usefulness to little
Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory
of her two months' visit there; but he was gaining strength
apace, and she had nothing else to stay for.
The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in
a way which she had not at all imagined. Captain Went
worth, after being unseen and unheard of at Uppercross for
two whole days, appeared again among them to justify him
self by a relation of what had kept him away.
A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found
him out at last, had brought intelligence of Captain Har
ville's being settled with his family at Lyme for the winter;
of their being, therefore, quite unknowingly, within twenty
miles of each other. Captain Harville had never been in
good health since a severe wound which he received two
years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him
had determined him to go immediately to Lyme. He had
been there for four-and-twenty hours. His acquittal was
complete, his friendship warmly honoured, a lively interest
excited for his friend; and his description of the fine country
about Lyme so feelingly attended to by the party, that an
earnest desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for
going thither, was the consequence.
The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain
Wentworth talked of going there again himself; it was only
seventeen miles from Uppercross: though November, the
weather was by no means bad; and, in short, Louisa, who
was the most eager of the eager, having formed the reso
lution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as she liked,
being now armed with the idea of merit in maintaining her
own way, bore down all the wishes of her father and mo
ther for putting it off till summer; and to Lyme they were
to go–Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Cap
tain Wentworth.
 PERSUASION. £57

The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning

and return at night, but to this Mr. Musgrove, for the sake
of his horses, would not consent; and when it came to be
rationally considered, a day in the middle of November
would not leave much time for seeing a new place, after
deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country re
quired, for going and returning. They were, consequently,
to stay the night there, and not to be expected back till
the next day’s dinner. This was felt to be a considerable
amendment; and though they all met at the Great House
at rather an early breakfast hour, and set off very punc
tually, it was so much past noon before the two carriages,
Mr. Musgrove’s coach containing the four ladies, and
Charles's curricle, in which he drove Captain Wentworth,
were descending the long hill into Lyme, and entering upon
the still steeper street of the town itself, that it was very
evident they would not have more than time for looking
about them, before the light and warmth of the day were
gone,
After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinnex
at one of the inns, the next thing to be done was un
questionably to walk directly down to the sea. They were
come too late in the year for any amusement or variety
which Lyme, as a public place, might offer; the rooms
were shut up, the lodgers almost all gone, scarcely any fa
mily but of the residents left — and, as there is nothing to
admire in the buildings themselves, the remarkable situation
of the town, the principal street almost hurrying into the
water, the walk to the Cobb, skirting round the pleasant
little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathing
machines and company; the Cobb itself, its old wonders
and new improvements, with the very beautiful line of
cliffs stretching out to the east of the town, are what the
stranger's eye will seek; and a very strange stranger it must
be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of
Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in
its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with its high grounds and
extensive sweeps of country, and still more its sweet retired
bay, backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock
among the sands make it the happiest spot for watching the
298 PERSUASION

flow of the tide, for sitting in unwearied contemplation;

the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme;
and, above all, Pinny, with its green chasms between ro.
mantic rocks, where the scattered forest trees and orchards
of luxuriant growth declare that many a generation must
have passed away since the first partial falling of the cliff
prepared the ground for such a state, where a scene so won
derful and so lovely is exhibited, as may more than equal
any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of
Wight:—these places must be visited, and visited again, to
make the worth of Lyme understood.
The party from Uppercross passing down by the now
deserted and melancholy looking rooms, and still descend
ing, soon found themselves on the sea-shore, and lingering
only, as all must linger and gaze on a first return to the
sea, who ever deserve to look on it at all, proceeded towards
the Cobb, equally their object in itself and on Captain
Wentworth’s account ; for in a small house, near the foot
of an old pier of unknown date, were the Harvilles settled
Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the
others walked on, and he was to join them on the Cobb.
They were by no means tired of wondering and ad
miring; and not even Louisa seemed to feel that they had
parted with Captain Wentworth long, when they saw him
coming after them, with three companions, all well known
already by description to be Captain and Mrs. Harville,
and a Captain Benwick, who was staying with them.
Captain Benwick had some time ago been first lieutenant
of the Laconia; and the account which Captain Wentworth
had given of him, on his return from Lyme before, his
warm praise of him as an excellent young man and an
officer, whom he had always valued highly, which must
have stamped him well in the esteem of every listener, had
been followed by a little history of his private life, which
rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the
ladies. He had been engaged to Captain Harville's sister,
and was now mourning her loss. They had been a year
or two waiting for fortune and promotion. Fortune came,
his prize-money as lieutenant being great: promotion, too,
came at last, but Fanny Harville did not live to know it,
 PERSUASION. 290

She had died the preceding summer, while he was at sea.

Captain Wentworth believed it impossible for man to be
more attached to woman than poor Benwick had been to
Fanny Harville, or be more deeply afflicted under the
dreadful change. He considered his disposition as of the
sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings
with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided
taste for reading and sedentary pursuits. To finish the
interest of the story, the friendship between him and the
Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which
closed all their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was
now living with them entirely. Captain Harville had taken
his present house for half a year, his taste, and his health,
and his fortune, all directing him to a residence unex
pensive, and by the sea; and the grandeur of the country,
and the retirement of Lyme in the winter, appeared ex
actly adapted to Captain Benwick's state of mind. The
sympathy and good-will excited towards Captain Benwick
was very great.
“And yet,” said Anne to herself, as they now moved
forward to meet the party, “he has not, perhaps, a more
sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his pro
spects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am ;
younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He
will rally again, and be happy with another.”
They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville
was a tall, dark man, with a sensible, benevolent coun
tenance: a little lame ; and, from strong features and want
of health, looking much older than Captain Wentworth.
Captain Benwick looked, and was, the youngest of the three,
and, compared with either of them, a little man. He had
a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as he ought to
have, and drew back from conversation.
Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Went
worth in manners, was a perfect gentleman, unaffected,
warm, and obliging. Mrs. Harville, a degree less polished
than her husband, seemed however to have the same good
feelings; and nothing could be more pleasant than their
desire of considering the whole party as friends of their
own, because the friends of Captain Wentworth or more
400 PERSUASiON.

kindly hospitable than their entreaties for their all pro

mising to dine with them. The dinner, already ordered at
the inn, was at last, though unwillingly, accepted as an ex
cuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth
should have brought any such party to Lyme, without con
sidering it as a thing of course that they should dine with
them.
There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth
in all this, and such a bewitching charm in a degree of
hospitality so uncommon, so unlike the usual style of give
and-take invitations, and dinners of formality and display,
that Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by an
increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers. “These
would have been all my friends,” was her thought; and she
had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.
On quitting the Cobb, they all went in-doors with their
new friends, and found rooms so small as none but those
who invite from the heart could think capable of accom
modating so many. Anne had a moment's astonishment
on the subject herself; but it was soon lost in the pleasanter
feelings which sprang from the sight of all the ingenious
contrivances and nice arrangements of Captain Harville, to
turn the actual space to the best possible account, to supply
the deficiencies of lodging-house furniture, and defend the
windows and doors against the winter storms to be ex
pected. The varieties in the fitting-up of the rooms, where
the common necessaries provided by the owner, in the com
mon indifferent plight, were contrasted with some few
articles of a rare species of wood, excellently worked up,
and with something curious and valuable from all the dis
tant countries Captain Harville had visited, were more
than amusing to Anne: connected as it all was with his pro
fession, the fruit of its labours, the effect of its influence
on his habits, the picture of repose and domestic happiness
it presented, made it to her a something more, or less, than
gratification.
Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived
excellent accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves,
for a tolerable collection of well-bound volumes, the pro
perty of Captain Benwick. His lameness prevented him
 PERSUASION. 301

from taking much exercise; but a mind of usefulness and

ingenuity seemed to furnish him with constant employment
within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, he glued,
he made toys for the children; he fashioned new netting
needles and pins with improvements; and if every thing
else was done, sat down to his large fishing-net at one
corner of the room.
Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when
they quitted the house; and Louisa, by whom she found
herself walking, burst forth into raptures of admiration
and delight on the character of the navy — their friendli
ness, their brotherliness, their openness, their uprightness;
protesting that she was convinced of sailors having more
worth and warmth than any other set of men in England;
that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to
be respected and loved.
They went back to dress and dine; and so well had the
scheme answered already, that nothing was found amiss;
though its being “so entirely out of the season,” and the
“no thorough-fare of Lyme,” and the “no expectation of
company,” had brought many apologies from the heads of
the inn.
Anne found herself by this time growing so much more
hardened to being in Captain Wentworth's company than
she had at first imagined could ever be, that the sitting down
to the same table with him now, and the interchange of
the common civilities attending on it (they never got
beyond), was become a mere nothing.
The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again
till the morrow, but Captain Harville had promised them
a visit in the evening; and he came, bringing his friend
also, which was more than had been expected, it having
been agreed that Captain Benwick had all the appearance
of being oppressed by the presence of so many strangers.
He ventured among them again, however, though his
spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth of the party
in general.
While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk
on one side of the room, and, by recurring to former days,
supplied anecdotes in abundance to occupy and '"
 302 PERSUASION.

the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart

with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her
nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him.
He was shy, and disposed to abstraction: but the en
gaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her
manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well repaid
the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young
man of considerable taste in reading, though principally in
poetry; and besides the persuasion of having given him at
least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects,
which his usual companions had probably no concern in,
she had the hope of being of real use to him in some sug
gestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against
affliction, which had naturally grown out of their convers
ation. For, though shy, he did not seem reserved: it
had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their
usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness
of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of
opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether
Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred,
and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos,
and, moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he
showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the ten
derest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned de
scriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated,
with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which
imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretched
ness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be under
stood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read
only poetry; and to say, that she thought it was the mis
fortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those
who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings
which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings
which ought to taste it but sparingly.
His looks showing him not pained, but pleased with this
alkasion to his situation, she was emboldened to go on;
and feeling in herself the right of seniority of mind, she
ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in his
daily study; and on being requested to particularise, men
tioned such works of our best moralists, such collections
 PERSUASION. 303

of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth

and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment as calcu
lated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts,
and the strongest examples of moral and religious endur
anceS.

Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grate

ful for the interest implied; and though with a shake of
the head, and sighs which declared his little faith in the
efficacy of any books on grief like his, noted down the
names of those she recommended, and promised to procure
and read them.
When the evening was over, Anne could not but be
amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme, to preach pa
tience and resignation to a young man whom she had never
seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious
reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preach
ers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own
conduct would ill bear examination.

CHAPTER XII.

ANNE and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the

party the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea
before breakfast. They went to the sands, to watch the
flowing of the tide, which a fine south-easterly breeze was
bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a shore ad
mitted. They praised the morning; gloried in the sea;
sympathised in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze—and
were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again, with —
“Oh yes, – I am quite convinced that, with very few
exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be
no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr.
Shirley, after his illness, last spring twelvemonth. He de
clares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month did him
more good than all the medicine he took; and that being
by the sea always makes him feel young again. Now, I
cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely
304 PERSUASION.

by the sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross en

tirely, and fix at Lyme. Do not you, Anne? Do not you
agree with me, that it is the best thing he could do, both
for himself and Mrs. Shirley? She has cousins here, you
know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheer
ful for her, — and I am sure she would be glad to get to a
place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in
case of his having another seizure. Indeed, I think it
quite melancholy to have such excellent people as Dr. and
Mrs. Shirley, who have been doing good all their lives,
wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross,
where, excepting our family, they seem shut out from all
the world. I wish his friends would propose it to him. I
really think they ought. And, as to procuring a dispens
ation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and
with his character. My only doubt is, whether any thing
could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very
strict and scrupulous in his notions; over-scrupulous, I
must say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being over
scrupulous? Do not you think it is quite a mistaken
point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health
for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed
by another person? – And at Lyme too, – only seventeen
miles off, – he would be near enough to hear, if people
thought there was anything to complain of.”
Anne smiled more than once to herself during this
speech, and entered into the subject, as ready to do good
by entering into the feelings of a young lady as of a young
man, — though here it was good of a lower standard, for
what could be offered but general acquiescence? She said
all that was reasonable and proper on the business; felt
the claims of Dr. Shirley to repose as she ought; saw
how very desirable it was that he should have some active,
respectable young man, as a resident curate, and was even
courteous enough to hint at the advantage of such resident
curate's being married.
“I wish,” said Henrietta, very well pleased with her
companion, “I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and
were intimate with Dr. Shirley. I have always heard of
Lady Russell, as a woman of the greatest influence with
 PERSUASION 305

every body! I always look upon her as able to persuade a

person to any thing ! I am afraid of her, as I have told
you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very
clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had
such a neighbour at Uppercross.”
Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grate
ful, and amused also that the course of events and the new
interests of Henrietta's views should have placed her friend
at all in favour with any of the Musgrove family; she had
only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that
such another woman were at Uppercross, before all sub
jects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisa and Captain Went
worth coming towards them. They came also for a stroll
till breakfast was likely to be ready; but Louisa recollect
ing, immediately afterwards, that she had something to
procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her
into the town. They were all at her disposal.
When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the
beach, a gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come
down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way.
They ascended and passed him; and as they passed,
Anne's face caught his eye, and #2 looked at her with a
degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be in
sensible of. She was looking remarkably well; her very
regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and fresh
ness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been
blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye
which it had also produced. It was evident that the gen
tleman (completely a gentleman in manner) admired her
exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked round at her in
stantly in a way which showed his noticing of it. He
gave her a momentary glance, — a glance of brightness,
which seemed to say, “That man is struck with you, -
and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne
Elliot again.”
After attending Louisa through her business, and loiter
ing about a little longer, they returned to the inn; and
Anne, in passing afterwards quickly from her own chamber
to their dining-room, had nearly run against the very same
gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She
 306 PERSUASION.

had before conjectured him to be a stranger like them

selves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was
strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should
be his servant. Both master and man being in mourning
assisted the idea. It was now proved that he belonged to
the same inn as themselves; and this second meeting,
short as it was, also proved again, by the gentleman's
looks, that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readi
ness and propriety of his apologies, that he was a man of
exceedingly good manners. He seemed about thirty, and,
though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne felt
that she should like to know who he was.
They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a
carriage (almost the first they had heard since entering
Lyme) drew half the party to the window. “It was a
gentleman's carriage — a curricle – but only coming round
from the stable-yard to the front door — somebody must
be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.”
The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up,
that he might compare it with his own, the servant in
mourning roused Annes curiosity, and the whole six were
collected to look, by the time the owner of the curricle was
to be seen issuing from the door, amidst the bows and
civilities of the household, and taking his seat, to drive off.
“Ah!” cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with
half a glance at Anne; “it is the very man we passed.”
The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly
watched him as far up the hill as they could, they returned
to the breakfast-table. The waiter came into the room
soon afterwards.
“Pray,” said Captain Wentworth, immediately, “can
you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone
away?”
“Yes, sir, a Mr. Elliot; a gentleman of large fortune,
came in last night from Sidmouth, – dare say you heard
the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner; and going on
now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and London.”
“ Elliot!” Many had looked on each other, and
many had repeated the name, before all this had been got
through, even by the smart rapidity of a waiter.
 PERSUASION. 307

“Bless me!” cried Mary; “it must be our cousin;--

it must be our Mr. Elliot, it must, indeed! Charles,
Anne, must not it P In mourning, you see, just as our
Mr. Elliot must be. How very extraordinary ! In the
very same inn with us ! Anne, must not it be our Mr.
Elliot; my father's next heir P Pray, sir,” turning to the
waiter, “ did not you hear, — did not his servant say
whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?” -

“No, ma'am,— he did not mention no particular family;

but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and
would be a baronight some day.”
“There ! you see !” cried Mary, in an ecstasy; “just
as I said Heir to Sir Walter Elliot ! I was sure that
would come out, if it was so. Depend upon it, that
is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish
wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extra
ordinary ! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we
had been aware in time who it was, that he might have
been introduced to us. What a pity that we should not
have been introduced to each other! Do you think he had the
Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him, I was look
ing at the horses; but I think he had something of the
Elliot countenance. I wonder the arms did not strike
me! Oh, the great-coat was hanging over the panel,
and hid the arms; so it did, otherwise, I am sure, I
should have observed them, and the livery too; if the
servant had not been in mourning, one should have known
him by the livery.”
“Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances
together,” said Captain Wentworth, “we must consider it
to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not
be introduced to your cousin.”
When she could command Mary's attention, Anne
quietly tried to convince her that their father and Mr.
Elliot had not, for many years, been on such terms as to
make the power of attempting an introduction at all
desirable.
At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification
to herself to have seen her cousin, and to know that the
future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedly a gentleman,
808 PERSUASiON.

and had an air of good sense. She would not, upon any
account, mention her having met with him the second
time; luckily Mary did not much attend to their having
passed close by him in their early walk, but she would
have felt quite ill-used by Anne's having actually run
against him in the passage, and received his very polite
excuses, while she had never been near him at all ; no,
that cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret.
“Of course,” said Mary, “ you will mention our see
ing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think
my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all
about him.”
Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circum
stance which she considered as not merely unnecessary to
be communicated, but as what ought to be suppressed.
The offence which had been given her father, many years
back, she knew ; Elizabeth's particular share in it she sus
pected; and that Mr. Elliot's idea always produced irri
tation in both was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to
Bath herself; all the toil of keeping up a slow and unsa
tisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell on Anne.
Breakfast had not been long over when they were
joined by Captain and Mrs. Harville and Captain Benwick,
with whom they had appointed to take their last walk
about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for Uppercross
by one, and in the mean while were to be all together, and
out of doors as long as they could.
Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon
as they were all fairly in the street. Their conversation
the preceding evening did not disincline him to seek her
again; and they walked together some time, talking as
before of Mr. Scott and Lord Byron, and still as unable
as before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think
exactly alike of the merits of either, till something occa
sioned an almost general change amongst their party, and
instead of Captain Benwick, she had Captain Harville by
her side,
“Miss Elliot,” said he, speaking rather low, “ you
have done a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so
much. I wish he could have such company oftener. It
 PERSUASION. 309

is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is ; but what

can we do ? we cannot part.”
“No,” said Anne, “that I can lasily believe to be
impossible: but in time, perhaps — we know what time
does in every case of affliction, and you must remember,
Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called a
young mourner, — only last summer, I understand.”
“Ay, true enough,” with a deep sigh, “only June.”
“And not known to him, perhaps, so soon.”
“Not till the first week in August, when he came home
from the Cape, — just made into the Grappler. I was at
Plymouth, dreading to hear of him: he sent in letters, but
the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth. There
the news must follow him: but who was to tell it? not I.
I would as soon have been run up to the yard-arm. No
body could do it, but that good fellow (pointing to Cap
tain Wentworth). The Laconia had come into Plymouth
the week before; no danger of her being sent to sea again.
He stood his chance for the rest—wrote up for leave of
absence; but without waiting the return, travelled night
and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the Grap
pler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a
week; that's what he did, and nobody else could have
saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether
he is dear to us!”
Anne did think on the question with perfect decision,
and said as much in reply as her own feelings could
accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he was too
much affected to renew the subject, — and when he spoke
again, it was of something totally different.
Mrs. Harville's giving it as her opinion that her hus
band would have quite walking enough by the time he
reached home, determined the direction of all the party
in what was to be their last walk: they would accompany
them to their door, and then return and set off themselves.
By all their calculations there was just time for this; but
as they drew near the Cobb, there was such a general wish
to walk along it once more, all were so inclined, and
Louisa soon grew so determined, that the difference of a
quarter of an hour, it was found, would be no difference at
310 PERSUASION.

all; so with all the kind leave-taking, and all the kind
interchange of invitations and promises which may be
imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs. Harville at
their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Ben
wick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded
to make the proper adieus to the Cobb.
Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her.
Lord Byron's “dark blue seas” could not fail of being
brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave
him all her attention as long as attention was possible.
It was soon drawn, perforce, another way.
There was too much wind to make the high part of the
new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get
down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to
pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting
Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain
Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump
her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her.
The hardness of the pavement for her feet made him less
willing upon the present occasion ; he did it, however ;
she was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoy
ment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He
advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no,
he reasoned and talked in vain: she smiled and said, “I
am determined I will :” he put out his hands; she was too
precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on
the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless |
There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but
her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like
death. The horror of that moment to all who stood
around !
Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt
with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid
as her own in an agony of silence. “She is dead! she is
dead !” screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, and
contributing with his own horror to make him immov
able; and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under
the conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen
on the steps but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who.
caught and supported her between them.
 PERSUASION. 811

“Is there no one to help me?” were the first words

which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of
despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.
“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven's
sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me,
and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here
are salts, – take them, take them.”
Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same mo
ment disengaging himself from his wife, they were both
with him; and Louisa was raised up and supported more
firmly between them, and every thing was done that Anne
had prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth,
staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in
the bitterest agony,–
“Oh God! her father and mother !”
“A surgeon ''” said Anne.
He caught the word: it seemed to rouse him at once;
and saying only—“True, true, a surgeon this instant,”
was darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested,—
“Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain
Benwick P He knows where a surgeon is to be found.”
Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the
idea, and in a moment (it was all done in rapid moments)
Captain Benwick had resigned the poor corpse-like figure
entirely to the brother's care, and was off for the town
with the utmost rapidity.
As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be
said which of the three, who were completely rational, was
suffering most, Captain Wentworth, Anne, or Charles.
who, really a very affectionate brother, hung over Louisa
with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one
sister to see the other in a state as insensible, or to witness
the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him for help
which he could not give.
Anne, attending with all the strength, and zeal, and
thought, which instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried
at intervals, to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet
Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Cap
tain Wentworth Both seemed to look to her for di
rections.
 312 PERS UASION.

“Anne, Anne,” cried Charles, “what is to be done

Next? What, in heaven's name, is to be done next P”
Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.
“Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am
sure, carry her gently to the inn."
“Yes, yes, to the inn,” repeated Captain Wentworth,
comparatively collected, and eager to be doing something.
“I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the
others.”
By this time the report of the accident had spread
among the workmen and boatmen about the Cobb, and
many were collected near them, to be useful if wanted;
at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay,
two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the
first report. To some of the best-looking of these good
people Henrietta was consigned, for, though partially re
vived, she was quite helpless; and in this manner, Anne
walking by her side, and Charles attending to his wife,
they set forward, treading back, with feelings unutterable,
the ground which so lately, so very lately, and so light of
heart, they had passed along.
They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met
them. Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their
house, with a countenance which showed something to be
wrong; and they had set off immediately, informed and
directed, as they passed, towards the spot. Shocked as
Captain Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that
could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his
wife decided what was to be done. She must be taken to
their house — all must go to their house — and wait the
surgeon's arrival there. They would not listen to scruples:
he was obeyed: they were all beneath his roof; and while
Louisa, under Mrs. Harville's direction, was conveyed up
stairs, and given possession of her own bed, assistance,
cordials, restoratives were supplied by her husband to all
who needed them.
Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them
again, without apparent consciousness. This had been a
proof of life, however, of service to her sister; and Hen
rietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same
 PERSUASION. 313

room with Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of hope and

fear, from a return of her own insensibility. Mary, too,
was growing calmer.
The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed
possible. They were sick with horror while he examined;
but he was not hopeless. The head had received a severe
contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from :
he was by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.
That he did not regard it as a desperate case — that he
did not say a few hours must end it — was at first felt
beyond the hope of most; and the ecstasy of such a
reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent, after a few fervent
ejaculations of gratitude to Heaven had been offered, may
be conceived.
The tone, the look, with which “Thank God!” was
uttered by Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never
be forgotten by her; nor the sight of him afterwards, as he
sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms, and face
concealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his
soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm them.
Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to
the head.
It now became necessary for the party to consider what
was best to be done, as to their general situation. They
were now able to speak to each other, and consult. That
Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing to
her friends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble,
did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible. The
Harvilles silenced all scruples; and, as much as they could,
all gratitude. They had looked forward and arranged every
thing, before the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick
must give up his room to them, and get a bed elsewhere—
and the whole was settled. They were only concerned that
the house could accommodate no more; and yet, perhaps, by
“putting the children away in the maids’ room, or swinging
a cot somewhere,” they could hardly bear to think of not
finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might
wish to stay; though, with regard to any attendance on
Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in
leaving her to Mrs. Harville's care entirely. Mrs. Harville
314 PERSUASION

was a very experienced nurse; and her nursery-maid, who

had lived with her long, and gone about with her every
where, was just such another. Between these two she
could want no possible attendance by day or night. And
all this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling irre
sistible. -

Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the

three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an
interchange of perplexity and terror. “Uppercross, – the
necessity of some one's going to Uppercross,—the news to
oe conveyed,—how it could be broken to Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove, —the lateness of the morning, —an hour already
gone since they ought to have been off,-the impossibility
of being in tolerable time.” At first, they were capable of
nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations; but,
after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said,—
“We must be decided, and without the loss of another
minute. Every minute is valuable. Some must resolve on
being off for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you
or I must go."
Charles agreed; but declared his resolution of not going
away. He would be as little encumbrance as possible to
Captain and Mrs. Harville; but as to leaving his sister in
such a state, he neither ought nor would. So far it was
decided; and Henrietta at first declared the same. She,
however, was soon persuaded to think differently. The use
fulness of her staying ! She, who had not been able to re
main in Louisa's room, or to look at her, without sufferings
which made her worse than helpless! She was forced to
acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still un
willing to be away, till, touched by the thought of her father
and mother, she gave it up ; she consented, she was anxi
ous to be at home.
The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming
quietly down from Louisa's room, could not but hear what
followed, for the parlour door was open.
“Then it is settled, Musgrove,” cried Captain Went
worth, “that you stay, and that I take care of your sister
home. But as to the rest, — as to the others, –if one stays
to assist Mrs. Harville, I think it need be only one. Mrs.
 PERSUAS10N 315

Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her

children; but, if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so ca
pable as Anne!”
She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of
hearing herself so spoken of The other two warmly agreed
to what he said, and she then appeared.
“You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse
her,” cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow,
and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the
past. She coloured deeply; and he recollected himself, and
moved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready,
happy to remain. “It was what she had been thinking of,
and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor in
Louisa's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs. Harville
would but think so.”
One thing more, and all seemed arranged. Though it
was rather desirable that Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove should be
previously alarmed by some share of delay; yet the time
required by the Uppercross horses to take them back would
be a dreadful extension of suspense; and Captain Went
worth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed, that it would
be much better for him to take a chaise from the inn, and
leave Mr. Musgrove’s carriage and horses to be sent home
the next morning early, when there would be the farther
advantage of sending an account of Louisa's night.
Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get every thing
ready on his part, and to be soon followed by the two ladies.
When the plan was made known to Mary, however, there
was an end of all peace in it. She was so wretched, and
so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being ex
pected to go away instead of Anne;—Anne, who was no
thing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had the best
right to stay in Henrietta's stead! Why was not she to be
as useful as Anne? And to go home without Charles, too,
—without her husband' No, it was too unkind! And,
in short, she said more than her husband could long with
stand; and as none of the others could oppose when he
gave way, there was no help for it: the change of Mary
for Anne was inevitable.
Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jea
316 PERSUASION.

lous and ill-judging claims of Mary; but so it must be, and

they set off for the town, Charles taking care of his sister,
and Captain Benwick attending to her. She gave a moment's
recollection, as they hurried along, to the little circumstances
which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the morning.
There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr. Shir
iey's leaving Uppercross: farther on, she had first seen Mr
Elliot; a moment seemed all that could now be given to
any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapped up in her
welfare.
Captain Benwick was most considerately attentive to her;
and, united as they all seemed by the distress of the day,
she felt an increasing degree of good-will towards him, and
a pleasure even in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the
occasion of continuing their acquaintance.
Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a
chaise and four in waiting, stationed for their convenience
in the lowest part of the street; but his evident surprise
and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other
—the change of his countenance--the astonishment—the
expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was
listened to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne; or
must at least convince her that she was valued only as she
could be useful to Louisa.
She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just. With
out emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry,
she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the
common claims of regard, for his sake; and she hoped he
would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink
unnecessarily from the office of a friend.
In the mean while she was in the carriage. He had
handed them both in, and placed himself between them;
and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of asto
nishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme. How
the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their man
ners; what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could
not foresee. It was all quite natural, however. He was
devoted to Henrietta; always turning towards her; and
when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting
her hopes and raising her spirits. In general, his voice and
 PERSUASION. • '; 317

manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta from

agitation seemed the governing principle. Once only, when
she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated
walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been
thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome —
“Don’t talk of it, don't talk of it,” he cried. “Oh,
God! that I had not given way to her at the fatal mo
ment ! Had I done as I ought ! But so eager and so re
solute ! Dear, sweet Louisa !”
Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to
question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the
universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character;
and whether it might not strike him that, like all other
qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and li
mits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that
a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour
of happiness, as a very resolute character.
They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the
same hills and the same objects so soon. Their actual
speed, heightened by some dread of the conclusion, made
the road appear but half as long as on the day before. It
was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the
neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total si
lence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in
the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of
her having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going
up their last hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed
by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious voice, he said,—
“I have been considering what we had best do. She
must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have
been thinking whether you had not better remain in the
carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr. and
Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this a good plan P”
She did: he was satisfied, and said no more. But the
remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her —
as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment,
a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof,
its value did not lessen.
When the distressing communication at Uppercross was
over, and he had seen the father and mother quite as com
X.
318 .... . bH.RSUASION.

posed as could be hoped, and the daughter all the better for
being with them, he announced his intention of returning
in the same carriage to Lyme; and when the horses were
baited, he was off. .
* ~ * *
 PRESUASiON. 8,9

• */ - - .. .
* snºw-w--- * ... i.i.
VOLUME THE SECOND,

,” CHAPTER I.

TRE remainder of Anne's time at Uppercross, comprehend

ing only two days, was spent entirely at the Mansion-house;
and she had the satisfaction of knowing herself extremely
useful there, both as an immediate companion, and as assist
ing in all those arrangements for the future, which, in Mr.
and Mrs. Musgrove's distressed state of spirits, would have
been difficulties.
They had an early account from Lyme the next morning,
Louisa was much the same. No symptoms worse than be
fore had appeared. Charles came a few hours afterwards,
to bring a later and more particular account. He was to
lerably cheerful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but
every thing was going on as well as the nature of the case
admitted. In speaking of the Harvilles, he seemed unable
to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of Mrs.
Harville's exertions as a nurse. “She really left nothing
for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go
early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical
again this morning. When he came away, she was going
to walk out with Captain Benwick, which, he hoped, would
do her good. He almost wished she had been prevailed on
to come home the day before; but the truth was, that Mrs.
Harville left nothing for any body to do.”
Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and
his father had at first half a mind to go with him, but the
ladies could not consent. It would be going only to mul
tiply trouble to the others, and increase his own distress;
and a much better scheme followed, and was acted upon.
A chaise was sent for from Crewkherne, and Charles con
520 PERSUAftion.

veyed back a far more useful person in the old nursery

maid of the family, one who, having brought up all the chil
dren, and seen the very last, the lingering and long-petted
master Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now
living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings, and dress
all the blains and bruises she could get near her, and who,
consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go
and help nurse dear Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting
Sarah thither had occurred before to Mrs. Musgrove and
Henrietta; but without Anne, it would hardly have been
resolved on, and found practicable so soon.
They were indebted, the next day, to Charles Hayter.
for all the minute knowledge of Louisa, which it was so
essential to obtain every twenty-four hours. He made it
his business to go to Lyme, and his account was still en
couraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were
believed to be stronger. Every report agreed in Captain
Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme.
Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which
they all dreaded. “What should they do without her ?
They were wretched comforters for one another.” And
so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she could
not do better than impart among them the general inclin
ation to which she was privy, and persuade them all to go
to Lyme at once. She had little difficulty; it was soon
determined that they would go, – go to-morrow, fix them
selves at the inn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and
there remain till dear Louisa could be moved. They must
be taking off some trouble from the good people she was
with: they might at least relieve Mrs. Harville from the
care of her own children; and, in short, they were so
happy in the decision, that Anne was delighted with what
she had done, and felt that she could not spend her last
morning at Uppercross better than in assisting their prepar
ations, and sending them off at an early hour, though her
being left to the solitary range of the house was the conse
quence. -

She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage,
she was the very last, the only remaining one of all that
had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given
 PF, rasu ASION. ! 321

Uppercross its cheerful character. A few days had made

a change indeed.
If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again. More
than former happiness would be restored. There could
not be a doubt, to her mind there was none, of what
would follow her recovery. A few months hence, and
the room now so deserted, occupied but by her silent, pen
sive self, might be filled again with all that was happy and
gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosperous love, all
that was most unlike Anne Elliot.
An hour's complete leisure for such reflections as these,
on a dark November day, a small thick rain almost blotting
out the very few objects ever to be discerned from the win
dows, was enough to make the sound of Lady Russell's
carriage exceedingly welcome ; and yet, though desirous to
be gone, she could not quit the Mansion-house, or look an
adieu to the cottage, with its black, dripping, and com
fortless veranda, or even notice through the misty glasses
the last humble tenements of the village, without a sad
dened heart. Scenes had passed in Uppercross which
made it precious. It stood the record of many sensations
of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of some in
stances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship
and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again,
and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all be
hind her; all but the recollection that such things had
been.
Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting
Lady Russell's house in September. It had not been ne
cessary, and the few occasions of its being possible for her
to go to the hall she had contrived to evade and escape from.
Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and
elegant apartments of the Lodge, and to gladden the eyes of
its mistress.
There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's
joy in meeting her. She knew who had been frequenting
Uppercross. But happily, either Anne was improved in
plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied her so; and
Anne, in receiving her cer"; "ments on the occasion, had
 322 PFRSUASION

the amusement of connecting them with the silent admir

ation of her cousin, and of hoping that she was to be
blessed with a second spring of youth and beauty.
When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of
some mental change. The subjects of which her heart had
been full on leaving Kellynch, and which she had felt
slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Mus
groves, were now become but of secondary interest. She
had lately lost sight even of her father, and sister, and Bath.
Their concerns had been sunk under those of Uppercross;
and when Lady Russell reverted to their former hopes and
fears, and spoke her satisfaction in the house in Camden
• Place, which had been taken, and her regret that Mrs.
Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been
ashamed to have it known, how much more she was think
ing of Lyme, and Louisa Musgrove, and all her acquaintance
there; how much more interesting to her was the home
and the friendship of the Harvilles and Captain Benwick,
than her own father's house in Camden Place, or her own
sister's intimacy with Mrs. Clay. She was actually forced
to exert herself, to meet Lady Russell with any thing like
the appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by
nature the first claim on her.
There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse
on another subject. They must speak of the accident at
Lyme. Lady Russell had not been arrived five minutes
the day before, when a full account of the whole had burst
en her; but still it must be talked of, she must make en
quiries, she must regret the imprudence, lament the result,
and Captain Wentworth's name must be mentioned by both,
Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady Russell.
She could not speak the name, and look straight forward to
Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted the expedient of
telling her briefly what she thought of the attachment be
tween him and Louisa. When this was told, his name
distressed her no longer.
Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish
them happy; but internally her heart revelled in angry
pleasure, in pleased contempt, that the man who at twenty
three had seemed to understand somewhat of the value of
 PERSUASION. 323

an Anne Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be charmed

by a Louisa Musgrove.
The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no
circumstance to mark them excepting the receipt of a note
or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she
could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account
of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's po
liteness could repose no longer, and the fainter self-threaten
angs of the past became in a decided tone, “I must call
on Mrs. Croft; I really must call upon her soon. Anne,
have you courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that
house? It will be some trial to us both.”
Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary, she truly
felt as she said, in observing, —
“I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the
two; your feelings are less reconciled to the change than
mine. By remaining in the neighbourhood, I am become
inured to it.”
She could have said more on the subject; for she had in
fact so high an opinion of the Crofts, and considered her
father so very fortunate in his tenants, felt the parish to be
so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best atten
tion and relief, that however sorry and ashamed for thene
cessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience feel
that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kel
lynch Hall had passed into better hands than its owners.
These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain,
and severe was its kind; but they precluded that pain which
Lady Russell would suffer in entering the house again, and
returning through the well-known apartments.
In such moments Anne had no power of saying to her
self, “These rooms ought to belong only to us. Oh, how
fallen in their destination How unworthily occupied !
An ancient family to be so driven away ! Strangers filling
their place !” No, except when she thought of her mother,
and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside,
she had no sigh of that description to heave.
Mrs. Croft always met her with a kindness which gave
her the pleasure of fancying herself a favourite; and on
324 PERSUASION.

the present occasion, receiving her in that house, there was

particular attention.
The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic;
and on comparing their latest accounts of the invalid, it
appeared that each lady dated her intelligence from the
same hour of yester morn; that Captain Wentworth had
been in Kellynch yesterday (the first time since the acci
dent); had brought Anne the last note, which she had not
been able to trace the exact steps of ; had staid a few
hours, and then returned again to Lyme, and without any
present intention of quitting it any more. He had en
quired after her, she found, particularly; had expressed
his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her ex
ertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great. This
was handsome, and gave her more pleasure than almost any
thing else could have done.
As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed
only in one style by a couple of steady, sensible women,
whose judgments had to work on ascertained events; and
it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of
much thoughtlessness and much imprudence; that its
effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to
think how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be
doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer
from the concussion hereafter ! The Admiral wound it all
up summarily by exclaiming,
“Ay, a very bad business, indeed. A new sort of way
this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking
his mistress's head is not it, Miss Elliot? This is
breaking a head and giving a plaster truly '" -

Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to

suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne. His goodness
of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible.
“Now, this must be very bad for you,” said he, sud
denly rousing from a little reverie, “to be coming and
finding us here. I had not recollected it before, I de
clare, but it must be very bad. But now, do not stand
upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the rooms in the
house, if you like it.”
 rEltsu ASIO's. 3:25

Another time, sir, I thank you, not now.”

“Well, whenever it suits you. You can slip in from
the shrubbery at any time. And there you will find we
keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door. A good
place, is not it? But," checking himself, “ you will not
think it a good place, for yours were always kept in the
butler's room. Ay, so it always is, I believe. One
man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like
our own best. And so you must judge for yourself, whe
ther it would be better for you to go about the house or
not.” -

Anne, finding she might decline it, did so very grate

fully.
“We have made very few changes either,” continued
the Admiral, after thinking a moment. “Very few.
We told you about the laundry-door at Uppercross. That
has been a very great improvement. The wonder was,
how any family upon earth could bear with the inconve
nience of its opening as it did so long ! You will tell Sir
Walter what we have done, and that Mr. Shepherd
thinks it the greatest improvement the house ever had.
Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say, that the
few alterations we have made have been all very much for
the better. My wife should have the credit of them,
however. I have done very little besides sending away
wome of the large looking-glasses from my dressing-room,
which was your father's. A very good man, and very :
much the gentleman, I am sure — but I should think, Miss
Elliot,” looking with serious reflection,-- “I should think
he must be rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such
a number of looking-glasses ! oh Lord! there was no get
ting away from one's self. So I got Sophy to lend me a
hand, and we soon shifted their quarters; and now I am
quite snug, with my little shaving-glass in one corner, and
another great thing that I never go near.”
Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed
for an answer; and the Admiral, fearing he might not
have been civil enough, took up the subject again, to say,
“The next time you write to your good father, Miss
Elliot, pray give my compliments and Mrs. Croft's, and
326 PERSUASION,

say that we are settled here quite to our liking, and have
no fault at all to find with the place. The breakfast-room
chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when
the wind is due north and blows hard, which may not
happen three times a winter. And take it altogether, now
that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts and
can judge, there is not one that we like better than this.
Pray say so, with my compliments. He will be glad to
hear it.”
Lady Russell and Mrs. Croft were very well pleased
with each other: but the acquaintance which this visit
began was fated not to proceed far at present; for when it
was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going
away for a few weeks, to visit their connections in the
north of the county, and probably might not be at home
again before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath.
So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Went
worth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing him in company with
her friend. Every thing was safe enough, and she smiled
over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the sub
ject. -

CHAPTER II.

THough Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much

longer after Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove's going than Anne
conseived they could have been at all wanted, they were
yet the first of the family to be at home again; and as soon
as possible after their return to Uppercross they drove
over to the Lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit
up: but her head, though clear, was exceedingly weak,
and her nerves susceptible to the highest extreme of ten
derness; and though she might be pronounced to be alto
gether doing very well, it was still impossible to say when
she might be able to bear the removal home; and her
father and mother, who must return in time to receive
 PERSUASION. 327

their younger children for the Christmas holidays, had

hardly a hope of being allowed to bring her with them.
They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs. Mus
grove had got Mrs. Harville's children away as much as
she could, every possible supply from Uppercross had been
furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvilles,
while the Harvilles had been wanting them to come to
dinner every day; and, in short, it seemed to have been
only a struggle on each side, as to which should be most
disinterested and hospitable.
Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as was
evident by her staying so long, she had found more to en
joy than to suffer. Charles Hayter had been at Lyme
oftener than suited her ; and when they dined with the
Harvilles there had been only a maid-servant to wait, and,
at first, Mrs. Harville had always given Mrs. Musgrove
precedence: but then, she had received so very handsome
an apology from her on finding out whose daughter she
was, and there had been so much going on every day,
there had been so many walks between their lodgings and
the Harvilles, and she had got books from the library, and
changed them so often, that the balance had certainly been
much in favour of Lyme. She had been taken to Char
mouth, too, and she had bathed, and she had gone to
church, and there were a great many more people to look
at in the church at Lyme than at Uppercross, – and all
this, joined to the sense of being so very useful, had made
really an agreeable fortnight.
Anne enquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's face
was clouded directly. Charles laughed.
“Oh, Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he
is a very odd young man. I do not know what he would
be at. We asked him to come home with us for a day or
two: Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and
he seemed quite delighted, and, for my part, I thought it
was all settled; when, behold ! on Tuesday night, he
made a very awkward sort of excuse; “he never shot,”
and he had ‘been quite misunderstood,” —and he had
promised this and he had promised that, and the end of it
was, I found, that he did not mean to come. I suppose
 328 PElt SUASION.

he was afraid of finding it dull; but upon my word I

should have thought we were lively enough at the Cottage
for such a heart-broken man as Captain Benwick.” -

Charles laughed again, and said, “Now, Mary, you

know very well how it really was. It was all your doing,”
turning to Anne. “He fancied that if he went with
us, he should find you close by: he fancied every body to
be living in Uppercross; and when he discovered that
Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him,
and he had not courage to come. That is the fact, upolt
my honour. Mary knows it is.”
But Mary did not give into it very graciously; whether
from not considering Captain Benwick entitled by birth
and situation to be in love with an Elliot, or from not
wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Uppercross
than herself, must be left to be guessed. Anne's good
will, however, was not to be lessened by what she heard.
She boldly acknowledged herself flattered, and continued
her enquiries.
“Oh, he talks of you,” cried Charles, “ in such
terms ” Mary interrupted him. “I declare, Charles,
I never heard him mention Anne twice all the time I was
there. I declare, Anne, he never talks of you at all.”
“No,” admitted Charles, “I do not know that he ever
does, in a general way; but, however, it is a very clear
thing that he admires you exceedingly. His head is full
of some books that he is reading upon your recommend
ation, and he wants to talk to you about them ; he has
found out something or other in one of them which he
thinks — Oh, I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was
something very fine — I overheard him telling Henrietta
all about it — and then ‘ Miss Elliot' was spoken of in
the highest terms! Now, Mary, I declare it was so, I
heard it myself, and you were in the other room. “Ele
gance, sweetness, beauty,’—Oh, there was no end of Miss
Elliot's charms.”
“And I am sure,” cried Mary, warmly, “it was very
little to his credit, if he did. Miss Harville only died last
June. Such a heart is very little worth having, is it,
Iady Russell? I am sure you will agree with me.”
 PERSUASION. 329

“I must see Captain Benwick before I decide,” said

Lady Russell, smiling. -

“And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can

tell you, ma'am,” said Charles. “Though he had not
nerves for coming away with us, and setting off again
afterwards to pay a formal visit here, he will make his
way over to Kellynch one day by himself, you may depend
on it. I told him the distance and the road, and I told
him of the church's being so very well worth seeing; for
as he has a taste for those sort of things, I thought that
would be a good excuse, and he listened with all his un
derstanding and soul; and I am sure from his manner that
you will have him calling here soon. So, I give you no
tice, Lady Russell.”
“Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome
to me,” was Lady Russell's kind answer.
“Oh, as to being Anne's acquaintance," said Mary,
“I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been
seeing him every day this last fortnight.”
“Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall be very
happy to see Captain Benwick.”
“You will not find any thing very agreeable in him,
I assure you, ma'am. He is one of the dullest young
men that ever lived. He has walked with me, sometimes,
from one end of the sands to the other, without saying a
word. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am
sure you will not like him.”
“There we differ, Mary,” said Anne. “I think Lady
Russell would like him. I think she would be so much
pleased with his mind, that she would very soon see no de
ficiency in his manner.”
“So do I, Anne,” said Charles. “I am sure Lady
Russell would like him. He is just Lady Russell's sort.
Give him a book, and he will read all day long.”
“Yes, that he will !” exclaimed Mary, tauntingly.
“He will sit poring over his book, and not know when a
person speaks to him, or when one drops one's scissors, or
any thing that happens. Do you think Iady Russell
would like that ?”
Lady Russell could not help laughing, “Upon my
330 PERSt ASION.

word,” said she, “I should not have supposed that my

opinion of any one could nave admitted of such difference
of conjecture, steady and matter of fact as I may call
myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person who
can give occasion to such directly opposite notions. I
wish he may be induced to call here. And when he does,
Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion; but I
am determined not to judge him beforehand.”
“You will not like him, I will answer for it.”
Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary
spoke with animation of their meeting with, or rather
missing, Mr. Elliot so extraordinarily.
“He is a man,” said Lady Russell, “whom I have no
wish to see. His declining to be on cordial terms with the
head of his family has left a very strong impression in his
disfavour with me.”
This decision checked Mary’s eagerness, and stopped
her short in the midst of the Elliot countenance.
With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne ha
zarded no enquiries, there was voluntary communication
sufficient. His spirits had been greatly recovering lately,
as might be expected. As Louisa improved, he had im
proved; and he was now quite a different creature from
what he had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa;
and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her
from an interview, that he did not press for it at all; and,
on the contrary, seemed to have a plan of going away for
a week or ten days, till her head were stronger. He had
talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted
to persuade Captain Benwick to go with him ; but, as
Charles maintained to the last, Captain Benwick seemed
much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch.
There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne
were both occasionally thinking of Captain Benwick, from
this time. Lady Russell could not hear the door-bell
without feeling that it might be his herald; nor could
Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her
father's grounds, or any visit of charity in the village,
without wondering whether she might see him or hear of
him. Captain Benwick came not, however. He was
 PERSJAffon. 331

either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined, or he

was too shy; and after giving him a week's indulgence,
Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of the in
terest which he had been beginning to excite.
The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys
and girls from school, bringing with them Mrs. Harville's
little children, to improve the noise of Uppercross, and
lessen that of Lyme. Henrietta remained with Louisa;
but all the rest of the family were again in their usual
quarters.
Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them
once, when Anne could not but feel that Uppercross was
already quite alive again. Though neither Henrietta, nor
Louisa, nor Charles Hayter, nor Captain Wentworth were
there, the room presented as strong a contrast as could be
wished to the last state she had seen it in.
Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrove were the little
Harvilles, whom she was sedulously guarding from the ty
ranny of the two children from the Cottage, expressly ar
rived to amuse them. On one side was a table, occupied
by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper;
and on the other were tressels and trays, bending under the
weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were
holding high revel; the whole completed by a roaring
Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in
spite of all the noise of the others. Charles and Mary also
came in, of course, during their visit; and Mr. Musgrove
made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and
sat down close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very
raised voice, but, from the clamour of the children on his
knees, generally in vain. It was a fine family-piece.
Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have
deemed such a domestic hurricane a bad restorative of the
nerves, which Louisa's illness must have so greatly shaken;
but Mrs. Musgrove, who got Anne near her on purpose to
thank her most cordially, again and again, for all her atten
tions to them, concluded a short recapitulation of what she
had suffered herself, by observing, with a happy glance
round the room, that after all she had gone through, nothing
332 PERSUAS10N.

was so likely to do her good as a little quiet cheerfulness at

home.
Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother could
even think of her being able to join their party at home,
before her brothers and sisters went to school again. The
Harvilles had promised to come with her and stay at Up
percross, whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was
gone, for the present, to see his brother in Shropshire.
“I hope I shall remember, in future,” said Lady Rus
sell, as soon as they were reseated in the carriage, “not to
call at Uppercross in the Christmas holidays."
Every body has their taste in noises as well as in other
matters; and sounds are quite innoxious, or most distress
ing, by their sort rather than their quantity. When Lady
Russell, not long afterwards, was entering Bath on a wet
afternoon, and driving through the long course of streets
from the Old Bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of
other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the
bawling of newsmen, muffin-men, and milkmen, and the
ceaseless clink of pattens, she made no complaint. No,
these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures:
her spirits rose under their influence; and, like Mrs. Mus
grove, she was feeling, though not saying, that, after being
long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a
little quiet cheerfulness.
Anne did not share these feelings. She persisted in a
very determined, though very silent, disinclination for
Bath; caught the first dim view of the extensive buildings,
smoking in rain, without any wish of seeing them better;
felt their progress through the streets to be, however dis
agreeable, yet too rapid ; for who would be glad to see
her when she arrived? And looked back, with fond re
gret, to the bustles of Uppercross and the seclusion of
Kellynch.
Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a piece of news
of some interest. Mr. Elliot was in Bath. He had called
in Camden Place; had called a second time, a third; had
been pointedly attentive: if Elizabeth and her father
did not deceive themselves, had been taking as much pains
to seek the acquaintance, and proclaim the value of the
 PERSUASION. 333

connection, as he had formerly taken pains to show neglect,

This was very wonderful, if it were true; and Lady Rus
sell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and per
plexity about Mr. Elliot, already recanting the sentiment
she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being “a man
whom she had no wish to see.” She had a great wish to
se him. If he really sought to reconcile himself like a
duerful branch, he must be forgiven for having dismem
bered himself from the paternal tree.
Anre was "ot animated to an equal pitch by the cir
cun ance; l at she felt that she would rather see Mr. El
liot again than not, which was more than she could say for
many other persons in Bath.
She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady Russell
then drove to her own lodgings, in River's Street.

CHAPTER III.

