its. J Co 
 
 /
 
 OF F4C5TIOJC 1 
 
 BYTHEMOST 
 
 CELEBRATED AUTHORS. 
 
 BELFAST, 
 SIMMS &MSINTYRE. 
 
 LONDON, 
 W. S.ORR &GO.
 
 VOLUME IV. 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK: 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY JANE AUSTEN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SENSE AND SENSIBILITY," " EMMA," ETC. 
 
 BELFAST: 
 
 SIMMS AND M'lNTYRE. 
 LONDON : W. S. ORR AND CO. AMEN CORNER. 
 
 1846.
 
 BELFAST : PRINTED BY SIMMS ASD M'lHTYBB.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOUT thirty years ago, 
 Miss Maria Ward of Hun- 
 tingdon, with only seven 
 thousand pounds, had the 
 good luck to captivate Sir 
 ^ Thomas Bertram, of Mans- 
 }> ) field Park, in the county of 
 Northampton, and to l:e 
 thereby raised to the rau'c 
 of a baronet's lady, with 
 all the comforts and con- 
 sequences of a handsome 
 house and large income. 
 All Huntingdon exclaimed 
 on the greatness of tha 
 match; and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to bo 
 at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it. 
 She had two sisters to be benefitted by her elevation ; and su Ji 
 of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances 
 quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their 
 marrying with almost equal advantage. But there certainly are 
 not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are 
 pretty women to deserve them. Miss Ward, at the end of half- 
 a-dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. 
 Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any 
 private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse. Miss Ward's 
 match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not contemptible, 
 Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an income in 
 (1) A
 
 2 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the living of Mansfield ; and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their 
 career of conjugal felicity -with very little less than a thousand a 
 year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to 
 disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, 
 without education, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly. 
 She could hardly have made a more untoward choice. Sir 
 Thomas Bertram had interest, which, from principle us well as 
 pride, from a general wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing 
 all that were connected with him in situations of respectability, 
 he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of Lady 
 Bertram's sister; but her husband's profe.-sion was such as no 
 interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any other 
 method of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters 
 had taken place. It was the natural result of the conduct of 
 each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage almost 
 always produces. To save herself from useless remonstrance, 
 Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actually 
 married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil 
 feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would have 
 contented herself wit li merely giving up her sister, and thinking 
 no more of the matter: but Mrs. Morris had a spirit of activity, 
 which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry 
 letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and 
 threaten her with all its possible ill consequences. Mi>. 1'ri.e, 
 in her turn, was injured and angry; and an answer, which 
 comprehended each sister in its bitterness, and bestowed such 
 very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir Thomas, as Mrs. 
 Norris could not iwssibly keep to herself, put an end to all 
 intercourse between them for a considerable period. 
 
 Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they 
 moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the niean.i of ever 
 hearing of each other's existence during the eleven following 
 years, or at least to make it very wonderful to .Sir Thomas, that 
 Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she 
 now and then did in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another 
 child. By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Trice could 
 no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one 
 connexion that might possilily a.v-ist her. A large; and still 
 increasing family, a husband disabled for active service, but not 
 the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small 
 income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the 
 friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady 
 Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despond- 
 ence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost 
 everything else, as could not but dispose them all to a recon- 
 ciliation. She was preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after 
 bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance an
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 3 
 
 sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how im- 
 portant she felt they might be to the 'future maintenance of the 
 eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, 
 a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world; but 
 what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter 
 useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property? 
 No situation would be beneath him or what did Sir Thomas 
 think of Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to the East? 
 
 The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and 
 kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, 
 Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris 
 wrote the letters. 
 
 Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a 
 more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. 
 Norris was often observing to the others, that she could not get 
 her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that, much as 
 they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more ; 
 and at length she could not but own it to be her wish, that poor 
 Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of 
 one child entirely out of her great number. 
 
 " What if they were among them to undertake the care of her 
 eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require 
 .more attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The 
 trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, compared 
 with the benevolence of the action." Lady Bertram agreed wi^h 
 her instantly. "I think we cannot do better," said she; "let 
 us send for the child." 
 
 Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a 
 consent. He debated and hesitated: it was a serious charge; 
 
 . a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there 
 
 would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her 
 family. He thought of his own four children of his two sons 
 
 of cousins in love, &c.; but no sooner had he deliberately 
 
 begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him 
 with a reply to them all, whether stated or not. 
 
 " My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do 
 justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions, which 
 indeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct; and I 
 entirely agree with you in the main as to the propriety of doing 
 everything one could by way of providing for a child one had in 
 a manner taken into one's own hands; and I am sure I should 
 be the last person in the world to withhold my mite upon such 
 an occasion. Having no children of my own, who should I 
 look to in any little matter I may ever have to !u .-stow, Lut the 
 children of my sisters'? and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just 
 but you know I am a woman of few words and professions. Do 
 not let us be frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a
 
 4 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world, and 
 ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without farther 
 expense to anybody. A niece of ours, Sir Thomas, I may say. 
 or, at least, of yours, would not grow up in this neighbourhood 
 without many advantages. I don't say she would be so hand- 
 some as her cousins. I dare say she would pot ; but she would 
 be introduced into the society of this country under such very 
 favourable circumstances as, in all human probability, would gi-t 
 her a creditable establishment. You are thinking of your sons 
 but do not you know that of all tilings upon earth that is the 
 least likely to happen; brought up as they would IK I , always 
 together like brothers and sisters? It is morally impossible. I 
 never knew an instance of it It is, in fact, the only sure way 
 of providing against the connexion. Suppose her a pretty girl, 
 and seen by .Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, 
 and I dare say there woidd be mischief. The very idea of her 
 having been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in 
 poverty and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear, 
 sweet-tempered boys in love with her. But breed her up with 
 them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of 
 an angel, and she will never be more to either than a sister." 
 
 " There is a great deal of truth in what you say," replied Sir 
 Thomas, " and far be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment. 
 in the way of a plan which would be so consistent with the 
 relative situations of each. I only meant to observe, that, it 
 ought not to be lightly engaged in, and that to make it really 
 serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must 
 secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to 
 her hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision of a 
 gentlewoman, if no such establishment should offer as you are so 
 sanguine in expeeting." 
 
 " I thoroughly understand you," cried Mrs. Xorris; "you are 
 everything that is generous and considerate, and I am sure we 
 shall never disagree on this point. "Whatever I can do, as you 
 well know, I am always ready enough to do for the good of those 
 I love; and, though I could never feel for tliis little girl the 
 hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor 
 consider her, in any respect, so much my own, I should hate 
 myself if I were capable of neglecting her. Is not she a sister's 
 child? and could I bear to see her want, while I had a bit of 
 bread to give her? My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I 
 have a warm heart ; and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself 
 the necessaries of life, than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you 
 are not against it, I will write to my poor sister to-morrow, and 
 make the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled, 7 will 
 engage to get the child to Mansfield; you shall have no trouble 
 about it, My own trouble, you know, I never regard. I will
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 5 
 
 send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed at 
 her cousin's, the saddler, and the child be appointed to meet her 
 there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by 
 the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may 
 chance to be going. I dare say there is always some reputable 
 tradesman's wife or other going up." 
 
 Except to the attack on Nanny's cousin, Sir Thomas no longer 
 made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical 
 rendezvous being accordingly substituted, everything was con- 
 sidered as settled, and the pleasures of so benevolent a scheme 
 were already enjoyed. The division of gratifying sensations 
 ought not, in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas 
 was fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the 
 selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of 
 being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as 
 walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly 
 benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to 
 others; but her love of money was equal to her love of directing, 
 and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that 
 of her friends. Having married on a narrower income than she 
 had been used to look forward to, she had, from the first, fancied 
 a very strict line of economy necessary ; and what was begun as 
 a matter of prudence, soon grew into a matter of choice, as an 
 object of that needful solicitude, which there were no children to 
 supply. Had there been a family to provide for, Mrs. Norris 
 might never have saved her money ; but having no care of that 
 kind, there was nothing to impede her frugality, or lessen the 
 comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they 
 had never lived u\> to. Under this infatuating principle, counter- 
 acted by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her 
 to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so 
 expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so h'ttle know 
 herself, as to walk home to the Parsonage, after this conversation, 
 in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and 
 aunt in the world. 
 