SIR WALTER had taken a very good house in Camden

Place,—a lofty, dignified situation, such as becomes a man
of consequence; and both he and Elizabeth were settled
there, much to their satisfaction.
Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an
imprisonment of many months, and anxiously saying to
herself, “Oh, when shall I leave you again?” A degree
of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome she re
ceived, did her good. Her father and sister were glad to
see her, for the sake of showing her the house and furni
ture, and met her with kindness. Her making a fourth,
when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an ad
vantage.
Mrs. Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling; but her
courtesies and smiles were more a matter of course. Anne
nad always felt that she would pretend what was proper
on her arrival; but the complaisance of the others was
unlooked for. They were evidently in excellent spirits,
and she was soon to listen to the causes. They had no

Y
334 PERSUASION.

inclination to listen to her. After laying out for some

compliments of being deeply regretted in their old neign
bourhood, which Anne could not pay, they had only a few
faint enquiries to make, before the talk must be all their
own. Uppercross excited no interest, Kellynch very little,
it was all Bath.
They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more
than answered their expectations in every respect. Their
house was undoubtedly the best in Camden Place: their
drawing-rooms had many decided advantages over all the
others which they had either seen or heard of; and the
superiority was not less in the style of the fitting-up, or
the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance was ex
ceedingly sought after. Every body was wanting to visit
them. They had drawn back from many introductions
and still were perpetually having cards left by people of
whom they knew nothing.
Here were funds of enjoyment ! Could Anne wonder
that her father and sister were happy? She might not
wonder, but she must sigh that her father should feel no
degradation in his change; should see nothing to regret in
the duties and dignity of the resident landholder; should
find so much to be vain of in the littlenesses of a town ;
and she must sigh, and smile, and wonder too, as Elizabeth
threw open the folding-doors, and walked with exultation
from one drawing-room to the other, boasting of their space,
at the possibility of that woman, who had been mistress of
Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud of between two
walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder.
But this was not all which they had to make them
happy. They had Mr. Elliot too. Anne had a great
deal to hear of Mr. Elliot. He was not only pardoned,
they were delighted with him. He had been in Bath
about a fortnight; (he had passed through Bath in No
vember, in his way to London, when the intelligence of
Sir Walter's being settled there had of course reached him,
though only twenty-four hours in the place, but he had
not been able to avail himself of it;) but he had now been
a fortnight in Bath; and his first object, on arriving, had
been to leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by
 PERSUASION, 335

such assiduous endeavours to meet, and, when they did

meet, by such great openness of conduct, such readiness
to apologise for the past, such solicitude to be received as a
relation again, that their former good understanding was
completely re-established.
They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained
away all the appearance of neglect on his own side. It had
originated in misapprehension entirely. He had never
had an idea of throwing himself off: he had feared that he
was thrown off, but knew not why; and delicacy had kept
him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken disrespect
fully or carelessly of the family and the family honours, he
was quite indignant. He, who had ever boasted of being
an Elliot, and whose feelings, as to connection, were only
too strict to suit the unfeudal tone of the present day ! He
was astonished, indeed! But his character and general
conduct must refute it. He could refer Sir Walter to all
who knew him ; and, certainly, the pains he had been
taking on this, the first opportunity of reconciliation, to be
restored to the footing of a relation and heir-presumptive,
was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject.
The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to
admit of much extenuation. This was an article not to
be entered on by himself; but a very intimate friend of
his, a Colonel Wallis, a highly respectable man, perfectly
the gentleman, (and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter
added,) who was living in very good style in Marlborough
Buildings, and had, at his own particular request, been
admitted to their acquaintance through Mr. Elliot, had
mentioned one or two things relative to the marriage,
which made a material difference in the discredit of it.
Colonel Wallis had known Mr. Elliot long, had been
well acquainted also with his wife, had perfectly understood
the whole story. She was certainly not a woman of
family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and exces
sively in love with his friend. There had been the charm.
She had sought him. Without that attraction, not all her
money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was,
moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman.
Here was a great deal to soften the business. A very fine
336 PERSUASION.

woman, with a large fortune, in love with him ! Sir Walter

seemed to admit it as complete apology; and though Eliza
beth could not see the circumstance in quite so favourable a
light, she allowed it to be a great extenuation.
Mr. Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them
once, evidently delighted by the distinction of being asked,
'or they gave no dinners in general; delighted, in short,
by every proof of cousinly notice, and placing his whole
happiness in being on intimate terms in Camden Place.
Anne listened, but without quite understanding it. Al
lowances, large allowances, she knew, must be made for
the ideas of these who spoke. She heard it all under em
bellishment. All that sounded extravagant or irrational in
the progress of the reconciliation might have no origin but
in the language of the relators. Still, however, she had
the sensation of there being something more than immedi
ately appeared, in Mr. Elliot's wishing, after an interval of
so many years, to be well received by them. In a worldly
view, he had nothing to gain by being on terms with Sir
Walter; nothing to risk by a state of variance. In all
probability he was already the richer of the two, and the
Kellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title.
A sensible man, and he had looked like a very sensible
man, why should it be an object to him ? She could only
offer one solution; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's sake.
There might really have been a liking formerly, though
convenience and accident had drawn him a different way,
and now that he could afford to please himself, he might
mean to pay his addresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly
very handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and her
character might never have been penetrated by Mr. Elliot,
knowing her but in public, and when very young himself.
How her temper and understanding might bear the investi
gation of his present keener time of life was another con
cern, and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly did she
wish that he might not be too nice, or too observant, if
Elizabeth were his object; and that Elizabeth was dis
posed to believe herself so; and that her friend, Mrs. Clay
was encouraging the idea, seemed apparent by a glance or
 PERSUASION.

two between them, while Mr. Elliot's frequent visits we's

talked of.
Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of hir: ...:
Lyme, but without being much attended to. “Oh yes,
perhaps, it had been Mr. Elliot. They did not know. It
might be him, perhaps.” They could not listen to he,
description of him. They were describing him themselves;
Sir Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentle
manlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his
good-shaped face, his sensible eye; but, at the same time,
“must lament his being very much under-hung, a defect
which time seemed to have increased; nor could he pre
tend to say that ten years had not altered almost every
feature for the worse. Mr. Elliot appeared to think that
he (Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done when
they last parted;” but Sir Walter had “not been able to
return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed
him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr. Elliot
was better to look at than most men, and he had no objec
tion to being seen with him any where.”
Mr. Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough Buildings,
were talked of the whole evening “Colonel Wallis had
been so impatient to be introduced to them ! and Mr. Elliot
so anxious that he should !” And there was a Mrs. Wallis,
at present only known to them by description, as she was
in daily expectation of her confinement; but Mr. Elliot
spoke of her as “a most charming woman, quite worthy
of being known in Camden Place,” and as soon as she re
covered, they were to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought
much of Mrs. Wallis; she was said to be an excessively
pretty woman, beautiful. “He longed to see her. He
hoped she might make some amends for the many very
plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The
worst of Bath was, the number of its plain women. He
did not mean to say that there were no pretty women,
but the number of the plain was out of all proportion.
He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one hand
some face would be followed by thirty, or five-and-thirty
frights; and once, as he had stood in a shop in Bond
Street, he had counted eighty-seven women go by, one after
338 PERSUASro

another, without there being a tolerable face among them.

It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost,
which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test
of. But still, there certainly were a dreadful multitude of
ugly women in Bath; and as for the men they were infi
nitely worse. Such scarecrows as the streets were full of ! It
was evident how little the women were used to the sight of
any thing tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent ap
pearance produced. He had never walked any where arm
in-arm with Colonel Wallis (who was a fine military
figure, though sandy-haired,) without observing that every
woman's eye was upon him; every woman's eye was sure
to be upon Colonel Wallis.” Modest Sir Walter ! He was
not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and Mrs.
Clay united in hinting that Colonel Wallis's companion
might have as good a figure as Colonei Wallis, and cer
tainly was not sandy-haired.
“How is Mary looking?” said Sir Walter, in the height
of his good humour. “The last time I saw her, she had
a red nose, but I hope that may not happen every day.”
“Oh no, that must have been quite accidental. In
general she has been in very good health and very good
looks since Michaelmas.”
“If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in
sharp winds, and grow coarse, I would send her a new hat
and pelisse.”
Anne was considering whether she should venture to
suggest that a gown, or a cap, would not be liable to any
such misuse, when a knock at the door suspended every
thing. “A knock at the door ! and so late ! It was ten
o'clock. Could it be Mr. Elliot? They knew he was to
dine in Lansdown Crescent. It was possible that he might
stop in his way home to ask them how they did. They
could think of no one else. Mrs. Clay decidedly thought
it Mr. Elliot's knock.” Mrs. Clay was right. With all
the state which a butler and footboy could give, Mr. Elliot
was ushered into the room.
It was the same, the very same man, with no difference
but of dress. Anne drew a little back, while the others
received his compliments, and her sister his apologies for
 PERSUASION. 339

calling at so unusual an hour, but “he could not be so

near without wishing to know that neither she nor her
friend had taken cold the day before,” &c. &c. which was
all as politely done. and as politely taken, as possible, but
her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked of his
youngest daughter; “Mr. Elliot must give him leave to
present him to his youngest daughter”—(there was no
occasion for remembering Mary); — and Anne, smiling and
blushing, very becomingly showed to Mr. Elliot the pretty
features which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly
saw, with amusement at his little start of surprise, that he
had not been at all aware of who she was. He looked com
pletely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased:
his eyes brightened; and with the most perfect alacrity he
welcomed the relationship, alluded to the past, and en
treated to be received as an acquaintance already. He was
quite as good-looking as he had appeared at Lyme, his
countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were
so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so
particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in ex
cellence to only one person's manners. They were not the
same, but they were, perhaps, equally good.
He sat down with them, and improved their conversation
very much. There could be no doubt of his being a sen
sible man. Ten minutes were enough to certify that.
His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his know
ing where to stop, —it was all the operation of a sensible,
discerning mind. As soon as he could, he began to talk
to her of Lyme, wanting to compare opinions respecting
the place, but especially wanting to speak of the circum
stance of their happening to be guests in the same inn at
the same time, to give his own route, understand some
thing of hers, and regret that he should have lost such an
opportunity of paying his respects to her. She gave him
a short account of her party, and business at Lyme. His
regret increased as he listened. He had spent his whole
solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs; had heard
voices—mirth continually; thought they must be a most
delightful set of people—longed to be with them; but
certainly without the smallest suspicion of his possessing
 $40 PERSUASION.

the shadow of a right to introduce himself. If he had but

asked who the party were ! The name of Musgrove would
have told him enough. “Well, it would serve to cure
him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an
inn, which he had adopted, when quite a young man, on
the principle of its being very ungenteel to be curious.
“The notions of a young man of one or two and
twenty,” said he, “as to what is necessary in manners to
make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than
those of any other set of beings in the world. The folly
of the means they often employ is only to be equalled by
the folly of what they have in view.”
But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne
alone; he knew it; he was soon diffused again among
the others, and it was only at intervals that he could return
to Lyme.
His enquiries, however, produced at length an account
of the scene she had been engaged in there, soon after his
leaving the place. Having alluded to “an accident,” he
must hear the whole. When he questioned, Sir Walter
and Elizabeth began to question also ; but the difference
in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could
only compare Mr. Elliot to Lady Russell, in the wish of
really comprehending what had passed, and in the de
gree of concern for what she must have suffered, in wit
nessing it.
He staid an hour with them. The elegant little clock
on the mantle-piece had struck “eleven with its silver
sounds,” and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a
distance telling the same tale, before Mr. Elliot or any of
them seemed to feel that he had been there long.
Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first
evening in Camden Place could have passed so well!
 PERSUASION. 344

CHAPTER IV.

T11ERE was one point which Anne, on returning to her

family, would have been more thankful to ascertain, even than
Mr. Elliot's being in love with Elizabeth, which was, her
father's not being in love with Mrs. Clay; and she was
very far from easy about it, when she had been at home
a few hours. On going down to breakfast the next morn
ing, she found there had just been a decent pretence on
the lady's side of meaning to leave them. She could
imagine Mrs. Clay to have said, that “now Miss Anne
was come, she could not suppose herself at all wanted ;”
for Elizabeth was replying, in a sort of whisper, “That
must not be any reason, indeed. I assure you I feel it
none. She is nothing to me, compared with you;” and
she was in full time to hear her father say, “My dear
madam, this must not be. As yet, you have seen nothing
of Bath. You have been here only to be useful. You
must not run away from us now. You must stay to be
acquainted with Mrs. Wallis, the beautiful Mrs. Wallis.
To your fine mind, I well know the sight of beauty is a
real gratification.”
He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was
not surprised to see Mrs. Clay stealing a glance at Eliza
beth and herself. Her countenance, perhaps, might ex
press some watchfulness; but the praise of the fine mind
did not appear to excite a thought in her sister. The
lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties, and pro
mise to stay.
In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father
chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her
on her improved looks; he thought her “less thin in her
person, in her cheeks; her skin, her complexion, greatly
improved—clearer, fresher. Had she been using any
thing in particular : " — “No, nothing.” – “Merely
Gowland,” he supposed.—“No, nothing at all.”—“Ha!
84% - PERSUASION.

he was surprised at that;” and added, “Certainly you

cannot do better than continue as you are; you cannot be
better than well; or I should recommend Gowland, the
constant use of Gowland, during the spring months. Mrs.
Clay has been using it at my recommendation, and you
see what it has done for her. You see how it has carried
away her freckles.”
If Elizabeth could but have heard this ! Such personal
praise might have struck her, especially as it did not appear
to Anne that the freckles were at all lessened. But every
thing must take its chance. The evil of the marriage
would be much diminished, if Elizabeth were also to
marry. As for herself, she might always command a home
with Lady Russell.
Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were
put to some trial on this point, in her intercourse in Cam
den Place. The sight of Mrs. Clay in such favour, and
of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation to
her there; and vexed her as much when she was away,
as a person in Bath who drinks the water, gets all the new
publications, and has a very large acquaintance, has time
to be vexed.
As Mr. Elliot became known to her, she grew more
charitable, or more indifferent, towards the others. His
manners were an immediate recommendation; and on con
versing with him she found the solid so fully supporting
the superficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, al
most ready to exclaim, “Can this be Mr. Elliot?” and
could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or
estimable man. Every thing united in him; good under
standing, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a
warm heart. He had strong feelings of family attachment
and family honour, without pride or weakness; he lived
with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display;
he judged for himself in every thing essential, without de
fying public opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He
was steady, observant, moderate, candid; never run away
with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strong
feeling; and yet, with a sensibility to what was amiable
and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of domestic
 PERSUASION. 343

life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent

agitation seldom really possess. She was sure that he had
not been happy in marriage. Colonel Wallis said it, and
Lady Russell saw it; but it had been no unhappiness to
sour his mind, nor (she began pretty soon to suspect) to
prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction
in Mr. Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs. Clay.
It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn
that she and her excellent friend could sometimes think
differently; and it did not surprise her, therefore, that
Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsist
ent, nothing to require more motives than appeared, in
Mr. Elliot's great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady
Russell's view, it was perfectly natural that Mr. Elliot, at
a mature time of life, should feel it a most desirable ob
ject, and what would very generally recommend him,
among all sensible people, to be on good terms with the
head of his family; the simplest process in the world of
time upon a head naturally clear, and only erring in the
heyday of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile
about it, and at last to mention “Elizabeth.” Lady Rus
sell listened, and looked, and made only this cautious re
ply:—“Elizabeth ! very well; time will explain.”
It was a reference to the future, which Anne, after a
little observation, felt she must submit to. She could de
termine nothing at present. In that house Elizabeth must
be first; and she was in the habit of such general observ
ance as “Miss Elliot,” that any particularity of attention
seemed almost impossible. Mr. Elliot, too, it must be re
membered, had not been a widower seven months. A
little delay on his side might be very excusable. In fact,
Anne could never see the crape round his hat, without fear
ing that she was the inexcusable one, in attributing to him
such imaginations; for though his marriage had not been
very happy, still it had existed so many years that she
could not comprehend a very rapid recovery from the
awful impression of its being dissolved.
However it might end, he was without any question
their pleasantest acquaintance in Bath: she saw nobody
equal to him; and it was a great indulgence now and then
344 PERSUASION.

to talk to him about Lyme, which he seemed to have at

lively a wish to see again, and to see more of, as herself.
They went through the particulars of their first meeting a
great many times. He gave her to understand that he had
looked at her with some earnestness. She knew it well;
and she remembered another person's look also.
They did not always think alike. His value for rank
and connection she perceived to be greater than hers. It
was not merely complaisance, it must be a liking to the
cause, which made him enter warmly into her father and
sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought un
worthy to excite them. The Bath paper one morning an
nounced the arrival of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple,
and her daughter, the Honourable Miss Carteret; and
all the comfort of No. –, Camden Place, was swept away
for many days; for the Dalrymples (in Anne's opinion,
most unfortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and the
agony was, how to introduce themselves properly.
Anne had never seen her father and sister before in con
tact with nobility, and she must acknowledge herself dis
appointed. She had hoped better things from their high
ideas of their own situation in life, and was reduced to
form a wish which she had never foreseen—-a wish that
they had more pride; for “our cousins, Lady Dalrymple
and Miss Carteret;” “our cousins, the Dalrymples,”
sounded in her ears all day long.
Sir Walter had once been in company with the late
Viscount, but had never seen any of the rest of the family;
and the difficulties of the case arose from there having
been a suspension of all intercourse by letters of ceremony,
ever since the death of that said late Viscount, when, in
consequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at the
same time, there had been an unlucky omission at Kel
lynch. No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland.
The neglect had been visited on the head of the sinner; for
when poor Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence
was received at Kellynch, and, consequently, there was but
too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymples con
sidered the relationship as closed. How to have this
anxious business set to rights, and be admitted as cousins
 PERSUA \ION. 345

again, was the question; and it was a question which, in

a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr.
Elliot thought unimportant. “Family connections were
always worth preserving, good company always worth seek
ing; Lady Dalrymple had taken a house, for three months,
in Laura Place, and would be living in style. She had
been at Bath the year before, and Lady Russell had heard
her spoken of as a charming woman. It was very desir
able that the connection should be renewed, if it could be
done, without any compromise of propriety on the side of
the Elliots.”
Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and
at last wrote a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret,
and entreaty, to his right honourable cousin. Neither
Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot could admire the letter; but
it did all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl
from the Dowager Viscountess. “She was very much
honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance.”
The toils of the business were over, the sweets began.
They visited in Laura Place, they had the cards of Dow
ager Viscountess Dalrymple, and the Honourable Miss
Carteret, to be arranged wherever they might be most
visible; and “Our cousins in Laura Place,”—“Our cou
sins, Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret,” were talked of
to every body.
Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her
daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have
been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they were
nothing. There was no superiority of manner, accom
plishment, or understanding. Lady Dalrymple had ac
quired the name of “a charming woman,” because she
had a smile and a civil answer for every body. Miss Car
teret, with still less to say, was so plain and so awkward,
that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place,
but for her birth.
Lady Russell confessed that she had expected something
better; but yet “it was an acquaintance worth having;"
and when Anne ventured to speak her opinion of them to
Mr. Elliot, he agreed to their being nothing in themselves,
but still maintained that, as a family connection, as good
S46 PERSUASION,

company, as those who would collect good company around

them, they had their value. Anne smiled and said, –
“My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company
of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of
conversation; that is what I call good company.”
“You are mistaken,” said he, gently, “that is not good
company—that is the best. Good company requires only
birth, education, and manners, and with regard to educa
tion is not very nice. Birth and good manners are essen
tial; but a little learning is by no means a dangerous
thing in good company; on the contrary, it will do very
well. My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not
satisfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin (sitting
down by her), you have a better right to be fastidious than
almost any other woman I know; but will it answer?
Will it make you happy? Will it not be wiser to accept
the society of these good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy
all the advantages of the connection as far as possible P
You may depend upon it, that they will move in the first
set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank, your being
known to be related to them will have its use in fixing
your family (our family let me say) in that degree of con
sideration which we must all wish for.”
“Yes,” sighed Anne, “we shall, indeed, be known to
be related to them !” then recollecting herself, and not
wishing to be answered, she added, “I certainly do think
there has been by far too much trouble taken to procure
the acquaintance. I suppose (smiling) I have more pride
than any of you; but I confess it does vex me, that we
should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknow
ledged, which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect
indifference to them.”
“Pardon me, my dear cousin, you are unjust to your
own claims. In London, perhaps, in your present quiet
style of living, it might be as you say; but in Bath, Sir
Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth know
ing, always acceptable as acquaintance.”
“Well," said Anne, “I certainly am proud, too proud
to enjoy a welcome which depends so entirely upon place."
“I love your indignation,” said he; “it is very natu
 PERSUAS10N. 347

ral. But here you are in Bath, and the object is to be

established here with all the credit and dignity which ought
to belong to Sir Walter Elliot. You talk of being proud;
I am called proud I know, and I shall not wish to believe
myself otherwise; for our pride, if investigated, would have
the same object, I have no doubt, though the kind may
seem a little different. In one point, I am sure, my dear
cousin, (he continued, speaking lower, though there was no
one else in the room,) in one point, I am sure, we must
feel alike. We must feel that every addition to your fa
ther's society, among his equals or superiors, may be of use
in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath him.”
He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs. Clay
had been lately occupying, a sufficient explanation of what
he particularly meant; and though Anne could not believe
in their having the same sort of pride, she was pleased
with him for not liking Mrs. Clay; and her conscience
admitted that his wishing to promote her father's getting
great acquaintance was more than excusable in the view of
defeating her.

---

CHAPTER V.

WHILE Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing

their good fortune in Laura Place, Anne was renewing an
acquaintance of a very different description.
She had called on her former governess, and had heard
from her of there being an old schoolfellow in Bath, who
had the two strong claims on her attention, of past kind
ness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs.
Smith, had shown her kindness in one of those periods of
her life when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone
unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom
she had dearly loved, feeling her separation from home,
and suffering as a girl of fourteen, of strong sensibility and
not high spirits, must suffer at such a time; and Miss
348 Ph.jtSU-ASION.

Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still from the
want of near relations and a settled home, remaining an
other year at school, had been useful and good to her in
a way which had considerably lessened her misery, and
could never be remembered with indifference.
Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long
afterwards, was said to have married a man of fortune, and
this was all that Anne had known of her, till now that their
governess's account brought her situation forward in a more
decided but very different form.
She was a widow, and poor. Her husband had been
extravagant; and at his death, about two years before, had
left his affairs dreadfully involved. She had had difficul
ties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these
distresses had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever,
which finally settling in her legs, had made her for the
present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account,
and was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very
humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a
servant, and of course almost excluded from society.
Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which
a visit from Miss Elliot would give Mrs. Smith, and Anne
therefore lost no time in going. She mentioned nothing
of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home.
It would excite no proper interest there. She only con
sulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her
sentiments, and was most happy to convey her as near
to Mrs. Smith's lodgings, in Westgate Buildings, as Anne
chose to be taken
The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established,
their interest in each other more than rekindled. The first
ten minutes had its awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve
years were gone since they had parted, and each presented
a somewhat different person from what the other had ima
gined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming,
silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman
of seven-and-twenty, with every beauty excepting bloom,
and with manners as consciously right as they were inva
riably gentle; and twelve years had transformed the fine
looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow of
 PERSUASION. 349

nealth and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm,

nelpless widow, receiving the visit of her former protegee
as a favour; but all that was uncomfortable in the meeting
had soon passed away, and left only the interesting charm
of remembering former partialities and talking over old
times.
Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable
manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and
a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her ex
pectation. Neither the dissipations of the past—and she
had lived very much in the world—nor the restrictions of
the present; neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have
closed her heart or ruined her spirits.
In the course of a second visit she talked with great open
ness, and Anne's astonishment increased. She could scarcely
imagine a more cheerless situation in itself than Mrs. Smith's.
She had been very fond of her husband—she had buried
him. She had been used to affluence — it was gone. She
had no child to connect her with life and happiness again,
no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed
affairs, no health to make all the rest supportable. Her
accommodations were limited to a noisy parlour, and a dark
bedroom behind, with no possibility of moving from one to
the other without assistance, which there was only one
servant in the house to afford, and she never quitted the
house but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet, in
spite of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had
moments only of languor and depression, to hours of occu
pation and enjoyment. How could it be? She watched,
observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was
not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submis
sive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would
supply resolution, but here was something more; here was
that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted
that power of turning readily from evil to good, and o.
finding employment which carried her out of herself
wnich was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift
of Heaven; and Anne viewed her friend as one of those
instances in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems
designed to counterbalance almost every other want.
Z
350 PERst AsioS.