 When the subject waa brought forward again, her views were 
 more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram's calm 
 inquiry of " Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or 
 to us?" Sir Thomas heard with some surprise, that it would 
 be totally out of Mrs. Norris's power to take any share in the 
 personal charge of her. He had been considering her as a 
 particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable 
 companion to an aunt who had no children of her own ; but ho 
 found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say, 
 that the little girl's staying with them, at least as things then 
 were, was quite out of the question. Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent 
 state of health made it an impossibility : he could no more bear
 
 b MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the noise of a child than he could fly; if, indeed, he should ever 
 get well of his gouty complaints, it would be a different matter : 
 she should then be glad to take her turn, and think nothing of 
 the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris took tip every 
 moment of her time, and the very mention of such a. thing she 
 was sure woidd distract him. 
 
 " Then she had better come to us," said Lady Bertram, with 
 the utmost composure. After a short pause, Sir Thomas added 
 with dignity, " Yes, let her home be in this house. We will 
 endeavour to do our duty by her, and she will at least have the 
 advantage of companions of her own age, and of a regular 
 Instructress." 
 
 " Very true," cried Mrs. Norris, " which are both very impor- 
 tant considerations; and it will be just the same to Miss Lee, 
 whether she has three girls to teach, or only two there can be 
 no diiFerence. I only wish I could be more useful; but you see 
 I do all in my power. I am not one of those that spare their 
 own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put mo 
 to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days. 
 I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic, 
 near the old nurseries. It will be much the best place for her, 
 so near Miss Lee, and not far from the girls, and close by the 
 housemaids, who could either of them help to dress her, you know, 
 and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not think it 
 fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed, 
 I do not see that you could possibly place her anywhere else." 
 
 Lady Bertram made no opposition. 
 
 " I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl," continued Mrs. 
 Norris, " and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having 
 such friends." 
 
 " Should her disposition be really bad," said Sir Thomas, " we 
 must not, for our own children's sake, continue her in the family ; 
 but there is no reason to expect so great an evil. We shall 
 probably see much to wish altered in her, and must prepare 
 ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and 
 very distressing vulgarity of manner; but these are not incurable 
 faults; nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates. 
 Had my daughters been younger than herself, I should have 
 considered the introduction of such a companion as a matter of 
 very serious moment; but as it is, I hope there can be nothing 
 to fear for them, and everything to hope for her, from tha 
 association." 
 
 " That is exactly what I think," cried Mrs. ISTorris, "and what 
 I was saying to my husband this morning. It will be an 
 education for the child said I, only being with her cousins; if 
 Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and 
 clever from them."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 7 
 
 " I hope sho will not tcaso my poor pus," said Lady Bertram ; 
 " I have but just got Julia to leave it alone." 
 
 " There will bo some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris," 
 observed Sir Thomas, " as to the distinction proper to be made 
 between tlie girls ns they grow up: how to preserve in the minds 
 of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without 
 making them think too lowly of their cousin ; and how, without 
 depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is 
 not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good 
 friends, and would, on no account, authorize in my girls the 
 smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still 
 they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expec- 
 tations, will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, 
 and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the 
 right line of conduct." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was quite at his sen-ice ; and though she perfectly 
 agreed with him as to its being a most difficult thing, encouraged 
 him to hope that between them it would be easily managed. 
 