There had been a time, Mrs. Smith told her, when her
spirits had nearly failed. She could not call herself an
invalid now, compared with her state on first reaching
Bath. Then she had, indeed, been a pitiable object – for
she had caught cold on the journey, and had hardly taken
possession of her lodgings, before she was again confined to
her bed, and suffering under severe and constant pain; and
all this among strangers — with the absolute necessity of
having a regular nurse, and finances at that moment parti
cularly unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She had
weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done
her good. It had increased her comforts by making her
feel herself to be in good hands. She had seen too much
of the world to expect sudden or disinterested attachment
any where, but her illness had proved to her that her land
lady had a character to preserve, and would not use her
ill; and she had been particularly fortunate in her nurse,
as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and who
had always a home in that house when unemployed,
chanced to be at liberty just in time to attend her. —
“And she,” said Mrs. Smith, “besides nursing me most
admirably has really proved an invaluable acquaintance.
As soon as I could use my hands, she taught me to knit,
which has been a great amusement; and she put me in
the way of making these little thread-cases, pin-cushions,
and card-racks, which you always find me so busy about,
and which supply me with the means of doing a little good
to one or two very poor families in this neighbourhood.
She has a large acquaintance, of course professionally,
among those who can afford to buy, and she disposes of
my merchandise. She always takes the right time for ap
plying. Every body's heart is open, you know, when they
have recently escaped from severe pain, or are reco
vering the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly
understands when to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent,
sensible woman. Hers is a line for seeing human nature;
and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which,
as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands
of those who, having only received ‘the best education in
the wor'd’ know nothing worth attending to. Call it
 PERSUASION. 351

gossip, if you will; but when Nurse Rooke has half an

hour's leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have some
thing to relate that is entertaining and profitable something
that makes one know one's species better. One likes to
hear what is going on, to be au fait as to the newest modes
of being trifling and silly. To me, who live so much
alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat.”
Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied,
“I can easily believe it. Women of that class have great
opportunities, and if they are intelligent may be well worth
listening to. Such varieties of human nature as they are
n the habit of witnessing ! And it is not merely in its
follies that they are well read; for they see it occasionally
under every circumstance that can be most interesting or
affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent,
disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude,
patience, resignation — of all the conflicts and all the
sacrifices that ennoble us most. A sick chamber may often
furnish the worth of volumes.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Smith, more doubtingly, “ sometimes
it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the ele
vated style you describe. Here and there, human nature
may be great in times of trial; but, generally speaking,
it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a
sick chamber: it is selfishness and impatience, rather than
generosity and fortitude, that one hears of. There is so
little real friendship in the world! — and unfortunately,”
speaking low and tremulously, “there are so many who
forget to think seriously till it is almost too late.”
Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband
had not been what he ought, and the wife had been led
among that part of mankind which made her think worse
of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a
passing emotion, however, with Mrs. Smith; she shook it
off, and soon added, in a different tone, —
“I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs. Rooke
is in at present will furnish much either to interest or
edify me. She is only nursing Mrs. Wallis of Marl
borough Buildings – a mere pretty, silly, expensive,
fashionable woman, I believe – and of course will have
352 penSUASION.

incthing to report but of lacc and finery. I mean to mak

my profit of Mrs. Wallis, however. She has plenty of
money, and I intend she shall buy all the high-priced
things I have in hand now.”
Anne had called several times on her friend, before the
existence of such a person was known in Camden Place.
At last, it became necessary to speak of her. Sir Walter,
Elizabeth, and Mrs. Clay, returned one morning from
Laura Pla e, with a sudden invitation from Lady Dal
rymple for he same evening, and Anne was already en
gaged to spe d that evening in Westgate Buildings. She
was no rry for the excuse. They were only asked, she
was sure, because Lady Dalrymple, being kept at home by
a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationship
which had been so pressed on her, — and she declined on
her own accoun with great alacrity – “She was engaged
to spend the e'enang with an old schoolfellow.” They were
not much intc.ested in any thing relative to Anne; but still
there were questions enough asked, to make it understood
what this old schoolfellow was ; and Elizabeth was dis
dainful, and Sir Walter severe.
“Westgate Buildings 1” said he; “ and who is Miss
Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings? A
Mrs. Smith. A widow Mrs. Smith, – and who was her
husband P One of the five thousand Mr. Smiths whose
names are to be met with every where. And what is her
attraction ? That she is old and sickly. Upon my word,
Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste !
Every thing that revolts other people, —low company,
paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associations, are inviting
to you. But surely you may put off this old lady till to
morrow: she is not so near her end, I presume, but that
she may hope to see another day. What is her age 2
Forty?”
“No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty; but I do not think
I can put off my engagement, because it is the only even
ing for some time which will at once suit her and myself.
She goes into the warm bath to-morrow ; and for the
rest of the week, you know, we are engaged.”
 PERs UASION. 353

But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaint

ance?” asked Elizabeth.
“ She sees nothing to blame in it,” replied Anne; * on
the contrary, she approves it; and has generally taken me,
when I have called on Mrs. Smith.”
“Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised
by the appearance of a carriage drawn up near its pave
ment !” observed Sir Walter. “Sir Henry Russell's
widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms;
but still, it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well
known to convey a Miss Elliot. A widow Mrs. Smith,
lodging in Westgate Buildings! A poor widow, barely
able to live, between thirty and forty—a mere Mrs.
Smith—an every-day Mrs. Smith, of all people and all
names in the world “a be the chosen friend of Miss Anne
Elliot, and to be preferred by her to her own family con
nections among thea name
Mrs. Smith–such nobility
!” of England and Ireland !
•

Mrs. Clay, who had been present while all this passed,
now thought it advisable to leave the room; and Anne
could have said much, and did long to say a little, in de
fence of her friend's not very dissimilar claims to theirs,
but her sense of personal respect to her father prevented
her. She made no reply. She left it to himself to recol
lect, that Mrs. Smith was not the only widow in Bath
between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no sir
name of dignity.
Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and
of course she heard the next morning that they had had a
delightful evening. She had been the only one of the set
absent; for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had not only been
quite at her Ladyship's service themselves, but had actually
been happy to be employed by her in collecting others, and
had been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and
Mr. Elliot; and Mr. Elliot had made a point of leaving
Colonel Wallis early, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged
all her evening engagements, in order to wait on her.
Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening
could supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest
interest must be, in having besh wry much talked of be
3.54 PERSUASION.

tween her friend and Mr. Elliot; in having been wished

for, regretted, and, at the same time, honoured for staying
away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate visits to
this old schoolfellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have
quite delighted Mr. Elliot. He thought her a most extra
ordinary young woman; in her temper, manners, mind,
a model of female excellence. He could meet even Lady
Russell in a discussion of her merits; and Anne could not
be given to understand so much by her friend, could not
know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, with
out many of those agreeable sensations which her friend
meant to Create.
Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion
of Mr. Elliot. She was as much convinced of his mean
ing to gain Anne in time, as of his deserving her; and
was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which
would free him from all the remaining restraints of widow
hood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open
powers of pleasing. She would not speak to Anne with
half the certainty she felt on the subject; she would ven
ture on little more than hints of what might be hereafter,
of a possible attachment on his side; of the desirableness
of the alliance, supposing such attachment to be real, and
returned. Anne heard her, and made no violent ex
clamations: she only smiled, blushed, and gently shook
her head.
“I am a aatch-maker, as you well know,” said Lady
Russell, “being much too well aware of the uncertainty
of all human events and calculations. I only mean that
if Mr. Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses to
you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think
there would be every possibility of your being happy to
gether. A most suitable connection every body must con
sider it—but I think it might be a very happy one.”
“Mr. Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in
many respects I think highly of him,” said Anne; “but
we should not suit.”
Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in rejoinder,
“I own that to be able to regard you as the future mistress
of Kellynch, the future Lady Elliot, to look forward and
 FERSUASION. 355,

£ee you occupying your dear mother's place, succeeding to

all her rights, and all her popularity, as well as to all her
virtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me.
You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition;
and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in
situation, and name, and home, presiding and blessing in
the same spot, and only superior to her in being more
highly valued ! My dearest Anne, it would give me more
delight than is often felt at my time of life!”
Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a
distant table, and, leaning there in pretended employment,
try to subdue the feelings this picture excited. For a few
moments her imagination and her, heart were bewitched.
The idea of becoming what her mother had been; of hav
ing the precious name of “Lady Elliot” first revived in
herself; of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home
again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not
immediately resist. Lady Russell said not another word,
willing to leave the matter to its own operation; and be
lieving that, could Mr. Elliot at that moment with pro
priety have spoken for himself! — she believed, in short,
what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr. El
liot speaking for himself brought Anne to composure
again. The charm of Kellynch and of “Lady, Elliot” all
faded away. She never could accept him... And it was
not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man
save one; her judgment, on a serious consideration of the
possibilities of such a case, was against Mr. Elliot. &

Though they had now been acquainted a month she

could not be satisfied that she really knew his character.
That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man,—that he
talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge pro
perly and as a man of principle, – this was all clear enough.
He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on
any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed; but
yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct.
She distrusted the past, if not the present. The names
which occasionally dropt of former associates, the allusions
to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not
ourable of what he had been. She saw that there had
356 Pl:RSUASION.

been bad habits; that Sunday-travelling had been a com

mon thing; that there had been a period of his life (and
probably not a short one) when he had been, at least, care
less on all serious matters; and, though he might now
think very differently, who could answer for the true sen
timents of a clever, cautious man, grown old cnough to
appreciate a fair character ? How could it ever be ascer
tained that his mind was truly cleansed?
Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, – but he was
not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any
warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of
others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her
early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank,
the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others.
Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt
that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of
those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty
thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied,
whose tongue never slipped.
Mr. Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were
the tempers in her father's house, he pleased them all. He
endured too well,—stood too well with every body. He
had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs.
Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs. Clay
was about, and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs. Clay
found him as agreeable as any body.
Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young
friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust. She could
not imagine a man more exactly what he ought to be than
Mr. Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than
the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved
Anne in Kellynch church in the course of the following
alltumn,
 *ERSUASION, 35?

CHAPTER VI.

IT was the beginning of February; and Anne, having

been a month in Bath, was growing very eager for news
from Uppercross and Lyme. She wanted to hear much
more than Mary communicated. It was three weeks since
she had heard at all. She only knew that Henrietta was
at nome again; and that Louisa, though considered to be
recovering fast, was still at Lyme ; and she was thinking
of them all very intently one evening, when a thicker letter
than usual from Mary was delivered to her; and, to
quicken the pleasure and surprise, with Admiral and Mrs.
Croft's compliments.
The Crofts must be in Bath ! A circumstance to interest
her. They were people whom her heart turned to very
naturally.
“What is this P” cried Sir Walter. “The Crofts
arrived in Bath ? The Crofts who rent Kellynch P What
have they brought you?”
“A letter from Uppercross Cottage, sir."
“Oh! those letters are convenient passports. They
secure an introduction, I should have visited Admiral
Croft, however, at any rate. I know what is due to my
tenant.”
Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have
told how the poor Admiral's complexion escaped; her let
ter engrossed her. It had been begun several days back.
‘My dear Anne, “February 1. –
“I make no apology for my silence, because I know
how little people think of letters in such a place as Bath.
You must be a great deal too happy to care for Uppercross,
which, as yeu well know, affords little to write about. We
have had a very dull Christmas; Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
have not had one dinner-party all the holidays. I do not
reckon the Hayters as any body. The holidays, however,
are over at last: I believe no children ever had such long
 358 PERSUASION.

ones. I am sure I had not. The house was cleared yes

terday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be sur
prised to hear that they have never gone home. Mrs.
Harville must be an odd mother to part with them so long.
I do not understand it. They are not at all nice children,
in my opinion; but Mrs. Musgrove seems to like them
quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren. What
dreadful weather we have had ! It may not be felt in
Bath, with your nice pavements; but in the country it is
of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on
me since the second week in January, except Charles
Hayter, who nas been calling much oftener than was wel
come. Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henrietta
did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa ; it would have
kept her a little out of his way. The carriage is gone to
day, to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to-morrow. We
are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after,
Mrs. Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the
journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that
will be taken of her; and it would be much more con
venient to me to dine there to-morrow. I am glad you
find Mr. Elliot so agreeable, and wish I could be ac
quainted with him too; but I have my usual luck, – I am
always out of the way when any thing desirable is going
on ; always the last of my family to be noticed. What an
immense time Mrs. Clay has been staying with Elizabeth !
Does she never mean to go away ? But, perhaps, if she
were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited.
Let me know what you think of this. I do not expect
my children to be asked, you know. I can leave them at
the Great House very well, for a month or six weeks. I
have this moment heard that the Crofts are going to Bath
almost immediately: they think the Admiral gouty.
Charles heard it quite by chance: they have not had the
civility to give me any notice, or offer to take any thing.
I do not think they improve at all as neighbours. We see
nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross
inattention. Charles joins me in love, and every thing
proper. Yours affectionately,
‘ MARY M–.
 PERSUASION. 359

“I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and

Jemima has just told me that the butcher says there is a
bad sore-throat very much about. I dare say I shall catch
it; and my sore-throats, you know, are always worse than
any body's.”
So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put
into an envelope, containing nearly as much more.
“I kept my letter open, that I might send you word
how Lousia bore her journey, and now I am extremely
glad I did, having a great deal to add. In the first
place, I had a note from Mrs. Croft yesterday, offering
to convey any thing to you; a very kind, friendly note
indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought; I shall there
fore be able to make my letter as long as I like. The
Admiral does not seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath
will do him all the good he wants. I shall be truly glad
to have them back again. Our neighbourhood cannot
spare such a pleasant family. But now, for Louisa. I
have something to communicate that will astonish you
not a little. She and the Harvilles came on Tuesday
very safely, and in the evening we went to ask her how
she did, when we were rather surprised not to find Captain
Benwick of the party, for he had been invited as well as
the Harvilles; and what do you think was the reason ?
Neither more nor less than his being in love with Louisa,
and not choosing to venture to Uppercross till he had
had an answer from Mr. Musgrove; for it was all settled
between him and her before she came away, and he had
written to her father by Captain Harville. True, upon my
honour. Are not you astonished? I shall be surprised
at least if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did.
Mrs. Musgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing of
the matter. We are all very well pleased, however; for
Jhough it is not equal to her marrying Captain Went
worth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hayter; and
Mr. Musgrove has written his consent, and Captain
Benwick is expected to-day. Mrs. Harville says her
husband feels a good deal on his poor sister's account;
but, however, Louis" is a great favourite with both.
Indeed, Mrs. Harville and I quite agree that we love
360 PExtSUASION.

her the better for having nursed her. Charles wonders

what Captain Wentworth will say; but if you remember,
I never thought him attached to Louisa ; I never could
see any thing of it. And this is the end, you see, of Cap
tain Benwick's being supposed to be an admirer of yours.
How Charles could take such a thing into his head was
always incomprehensible to me. I hope he will be more
agreeable now. Certainly not a great match for Louisa
Musgrove; but a million times better than marrying
among the Hayters.”
Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any
degree prepared for the news. She had never in her life
been more astonished. Captain Benwick and Louisa
Musgrove ! It was almost too wonderful for belief; and it
was with the greatest effort that she could remain in the
room, preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common
questions of the moment. Happily for her, they were not
many. Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts
travelled with four horses, and whether they were likely to
be situated in such a part of Bath as it might suit Miss
Elliot and himself to visit in ; but had little curiosity
beyond.
“How is Mary P” said Elizabeth; and without wait
ing for an answer, “And pray what brings the Crofts to
Bath P”
“They come on the Admiral's account. He is thought
to be gouty.”
“Gout and decrepitude !” said Sir Walter. “U’oor old
gentleman.”
“Have they any acquaintance here?” asked Elizabeth.
“I do not know ; but I can hardly suppose that, at
Admiral Croft's time of life, and in his profession, he
should not have many acquaintance in such a place as
this.”
“I suspect,” said Sir Walter, coolly, “that Admiral
Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch
Hall. Elizabeth, may we venture to present him and his
wife in Laura Place?"
“Oh no, I think not. Situated as we are with Lady
Dalrymple, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to
 PERSUASIO . 361

embarrass her with acquaintance she might not approve. If

we were not related, it would not signify; but as cousins, she
would feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours. We had
better leave the Crofts to find their own level. There are
several odd-looking men walking about here, who, I am
told, are sailors. The Crofts will associate with them.”
This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in
the letter: when Mrs. Clay had paid her tribute of more
decent attention, in an enquiry after Mrs. Charles Musgrove,
and her fine little boys, Anne was at liberty.
In her own room she tried to comprehend it. Well
might Charles wonder how Captain Wentworth would
feel ! Perhaps he had quitted the field, had given Louisa
up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her.
She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or any
thing akin to ill-usage between him and his friend. She
could not endure that such a friendship as theirs should be
severed unfairly.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove | The high
spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected,
thinking, feeling, reading Captain Benwick, seemed each
of them every thing that would not suit the other. Their
minds most dissimilar ! Where could have been the at
traction ? The answer soon presented itself. It had been
in situation. They had been thrown together several
weeks; they had been living in the same small family
party; since Henrietta's coming away, they must have
been depending almost entirely on each other, and Louisa,
just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting
state, and Captain Benwick was not inconsolable. That
was a point which Anne had not been able to avoid suspect
ing before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion as
Mary, from the present course of events, they served only
to confirm the idea of his having felt some dawning of
tenderness towards herself. She did not mean, however, to
derive much more from it to gratify her vanity than Mary
might have allowed. She was persuaded that any tolerably
pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel
for him would have received the same compliment. He
had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.
862 PERSUASION.

She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa

had fine naval fervour to begin with, and they would soon
grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness, and she
would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron;
nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they had
fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa Musgrove
turned into a person of literary taste and sentimental re
flection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being
so. The day at Lyme, the fall from the Cobb, might in
fluence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character
to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have
influenced her fate.
The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman
who had been sensible of Captain Wentworth’s merits
could be allowed to prefer another man, there was nothing
in the engagement to excite lasting wonder; and if Cap
tain Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to
be regretted. No, it was not regret which made Anne's
heart beat in spite of herself, and brought the colour into
her cheeks when she thought of Captain Wentworth un
shackled and free. She had some feelings which she was
ashamed to investigate. They were too much like joy,
senseless joy!
She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took
place, it was evident that no rumour of the news had yet
reached them. The visit of ceremony was paid and re
turned; and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned and Captain
Benwick, too, without even half a smile.
The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay
Street, perfectly to Sir Walter's satisfaction. He was not
at all ashamed of the acquaintance, and did, in fact, think
and talk a great deal more about the Admiral than the Ad
miral ever thought or talked about him. -

The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as

they wished for, and considered their intercourse with
the Elliots as a mere matter of form, and not in the least
likely to afford them any pleasure. They brought with
them their country habit of being almost always together.
He was ordered to walk, to keep off the gout, and Mrs.
Croft seemed to go shares with him in every thing, and to
 PERSUASION. 363
walk for her life, to do him good. Anne saw them where
ever she went. Lady Russell took her out in her carriage
almost every morning, and she neve" failed to think of
them, and never failed to see the , ranowing their feel
ings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness
to her. She always watched them as long as she could;
delighted to fancy she understood what they might be
talking of, as they walked along in happy independence, or
equally delighted to see the Admiral's hearty shake of the
hand when he encountered an old friend, and observe their
Pagerness of conversation when occasionally forming into a
little knot of the navy, Mrs. Croft looking as intelligent and
keen as any of the officers around her.
Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to
be often walking herself; but it so happened that one
morning, about a week or ten days after the Crofts arrival,
it suited her best to leave her friend, or her friend's car
riage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone to
Camden Place; and in walking up Milsom Street, she had
the good fortune to meet with the Admiral. He was
standing by himself, at a printshop window, with his
mands behind him, in earnest contemplation of some print,
and she not only might have passed him unseen, but was
obliged to touch as well as address him before she could
catch his notice. When he did perceive and acknowledge
her, however, it was done with all his usual frankness and
good-humour. “Ha! is it you? Thank you, thank you.
This is treating me like a friend. Here I am, you see,
staring at a picture. I can never get by this shop with
out stopping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat.
Do look at it. Did you ever see the like? What queer
fellows your fine painters must be, to think that any
body would venture their lives in such a shapeless old
cockleshell as that? And yet, here are two gentlemen
stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about
them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be
upset the next moment, which they certainly must be. I
wonder where that boat was built l” laughing heartily
“I would not venture over a horsepond in it. Well”
8t,4 PERSUASION.

turning away, “now, where are you bound P Can I go

any where for you, or with you? Can I be of any use ?”
“None, I thank you, unless you will give me the plea
sure of your compat, ‘ne little way our road lies together.
I am going home.”
“That I will, with all my heart, and farther too. Yes,
yes, we will have a snug walk together; and I have some
thing to tell you as we go along. There, take my arm;
that's right; I do not feel comfortable if I have not a
woman there. Lord! what a boat it is !” taking a last
look at the picture, as they began to be in motion.
“Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?”
“Yes, I have, presently. But here comes a friend,
Captain Brigden; I shall only say, ‘How d'ye do?’ as
we pass, however. I shall not stop. “How d'ye do?’
Brigden stares to see any body with me but my wife. She,
poor soul, is tied by the leg. She has a blister on one of her
heels, as large as a three-shilling piece. If you look across
the street, you will see Admiral Brand coming down and
his brother. Shabby fellows, both of them ! I am glad
they are not on this side of the way. Sophy cannot bear
them. They played me a pitiful trick once—got away
some of my best men. I will tell you the whole story an
other time. There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his
grandson. Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you;
he takes you for my wife. Ah! the peace has come too
soon for that younker. Poor old Sir Archibald ! How do
you like Bath, Miss Elliot? It suits us very well. We
are always meeting with some old friend or other; the
streets full of them every morning; sure to have plenty of
chat ; and then we get away from them all, and shut our
selves into our lodgings, and draw in our chairs, and are as
snug as if we were at Kellynch, ay, or as we used to be
even at North Yarmouth and Deal. We do not like our
lodgings here the worse, I can tell you, for putting us in
mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth. The
wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the same
way.”
When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to
press again for what he had to communicate. She had
 PER8UASION. 365

hoped when clear of Milsom Street wo (4.e her curi

osity gratified; but she was still obliged to wait, for the
Admiral had made up his mind not to begin till they had
gained the greater space and quiet of Belmont; and as she
was not really Mrs. Croft, she must let him have his own
way. As soon as they were fairly ascending Belmont, he
began, —
“Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise
you. But first of all, you must tell me the name of the
young lady I am going to talk about. That young lady,
you know, that we have all been so concerned for. The
Miss Musgrove, that all this has been happening to. Her
Christian name—I always forget her Christian name.”
Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so
soon as she really did; but now she could safely suggest
the name of “Louisa.”
“Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name. I
wish young ladies had not such a number of fine Christian
names. I should never be out, if they were all Sophys, or
something of that sort. Well, this Miss Louisa, we all
thought, you know, was to marry Frederick. He was
courting her week after week. The only wonder was, what
they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came;
then, indeed, it was clear enough that they must wait till
her brain was set to right. But even then, there was
something odd in their way of going on. Instead of stay
ing at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went
off to see Edward. When we came back from Minehead,
he was gone down to Edward's, and there he has been
ever since. We have seen nothing of him since November.
Even Sophy could not understand it. But now, the matter
has taken the strangest turn of all; for this young lady,
this same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry Fre
derick, is to marry James Benwick. You know James
Benwick.”
“A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Ben
wick.”
“Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they
are married already, for I do not know what they should
wait for.”
2 A
366 PERSUAS10N.

“I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young

man,” said Anne, “ and I understand that he bears an
excellent character.”
“Oh yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against
James Benwick. He is only a commander, it is true,
made last summer, and these are bad times for getting on,
but he has not another fault that I know of. An excellent,
good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active, zealous
officer too, which is more than you would think for, per
haps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice.”
“Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never
augur want of spirit from Captain Benwick's manners. I
thought them particularly pleasing, and I will answer for
it they would generally please.”
“Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James
Benwick is rather too piano for me; and though very
likely it is all our partiality, Sophy and I cannot help
thinking Frederick's manners better than his. There is
something about Frederick more to our taste.” -

Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the

too common idea of spirit and gentleness being incompa
tible with each other, not at all to represent Captain Ben
wick's manners as the very best that could possibly be,
and, after a little hesitation, she was beginning to say, “I
was not entering into any comparison of the two friends;”
but the Admiral interrupted her with, –
“And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit
of gossip. We have it from Frederick himself. His
sister had a letter from him yesterday, in which he tells us
of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville
written upon the spot, from Uppercross. I fancy they are
all at Uppercross.” -

This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist;

she said, therefore, “I hope, Admiral, I hope there is
nothing in the style of Captain Wentworth's letter to
make you and Mrs. Croft particularly uneasy It did cer
tainly seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment
between him and Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may
be understood to have worn out on each side equally, and
 PERsUASION. 367

without violence. I hope his letter does not breathe the

spirit of an ill-used man.”
“Not at all—not at all: there is not an oath or a
murmur from beginning to end.”
Anne looked down to hide her smile.
“No, no ; Frederick is not a man to whine and com
plain; he has too much spirit for that. If the girl likes
another man better, it is very fit she should have him.”
“Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope there is ,
nothing in Captain Wentworth's manner of writing to
make you suppose he thinks himself ill-used by his friend,
which might appear, you know, without its being abso
lutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship
as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should
be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circumstance of this
sort.”
“Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is nothing at
all of that nature in the letter. He does not give the
least fling at Benwick—does not so much as say, ‘I
wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering at
it. No, you would not guess, from his way of writing,
that he had ever thought of this Miss (what's her name P)
for himself. He very handsomely hopes they will be
happy together; and there is nothing very unforgiving in
that, I think.”
Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the
Admiral meant to convey, but it would have been useless
to press the enquiry farther. She therefore satisfied her
self with common-place remarks or quiet attention, and
the Admiral had it all his own way.
“Poor Frederick '" said he at last. “Now he must
begin all over again with somebody else. I think we must
get him to Bath. Sophy must write, and beg him to
come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure.
It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that
other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the
young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had
better try to get him to Bath?”
308 PERSUATION.

CHAPTER VII.

WHILE Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne,

and expressing his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to
Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his way thither.
Before Mrs. Croft had written, he was arrived; and the
very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.
Mr. Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs. Clay.
They were in Milsom Street. It began to rain, not much,
but enough to make shelter desirable for women, and quite
enough to make it very desirable for Miss Elliot to have
the advantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple's
carriage, which was seen waiting at a little distance; she,
Anne, and Mrs. Clay, therefore, turned into Molland's,
while Mr. Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request
her assistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of
course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to take
them home, and would call for them in a few minutes.
Her Ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not
hold more than four with any comfort. Miss Carteret was
with her mother; consequently it was not reasonable to
expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place la
dies. There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Who
ever suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none, but it
occupied a little time to settle the point of civility between
the other two. The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was
most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr. Elliot. But
the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs. Clay; she would
hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were so
thick | much thicker than Miss Anne's; and, in short,
her civility rendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk
with Mr. Elliot as Anne could be, and it was discussed
between them with a generosity so polite and so deter
mined, that the others were obliged to settle it for them;
Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs. Clay had a little cold
 PERSUASION. 369
already, and Mr. Elliot deciding, on appeal, that his cou
sin Anne's boots were rather the thickest.
It was fixed, accordingly, that Mrs. Clay should be of
the party in the carriage; and they had just reached this
point, when Anne, as she sat near the window, descried,
most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walk
ing down the street.
Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she in
stantly felt that she was the greatest simpleton in the world,
the most unaccountable and absurd ! For a few minutes
she saw nothing before her; it was all confusion. She
was lost; and when she had scolded back her senses, she
found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr.
Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Street
on a commission of Mrs. Clay's.
She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door;
she wanted to see if it rained. Why was she to suspect
herself of another motive P Captain Wentworth must be
out of sight. She left her seat, she would go, one half of
her should not be always so much wiser than the other
half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it
was. She would see if it rained. She was sent back,
however, in a moment, by the entrance of Captain Went
worth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies,
evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined
a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously
struck and confused by the sight of her than she had ever
observed before; he looked quite red. For the first time,
since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that she was be
traying the least sensibility of the two. She had the ad
vantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments.
All the overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of
strong surprise were over with her. Still, however, she
had enough to feel ! It was agitation, pain, pleasure, — a
something between delight and misery.
He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character
of his manner was embarrassment. She could not have
called it either cold or friendly, or any thing so certainly
as embarrassed.
After a short interval, however, he came towards her,
370 PERSUASION.

and spoke again. Mutual enquiries on commoi, subjects

passed; neither of them, probably, much the wiser for
what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of
his being less at ease than formerly. They had, oy dint
of being so very much together, got to speak to each other
with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and
calmness; but he could not do it now. Time had changed
him, or Louisa had changed him. There was conscious
ness of some sort or other. He looked very well, not as if
he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked
of Uppercross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and
had even a momentary look of his own arch significance
as he named her; but yet it was Captain Wentworth not
comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.
It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that
Elizabeth would not know him. She saw that he saw Eli
zabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there was complete
internal recognition on each side; she was convinced that
he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance, ex
pecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn
away with unalterable coldness. -

Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was .

growing very impatient, now drew up; the servant came
in to announce it. It was beginning to rain again, and
altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a talking,
which must make all the little crowd in the shop under
stand that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss
Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended
but by the servant (for there was no cousin returned), were
walking off; and Captain Wentworth, watching them,
turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words,
was offering his services to her.
“I am much obliged to you,” was her answer, “but I
am not going with them. The carriage would not accom
modate so many. I walk: I prefer walking.”
“But it rains.”
“Oh, very little. Nothing that I regard.”
After a moment's pause, he said, “Though I came only
yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for Bath al
ready, you see,” pointing to a new umbrella; “I wish
 PERSUASION. 371

you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk;

though, I think, it would be more prudent to let me get
you a chair.”
She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all,
repeating her conviction, that the rain would come to no
thing at present, and adding, “I am only waiting for
Mr. Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I am sure.”
She had hardly spoken the words, when Mr. Elliot
walked in. Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly.
There was no difference between him and the man who
had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she
passed, except in the air, and look, and manner of the pri
vileged relation and friend. He came in with eagerness,
appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his
stay, was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to
get her away without further loss of time, and before the
rain increased; and in another moment they walked off
together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed
glance, and a “Good morning to you,” being all that she
bad time for, as she passed away.
As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain
Wentworth's party began talking of them.
“Mr. Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?”
“Oh no, that is clear enough. One can guess what
will happen there. He is always with them; half lives in
the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man l’”
“Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at
the Wallis's, says he is the most agreeable man she ever
was in company with.”
“She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty,
when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to
say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister.”
“Oh, so do I.”
“And so do I. No comparison. But the men are all
wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them.”
Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin
if he would have walked by her side all the way to Cam
den Place without saying a word. She had never found
it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed
his solicitude and care, and though his subjects were prin
 87.2 PERSUASION.

cipally such as were wont to be always interesting—praise,

warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and in
sinuations highly rational against Mrs. Clay. But just now
she could think only of Captain Wentworth. She could
not understand his present feelings, whether he were really
suffering much from disappointment or not; and till that
point were settled, she could not be quite herself.
She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas'
alas! she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.
Another circumstance very essential for her to know,
was how long he meant to be in Bath; he had not men
tioned it, or she could not recollect it. He might be only
passing through. But it was more probable that he should
be come to stay. In that case, so liable as every body was
to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all
likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recollect him P
How would it all be?
She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that
Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain Benwick. It had
cost her something to encounter Lady Russell's surprise;
and now, if she were by any chance to be thrown into
company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect know
ledge of the matter might add another shade of prejudice
against him.
The following morning Anne was out with her friend,
and for the first hour, in an incessant and fearful sort of
watch for him in vain; but at last, in returning down
Pulteney Street, she distinguished him on the right hand
pavement at such a distance as to have him in view the
greater part of the street. There were many other men
about him, many groups walking the same way, but there
was no mistaking him. She looked instinctively at Lady
Russell; but not from any mad idea of her recognising
him so soon as she did herself. No, it was not to be sup
posed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were
nearly opposite. She looked at her, however, from time to
time, anxiously; and when the moment approached which
must point him out, though not daring to look again (for
her own countenance she knew was unfit to be seen), she
was yet perfectly conscious of Lady Russell's eyes being
 PERSUASION, 373

turned exactly in the direction for him—of her being, in

short, intently observing him. She could thoroughly compre
hend the sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Rus
sell's mind, the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her
eyes, the astonishment she must be feeling that eight or nine
years should have passed over him, and in foreign climes
and in active service too, without robbing him of one
personal grace |
At last, Lady Russell drew back her head. “Now
how would she speak of him ?”
“You will wonder,” said she, “what has been fixing
my eye so long; but I was looking after some window
curtains, which Lady Alicia and Mrs. Frankland were telling
me of last night. They described the drawing-room win
dow-curtains of one of the houses on this side of the way,
and this part of the street, as being the handsomest and best
hung of any in Bath, but could not recollect the exact num
ber, and I have been trying to find out which it could be;
but I confess I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer
their description.” -

Anne sighed, and blushed, and smiled, in pity and dis

dain, either at her friend or herself. The part which pro
voked her most, was that in all this waste of foresight and
caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing
whether he saw them. -

A day or two passed without producing any thing.

The theatre or the rooms, where he was most likely to be,
were not fashionable enough for the Elliots, whose evening
amusements were solely in the elegant stupidity of private
parties, in which they were getting more and more engaged;
and Anne, wearied of such a state of stagnation, sick of
knowing nothing, and fancying herself stronger because her
strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert
evening. It was a concert for the benefit of a person pa
tronised by Lady Dalrymple. Of course they must attend.
It was really expected to be a good one, and Captain Went
worth was very fond of music. If she could only have a
few minutes' conversation with him again, she fancied she
should be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him,
she felt all over courage if the opportunity occurred. Eli
874 PERSUASION

zabeth had turned from him, Lady Russell overlooked him;

her nerves were strengthened by these circumstances; she
felt that she owed him attention.
She had once partly promised Mrs. Smith to spend the
evening with her; but in a short hurried call she excused
herself and put it off, with the more decided promise of a
longer visit on the morrow. Mrs. Smith gave a most good
humoured acquiescence. -

“By all means,” said she; “only tell me all about it,
when you do come. Who is your party?”
Anne named them all. Mrs. Smith made no reply; but
when she was leaving her, said, and with an expression
half serious, half arch, “Well, I heartily wish your con .
cert may answer; and do not fail me to-morrow if you can
come; for I begin to have a forebcding that I may not have
many more visits from you.”
Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a
moment's suspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged
to hurry away.

CHAPTER VIII.

SIR WALTER, his two daughters, and Mrs. Clay, were the
earliest of all their party, at the rooms in the evening; and
as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for, they took their sta
tion by one of the fires in the octagon room. But hardly
were they so settled, when the door opened again, and Cap
tain Wentworth walked in alone. Anne was the nearest
to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke.
He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle
“How do you do?” brought him out of the straight line
to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite
of the formidable father and sister in the back ground.
Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne;
she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to every
thing which she believed right to be done.
While they were speaking, a whispering between her
 PERSUASIONs 375

father and Elizabeth caught her ear. She could not dis
tinguish, but she must guess the subject; and on Captain
Wentworth's making a distant bow, she comprehended
that her father had judged so well as to give him that
simple acknowledgment of acquaintance, and she was just
in time by a side glance to see a slight courtesy from Eliza
beth herself. This, though late, and reluctant, and un
gracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits
improved.
After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and
the concert, their conversation began to flag, and so little
was said at last, that she was expecting him to go every
moment; but he did not: he seemed in no hurry to leave
her; and presently, with renewed spirit, with a little
smile, a little glow, he said, –
“I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I
am afraid you must have suffered from the shock, and the
more from its not overpowering you at the time.”
She assured him that she had not.
“It was a frightful hour,” said he, “a frightful day !
and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remem
brance were still too painful; but in a moment, half smiling
again, added, “The day has produced some effects, how
ever, — has had some consequences which must be con
sidered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had
the presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would be
the properest person to fetch a surgeon, you could have
little idea of his being eventually one of those most con
cerned in her recovery.”
“Certainly I could have none. But it appears — I
should hope it would be a very happy match. There are
on both sides good principles and good temper.”
“Yes," said he, looking not exactly forward; “but
there, I think, ends the resemblance. With all my soul I
wish them happy, and rejoice over every circumstance in
favour of it. They have no difficulties to contend with at
home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays. The Mus
groves are behaving like themselves, most honourably and
kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to promote
370 PE, RSUASION.

their daughter's comfort. All this is much, very much in

favour of their happiness; more than perhaps -—”
He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to occur,
and to give him some taste of that emotion which was
reddening Anne's cheeks and fixing her eyes on the
ground. After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded
thus, –
“I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too
great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than
mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable,
sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding;
but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a
reading man; and I confess, that I do consider his attach
ing himself to her with some surprise. Had it been the
effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he
believed her to be preferring him, it would have been an
other thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It
seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spon
taneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises
me. A man like him, in his situation with a heart
pierced, wounded, almost broken | Fanny Harville was a
very superior creature, and his attachment to her was in
deed attachment. A man does not recover from such a
devotion of the heart to such a woman | He ought not, -
he does not.” -

Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend

had recovered, or from some other consciousness, he went
no farther; and Anne who, in spite of the agitated voice
in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of
all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless
slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking
through, had distinguished every word, was struck, gra
tified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and
fee, a hundred things in a moment. It was impossible
for her to enter on such a subject; and yet, after a pause,
feeling the necessity of speaking, and having not the
smallest wich for a total change, she only deviated so far
as to say, -
“You were a good while at Lyme, I think?”
“About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louisa's
 PERSUAS (ON. 377

doing well was quite ascertained. I had been too deeply

concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace. It had been
my doing, — solely mine. She would not have been obsti.
nate if I had not been weak. The country round Lyme is
very fine. I walked and rode a great deal; and the more
I saw, the more I found to admire.”
“I should very much like to see Lyme again,” said
Anne.
“Indeed! I should not have supposed that you could
have found any thing in Lyme to inspire such a feeling.
The horror and distress you were involved in,-the stretch
of mind, the wear of spirits! I should have thought
your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong
disgust.”
“The last few hours were certainly very painful,”
replied Anne; “but when pain is over, the remembrance
of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a
place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been
all suffering, nothing but suffering — which was by no
means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and
distress during the last two hours; and, previously, there
had been a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty
and beauty I I have travelled so little, that every fresh
place would be interesting to me,—but there is real beauty
at Lyme; and, in short,” with a faint blush at some re
collections, “altogether my impressions of the place are
very agreeable.”
As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the
very party appeared for whom they were waiting. “Lady
Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,” was the rejoicing sound;
and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious ele
gance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to
meet her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted
by Mr. Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to
arrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room.
The others joined them, and it was a group in which
Anne found herself also necessarily included. She was
divided from Captain Wentworth. Their interesting,
almost too interesting conversation must be broken up for
w time, but slight was the penance compared with the hap
378 PERSUASION.

piness which brought it on 1 She had learnt, in the last

ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of
all his feelings, than she dared to think of ! and she gave
herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful
civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated
sensations. She was in good humour with all. She had
received ideas which disposed her to be courteous and kind
to all, and to pity every one, as being less happy than
herself.
The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when, on
stepping back from the group, to be joined again by Cap
tain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone. She was just
in time to see him turn into the concert room. He was
gone – he had disappeared: she felt a moment's regret.
But “they should meet again. He would look for her,
he would find her out long before the evening were over,
and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder. She
was in need of a little interval for recollection.”
Upon Lady Russell's appearance soon afterwards, the
whole party was collected, and all that remained was to
marshal themselves, and proceed into the concert room ;
and be of all the consequence in their power, draw as
many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many
people as they could.
Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as
they walked in. Elizabeth, arm-in-arm with Miss Carteret,
and looking on the broad back of the dowager Viscountess
Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did
not seem within her reach ; and Anne,—but it would be an
insult to the nature of Anne's felicity to draw any com
parison between it and her sister's; the origin of one all
selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment.
Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of
the room. Her happiness was from within. Her eyes
were bright, and her cheeks glowed; but she knew nothing
about it. She was thinking only of the last half hour, and
as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range
over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still
more his manner and look, had been such as she could see
in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove's
 PERSUASION. 879

inferiority, an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to

give, his wonder at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a
first, strong attachment, —sentences begun which he could
not finish, his half-averted eyes and more than half
expressive glance, — all, all declared that he had a heart
returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoid
ance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, not
merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of
the past, — yes, some share of the tenderness of the past.
She could not contemplate the change as implying less.
He must love her.
These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which
occupied and flurried her too much to leave her any power
of observation; and she passed along the room without
having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern
him. When their places were determined on, and they
were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he
should happen to be in the same part of the room, but he
was not; her eye could not reach him; and the concert
being just opening, she must consent for a time to be
happy in an humbler way.
The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous
benches: Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr.
Elliot had manoeuvred so well, with the assistance of his
friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss
Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object
of Colonel Wallis's gallantry, was quite contented.
Anne's mind was in a most favourable state for the
entertainment of the evening; it was just occupation
enough : she had feelings for the tender, spirits for the
gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for the weari
some; and had never liked a concert better, at least during
the first act. Towards the close of it, in the interval suc
ceeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the
song to Mr. Elliot. They had a concert bill between
them.
“This,” said she, “is nearly the sense, or rather the
meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian
love-song must not be talked of,—but it is as nearly the
380 PERSUAS10N.

meaning as I can give ; for I do not pretend to understand

the language. I am a very poor Italian scholar.”
“Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of
the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the lan
guage, to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, cur
tailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant
English. You need not say any thing more of your igno
rance. Here is complete proof.”
“I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should
be sorry to be examined by a real proficient.” -

“I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden

Place so long,” replied he, “without knowing something of
Miss Anne Elliot; and I do regard her as one who is too
modest for the world in general to be aware of half her
accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty
to be natural in any other woman.”
“For shame! for shame !—this is too much of flattery.
I forget what we are to have next,” turning to the bill.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Elliot, speaking low, “I have had
a longer acquaintance with your character than you are
aware of.”
* Indeed! How so? You can have been acquainted
with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might
hear me previously spoken of in my own family.”
“I knew you by report long before you came to Bath.
I had heard you described by those who knew you inti
mately. I have been acquainted with you by character
many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplish
ments, manner — they were all described, they were all
present to me.”
Mr. Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped
to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mys
tery. To have been described long ago to a recent ac
quaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne
was all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him
eagerly; but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but
he would not tell.
“No, no — some time or other, perhaps, but not now.
He would mention no names now ; but such, he could
assure her, had been the fact. He had many years ago
 PERSUASION. 881

received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had in.

spired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited
the warmest curiosity to know her.”
Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken
with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr. Went
worth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth’s brother. He
might have been in Mr. Elliot's company, but she had not
courage to ask the question. -

“The name of Anne Elliot,” said he, “has long had an

interesting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a
charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my
wishes that the name might never change.”
Such she believed were his words; but scarcely had she
received their sound, than her attention was caught by
other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every
thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were
speaking.
“A well-looking man,” said Sir Walter, “a very well.
looking man.”
“A very fine young man, indeed!” said Lady Dal
rymple. “More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish,
I dare say.”
“No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance.
Wentworth–Captain Wentworth of the navy. His sister
married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents
Kellynch.”
Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes
had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain
Wentworth, standing among a cluster of men at a little
distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be with
drawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as
if she had been one moment too late ; and, as long as she
dared observe, he did not look again: but the performance
was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore
her attention to the orchestra, and look straight forward.
When she could give another glance, he had moved
away. He could not have come nearer to her if he would;
she was so surrounded and shut in: but she would rather
have caught his eye.
Mr. Elliot's speech, too, distressed her. She had no
2 B
382 PERSUAS10N.

longer any inclination to talk to him. She wished him not

so near her. -

The first act was over. Now she hoped for some bene
ficial change; and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst
the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea.
Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move.
She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but
she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr. Elliot; and she
did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's
account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Went
worth, if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded
by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen him.
He did not come, however. Anne sometimes fancied she
discerned him at a distance, but he never came. The
anxious interval wore away unproductively. The others
returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed
and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of pe
nance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give
delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed.
To Anne it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agi
tation. She could not quit that room in peace without
seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the inter
change of one friendly look.
In resettling themselves there were now many changes,
the result of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallis
declined sitting down again, and Mr. Elliot was invited by
Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused,
to sit between them; and by some other removals, and a
little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place her
self much nearer the end of the bench than she had been
before, much more within the reach of a passer-by. She
could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss La
rolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it,
and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed
prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next
neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench
before the concert closed. -

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand,

when Captain Wentworth was again in sight. She saw
him not far off. He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and
 #ERst Asion. 383

seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at

last near enough to speak to her. She felt that something
must be the matter. The change was indubitable. The
difference between his present air and what it had been in
the octagon room was strikingly great. Why was it? She
thought of her father — of Lady Russell. Could there
have been any unpleasant glances P He began by speaking
of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth
of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected
better singing; and, in short, must confess that he should
not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke
in defence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance
for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance im
proved, and he replied again with almost a smile. They
talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held ; he
even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place
on it well worth occupying; when, at that moment, a touch
on her shoulder obliged Anre to turn round. It came from
Mr. Elliot. He begged her pardon, but she must be ap
plied to, to explain Italian again. Miss Carteret was very
anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung.
Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to po
liteness with a more suffering spirit.
A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevit
ably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when
able to turn and look as she had done before, she found
herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet
hurried sort of farewell. “He must wish her good night;
he was going; he should get home as fast as he could.”
“Is not this song worth staying for ?” said Anne, sud
denly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious
to be encouraging.
“No!” he replied, impressively, “there is nothing worth
my staying for;” and he was gone directly.
Jealousy of Mr. Elliot! It was the only intelligible
motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection :
Could she have believed it a week ago — three hours ago !
For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But, alas !
there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was
such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach
884. PERSUASION

mm ? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their re

spective situations, would he ever learn her real sentiments?
It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot's attentions." Their
evil was incalculable. -*.

CHAPTER IX.

ANNE recollected with pleasure the next morning her

promise of going to Mrs. Smith; meaning that it should
engage her from home at the time when Mr. Elliot would
be most likely to call; for to avoid Mr. Elliot was almost a
first object. -- - - - - -

She felt a great deal of good-will towards him. In spite

of the mischief of his attentions, she owed him gratitude
and regard, perhaps compassion. She could not help think
ing much of the extraordinary circumstances attending
their acquaintance; of the right which he seemed to have
to interest her, by every thing in situation, by his own
sentiments, by his early prepossession. It was altogether
very extraordinary; flattering, but painful. There was
much to regret. How she might have felt, had there been
no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry;
for there was a Captain Wentworth; and be the conclusion
of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be
his for ever. Their union, she believed, could not divide
her more from other men than their final separation.
Prettier musings of high wrought love and eternal con
stancy could never have passed along the streets of Bath
than Anne was sporting with from Camden. Place, to
Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread
purification and perfume all the way. - -

She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend

seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming,
seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an
appointment. - .

An account of the concert was immediately claimed, and

Anne's recollections of the concert were quite happy enough
 - ...- : PERSUASION. 385

to animate her features, and make her rejoice to talk of it.

All that she could tell, she told most gladly; but the all
was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory
for such an enquirer as Mrs. Smith, who had already heard,
through the short cut of a laundress and a waiter, rather
more of the general success and produce of the evening
than Anne could relate; and who now asked in vain for
several particulars of the company. Every body of any
consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name
to Mrs. Smith.
- “The little Durands were there, I conclude,” said she,
“with their mouths open to catch the music; like un
fledged sparrows ready to be fed. They never miss a
concert.”
“Yes. I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr.
Elliot say they were in the room.”
“The Ibbotsons—were they there? and the two new
beauties, with the tall Irish officer, who is talked of for one
of them.” -

“I do not know. I do not think they were.”

“Old Lady Mary Maclean? I need not ask after her.
She never misses, I know; and you must have seen her.
She must have been in your own circle; for as you went
with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur,
round the orchestra, of course.”
“No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been
very unpleasant to me in every respect. But happily Lady
Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off; and we were
exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing; I must not
say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little.”
“Oh, you saw enough for your own amusement. I
can understand. There is a sort of domestic enjoyment
to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. You
were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing
beyond.”
“But I ought to have looked about me more,” said
Anne, conscious while she spoke, that there had in fact
been no want of looking about; that the object only had
been deficient.
“No, no-you were better employed. You need not
386 PERSUASION

tell me that you had a pleasant evening. I see it in your

eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed—that you had
always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals
of the concert, it was conversation.”
Anne half smiled and said, “Do you see that in my
eye?”
“Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me
that you were in company last night with the person whom
you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who
interests you at this present time more than all the rest of
the world put together.” -

A blush overspread Anne's cheeks. She could say

nothing. -

“And such being the case,” continued Mrs. Smith, after

a short pause, “I hope you believe that I do know how to
value your kindness in coming to me this morning. It is
really very good of you to come and sit with me, when you
must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time.”
Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the asto
nishment and confusion excited by her friend's penetration,
unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth
could have reached her. After another short silence,—
“Pray,” said Mrs. Smith, “is Mr. Elliot aware of your
acquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath?”
“Mr. Elliot!” repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A
moment's reflection showed her the mistake she had been
under. She caught it instantaneously; and, recovering
courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more com
posedly, “Are you acquainted with Mr. Elliot?”
“I have been a good deal acquainted with him,” replied
Mrs. Smith, gravely, “but it seems worn out now. It is
a great while since we met.”
“I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned
it before. Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure
of talking to him about you.”
“To confess the truth,” said Mrs. Smith, assuming her
usual air of cheerfulness, “that is exactly the pleasure I
want you to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr.
Elliot. I want your interest with him. He can be of
essential service to me; and if you would have the good
 PERSUASION. 387

ness, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself,

of course it is done.”
“I should be extremely happy—I hope you cannot
doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to
you,” replied Anne; “but I suspect that you are consider
ing me as having a higher claim on Mr. Elliot, a greater
right to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure
you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion. You
must consider me only as Mr. Elliot's relation. If in that
light, if there is any thing which you suppose his cousin
might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to
employ me.” -

Mrs. Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then,

smiling, said, -
“I have been a little premature, I perceive. I beg your
pardon. I ought to have waited for official information.
But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give
me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week? To be
sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled,
and build my own selfish schemes on Mr. Elliot's good
fortune.”
“No,” replied Anne, “nor next week, nor next, nor
next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you are
thinking of will be settled any week. I am not going to
marry Mr. Elliot. I should like to know why you imagine
I am.”
Mrs. Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled,
shook her head, and exclaimed,— -

“Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do

wish I knew what you were at ! I have a great idea that
you do not design to be cruel, when the right moment comes.
Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to
have any body. It is a thing of course among us, that
every man is refused—till he offers. But why should you
be cruel? Let me plead for my – present friend I cannot
call him—but for my former friend. Where can you look
for a more suitable match? Where could you expect a
more gentlemanlike, agreeable man P Let me recommend
Mr. Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him
 388 PERSUASION.

from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than
Colonel Wallis P.”
“My dear Mrs. Smith, Mr. Elliot's wife has not been dead
much above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to
be paying his addresses to any one.”
“Oh, if these are your only objections,” cried Mrs.
Smith, archly, “Mr. Elliot is safe, and I shall give my
self no more trouble about him. Do not forget me when
you are married, that's all. Let him know me to be a
friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble
required, which it is very natural for him now, with so
many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get
rid of as he can—very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out
of a hundred would do the same. Of course, he cannot
be aware of the importance to me. Well, my dear Miss
Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. Mr. El
liot has sense to understand the value of such a woman.
Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been.
You are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his cha
racter. He will not be led astray—he will not be misled
by others to his ruin.”
“No,” said Anne, “I can readily believe all that of
my cousin. He seems to have a calm, decided temper, not
at all open to dangerous impressions. I consider him with
great respect. I have no reason, from any thing that has
fallen within my observation, to do otherwise. But I have
not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be
known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking
of him, Mrs. Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me?
Surely this must be calm enough. And, upon my word, he is
nothing to me. Should he ever propose to me (which I have
very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing), I
shall not accept him. I assure you, I shall not. I assure
you, Mr. Elliot had not the share which you have been
supposing, in whatever pleasure the concert of last night
might afford: not Mr. Elliot — it is not Mr. Elliot
that --"
She stopped, regretting, with a deep blush, that she had
implied so much ; but less would hardly have been suffi
cient. Mrs. Smith would hardly have believed so soon in
 PERSUASION. 389