 It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to 
 her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a 
 girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but 
 accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her daugh- 
 ter's being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting 
 they would never have cause to throw her off. She spoke of her 
 farther as somewhat delicate and puny, but was sanguine in the 
 hope of her being materially better for change of air. Poor 
 woman ! she probably thought change of air might agree with 
 manv of her children. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ,ITE little girl performed her long journey in 
 v ' an( * at Northampton was met by Mrs. 
 ? Norris, who thus regaled in the credit of 
 i being foremost to welcome her, and in the 
 I importance of leading her in to the others, 
 [ and recommending her to their kindness. 
 
 Fanny Price was at this time just ten 
 ' years old, and though there might not be 
 much in her first appearance to captivate, there was, at least, 
 nothing to disgust her relations. She was small of her age, 
 with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty; 
 exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice: but her 
 air, though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and 
 Avhen she spoke her countenance wag pretty. Sir Thomas and
 
 8 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Lady Bertram received her very kindly ; and Sir Thomas, seeing 
 how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was 
 conciliating : but he had to work against a most untoward gravity 
 of deportment ; and Lady Bertram, without taking half so much 
 trouble, or speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere 
 aid of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less 
 awful character of the two. 
 
 The young people were all at home, and sustained their share 
 in the introduction very well, with much good humour, and no 
 embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who, at seventeen 
 and sixteen, and tall of their age, had all the grandeur of men in 
 the eyes of their little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss 
 from being younger and in greater awe of their father, who 
 addressed them on the occasion with rather an injudicious 
 particularity. But they were too much used to company and 
 praise, to have anything like natural shyness ; and their confi- 
 dence increasing from their cousin's total want of it, they were 
 soon able to take a full survey of her face and her frock in easy 
 indifference. 
 
 They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well 
 looking, the daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them 
 well-grown and forward of their age, which produced as striking 
 a difference between the cousins in person, as education had given 
 to their address; and no one would have supposed the girls so 
 nearly of an age as they really were. There was in fact but 
 two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia Bertram was 
 only twelve, and Maria but a year older. The little visiter 
 meanwhile was as unhappy as possible. Afraid of everybody, 
 ashamed of herself, and longing for the home she had left, she 
 knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard, 
 or without crying. Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the 
 whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, 
 and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour 
 which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was 
 therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for 
 her not to be happy. The fatigue, too, of so long a journey, 
 became soon no trifling evil. In vain were the well-meant 
 condescensions of Sir Thomas, and all the officious prognostica- 
 tions of Mrs, Norris that she would be a good girl ; in vain did 
 Lady Bertram smile and make her sit on the sofa with hersolf and 
 pug, and vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards 
 giving her comfort; she could scarcely swallow two mouthfuls 
 before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming to be her likeliest 
 friend, she was taken to finish her sorrows in bed. 
 
 " This is not a very promising beginning," said Mrs. Norris, 
 when Fanny had left the room. "After all that I said to her 
 as we came along, I thought she would have behaved better; I
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 9 
 
 told her how much might depend upon her acquitting herself 
 well at first. I wish there may not be a little sulkiness of 
 temper her poor mother had a good deal: but we must make 
 allowances for such a child; and I do not know that her being 
 sorry to leave her home is really against her, for, with all its 
 faults, it was her home, and she cannot as yet understand how 
 much she has changed for the better; but then there is 
 moderation in all things." 
 
 It required a longer time, however, than Mrs. Norris was 
 inclined to allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty of Mansfield 
 Park, and the separation from everybody she had been used to. 
 Her feelings were very acute, and too little understood to be 
 properly attended to. Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody 
 put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort. 
 
 The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams the next day, on 
 purpose to afford leisure for getting acquainted with, and enter- 
 taining their young cousin, produced little union. They could 
 not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes, 
 and had never learnt French ; and when they perceived her to 
 be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they 
 coidd do no more than make her a generous present of some of 
 their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they 
 adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of 
 the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper. 
 
 Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in the 
 school-room, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was equally 
 forlorn, finding something to fear in every person and place. 
 She was disheartened by Lady Bertram's silence, awed by Sir 
 Thomas's grave looks, and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris's 
 admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on 
 her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee 
 wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her 
 clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea of the 
 brothers and sisters among whom she had always been important 
 as play-fellow, instructress, and nurse, the despondence that sunk 
 her little heart was severe. 
 
 The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console 
 her. The rooms were too large for her to move hi with ease ; 
 whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about 
 in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards 
 her own chamber to cry; and the little girl who was spoken of 
 in the drawing-room when she left it at night, as seeming so 
 desirably sensible of her peculiar good fortune, ended every day's 
 sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had passed in this 
 way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive 
 manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin-Edmund, 
 the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.
 
 10 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " My dear little cousin," said ho, with all the gentleness of an 
 excellent nature, " what can be the matter?" And sitting down 
 by her, was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so 
 surprised, and persuade her to speak openly. "Was she ill? 
 or was anybody angry with her? or had she quarrelled with 
 Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled about anything in her 
 lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, want anything 
 he could possibly get her, or do for her?" For a long while no 
 answer could be obtained beyond a " no, no not at all no, 
 thank you;" but he still persevered ; and no sooner had he begun 
 to revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained to 
 him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her. 
 
 " You are sorry to leave mamma, my dear little Fanny," said 
 he, " which shows you to be a very good gir! : but you must 
 remember that you are with relations and friends, who all love 
 you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk out in the 
 park, and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters.'' 
 
 On pursuing the subject, he found that dear as all these 
 brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them 
 who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William 
 whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William, 
 the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and 
 friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the 
 darling) in every distress. "William did not like she should 
 come away; he had told her he should miss her very much 
 indeed." "But William will write to you, I dare say." "Yes, 
 he had promised he would, but he had told her to write first." 
 "And when will you do it?' 1 She hung her head and answered, 
 hesitatingly, " She cb'd not know ; she had not any paper." 
 
 "If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper 
 and every other material, and you may write your letter when- 
 ever yon choose. Would it make you happy to write to 
 William?" 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 "Then let it be done now. Come with me into the breakfast- 
 room, we shall find everything there, and be sure of having the 
 room to ourselves." 
 
 "But, cousin will it go to the post?" 
 
 "Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall go with the other 
 letters; and, as your uncle will frank it, it will cost William 
 nothing." 
 
 "My uncle!" repeated Fanny, with a frightened look. 
 
 " Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it to my 
 father to frank." 
 
 Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offered no farther 
 resistance; and they went together into the breakfast-room, 
 where Edmund prepared her paper, and ruled her lines with all
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 1 
 
 the pood-will that her brother could himself have felt, and 
 probably with somewhat more exactness. He continued with 
 her the whole time of her writing, to assist her with his penknife 
 or his orthography* as either were wanted ; and added to these 
 attentions, which she felt very much, a kindness to her brother 
 which delighted her beyond all the rest. He wrote witli his own 
 hand his love to his cousin William, and sent him half a guinea 
 under the seal. Fanny's feelings on the occasion were such as 
 she believed herself incapable of expressing ; but her countenance 
 and a few artless words fully conveyed all their gratitude and 
 delight, and her cousin began to find her an interesting object. 
 He talked to her more, and, from all that she said, was convinced 
 of her having an affectionate heart, and a strong desire of doing 
 right; and he could perceive her to be farther entitled to atten- 
 tion, by great sensibility of her situation, and great timidity. 
 He had never knowingly given her pain, but he now felt that 
 she required more positive kindness, and with that view endea- 
 voured, in the first place, to lessen her fears of them all, and 
 gave her especially a great deal of good advice as to playing 
 with Maria and Julia, and being as merry as possible. 
 