Mr. Elliot's failure, but from the perception of there being

a somebody else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and
with all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond; and Anne,
eager to escape farther notice, was impatient to know why
Mrs. Smith should have fancied she was to marry Mr
Elliot, where she could have received the idea, or from
whom she could have heard it.
“Do tell me how it first came into your head.”
“It first came into my head,” replied Mrs. Smith,
“upon finding how much you were together, and feeling
it to be the most probable thing in the world to be wished
for by every body belonging to either of you; and you may
depend upon it that all your acquaintance have disposed of
you in the same way, But I never heard it spoken of till
two days ago.”
“And has it, indeed, been spoken of ?”
“Did you observe the woman who opened the door to
you, when you called yesterday?”
“ No. Was not it Mrs. Speed, as usual, or the maid?
I observed no one in particular.”
“It was my friend Mrs. Rooke—Nurse Rooke; who,
by the by, had a great curiosity to see you, and was de
lighted to be in the way to let you in. She came away
from Marlborough Buildings only on Sunday; and she it
was who told me you were to marry Mr. Elliot. She had it
from Mrs. Wallis herself, which did not seem bad authority.
She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me
the whole history.”
“The whole history !” repeated Anne, laughing. “She
could not make a very long history, I think, of one such
little article of unfounded news.”
Mrs. Smith said nothing.
“But,” continued Anne, presently, “though there is
no truth in my having this claim on Mr. Elliot, I should
be extremely happy to be of use to you, in any way that I
could. Shall I mention to him your being in Bath ?
Shall I take any message P.”
“No, I thank you: no, certainly not. In the warmth
of the moment, and under a mistaken impression, I might,
perhaps, have endeavoured to interest you in some circum
390 PERSUASION.

star.ces; but not now No, I thank you, I have nothing

to trouble you with.” -

“I think you spoke of having known Mr. Elliot many

years?”
* I did.”
“Not before he married, I suppose ?”
“Yes; he was not married when I knew him first.”
“And — were you much acquainted ?"
“Intimately.”
“Indeed ! Then do tell me what he was at that time
of life. I have a great curiosity to know what Mr. Elliot
was as a very young man. Was he at all such as he ap
pears now P”
“I have not seen Mr. Elliot these three years,” was
Mrs. Smith's answer, given so gravely that it was impos
sible to pursue the subject farther; and Anne felt that
she had gained nothing but an increase of curiosity. They
were both silent — Mrs. Smith very thoughtful. At
last, — -

“I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot,” she cried,

in her natural tone of cordiality, —“I beg your pardon for
the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been
uncertain what I ought to do. I have been doubting
and considering as to what I ought to tell you. There
were many things to be taken into the account. One hates
to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mis
chief. Even the smooth surface of family union seems
worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable
beneath. However, I have determined — I think I am
right — I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr.
Elliot's real character. Though I fully believe that, at
present, you have not the smallest intention of accepting
him, there is no saying what may happen. You might,
some time or other, be differently affected towards him.
Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced.
Mr. Elliot is a man without heart or conscience; a design
ing, wary, cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself;
who, for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of any
cruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated with
out risk of his general character. He has no feeling for
 PERSUASION. - 391
others. Those whom he has been the chief cause of lead
ing into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the
smallest compunction. He is totally beyond the reach of
any sentiment of justice or compassion. Oh, he is black
at heart, hollow and black l’
Anne's astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made
her pause, and in a calmer manner she added,—
“My expressions startle you. You must allow for an
injured, angry woman. But I will try to command my
self. I will not abuse him. I will only tell you what I
have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the intimate
friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him,
and thought him as good as himself. The intimacy had
been formed before our marriage. I found them most in
timate friends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with
Mr. Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him.
At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously;
but Mr. Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others
and much more agreeable than most others, and we
were almost always together. We were principally in
town, living in very good style. He was then the inferior
in circumstances — he was then the poor one; he had
chambers in the Temple, and it was as much as he could
do to support the appearance of a gentleman. He had
always a home with us whenever he chose it; he was
always welcome ; he was like a brother. My poor Charles,
who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world,
would have divided his last farthing with him; and I
know that his purse was open to him ; I know that he
often assisted him.”
“This must have been about that very period of Mr.
Elliot's life,” said Anne, “which has always excited my
particular curiosity. It must have been about the same
time that he became known to my father and sister. I
never knew him myself, I only heard of him ; but there
was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my
father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his
marriage, which I never could quite reconcile with present
times. It seemed to announce a different sort of man.”
“I know it all I know it all,” cried Mrs. Smith. “He
392 PERSUASION.

had been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before

I was acquainted with him, but I heard him speak of them
for ever. I know he was invited and encouraged, and I
know he did not choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps,
on points which you would little expect; and as to his
marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to
all the fors and againsts, I was the friend to whom he con
fided his hopes and plans; and though I did not know his
wife previously, (her inferior situation in society, indeed,
rendered that impossible,) yet I knew her all her life
afterwards, or, at least, till within the last two years of
her life, and can answer any question you wish to put.”
“Nay,” said Anne, “I have no particular enquiry to
make about her. I have always understood they were not
a happy couple. But I should like to know why, at that
time of his life, he should slight my father's acquaintance
as he did. My father was certainly disposed to take very
kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr. Elliot draw
back f”
“Mr. Elliot,” replied Mrs. Smith, “at that period of
his life had one object in view — to make his fortune, and
by a rather quicker process than the law. He was deter
mined to make it by marriage. He was determined, at
least, not to mar it by an imprudent marriage; and I know
It was his belief (whether justly or not, of course I cannot
decide,) that your father and sister, in their civilities and
invitations, were designing a match between the heir and
the young lady; and it was impossible that such a match
should have answered his ideas of wealth and independ
ence. That was his motive for drawing back, I can assure
you. He told me the whole story. . He had no conceal
ments with me. It was curious, that having just left you
behind me in Bath, my first and principal acquaintance on
marrying should be your cousin; and that, through him,
I should be continually hearing of your father and sister.
He described one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affection.
ately of the other.”
“Perhaps,” cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, “you
sometimes spoke of me to Mr. Elliot?"
“To be sure I did, very often. I used to boast of my
 PERSUASION. 893

own Anne Elliot, and vouch for your being a very different
creature from **

. She checked herself just in time.

“This accounts for something which Mr. Elliot said
last night,” cried Anne. “This explains it. I found he
had been used to hear of me. I could not comprehend
how. What wild imaginations one forms, where dear self
is concerned! How sure to be mistaken But I beg
your pardon; I have interrupted you. Mr. Elliot mar
ried, then, completely for money? The circumstance,
probably, which first opened your eyes to his character.”
Mrs. Smith hesitated a little here. “Oh, those things
are too common. When one lives in the world, a man or
woman's marrying for money is too common to strike one
as it ought. I was very young, and associated only with
the young, and we were a thoughtless, gay set, without
any strict rules of conduct. We lived for enjoyment. I
think differently now; time, and sickness, and sorrow
have given me other notions; but, at that period, I must
own I saw nothing reprehensible in what Mr. Elliot was
doing. ‘To do the best for himself’ passed as a duty.”
“But was not she a very low woman?”
“Yes; which I objected to, but he would not regard.
Money, money, was all that he wanted. Her father was
a grazier, her grandfather had been a butcher, but that
was all nothing. She was a fine woman, had had a decent
education, was brought forward by some cousins, thrown
by chance into Mr. Elliot's company, and fell in love with
him; and not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his
side, with respect to her birth. All his caution was spent
in being secured of the real amount of her fortune, before
he committed himself. Depend upon it, whatever esteem
Mr. Elliot may have for his own situation in life now, as
a young man he had not the smallest value for it. His
chance of the Kellynch estate was something, but all the
honour of the family he held as cheap as dirt. I have
often heard him declare, that if baronetcies were saleable,
any body should have his for fifty pounds, arms and
motto, name and livery included; but I will not pretend
to repeat half that I used to hear him say on that subject.
394 PERSUASION.

It would not be fair. And yet you ought to have proof;

for what is all this but assertion? and you shall have
proof.”
“Indeed, my dear Mrs. Smith, I want none,” cried
Anne. “You have asserted nothing contradictory to what
Mr. Elliot appeared to be some years ago. This is all in
confirmation, rather, of what we used to hear and believe.
I am more curious to know why he should be so different
now.”
“But for my satisfaction; if you will have the good
ness to ring for Mary—stay, I am sure you will have the
still greater goodness of going yourself into my bedroom,
and bringing me the small inlaid box which you will find
on the upper shelf of the closet.”
Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did
as she was desired. The box was brought and placed
before her, and Mrs. Smith, sighing over it as she un
locked it, said,—
“This is full of papers belonging to him, to my hus
band, a small portion only of what I had to look over
when I lost him. The letter I am looking for was one
written by Mr. Elliot to him before our marriage, and
happened to be saved; why, one can hardly imagine. But
he was careless and immethodical, like other men, about
those things; and when I came to examine his papers, I
found it with others still more trivial from different people
scattered here and there, while many letters and memoran
dums of real importance had been destroyed. Here it is.
I would not burn it, because being even then very little
satisfied with Mr. Elliot, I was determined to preserve
every document of former intimacy. I have now another
motive for being glad that I can produce it.”
This was the letter, directed to “Charles Smith, Esq.,
Tunbridge Wells,” and dated from London, as far back as
July, 1803.
“Dear Smith,
“I have received yours. Your kindness almost over.
powers me. I wish nature had made such hearts as yours
more common, but I have lived three-and-twenty years in
 PERSUASION. 395

the world, and have seen none like it. At present, believe
me, I have no need of your services, being in cash again.
Give me joy: I have got rid of Sir Walter and Miss.
They are gone back to Rellynch, and almost made me
swear to visit them this summer; but my first visit to
Kellynch will be with a surveyor, to tell me how to bring
it with best advantage to the hammer. The baronet,
nevertheless, is not unlikely to marry again; he is quite
fool enough. If he does, however, they will leave me
in peace, which may be a decent equivalent for the re
version. He is worse than last year.
“I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it.
The name of Walter I can drop, thank God! and I desire
you will never insult me with my second W. again, mean.
ing, for the rest of my life, to be only yours truly,
“WM. ELLIOT.”

Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in

a glow; and Mrs. Smith, observing the high colour in her
face, said, -
“The language, I know, is highly disrespectful. Though
I have forgot the exact terms, I have a perfect impression
of the general meaning. But it shows you the man.
Mark his professions to my poor husband. Can any thing
be stronger?”
Anne could not immediately get over the shock and
mortification of finding such words applied to her father.
She was obliged to recollect that her seeing the letter was
a violation of the laws of honour, that no one ought to be
judged or to be known by such testimonies, that no private
correspondence could bear the eye of others, before she
could recover calmness enough to return the letter which
she had been meditating over, and say, —
“Thank you. This is full proof undoubtedly, proof of
every thing you were saying. But why be acquainted
with us now P”
“I can explain this, too,” cried Mrs. Smith, smiling.
“Can you really P”
“Yes. I have shown you Mr. Elliot as he was a
dozen years ago, and I will show him as he is now. I
396 PERSUASION.

cannot produce written proof again, but I can give as

authentic oral testimony as you can desire, of what he is
now wanting, and what he is now doing. He is no
hypocrite now. He truly wants to marry you. His pre
sent attentions to your family are very sincere, quite from
the heart. I will give you my authority—his friend
Colonel Wallis.”
“Colonel Wallis ! are you acquainted with him?”
“No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line
as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence.
The stream is as good as at first; the little rubbish it
collects in the turnings is easily moved away. Mr. Elliot
talks unreservedly to Colonel Wallis of his views on you,
which said Colonel Wallis, I imagine, to be in himself a
sensible, careful, discerning sort of character; but Colonel
Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to whom he tells things
which he had better not, and he repeats it all to her. She,
in the overflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to
her nurse; and the nurse, knowing my acquaintance with
you, very naturally brings it all to me. On Monday
evening my good friend Mrs. Rooke let me thus much
into the secrets of Marlborough Buildings. When I talked
of a whole history, therefore, you see I was not romancing
so much as you supposed.”
“My dear Mrs. Smith, your authority is deficient.
This will not do. Mr. Elliot's having any views on me
will not in the least account for the efforts he made to .
wards a reconciliation with my father. That was all prior
to my coming to Bath. I found them on the most
friendly terms when I arrived.”
“I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but
“Indeed, Mrs. Smith, we must not expect to get real
information in such a line. Facts or opinions which are
to pass through the hands of so many, to be misconceived
by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have
much truth left.”
“Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to
judge of the general credit due, by listening to some
particulars which you can yourself immediately contradict
or confirm. Nobody supposes that you were his first
 PERSUAsion. - 397
Inducement. He had seen you, indeed, before he came
to bath, and admired you, but without knowing it to be
you. So says my historian, at least. Is this true? Did
he see you last summer or autumn ‘somewhere down in
the west, to use her own words, without knowing it
to be you?”
“He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme,
I happened to be at Lyme.”
“Well,” continued Mrs. Smith, triumphantly, “grant
my friend the credit due to the establishment of the first
point asserted. He saw you then at Lyme, and liked
you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet with
you again in Camden Place, as Miss Anne Elliot, and from
that moment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in
his visits there. But there was another, and an earlier,
which I will now explain. If there is any thing in my
story which you know to be either false or improbable,
stop me. My account states, that your sister's friend, the
lady now staying with you, whom I have heard you men
tion, came to Bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long
ago as September, (in short, when they first came them
selves,) and has been staying there ever since; that she is
a clever, insinuating, handsome woman, poor and plausible,
and altogether such, in situation and manner, as to give
a general idea, among Sir Walter's acquaintance, of her
meaning to be Lady Elliot, and as general a surprise that
Miss Elliot should be apparently blind to the danger.”
Here Mrs. Smith paused a moment; but Anne had not
a word to say, and she continued,— .
“This was the light in which it appeared to those who
knew the family, long before your return to it; and Co
lonel Wallis had his eye upon your father enough to be
sensible of it, though he did not then visit in Camden
Place; but his regard for Mr. Elliot gave him an interest
in watching all that was going on there, and when Mr.
Elliot came to Bath for a day or two, as he happened to do
a little before Christmas, Colonel Wallis made him ac
quainted with the appearance of things, and the reports
beginning to prevail. Now you are to understand, that
time had worked a very material change in Mr. Elliot's
2 C.
398 PERSUASION

opinions as to the value of a baronetcy. Upon all points

of blood and connection he is a completely altered man.
Having long had as much money as he could spend,
nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence, he
has been gradually learning to pin his happiness upon the
consequence he is heir to. I thought it coming on before
our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a confirmed feeling.
He cannot bear the idea of not being Sir William. You
may guess, therefore, that the news he heard from his
friend could not be very agreeable, and you may guess
what it produced; the resolution of coming back to Bath
as soon as possible, and of fixing himself here for a time,
with the view of renewing his former acquainance and
recovering such a footing in the family as might give him
the means of ascertaining the degree of his danger, and of
circumventing the lady if he found it material. This was
agreed upon between the two friends as the only thing to
be done; and Colonel Wallis was to assist in every way
that he could. He was to be introduced, and Mrs. Wallis
was to be introduced, and every body was to be introduced.
Mr. Elliot came back accordingly; and on application was
forgiven, as you know, and re-admitted into the family;
and there it was his constant object, and his only object
(till your arrival added another motive), to watch Sir Walter
and Mrs. Clay. He omitted no opportunity of being with
them, threw himself in their way, called at all hours—but
I need not be particular on this subject. You can imagine
what an artful man would do; and with this guide, per
haps, may recollect what you have seen him do.”
“Yes,” said Anne, “you tell me nothing which does
not accord with what I have known, or could imagine.
There is always something offensive in the details of cun
ning. The manoeuvres of selfishness and duplicity must
ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really
surprises me. I know those who would be shocked by such
a representation of Mr. Elliot, who would have difficulty
in believing it; but I have never been satisfied. I have
always wanted some other motive for his conduct than
appeared. I should like to know his present opinion, as to
 PERSUASION. 399

the probability of the event he has been in dread of;

whether he considers the danger to be lessening or not.”
“Lessening, I understand,” replied Mrs. Smith. “He
thinks Mrs. Clay afraid of him, aware that he sees through
her, and not daring to proceed as she might do in his
absence. But since he must be absent some time or other,
I do not perceive how he can ever be secure while she
holds her present influence. Mrs. Wallis has an amusing
idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the marriage
articles when you and Mr. Elliot marry, that your father is
not to marry Mrs. Clay. A scheme worthy of Mrs. Wallis's
understanding, by all accounts; but my sensible Nurse
Rooke sees the absurdity of it.—“Why, to be sure, ma'am,'
said she, ‘it would not prevent his marrying any body
else.' And, indeed, to own the truth, I do not think nurse
in her heart is a very strenuous opposer of Sir Walter's
making a second match. She must be allowed to be a
favourer of matrimony, you know ; and (since self will in
trude) who can say that she may not have some flying
visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through Mrs.
Wallis's recommendation ?”
“I am very glad to know all this,” said Anne, after a
little thoughtfulness. “It will be more painful to me in
some respects to be in company with him, but I shall know
better what to do. My line of conduct will be more direct.
Mr. Elliot is evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly
man, who has never had any better principle to guide him
than selfishness.”
But Mr. Elliot was not yet done with. Mrs. Smith had
been carried away from her first direction, and Anne had
forgotten, in the interest of her own family concerns, how
much had been originally implied against him; but her
attention was now called to the explanation of those first
hints, and she listened to a recital which, if it did not
perfectly justify the unqualified bitterness of Mrs. Smith,
proved him to have been very unfeeling in his conduct
towards her, very deficient both in justice and compassion.
She learned that (the intimacy between them continuing
unimpaired by Mr. Elliot's marriage) they had been as
before always together, and Mr. Elliot had led his friend
400 PERSUAS10N.

into expenses much beyond his fortune. Mrs. Smith did

not want to take blame to herself, and was most tender of
throwing any on her husband; but Anne could collect that
their income had never been equal to their style of living,
and that from the first there had been a great deal of
general and joint extravagance. From his wife's account
of him she could discern Mr. Smith to have been a man of
warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong
understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and
very unlike him—led by him, and probably despised by
him. Mr. Elliot, raised by his marriage to great affluence,
and disposed to every gratification of pleasure and vanity
which could be commanded without involving himself (for
with all his self-indulgence he had become a prudent man),
and beginning to be rich, just as his friend ought to have
found himself to be poor, seemed to have had no concern
at all for that friend's probable finances, but, on the con
trary, had been prompting and encouraging expenses, which
could end only in ruin;—and the Smiths accordingly had
been ruined.
The husband had died just in time to be spared the full
knowledge of it. They had previously known embarrass
ments enough to try the friendship of their friends, and to
prove that Mr. Elliot's had better not be tried; but it was
not till his death that the wretched state of his affairs was
fully known. With a confidence in Mr. Elliot's regard,
more creditable to his feelings than his judgment, Mr.
Smith had appointed him the executor of his will; but
Mr. Elliot would not act, and the difficulties and distresses
which this refusal had heaped on her, in addition to the
inevitable sufferings of her situation, had been such as
could not be related without anguish of spirit, or listened
to without corresponding indignation.
Anne was shown some letters of his on the occasion,
answers to urgent applications from Mrs. Smith, which all
breathed the same stern resolution of not engaging in a
fruitless trouble, and, under a cold civility, the same hard
hearted indifference to any of the evils it might bring on
her. It was a dreadful picture of ingratitude and inhu
manity; and Anne felt, at some moments, that no flagrant
 PERSUASION. 401

open crime could have been worse. She had a great deal
to listen to ; all the particulars of past sad scenes, all the
minutiae of distress upon distress, which in former convers
ations had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on now with
a natural indulgence. Anne could perfectly comprehend
the exquisite relief, and was only the more inclined to
wonder at the composure of her friend's usual state of
mind.
There was one circumstance in the history of her
grievances of particular irritation. She had good reason
to believe that some property of her husband in the West
Indies, which had been for many years under a sort of
sequestration for the payment of its own incumbrances,
might be recoverable by proper measures; and this pro
perty, though not large, would be enough to make her
comparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir in it.
Mr. Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing
herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her
state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by
her want of money. She had no natural connections to
assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford
to purchase the assistance of the law. This was a cruel
aggravation of actually straitened means. To feel that
she ought to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble
in the right place might do it, and to fear that delay might
be even weakening her claims, was hard to bear !
It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne's
good offices with Mr. Elliot. She had previously, in the
anticipation of their marriage, been very apprehensive of
losing her friend by it; but on being assured that he could
have made no attempt of that nature, since he did not even
know her to be in Bath, it immediately occurred, that
something might be done in her favour by the influence of
the woman he loved, and she had been hastily preparing
to interest Anne's feelings, as far as the observances due to
Mr. Elliot's charactor would allow, when Anne's refutation
of the supposed engagement changed the face of every
thing; and while it took from her the new-formed hope
of succeeding in the object of her first anxiety, left her at
least the comfort of telling the whole story her own way.
402 PERSUASION.

After listening to this full description of Mr. Elliot,

Anne could not but express some surprise at Mrs. Smith’s
having spoken of him so favourably in the beginning of
their conversation. “She had seemed to recommend and
praise him !”
* My dear,” was Mrs. Smith's reply, “there was no
thing else to be done. I considered your marrying him as
certain, though he might not yet have made the offer, and
I could no more speak the truth of him, than if he had
been your husband. My heart bled for you, as I talked of
happiness; and yet, he is sensible, he is agreeable, and
with such a woman as you, it was not absolutely hopeless.
He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched
together. But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect,
and he had never loved her. I was willing to hope that
you must fare better.”
Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a pos
sibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her
shudder at the idea of the misery which must have fol
lowed. It was just possible that she might have been
persuaded by Lady Russell! And under such a sup
position, which would have been most miserable, when
time had disclosed all, too late P
It was very desirable that Lady Russell should be no
longer deceived; and one of the concluding arrangements
of this important conference, which carried them through
the greater part of the morning, was, that Anne had full
liberty to communicate to her friend every thing relative to
Mrs. Smith, in which his conduct was involved.

CHAPTER X.

ANNF went home to think over all that she had heard. In
»ne point, her feelings were relieved by this knowledge of
Mr. Elliot. There was no longer any thing of tenderness
due to him. He stood, as opposed to Captain Wentworth,
 PERSUASION. - 403

in all his own unwelcome obtrusiveness; and the evil of

his attentions last night, the irremediable mischief he might
have done, was considered with sensations unqualified, un
perplexed. Pity for him was all over. But this was the
only point of relief. In every other respect, in looking
around her, or penetrating forward, she saw more to dis
trust and to apprehend. She was concerned for the disap
pointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling, for the
mortifications which must be hanging over her father and
sister, and had all the distress of foreseeing many evils,
without knowing how to avert any one of them. She was
most thankful for her own knowledge of him. She had
never considered herself as entitled to reward for not
slighting an old friend like Mrs. Smith, but here was a
reward indeed springing from it! Mrs. Smith had been
able to tell her what no one else could have done. Could
the knowledge have been extended through her family !
But this was a vain idea. She must talk to Lady Russell,
tell her, consult with her, and having done her best, wait
the event with as much composure as possible; and, after
all, her greatest want of composure would be in that
quarter of the mind which could not be opened to Lady
Russell, in that flow of anxieties and fears which must be
all to herself.
She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she in
tended, escaped seeing Mr. Elliot; that he had called and
paid them a long morning visit; but hardly had she con
gratulated herself, and felt safe till to-morrow, when she
heard that he was coming again in the evening.
“I had not the smallest intention of asking him,” said
Elizabeth, with affected carelessness, “but he gave so many
hints; so Mrs. Clay says, at least.”
“Indeed I do say it. I never saw any body in my
life spell harder for an invitation. Poor man! I was really
in pain for him; for your hard-hearted sister, Miss Anne,
seems bent on cruelty.”
“Oh,” cried Elizabeth, “I have been rather too much
used to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman's
hints. However, when I found how excessively he was
regretting that he should miss my father this morning, I
404 PERSUASION.

gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an

opportunity of bringing him and Sir Walter together.
They appear to so much advantage in company with each
other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr. Elliot looking
up with so much respect.”
“Quite delightful !" cried Mrs. Clay, not daring, how
ever, to turn her eyes towards Anne. “Exactly like fa
ther and son | Dear Miss Elliot, may I not say father
2nd son ?”
“Oh, I lay no embargo on any body's words. If you
will have such ideas ! But, upon my word, I am scarcely
sensible of his attentions being beyond those of other men.”
“My dear Miss Elliot!” exclaimed Mrs. Clay, lifting
up her hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her as
tonishment in a convenient silence.
“Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed
about him. I did invite him, you know. I sent him
away with smiles. When I found he was really going to
his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day to-mor
row, I had compassion on him.”
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being
able to show such pleasure, as she did, in the expectation
and in the actual arrival of the very person whose presence
must really be interfering with her prime object. It was
impossible but that Mrs. Clay must hate the sight of Mr.
Elliot; and yet she could assume a most obliging, placid
look, and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license
of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as
she would have done otherwise.
To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr.
Elliot cnter the room ; and quite painful to have him ap
proach and speak to her. She had been used before to feel
that he could not be always quite sincere, but now she saw
insincerity in every thing. His attentive deference to her
father, contrasted with his former language, was odious ;
and when she thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs.
Smith, she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles
and mildness, or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.
She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as
might provoke a remonstrance on his side. It was a great
 PERSUASION 405

object with her to escape all enquiry or eclat; but it was

her intention to be as decidedly cool to him as might be
compatible with their relationship ; and to retrace, as
quietly as she could, the few steps of unnecessary intimacy
she had been gradually led along. She was accordingly
more guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night
before.
He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and
where he could have heard her formerly praised; wanted
very much to be gratified by more solicitation; but the
charm was broken. He found that the heat and animation
of a public room were necessary to kindle his modest
cousin's vanity; he found, at least, that it was not to be
done now, by any of those attempts which he could hazard
among the too-commanding claims of the others. He
only surmised that it was a subject acting now exactly
against his interest, bringing immediately into her thoughts
all those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.
She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really
going out of Bath the next morning, going early, and that
he would be gone the greater part of two days. He was
invited again to Camden Place the very evening of his
return; but from Thursday to Saturday evening his ab
sence was certain. It was bad enough that a Mrs. Clay
should be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite
should be added to their party seemed the destruction of
every thing like peace and comfort. It was so humiliating
to reflect on the constant deception practised on her father
and Elizabeth ; to consider the various sources of mortifi
cation preparing for them. Mrs. Clay's selfishness was not
so complicate nor so revolting as his ; and Anne would
have compounded for the marriage at once, with all its
evils, to be clear of Mr. Elliot's subtleties, in endeavouring
to prevent it.
On Friday morning she meant to go very early to Lady
Russell, and accomplish the necessary communication; and
she would have gone directly after breakfast, but that Mrs.
Clay was also going out cn some obliging purpose of saving
her sister trouble, which determined her to wait till she
might be safe from such a companion. She saw Mrs.
* …
406 PERSUASION.

Clay fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk of spend

ing the morning in Rivers Street.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, “I have nothing to send
but my love. Oh ! you may as well take back that tire
some book she would lend me, and pretend I have read it
through. I really cannot be plaguing myself for ever with
all the new poems and states of the nation that come out.
Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications.
You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous
the other night. I used to think she had some taste in
dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert. Some
thing so formal and arrangá in her air ! and she sits so
upright! My best love, of course.” -

“And mine," added Sir Walter. “Kindest regards.

And you may say, that I mean to call upon her soon.
Make a civil message. But I shall only leave my card.
Morning visits are never fair by women at her time of
life, who make themselves up so little. If she would only
wear rouge, she would not be afraid of being seen; but
last time I called, I observed the blinds were let down im
mediately.”
While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door
Who could it be Anne, remembering the preconcerted
visits, at all hours, of Mr. Elliot, would have expected
him, but for his known engagement seven miles off. After
the usual period of suspense, the usual sounds of approach
were heard, and “Mr. and Mrs. Charles Musgrove” were
ushered into the room.
Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by their ap
pearance: but Anne was really glad to see them; and the
others were not so sorry but that they could put on a decent
air of welcome ; and as soon as it became clear that these,
their nearest relations, were not arrived with any views of
accommodation in that house, Sir Walter and Elizabeth
were able to rise in cordiality, and do the honours of it
very well. They were come to Bath for a few days with
Mrs. Musgrove, and were at the White Hart. So much
was pretty soon understood; but till Sir Walter and Eliza
beth were walking Mary into the other drawing-room, and
regaling themselves with her admiration, Anne could not
 PERSUASION. 40°

draw upon Charles's brain for a regular history of their

coming, or an explanation of some smiling hints of par
ticular business, which had been ostentatiously dropped by
Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion as to whom
their party consisted of.
She then found that it consisted of Mrs. Musgrove,
Henrietta, and Captain Harville, beside their two selves.
He gave her a very plain, intelligible account of the whole;
a narration in which she saw a great deal of most charac
teristic proceeding. The scheme had received its first im
pulse by Captain Harville's wanting to come to Bath on
business. He had begun to talk of it a week ago; and by
way of doing something, as shooting was over, Charles had
proposed coming with him, and Mrs. Harville had seemed
to like the idea of it very much, as an advantage to her
husband; but Mary could not bear to be left, and had
made herself so unhappy about it, that, for a day or two,
every thing seemed to be in suspense, or at an end. But
then, it had been taken up by his father and mother. His
mother had some old friends in Bath, whom she wanted to
see; it was thought a good opportunity for Henrietta to
come and buy wedding-clothes for herself and her sister;
and, in short, it ended in being his mother's party, that
every thing might be comfortable and easy to Captain Har
ville; and he and Mary were included in it, by way of
general convenience. They had arrived late the night be
fore. Mrs. Harville, her children, and Captain Benwick,
remained with Mr. Musgrove and Louisa at Uppercross.
Anne's only surprise was, that affairs should be in for
wardness enough for Henrietta's wedding-clothes to be
talked of: she had imagined such difficulties of fortune to
exist there as must prevent the marriage from being near
at hand; but she learned from Charles that, very recently
(since Mary's last letter to herself), Charles Hayter had
been applied to by a friend to hold a living for a youth
who could not possibly claim it under many years; and
that, on the strength of this present income, with almost a
certainty of something more permanent long before the
term in question, the two families had consented to the
young people's wishes, and that their marriage was likely
408 PERSUASION.

to take place in a few months, quite as soon as Louisa's.

“And a very good living it was,” Charles added: “only
five-and-twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine
country—fine part of Dorsetshire. In the centre of some
of the best preserves in the kingdom, surrounded by three
great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than the
other; and to two of the three, at least, Charles Hayter
might get a special recommendation. Not that he will
value it as he ought,” he observed: “ Charles is too cool
about sporting. That's the worst of him.”
“I am extremely glad, indeed,” cried Anne, “par
ticularly glad that this should happen; and that of two
sisters, who both deserve equally well, and who have always
been such good friends, the pleasant prospects of one should
not be dimming those of the other—that they should be so
equal in their prosperity and comfort. I hope your father
and mother are quite happy with regard to both.”
“Oh yes! My father would be as well pleased if the
gentlemen were richer, but he has no other fault to find.
Money, you know, coming down with money-two daugh
ters at once — it cannot be a very agreeable operation, and
it straitens him as to many things. However, I do not
mean to say they have not a right to it. It is very fit they
should have daughters' shares; and I am sure he has always
been a very kind, liberal father to me. Mary does not
above half like Henrietta's match. She never did, you
know. But she does not do him justice, nor think enough
about Winthrop. I cannot make her attend to the value
of the property. It is a very fair match, as times go; and
I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall not
leave off now.”
“Such excellent parents as Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove,”
exclaimed Anne, “should be happy in their children's
marriages. They do every thing to confer happiness, I am
sure. What a blessing to young people to be in such
hands ! Your father and mother seem so totally free from
all those ambitious feelings which have led to so much mis
conduct and misery, both in young and old ! I hope you
think Louisa perfectly recovered now?”
He answered rather hesitatingly, “Yes, I believe I do,-
 1*E*SUASION. 409

very much recovered; but she is altered: there is no run

ning or jumping about, no laughing or dancing; it is quite
different. If one happens only to shut the door a litric
hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick in thr
water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses. on
whispering to her, all day long.”
Anne could not help laughing. “That cannot be
much to your taste, I know,” said she ; “but I do believe
him to be an excellent young man.” -

“To be sure he is: nobody doubts it; and I hope you

do not think I am so illiberal as to want every man to
have the same objects and pleasures as myself. I have a
great value for Benwick; and when one can but get him
to talk, he has plenty to say. His reading has done him
no harm, for he has fought as well as read. He is a brave
fellow. I got more acquainted with him last Monday
than ever I did before. We had a famous set-to at rat
hunting all the morning, in my father's great barns; and
he played his part so well, that I have liked him the better
ever since.”
Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of
Charles's following the others to admire mirrors and china:
but Anne had heard enough to understand the present state
of Uppercross, and rejoice in its happiness; and though she
sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none of the ill-will of
envy in it. She would certainly have risen to their bless
ings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.
The visit passed off altogether in high good humour.
Mary was in excellent spirits, enjoying the gaiety and the
change; and so well satisfied with the journey in her
mother-in-law's carriage with four horses, and with her
own complete independence of Camden Place, that she was
exactly in a temper to admire every thing as she ought,
and enter most readily into all the superiorities of the
house, as they were detailed to her. She had no demands
on her father or sister, and her consequence was just
enough increased by their handsome drawing-rooms.
Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal.
She felt that Mrs. Musgrove and all her party ought to be
asked to dine with them; but she could not bear to have
410 PERSUASION.

the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which a

dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been
always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It was a
struggle between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the
better, and then Elizabeth was happy again. These were
her internal persuasions: — “Old fashioned notions –
country hospitality — we do not profess to give dinners
—few people in Bath do – Lady Alicia never does;
did not even ask her own sister's family, though they were
here a month; and I dare say it would be very incon
venient to Mrs. Musgrove — put her quite out of her
way. I am sure she would rather not come — she cannot
feel easy with us. I will ask them all for an evening;
that will be much better, that will be a novelty and a
treat. They have not seen two such drawing-rooms be
fore. They will be delighted to come to-morrow evening.
It shall be a regular party, small, but most elegan ” And
this satisfied Elizabeth ; and when the invitation was given
to the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary was
as completely satisfied. She was particularly asked to
meet Mr. Elliot, and be introduced to Lady Dalrymple
and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged
to come ; and she could not have received a more gratifying
attention. Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling
on Mrs. Musgrove in the course of the morning; and Anne
walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and see her and
Henrietta directly.
Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for
the present. They all three called in Rivers Street for a
couple of minutes; but Anne convinced herself that a day's
delay of the intended communication could be of no con
sequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart, to see
again the friends and companions of the last autumn, with
an eagerness of good-will which many associations contri ***
buted to form.
They found Mrs. Musgrove and her daughter within,
and by themselves, and Anne had the kindest welcome
from each. Henrietta was exactly in that state of recently
improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made
her full of regard and interest for every body she had ever
 PERSUASION. 431

liked before at all; and Mrs. Musgrove's real affection had

been won by her usefulness when they were in distress.
It was a heartiness, and a warmth, and a sincerity which
Anne delighted in the more, from the sad want of such
blessings at home. She was entreated to give them as
much of her time as possible, invited for every day and all
day long, or rather claimed as a part of the family; and,
in return, she naturally fell into all her wonted ways of
attention and assistance, and on Charles's leaving them
together, was listening to Mrs. Musgrove's history of Louisa,
and to Henrietta's of herself, giving opinions on business,
and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every
help which Mary required, from altering her riband to
settling her accounts; from finding her keys, and assorting
her trinkets, to trying to convince her that she was not ill
used by any body; which Mary, well amused as she gene
rally was in her station at a window overlooking the en
trance to the Pump-room, could not but have her moments
of imagining. -

A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected.

A large party in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, un
settled scene. One five minutes brought a note, the next
a parcel ; and Anne had not been there half an hour, when
their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than
half filled: a party of steady old friends were seated round
Mrs. Musgrove, and Charles came back with Captains
Harville and Wentworth. The appearance of the latter
could not be more than the surprise of the moment. It
was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel, that this
arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing
them together again. Their last meeting had been most
important in opening his feelings; she had derived from it
a delightful conviction; but she feared from his looks, that
the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him
away from the concert-room, still governed. He did not
seem to want to be near enough for conversation.
She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their
course; and tried to dwell much on this argument of ra
tional dependence:– “Surely, if there be constant attach
ment on each side, our hearts must understand each other
412 PERSUASION.

ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irrit

able, misled by every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly
playing with our own happiness.” And yet, a few minutes
afterwards, she felt as if their being in company with each
other, under their present circumstances, could only be
exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of
the most mischievous kind.
“Anne," cried Mary, still at her window, “there is
Mrs. Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a
gentleman with her. I saw them turn the corner from
Bath Street just now. They seem deep in talk. Who is
it P Come, and tell me. Good heavens ! I recollect.
It is Mr. Elliot himself.”
“No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr. Elliot,
I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning,
and does not come back till to-morrow.”
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was
ooking at her; the consciousness of which vexed and em
barrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so
much, simple as it was.
Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know
her own cousin, began talking very warmly about the fa
mily features, and protesting still more positively that it
was Mr. Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look
herself; but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be
cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however,
0n perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between
two or three of the lady visiters, as if they believed them
selves quite in the secret. It was evident that the report
concerning her had spread; and a short pause succeeded,
which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
“Do come, Anne,” cried Mary, “ come and look your
self. You will be too late, if you do not make haste. They
are parting, they are shaking hands. He is turning away.
Not know Mr. Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgot
all about Lyme.”
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrass
wnent, Anne did move quietly to the window. She was just
in time to ascertain that it really was Mr. Elliot (which
she had never believed), before he disappeared on one side,
 PERSUAS10N. 413

as Mrs. Clay walked quickly off on the other; and check

ing the surprise which she could not but feel at such an
appearance of friendly conference between two persons of
totally opposite interests, she calmly said, “Yes, it is Mr.
Elliot certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I
suppose, that is all—or I may be mistaken; I might not
attend; ” and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and
with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visiters took their leave; and Charles, having
civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and
abused them for coming, began with, –
“Well, mother, I have done something for you that
you will like. I have been to the theatre, and secured
a box for to-morrow night. A’n’t I a good boy? I
know you love a play; and there is room for us all. It
holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne
will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like :
play. Have not I done well, mother?”
Mrs. Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to ex
press her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and
all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted
her by exclaiming, —
“Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a
thing? Take a box for to-morrow night! Have you
forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrow
night? and that we were most particularly asked on purpose
to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr. Elliot
— all the principal family connections – on purpose to be
int, oduced to them ? How can you be so forgetful ?”
“Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what's an evening
party ? Never worth remembering. Your father might
have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see
us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play.”
“Oh, Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if
you do ! when you promised to go.”
“No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed,
and said the word ‘happy. There was no promise.”
“But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardon
able to fail. We were asked on purpose to be introduced.
2 D
414 PERSUASION.

There was always such a great connection between the

V)alrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened on
either side that was not announced immediately. We are
Huite near relatians, you know; and Mr. Elliot too, whom
you ought so particularly to be acquainted with ! Every
attention is due to Mr. Elliot. Consider, my father's
heir — the future representative of the family.”
“Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,”
cried Charles. “I am not one of those who neglect the
reigning power to bow to the rising sun. If I would not
go for the sake of your father, I should think it scanda
lous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr. Elliot to
me?”
The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that
Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listen
ing with his whole soul; and that the last words brought
his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself.
Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he,
half serious and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for
the play; and she, invariably serious, most warmly op
posing it, and not omitting to make it known, that how
ever determined to go to Camden Place herself, she should
not think herself very well used, if they went to the play
without her. Mrs. Musgrove interposed.
“We had better put it off. Charles, you had much
better go back, and change the box for Tuesday. It would
be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Miss
Anne too, if there is a party at her father's; and I am
sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play
if Miss Anne could not be with us.”
Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and
quite as much so, moreover, for the opportunity it gave her
of decidedly saying,
“If it depended only on my inclination, maam, the
party at home (excepting on Mary's account) would not be
the smallest impediment. I have no pleasure in the sort
f meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a
play, and with you. But it had better not be attempted,
pe haps.”
 PERSUASION. 415

She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done,
conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not
even to try to observe their effect.
It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be
the day, Charles only reserving the advantage of still teas
ing his wife, by persisting that he would go to the play to
morrow, if nobody else would.
Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire
place; probably for the sake of walking away from it soon
afterwards, and taking a station, with less barefaced design,
by Anne.
“You have not been long enough in Bath,” said he,
“to enjoy the evening parties of the place.”
“Oh no. The usual character of them has nothing
for me. I am no card-player.”
“You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to
like cards; but time makes many changes.”
“I am not yet so much changed,” cried Anne, and
stopped, fearing she hardly knew what misconstruction.
After waiting a few moments he said — and as if it were
the result of immediate feeling – “It is a period, indeed!
Eight years and a half is a period 1”
Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to
Anne's imagination to ponder over in a calmer hour; for
while still hearing the sounds he had uttered, she was
startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager to make use
of the present leisure for getting out, and calling on her
companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should
come in.
They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being
perfectly ready, and tried to look it; but she felt that
could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctance of
her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing to quit the
room, she would have found, in all her own sensations
for her cousin, in the very security of his affection, where
with to pity her.
Their preparations, however, were stopped short.
Alarming sounds were heard; other visiters approached,
and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss
Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne
416 PERSUASION,

felt an instant oppression, and, wherever she looked, saw

symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom, the
gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure,
determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless
elegance of her father and sister. How mortifying to feel
that it was so !
Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain
Wentworth was acknowledged again by each, by Eliza
beth more graciously than before. She even addressed
him once, and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth
was, in fact, revolving a great measure. The sequel ex
plained it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying
the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation which
was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Mus
groves. “To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends, no
formal party.” It was all said very gracefully, and the
cards with which she had provided herself, the “Miss
Elliot at home,” were laid on the table, with a courteous,
comprehensive smile to all, and one smile and one card
more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was,
that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath, to under
stand the importance of a man of such an air and appear
ance as his. The past was nothing. The present was
that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her
drawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and Sir
Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.
* The interruption had been short, though severe; and
ease and animation returned to most of those they left, as
the door shut them out, but not to Anne. She could
think only of the invitation she had with such astonish
ment witnessed; and of the manner in which it had been
received, a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather
than gratification, of polite acknowledgment rather than
acceptance. She knew him ; she saw disdain in his eye;
and could not venture to believe that he had determined to
accept such an offering as atonement for all the insolence
of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his
hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it. *y

“Only think of Elizabeth's including every body :

whispered Mary very audibly. “I do not wonder Captain
 PERSUASION. 417

Wentworth is delighted ! You see he cannot put the card

out of his hand.”
Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his
mouth form itself into a momentary expression of con
tempt, and turned away, that she might neither see nor
hear more to vex her.
The party separated. The gentlemen had their own
pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own business, and
they met no more while Anne belonged to them. She
was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all
the rest of the day; but her spirits had been so long ex
erted, that at present she felt unequal to move, and fit
only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent
as she chose. -

Promising to be with them the whole of the following

morning, therefore, she closed the fatigues of the present,
by a toilsome walk to Camden Place, there to spend the
evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of
Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay for the morrow's party, the fre
quent enumeration of the persons invited, and the conti
nually improving detail of all the embellishments which
were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in
Bath, while harassing herself in secret with the never
ending question, of whether Captain Wentworth would
come or not? They were reckoning him as certain, but,
with her, it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for
five minutes together. She generally thought he would
come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was
a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of
duty or disosetion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of
very opposite feelings.
She only roused herself from the broodings of this rest
less agitation, to let Mrs. Clay know that she had been
seen with Mr. Elliot three hours after his being supposed
to be out of Bath; for having watched in vain for some
intimation of the interview from the lady herself, she de
termined to mention it; and it seemed to her that there
was guilt in Mrs. Clay's face as she listened. It was
transient, cleared away in an instant; but Anne could
imagine she read there the consciousness of having, by
 PERSUASION.

wame complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing

aethority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half
an nour) to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on
Sir Walter. She exclaimed, however, with a very toler
able imitation of nature,—
“Oh dear! very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my
great surprise I met with Mr. Elliot in Bath Street ! I
was never more astonished. He turned back and walked
with me to the Pump-yard. He had been prevented set
ting off for Thornberry, but I really forget by what — for
I was in a hurry, and could not much attend, and I can
only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in
his return. He wanted to know how early he might be
admitted to-morrow. He was full of ‘to-morrow ; and
it is very evident that I have been full of it too, ever since
J entered the house, and learned the extension of your
plan, and all that had happened, or my seeing him could
never have gone so entirely out of my head.”

CHAPTER XI.

ONE day only had passed since Anne's conversation with Mrs.
Smith ; but a keener interest had succeeded, and she was
now so little touched by Mr. Elliot's conduct, except by its
effects in one quarter, that it became a matter of course, the
next morning, still to defer her explanatory visit in Rivers
Street. She had promised to be with the Musgroves from
breakfast to dinner. Her faith was plighted, and Mr.
Elliot's character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade's head,
must live another day.
She could not keep her appointment punctually, how
ever ; the weather was unfavourable, and she had grieved
over the rain on her friend's account, and felt it very much
on her own, before she was able to attempt the walk.
When she reached the White Hart, and made her way to
the proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving
quite in time, nor the first to arrive. The party before
 PERSUASION. 419

her were, Mrs. Musgrove talking to Mrs. Croft, and Captain

Harville to Captain Wentworth; and she immediately
heard that Mary and Henrietta, too impatient to wait, had
gone out the moment it had cleared, but would be back
again soon, and that the strictest injunctions had been left
with Mrs. Musgrove, to keep her there till they returned.
She had only to submit, sit down, be outwardly composed,
and feel herself plunged at once in all the agitations
which she had merely laid her account of tasting a little
before the morning closed. There was no delay, no waste
of time. She was deep in the happiness of such misery,
or the misery of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes
after her entering the room, Captain Wentworth said, –
“We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville,
now, if you will give me materials.”
Materials were all at hand, on a separate table; he went
to it, and nearly turning his back on them all, was en
grossed by writing.
Mrs. Musgrove was giving Mrs. Croft the history of her
eldest daughter's engagement, and just in that inconvenient
tone of voice which was perfectly audible while it pre
tended to be a whisper. Anne felt that she did not belong
to the conversation, and yet, as Captain Harville seemed
thoughtful and not disposed to talk, she could not avoid
hearing many undesirable particulars; such as, “how Mr.
Musgrove and my brother Hayter had met again and again
to talk it over; what my brother Hayter had said one day,
and what Mr. Musgrove had proposed the next, and what
had occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the young people
had wished, and what I said at first I never could consent
to, but was afterwards persuaded to think might do very
well,” and a great deal in the same style of open-hearted
communication— minutiae which, even with every advan
tage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs. Musgrove could
not give, could be properly interesting only to the princi
pale. Mrs. Croft was attending with great good-humour,
ano winenever she spoke at all, it was very sensibly. Anne
3One" she gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied
v. k."
“And so. ma'am, all these things considered.” said
 420 PERSUASION.

Mrs. Musgrove in her powerful whisper, “ though we

could have wished it different, yet, altogether, we did not
think it fair to stand out any longer; for Charles Hayter
was quite wild about it, and Henrietta was pretty near as
bad; and so we thought they had better marry at once,
and make the best of it, as many others have done before
them. At any rate, said I, it will be better than a long
engagement.”
“That is precisely what I was going to observe,”
cried Mrs. Croft. “I would rather have young people
settle on a small income at once, and have to struggle with
a few difficulties together, than be involved in a long en
gagement. I always think that no mutual —- *
“Oh ! dear Mrs. Croft,” cried Mrs. Musgrove, unable
to let her finish her speech, “there is nothing I so abo
minate for young people as a long engagement. It is what
I always protested against for my children. It is all very
well, I used to say, for young people to be engaged, if there
is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months, or
even in twelve; but a long engagement '''
“Yes, dear ma'am,” said Mrs. Croft, “ or an uncertain
engagement; an engagement which may be long. To be
gin without knowing that at such a time there will be the
means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise;
and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they
can.”
Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt it
in its application to herself — felt it in a nervous thrill all
over her; and at the same moment that her eyes instinctively
glanced towards the distant table, Captain Wentworth's pen
ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing, listening, and
he turned round the next instant to give a look — one
quick, conscious look at her.
The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same
admitted truths, and enforce them with such examples of
the ill effect of a contrary practice as had fallen within
their observation, but Anne heard nothing distinctly; it
was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in con
fusion.

Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none

 PERSUASION. 421

of it, now left his seat, and moved to a window; and

Anne, seeming to watch him, though it was from thorough
absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he was in
viting her to join him where he stood. He looked at her
with a smile, and a little motion of the head, which ex
pressed, “Come to me, I have something to say;” and
the unaffected, easy kindness of manner which denoted the
feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was,
strongly enforced the invitation. She roused herself and
went to him. The window at which he stood was at the
other end of the room from where the two ladies were sit
ting; and though nearer to Captain Wentworth's table, not
very near. As she joined him, Captain Harville's counte
nance reassumed the serious, thoughtful expression which
seemed its natural character.
“Look here,” said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand,
and displaying a small miniature painting, “do you know
who that is ?”
“Certainly, Captain Benwick.”
“Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But,” in a
deep tone, “it was not done for her. Miss Elliot, do you
-emember our walking together at Lyme, and grieving for
him? I little thought then — but no matter. This was
drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young German
artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my
poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her.
And I have now the charge of getting it properly set for
another ! It was a commission to me ! But who else was
there to employ ? I hope I can allow for him. I am not
sorry, indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes
it:” looking towards Captain Wentworth, “he is writing
about it now.” And with a quivering lip he wound up the
whole by adding, “Poor Fanny she would not have for
gotten him so soon.”
“No,” replied Anne, in a low feeling voice, “that I
can easily believe.” -

“It was not in her nature. She doted on him.”