 From this day Fanny grew more comfortable. She felt that 
 she had a friend, and the kindness of her cousin Edmund gave 
 her better spirits with everybody else. The place became less 
 strange, and the people less formidable; and if there were some 
 amongst them whom she could not cease to fear, she began at 
 least to know their ways, and to catch the best manner of 
 conforming to them. The little rusticities and awkwardnesses 
 which had at first made grievous inroads on the tranquillity of 
 all, and not least of herself, necessarily wore away, and she was 
 no longer materially afraid to appear be%re her uncle, nor did 
 her aunt Norris's voice make her start very much. To her 
 cousins she became occasionally an acceptable companion. Though 
 unworthy, from inferiority of age and strength, to bo their 
 constant associate, their pleasures and schemes were sometimes 
 of a nature to make a third very xiseful, especially when that 
 third was of an obliging, yielding temper; and they could not but 
 OMTI, when their aunt inquired into her faults, or their brother 
 Edmund urged her claims to their kindness, that " Fanny was 
 good-natured enough." 
 
 Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing 
 worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort of merriment 
 which a young man of seventeen will always think fair with a 
 child of ten. He was just entering into life, full of spirits, and 
 with all the liberal dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born 
 only for expense and enjoyment. His kindness to his little 
 cousin was consistent with his situation and rights : he made her 
 some very pretty presents, and laughed at her
 
 12 MANSFIELD PARK* 
 
 As her appearance and spirits improved, Sir Thomas and Mrs* 
 Norris thought with greater satisfaction of their benevolent plan ; 
 and it was pretty soon decided between them, that though far 
 from clever, she showed a tractable disposition, and seemed likely 
 to give them little trouble. A mean opinion of her abilities was 
 not confined to them. Fanny could read, work, and write, but 
 she had been taught nothing more ; and as her cousins found her 
 ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, 
 they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or 
 three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it 
 into the drawing-room. " Dear mamma, only think, my cousin 
 cannot put the map of Europe together or my cousin cannot 
 tell the principal rivers in Russia or she never heard of Asia 
 Minor or she does not know the difference between water- 
 colours and crayons! How strange! Did you ever hear any- 
 thing so stupid?" 
 
 " My dear," their considerate aunt would reply, " it is very 
 bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and 
 quick at learning as yourself." 
 
 "But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant! Do you know, 
 we asked her last night, which way she would go to get to 
 Ireland; and she said, slie should cross to the Isle of Wight. 
 She thinks of nothing but the Isle of Wight, and she calls it the 
 Island, as if there were no other island in the world. I am sure 
 I should have been ashamed of myself, if I had not known better 
 long before I was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time 
 when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least 
 notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat 
 the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of 
 their accession, and ni^t of the principal events of their reigns ! " 
 
 " Yes," added the other; "and of the Roman emperors as low 
 as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen mythology, and 
 all the metals, semi-metals, planets, and distinguished philoso- 
 phers," 
 
 "Very true, indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with 
 wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at 
 alL There is a vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in 
 everything else, and therefore you must make allowance for your 
 cousin, and pity her deficiency. And remember that, if you are 
 ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be 
 jnodest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal 
 more for you to learn." 
 
 "Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell 
 you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. Do you 
 know, she says she does not want to learn either music or 
 drawing." 
 
 " To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 13 
 
 a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things con- 
 sidered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should 
 be so, for, though you know (owing to me) your papa and 
 mamma are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all 
 necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are; on 
 the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a 
 difference." 
 
 Such were the councils by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form 
 her nieces' minds ; and it is not very wonderful that, with all 
 their promising talents and early information, they should be 
 entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-know- 
 ledge, generosity, and humility. In everything but disposition, 
 they were admirably taught. Sir Thomas did not know what 
 was wanting, because, though a truly anxious father, he was 
 not outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of his manner re- 
 pressed all the flow of their spirits before him. 
 
 To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the 
 .smallest attention. She had not time for such cares. She was 
 a woman who spent her days in sitting nicely dressed on a sofa, 
 doing some long piece of needle- work, of little use and no beauty, 
 thinking more of her pug than her children, but very indulgent 
 to the latter, when it did not put herself to inconvenience, guided 
 in everything important by Sir Thomas, and in smaller concerns 
 by her sister. Had she possessed greater leisure for the service 
 of her girls, she would probably have supposed it unnecessary, 
 for they were under the care of a governess, with proper masters, 
 and could want nothing more. As for Fanny's being stupid at 
 learning, " she could only say it was very unlucky, but some 
 people were stupid, and Fanny must take more pains: she did 
 not know what else was to be done ; and, except her being so 
 dull, she must add, she saw no harm in the poor little thing 
 and always found her very handy and quick in carrying mes- 
 sages, and fetcliing what she wanted." 
 
 Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity, was fixed 
 at Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer in its favour much of 
 her attachment to her former home, grew up there not unhappily 
 among her cousins. There was no positive ill-nature in Maria 
 or Julia; and though Fanny was often mortified by their treat- 
 ment of her, she thought too lowly of her own claims to feel 
 injured by it. 
 
 From about the time of her entering the family, Lady Bertram, 
 in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great deal of indolence, 
 gave up the house in town, which she had been used to occupy 
 every spring, and remained wholly in the country, leaving Sir 
 Thomas to attend his duty in Parliament, with whatever increase 
 or diminution of comfort might arise from her absence. In the 
 country, therefore, the Miss Bertrams continued to exercise their
 
 14 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 memories, practise their duets, and grow tall and womanly ; and 
 their father saw them becoming in person, manner, and accom- 
 plishments, everything that could satisfy his anxiety. His 
 eldest son was careless and extravagant, and had already given 
 him much uneasiness; but his other children promised him 
 nothing but good. His daughters, he felt, while they retained 
 the name of Bertram, must be giving it new grace, and in 
 quitting it, lie trusted, would extend its respectable alliances ; 
 and the character of Edmund, his strong good sense and up- 
 rightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, and 
 happiness to himself and all his connections. He was to be a, 
 clergyman. 
 
 Amid the cares and the complacency which his own children 
 suggested, Sir Thomas did not forget to do what he could for 
 the children of Mrs. Price: he assisted her liberally in the 
 education and disposal of her sons as they became old enough 
 for a determinate pursuit; and Fanny, though almost totally 
 separated from her family, was sensible of the truest satisfac- 
 tion in hearing of any kindness towards them, or of anything 
 at all promising in their situation or conduct. Once, and once 
 only in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being 
 with William. Of the rest she saw nothing; nobody seemed to 
 think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, 
 nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, 
 soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a 
 week with his sister in Northamptonshire, before he went to sea. 
 Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being 
 together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious 
 conference, may be imagined ; as well as the sanguine views and 
 spirits of the boy even to the last, and the misery of the girl 
 when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christinas 
 holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin 
 Edmund; and he told her such charming things of what "William 
 was to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession, as 
 made her gradually admit that the separation might have some 
 use. Edmund's friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for 
 Oxford made no change in his kind dispositions, and only af- 
 forded more frequent opportunities of proving them. Without 
 any display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing too 
 much, he was always true to her interests, and considerate of 
 her feelings, trying to make her good qualities understood, and 
 to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being more 
 apparent; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement. 
 
 Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support 
 could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise 
 of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her 
 miiid, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever,
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 15 
 
 to have a quick apprekensiop as well as good sense, and a fond- 
 ness for reading, which, properly directed, must bo an education 
 in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the 
 daily portion of lustory ; but he recommended the books which 
 charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected 
 her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what 
 she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise. 
 In return for such services, she loved him better than anybody in 
 tin; world except William ; her heart was divided between the 
 two. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 -^ ^ rst CVL ' nt f an y importance in the family 
 
 was *' ie ^ cat *' f ^ r - Korris, which happened 
 K'H Fanny was about iifteen, and necessarily 
 
 introduced alterations and novelties. Mrs. 
 
 Xorris, on quitting the Parsonage, removed 
 r first to the Park, and afterwards to a small 
 k house of Sir Thomas's in the village, and 
 
 consoled herself for the loss of her husband 
 by considering that she could do very well without him; and 
 for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter 
 economy. 
 