“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly
loved.”
Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, “Do yon
422 PERSUASION.

claim that for your sex P” and she answered the question,
smiling also, “Yes. We certainly do not forget you so
soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than
our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home,
quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are
forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits,
business of some sort or other, to take you back into the
world immediately, and continual occupation and change
soon weaken impressions.”
“Granting your assertion that the world does all this so
soon for men, (which, however, I do not think I shall
grant,) it does not apply to Benwick. He has not been
forced upon any exertion. The peace turned him on shore
at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in
our little family circle, ever since.”
“True,” said Anne, “very true; I did not recollect ;
but what shall we say now, Captain Harville? If the
change be not from outward circumstances, it must be
from within; it must be nature, man's nature, which has
done the business for Captain Benwick.” .
“No, no, it is not man's nature. I will not allow it to
be more man's nature than woman's to be inconstant and
forget those they do love, or have loved. I believe the re
verse. I believe in a true analogy between our bodily
frames and our mental ; and that as our bodies are the
strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most
rough usage, and riding out the heaviest weather.”
“Your feelings may be the strongest,” replied Anne,
“but the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert
that ours are the most tender. Man is more robust than
woman, but he is not longer lived; which exactly explains
my view of the nature of their attachments. Nay, it
would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You
Wave difficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to
struggle with. You are always labouring and toiling, ex
posed to every risk and hardship. Your home count. v.
friends, all united. Neither time, nor health, nor II*e, to he
called your own. It would be too hard, indeed,” (wn, n a
faltering voice,) “if woman's feelings were to be aadeq o
all this.”
 PERSUASION. 423

“We shall never agree upon this question.” Captain

Harville was beginning to say, when a slight moise called
their attention to Captain Wentworth's hitherto perfectly
quiet division of the room. It was nothing more than
that his pen had fallen down; but Anne was startled at
finding him nearer than she had supposed, and half inclined
to suspect that the pen had only fallen, because he had
been occupied by them, striving to catch sounds, which
yet she did not think he could have caught.
“Have you finished your letter?” said Captain Harville.
“Not quite—a few lines more. I shall have done in five
minutes.”
“There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready when.
ever you are. I am in very good anchorage here,” smiling
at Anne, “well supplied, and want for nothing. No hurry
for a signal at all. Well, Miss Elliot,” lowering his voice,
“ as I was saying, we shall never agree, I suppose, upon
this point. No man and woman would, probably. But let
me observe that all histories are against you—all stories,
prose and verse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I
could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side
of the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in
my life which had not something to say upon woman's in
constancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickle
ness. But, perhaps, you will say, these were all written by
men.”
“Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference
to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of
us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in
so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands.
I will not allow books to prove any thing.”
“But how shall we prove anything?”
“We never shall. We never can expect to prove any
thing upon such a point. It is a difference of opinion which
does not admit of proof. We each begin, probably, with a
little bias towards our own sex; and upon that bias build
'very circumstance in favour of it which has occurred within
our own circle; many of which circumstances (perhaps
those very cases which strike us the most) may be precisely
such as cannot be brought forward without betraying a con
424 PERSUASION.

fidence, or, in some respect, saying what should not be

said.”
“Ah!” cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feel
ing, “ if I could but make you comprehend what a man
suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children,
and watches the boat that he has sent them off in, as long as
it is in sight, and then turns away and says, “God knows
whether we ever meet again!’ And then, if I could con
vey to you the glow of his soul when he does see them
again; when coming back after a twelvemonth's absence,
perhaps, and obliged to put into another port, he calculates
how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to
deceive himself, and saying, “They cannot be here till
such a day, but all the while hoping for them twelve hours
sooner, and seeing them arrive at last, as if Heaven had
given them wings, by many hours sooner still ! If I could
explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do,
and glories to do, for the sake of these treasures of his ex
istence! I speak, you know, only of such men as have
hearts!” pressing his own with emotion.
“Oh !” cried Anne, eagerly, “I hope I do justice to
all that is felt by you, and by those who resemble you. God
forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feel
ings of any of my fellow-creatures. I should deserve utter
contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and
constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you
capable of every thing great and good in your married lives.
I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every
domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed the
expression—so long as you have an object. I mean, while
the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the pri
vilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one,
you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when ex
istence or when hope is gone."
She could not immediately have uttered another sentence;
her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.
“You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville, putting
his hand on her arm, quite affectionately. “There is no
quarrelling with vou. And when I think of Benwick, my
tongue is tied."
 PERSUASION. 425

Their attention was called towards the others. Mr1

Croft was taking leave.
“Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,"
said she. “I am going home, and you have an engage
ment with your friend. To-night we may have the plea
sure of all meeting again, at your party,’” turning to Anne.
“We had your sister's card yesterday, and I understood
Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it—and you
are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as our
selves?”
Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great
haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.
“Yes,” said he, “very true; here we separate, but
Harville and I shall soon be after you; that is, Harville, if
you are ready, I am in half a minute. I know you will
not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your service in half a
minute.”
Mrs. Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having
sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and
had even a hurried, agitated air, which showed impatience
to be gone. Anne knew not how to understand it. She
had the kindest “Good morning, God bless you!” from
Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look |
He had passed out of the room without a look!
She had only time, however, to move closer to the table
where he had been writing, when footsteps were heard re
turning; the door opened; it was himself. He begged
their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves, and instantly
crossing the room to the writing table, and standing with
his back towards Mrs. Musgrove, he drew out a letter from
under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with eyes
of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a moment, and hastily
collecting his gloves, was again out of the room, almost
before Mrs. Musgrove was aware of his being in it—the
work of an instant !
The revolution which one instant had made in Anne was
almost beyond expression. The letter, with a direction
hardly legible, to “Miss A. E. ,” was evidently the
one which he had been folding so hastily. While supposed
to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also
426 PERSUASION,

addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended

all which this world could do for her ! Any thing was pos
sible, any thing might be defied rather than suspense. Mrs.
Musgrove had little arrangements of her own at her own
table; to their protection she must trust, and, sinking into
the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very
spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured
the following words:—
“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you
by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my
soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am
too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I
offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own,
than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his
love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.
Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been,
but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath.
For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this?
Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not
waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings,
as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly
write. I am every instant hearing something which over
powers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the
tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too
good, too excellent creature ! You do us justice, indeed.
You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy
among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undevi
ating, in
“F. W.

“I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return.

hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word,
a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your
father's house this evening, or never.”
Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Half
an hour's solitude and reflection might have tranquillised
her; but the ten minutes only, which now passed before
she was interrupted, with all the restraints of her situation,
could do nothing towards tranquillity. Every moment ra
 PERSUASION. 427

ther brought fresh agitation. It was an overpowering hap

piness. And before she was beyond the first stage of full
sensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta, all came in.
The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced
then an immediate struggle; but after a while she could
do no more. She began not to understand a word they
said, and was obliged to plead indisposition and excuse her
self. They could then see that she looked very ill — were
shocked and concerned — and would not stir without her
for the world. This was dreadful. Would they only
have gone away, and left her in the quiet possession of that
room, it would have been her cure ; but to have them all
standing or waiting around her was distracting, and, in de
speration, she said she would go home.
“By all means, my dear,” cried Mrs. Musgrove, “go
home directly, and take care of yourself, that you may be
fit for the evening. I wish Sarah was here to doctor you,
but I am no doctor myself. Charles, ring and order a
chair. She must not walk.”
But the chair would never do. Worse than all ! To
lose the possibility of speaking two words to Captain
Wentworth in the course of her quiet, solitary progress up
the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting him)
could not be borne. The chair was earnestly protested
against; and Mrs. Musgrove, who thought only of one
sort of illness, having assured herself, with some anxiety,
that there had been no fall in the case; that Anne had not,
at any time lately, slipped down, and got a blow on her
head; that she was perfectly convinced of having had no
fall; could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding
her better at night.
Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled.
and said, -
“I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly under
stood. Pray be so good as to mention to the other gentle
men that we hope to see your whole party this evening. I
*m afraid there has been some mistake; and I wish you
particularly to assure Captain Harville, and Captain Went
worth, that we hone to see them both.”
428 PERSUASION.

“Oh, my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my

word. Captain Harville has no thought but of going.”
“Do you think so ? But I am afraid; and I should
be so very sorry. Will you promise me to mention it
when you see them again P You will see them both
again this morning, I dare say. Do promise me.”
“To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if you
see Captain Harville any where, remember to give Miss
Anne's message. But, indeed, my dear, you need not be
uneasy. Captain Harville holds himself quite engaged, I'll
answer for it; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare
say.”
Anne could do no more ; but her heart prophesied some
mischance, to damp the perfection of her felicity. It
could not be very lasting, however. Even if he did not
come to Camden Place himself, it would be in her power
to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.
Another momentary vexation occurred. Charles, in his
real concern and good nature, would go home with her:
there was no preventing him. This was almost cruel.
But she could not be long ungrateful; he was sacrificing
an engagement at a gunsmith's, to be of use to her; and
she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude appa
rent.

They were in Union Street, when a quicker step behind,

a something of familiar sound, gave her two moments'
preparation for the sight of Captain Wentworth. He
joined them ; but, as if irresolute whether to join or to pass
on, said nothing — only looked. Anne could command
herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively.
The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and the
movements which had hesitated were decided. He walked
by her side. Presently, struck by a sudden thought,
Charles said,—
“Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? only
to Gay Street, or farther up the town P”
“I hardly know,” replied Captain Wentworth, sur
prised.
“Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going
near Camden Place? Because, if you are, I shall have ne
 PERSuAston. 429

seruple in asking you to take my place, and give A-nne

wour arm to her father's door. She is rather done for this
morning, and must not go so far without help ; and I
ought to be at that fellow's in the market place. He pro
mised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going te send
off; said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible
moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back
now, I have no chance. By his description, a good deal
like the second-sized double-barrel of mine, which you
shot with one day round Winthrop.”
There could not be an objection. There could be only
a most proper alacrity, a most obliging compliance for
public view ; and smiles reined in and spirits dancing in
private rapture. In half a minute, Charles was at the
bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceed
ing together; and soon words enough had passed between
them to decide their direction towards the comparatively
quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of convers
ation would make the present hour a blessing indeed ; and
prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest re
collections of their own future lives could bestow. There
they exchanged again those feelings and those promises
which had once before seemed to secure every thing, but
which had been followed by so many, many years of di
vision and estrangement. There they returned again into
the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union
than when it had been first projected; more tender, more
tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other's character
truth, and attachment; more equal to act, more justified in
acting. And there, as they slowly paced the gradual
ascent, heedless of every group around them, seeing neither
sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls,
nor nursery-maids and children, they could indulge in
those retrospections and acknowledgments, and especially in
those explanations of what had directly preceded the pre
sent moment, which were so poignant and so ceaseless in
interest. All the little variations of the last week were
gone through; and of yesterday and to-day there could
scarcely be an end.
She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr. Elliot
18
430 PERSUASION.

lad been the retarding weight, the doubt, the torment.

That had begun to operate in the very hour of first meet .
ing her in Bath; that had returned, after a short suspen
sion, to ruin the concert; and that had influenced him in
every thing he had said and done, or omitted to say and do
in the last four-and-twenty hours. It had been gradually
yielding to the better hopes which her looks, or words, or
actions, occasionally encouraged; it had been vanquished at
last by those sentiments and those tones which had reached
him while she talked with Captain Harville; and under the
irresistible governance of which he had seized a sheet of
paper, and poured out his feelings.
Of what he had then written nothing was to be retracted
or qualified. He persisted in having loved none but her.
She had never been supplanted. He never even believed
himself to see her equal. Thus much, indeed, he was
obliged to acknowledge — that he had been constant un
consciously, nay unintentionally; that he had meant to
forget her, and believed it to be done. He had imagined
himself indifferent, when he had only been angry; and he
had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a suf
ferer from them. Her character was now fixed on his
mind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest me
dium of fortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to
acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he learnt to do
her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to under
stand himself.
At Lyme, he had received lessons of Inore than one sort.
The passing admiration of Mr. Elliot had at least roused
him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at Captain Harville's
had fixed her superiority.
In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa
Musgrove (the attempts of angry pride), he protested that
he had for ever felt it to be impossible; that he had not
cared, could not care, for Louisa ; though, till that day, till
the leisure for reflection which followed it, he had not un
derstood the perfect excellence of the mind with which
Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison; or the perfect,
unrivalled hold it possessed over his own. There, he had
learnt to distinguish between the steadiness cf principle and
 PERSUASION. 431

the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedless

ness and the resolution of a collected mind. There, he
had seen every thing to exalt in his estimation the woman
he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the
folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him
from trying to regain her when thrown in his way.
From that period his penance had become severe. He
had no sooner been free from the horror and remorse
attending the first few days of Louisa's accident, no sooner
begun to feel himself alive again, than he had begun to
feel himself, though alive, not at liberty.
“I found,” said he, “ that I was considered by Har
ville an engaged man That neither Harville nor his wife
entertained a doubt of our mutual attachment. I was
startled and shocked. To a degree, I could contradict
this instantly; but, when I began to reflect that others
might have felt the same — her own family, nay, perhaps
herself—I was no longer at my own disposal, I was hers
in honour if she wished it. I had been unguarded. I had
not thought seriously on this subject before. I had not
considered that my excessive intimacy must have its danger
of ill consequence in many ways; and that I had no right
to be trying whether I could attach myself to either of
the girls, at the risk of raising even an unpleasant report,
were there no other ill effects. I had been grossly wrong,
and must abide the consequences.”
He found too late, in short, that he had entangled him.
self; and that precisely as he became fully satisfied of his
not caring for Louisa at all, he must regard himself as
bound to her, if her sentiments for him were what the
Harvilles supposed. It determined him to leave Lyme,
and await her complete recovery elsewhere. He would
gladly weaken, by any fair means, whatever feelings or
speculations concerning him might exist; and he went,
therefore, to his brother's, meaning after a while to return
to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.
“I was six weeks with Edward,” said he, “ and saw
him happy. I could have no other pleasure. I deserved
none He enquired after you very particularly; asked
482 PFRSUAS10N.

even if you were personally altered, little suspecting that

to my eye you could never alter."
Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a
blunder for a reproach. It is something for a woman to
be assured, in her eight-and-twentieth year, that she has
not lost one charm of earlier youth: but the value of such
homage was inexpressibly increased to Anne, by compar
ing it with former words, and feeling it to be the result,
not the cause, of a revival of his warm attachment.
He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness
of his own pride, and the blunders of his own calculations,
till at once released from Louisa by the astonishing and
felicitous intelligence of her engagement with Benwick.
“Here,” said he, “ended the worst of my state; for
now I could at least put myself in the way of happiness,
I could exert myself, I could do something. But to be
waiting so long in inaction, and waiting only for evil, had
been dreadful. Within the first five minutes I said, ‘I
will be at Bath on Wednesday, and I was. Was it
unpardonable to think it worth my while to come P and to
arrive with some degree of hope? You were single. It
was possible that you might retain the feelings of the past,
as I did; and one encouragement happened to be mine. I
could never doubt that you would be loved and sought by
others, but I knew to a certainty that you had refused one
man, at least, of better pretensions than myself; and I
could not help often saying, “Was this for me?”
Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to
be said, but the concert still more. That evening seemed
to be made up of exquisite moments. The moment of her
stepping forward in the octagon-room to speak to him, the
moment of Mr. Elliot's appearing and tearing her away,
and one or two subsequent moments, marked by returning
hope or increasing despondence, were dwelt on with
energy.
“To see you,” cried he, “in the midst of those who
could not be my well-wishers; to see your cousin close by
you, conversing and smiling, and feel all the horrible eligi
bilities and proprieties of the match ! To consider it as
the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence
 PERSUASION. 433

you! Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indif.

ferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his !
Was it not enough to make the fool of me which I appeared ?
How could I look on without agony? Was not the very
sight of the friend who sat behind you, was not the recol
lection of what had been, the knowledge of her influence
the indelible, immovable impression of what persuasion had
once done – was it not all against me?”
“You should have distinguished,” replied Anne,
“You should not have suspected me now ; the case so dif
ferent, and my age so different. If I was wrong in yield
ing to persuasion once, remember that it was to persua
sion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk. When
I yielded, I thought it was to duty; but no duty could be
called in aid here. In marrying a man indifferent to me,
all risk would have been incurred, and all duty violated.”
“Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus,” he replied,
“but I could not. I could not derive benefit from the
iate knowledge I had acquired of your character. I could
not bring it into play: it was overwhelmed, buried, lost in
those earlier feelings which I had been smarting under
year after year. I could think of you only as one who
had yielded, who had given me up, who had been influ
enced by any one rather than by me. I saw you with the
very person who had guided you in that year of misery.
I had no reason to believe her of less authority now. The
force of habit was to be added.”
“I should have thought,” said Anne, “ that my man
ner to yourself might have spared you much or all of this.”
“No, no! your manner might be only the ease which
your engagement to another man would give. I left you
in this belief; and yet – I was determined to see you
again, My spirits rallied with the morning, and I felt
that I had still a motive for remaining here.”
At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any
one in that house could have conceived. All the surprise
and suspense, and every other painful part of the morning
dissipated by this conversation, she re-ente“l the house so
happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary
apprehensions of its heing impossible to last. An interval
434 PERSUASION.

of meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective

of every thing dangerous in such high-wrought felicity;
and she went to her room, and grew steadfast and fear
less in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.
The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up,
the company assembled. It was but a card-party, it was
but a mixture of those who had never met before, and
those who met too often — a common-place business, too
numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Anne
had never found an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely
in sensibility and happiness, and more generally admired
than she thought about or cared for, she had cheerful or
forbearing feelings for every creature around her. Mr.
Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him.
The Wallises; she had amusement in understanding them.
Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret; they would soon be
innoxious cousins to her. She cared not for Mrs. Clay,
and had nothing to blush for in the public manners of her
father and sister. With the Musgroves, there was the
happy chat of perfect ease; with Captain Harville, the
kind-hearted intercourse of brother and sister; with Lady
Russell, attempts at conversation, which a delicious con
sciousness cut short; with Admiral and Mrs. Croft, every
thing of peculiar cordiality and fervent interest, which the
same consciousness sought to conceal; - and with Captain
Wentworth some moments of communication continually
occurring, and always the hope of more, and always the
knowledge of his being there! ,

It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently

occupied in admiring a fine display of green-house plants,
that she said –
“I have been thinking over the past, and trying impar
tially to judge of the right and wrong, I mean with regard
to myself; and I must believe that I was right, much as I
suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided
by the friend whom you will love better than you do now.
To me, she was in the place of a parent. Do not mistake
me, however. I am not saying that she did not err in her
advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which ad
vice is good or bad only as the event decides; and for
 PERSU ASION. 435

myself, 1 certainly never should, in any circumstance of

tolerable similarity, give such advice. But I mean, that I
was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done
otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the
engagement than I did even in giving it up, because I
should have suffered in my conscience. I have now, as
far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, no
thing to reproach myself with ; and, if I mistake not, a
strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion.”
He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking
again at her, replied, as if in cool deliberation, ..
“Not yet. But there are hopes of her being forgiven
in time. I trust to being in charity with her soon. But
I too have been thinking over the past, and a question has
suggested itself, whether there may not have been one
person more my enemy even than that lady ? My own self.
Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight,
with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the La
conia, if I had then written to you, would you have an
swered my letter? would you, in short, have renewed the
engagement then ?”
“Would I l’’ was all her answer; but the accent was
decisive enough.
“Good God!” he cried, “ you would ! It is not that
I did not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone
crown all my other success. But I was proud, too proud
to ask again. I did not understand you. I shut my eyes,
and would not understand you, or do you justice. This
is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every
one sooner than myself. Six years of separation and
suffering might have been spared. It is a sort of pain,
too, which is new to me. I have been used to the gratifi
cation of believing myself to earn every blessing that I en
joyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just
rewards. Like other great men under reverses,” he addad
with a smile, “I must endeavour to subdue my mind to
my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I
deserve.” -
*36 PERSUASION

CHAPTER XII.

Who can be in doubt of what followed? When any two

young people take it into their heads to marry, they are
pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they
ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely
to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort. This
may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe it to
be truth; and if such parties succeed, how should a Cap
tain Wentworth and an Anne Elliot, with the advantage of
maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one inde
pendent fortune between them, fail of bearing down every
opposition? They might, in fact, have borne down a
great deal more than they met with, for there was little to
distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth.
Sir Walter made no objection, and Elizabeth did nothing
worse than look cold and unconcerned. Captain Went
worth, with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high
in his profession as merit and activity could place him,
was no longer nobody. He was now esteemed quite
worthy to address the daughter of a foolish, spendthrift
baronet, who had not had principle or sense enough to
maintain himself in the situation in which Providence had
placed him, and who could give his daughter at present
but a small part of the share of ten thousand pounds which
must be hers hereafter.
Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection for Anne,
and no vanity flattered, to make him really happy on the
occasion, was very far from thinking it a bad match for her.
On the contrary, when he saw more of Captain Wentworth,
saw him repeatedly by daylight, and eyed him well, he was
very much struck by his personal claims, and felt that his
superiority of appearance might be not unfairly balanced
against her superiority of rank; and all this, assisted by
his well-sounding name, enabled Sir Walter, at last, to pre
pare his pen, with a very good grace, for the insertion of
the marriage in the volume of honour.
 PERSUASION. 437

The only one among them whose opposition of feeling

could excite any serious anxiety was Lady Russell. Anne
knew that Lady Russell must be suffering some pain in
understanding and relinquishing Mr. Elliot, and be making
some struggles to become truly acquainted with, and do
justice to Captain Wentworth. This, however, was what
Lady Russell had now to do. She must learn to feel that
she had been mistaken with regard to both ; that she had
been unfairly influenced by appearances in each ; that be
cause Captain Wentworth's manners had not suited her
own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting them to
indicate a character of dangerous impetuosity; and that be
cause Mr. Elliot's manners had precisely pleased her in
their propriety and correctness, their general politeness and
suavity, she had been too quick in receiving them as the
certain result of the most correct opinions and well-regu
lated mind. There was nothing less for Lady Russell to
do, than to admit that she had been pretty completely wrong,
and to take up a new set of opinions and of hopes.
There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in
the discernment of character, a natural penetration, in short,
which no experience in others can equal, and Lady Russell
had been less gifted in this part of understanding than
her young friend. But she was a very good woman, and
if her second object was to be sensible and well-judging,
her first was to see Anne happy. She loved Anne better
than she loved her own abilities; and, when the awkward
ness of the beginning was over, found little hardship in at
taching herself as a mother to the man who was securing
the happiness of her other child.
Of all the family, Mary was probably the one most im
mediately gratified by the circumstance. It was creditable
to have a sister married, and she might flatter herself with
having been greatly instrumental to the connection, by keep
ing Anne with her in the autumn; and as her own sister
must be better than her husband's sisters, it was very agree
able that Captain Wentworth should be a richer man than
either Captain Benwick or Charles Hayter. She had some
thing to suffer, perhaps, when they came into contact again,
ir seeing Anne restored to the rights of seniority, and the
4.38 PERSUASION.

mistress of a very pretty landaulette; but she had a futun,

to look forward to, of powerful consolation. Anne had no
Uppercross Hall before her, no landed estate, no headship
of a family; and if they could but keep Captain Went
worth from being made a baronet, she would not change
situations with Anne.
It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally
satisfied with her situation, for a change is not very pro
bable there. She had soon the mortification of seeing Mr.
Elliot withdraw ; and no one of proper condition has since
presented himself to raise even the unfounded hopes which
sunk with him.
The news of his cousin Anne's engagement burst on
Mr. Elliot most unexpectedly. It deranged his best plan
of domestic happiness, his best hope of keeping Sir Walter
single by the watchfulness which a son-in-law's rights
would have given. But, though discomfited and disap
pointed, he could still do something for his own interest
and his own enjoyment. He soon quitted Bath; and on
Mrs. Clay's quitting it likewise soon afterwards, and being
next heard of as established under his protection in Lon
don, it was evident how double a game he had been play
ing, and how determined he was to save himself from be
ing cut out by one artful woman, at least.
Mrs. Clay's affections had overpowered her interest, and
she had sacrificed, for the young man's sake, the possibility
of scheming longer for Sir Walter. She has abilities, how
ever, as well as affections; and it is now a doubtful point
whether his cunning, or hers, may finally carry the day;
whether, after preventing her from being the wife of Sir
Walter, he may not be wheedled and caressed at last into
making her the wife of Sir William.
It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Elizabeth were
shocked and mortified by the loss of their companion, and
the discovery of their deception in her. They had their
great cousins, to be sure, to resort to for comfort; but they
must long feel that to flatter and follow others, without be
ing flattered and followed in turn, is but a state of half en
joyment.
Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady Russell's
 PERSUASION. 439

meaning to love Captain Wentworth as she ought, had no

other dicy to the happiness of her prospects than what arose
from the consciousness of having no relations to bestow on
him which a man of sense could value. There she felt
her own inferiority keenly. The disproportion in their for
rune was nothing; it did not give her a moment's regret;
but to have no family to receive and estimate him properly;
..othing of respectability, of harmony, of good-will to offer
in return for all the worth and all the prompt welcome
which met her in his brothers and sisters, was a source of
as lively pain as her mind could well be sensible of, under
circumstances of otherwise strong felicity. She had but
two friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell
and Mrs. Smith. To those, however, he was very well
disposed to attach himself. Lady Russell, in spite of all
her former transgressions, he could now value from his
heart. While he was not obliged to say that he believed
her to have been right in originally dividing them, he was
ready to say almost every thing else in her favour; and as
for Mrs. Smith, she had claims of various kinds to recom
mend her quickly and permanently.
Her recent good offices by Anne had been enough in
themselves; and their marriage, instead of depriving her of
one friend, secured her two. She was their earliest visitor
in their settled life; and Captain Wentworth, by putting
her in the way of recovering her husband's property in the
West Indies; by writing for her, acting for her, and see
ing her through all the petty difficulties of the case, with
the activity and exertion of a fearics: mali and a determined
friend, fully requited the services which she had rendered,
or ever meant to render, to his wife.
Mrs. Smith's enjoyments were not spoiled by this im
provement of income, with some improvement of health,
and the acquisition of such friends to be often with, for
her cheerfulness and mental alacrity did not fail her; and
while these prime supplies of good remained, she might
have bid defiance even to greater accessions of worldly pros
perity. She might have been absolutely rich and perfectly
healtnv, and yet be happy. Her spring of felicity was in
the glow of her spirits, as her friend Anne's was in the
440 PERSUASION.

warmth of her heart. Anne was tenderness itself, and she

had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth's affection.
His profession was all that could ever make her friends
wish that tenderness less; the dread of a future war all
that could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor's
wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belong
ing to that profession which is, if possible, more distin
guished in its domestic virtues than in its national import
gante, -

THE END
 -

--