 The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, had his uncle died 
 a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some 
 friend to hold till he were old enough for orders. But Tom's 
 extravagance had, previous to that event, been so great, as to 
 render a different disposal of the next presentation necessary, 
 and the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of 
 the elder. There was another family living actually held for 
 Edmund; but though this circumstance had made the arrange- 
 ment somewhat easier to Sir Thomas's conscience, he could not 
 but feel it to be an act of injustice, and lie earnestly tried to 
 impress his eldest sou with the same conviction, in the hope of 
 its producing a better effect than anything he had yet been able 
 to say or do. 
 
 " I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified man- 
 ner; " I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust 
 I may pity your feelings as a brother on the occasion. You have 
 robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of 
 more than half the income which ought to be his. It may 
 hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I hope it will), to pro- 
 cure him better preferment ; but it must not be forgotten, that 
 no benefit of that sort would have been bevoud his natural claims
 
 16 MANSFIELD 1 J AKK. 
 
 on us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for the 
 certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the 
 urgency of your debts." 
 
 Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow ; but escaping 
 as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect, 
 first, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his 
 friends ; secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece 
 of work of it; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever 
 he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon. 
 
 On Mr. Norris's death, the presentation became the right of 
 a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield; and 
 on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to 
 disappoint Mr. Bertram's calculations. But "no, he was a 
 short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, plied well with good 
 things, would soon pop off." 
 
 He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children ; 
 and they entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair report of 
 being very respectable, agreeable people. 
 
 The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister- 
 in-law to claim her share in their niece, the change in Mrs. 
 Norris's situation, and the improvement in Fanny's age, seeming 
 not merely to do away any former objection to their living to- 
 gether, but even to give it the most decided eligibility; and as 
 his own circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, by 
 some recent losses on his West India estate, in addition to his 
 eldest son's extravagance, it became not undesirable to himself 
 to be relieved from the expense of her support, and the obligation 
 of her future provision. In the fulness of his belief that such a 
 thing must be, he mentioned its probability to his wife; and the 
 first time of the subject's occurring to her again, happening to be 
 when 'Fanny was present, she calmly observed to her, "So, 
 Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister. 
 How shall you like it?" 
 
 Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her 
 aunt's words, "Going to leave you?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, why should you be astonished? You have 
 been five years with us, and my sister always meant to take you 
 when Mr. Norris died. But you must come up and tack on my 
 patterns all the same." 
 
 The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unex- 
 pected. She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, 
 and could not love her. 
 
 " I shall be very sorry to go away," said she, with a faltering 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes, I dare say you will; that's natural enough. I suppose 
 you have had as little to vex you since you came into this house 
 as any creature in the world."
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 1 7 
 
 " I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny, modestly. 
 
 "No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you a very 
 good girl." 
 
 And am I never to live here again?" 
 
 "Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable home. 
 It can make very little difference to you, whether you arc in one 
 house or the other." 
 
 Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart: she could 
 not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think of living 
 with her aunt with anything like satisfaction. As soon as she 
 met with Kdmund, she told him her distv 
 "Cousin," said she, "something is going to happen whHi I 
 do not like at all ; and though you have often persuaded me into 
 being reconciled to things that I disliked at first, you will not be 
 able to do it now. I am going to live entirely with my aunt 
 Nbrris." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so. It is quite 
 settled. I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White 
 House, 1 suppose, as soon as she is removed there." 
 
 "Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I 
 should call it an excellent one." 
 
 " Oh, cousin ! " 
 
 " It has everything else in its favour. My aunt is acting like 
 a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing a friend 
 and companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love 
 of money does not interfere. You will be what you ought to be 
 to her. I hope it does not distress you very much, Fanny." 
 
 " Indeed it does : I cannot like it. I love tliis house and 
 everything in it : I shall love nothing there. You know how 
 uncomfortable I feel with her." 
 
 " I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child; but it 
 was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never knew how to 
 be pleasant to children. But you are now of an age to be 
 treated better; I think she is behaving better already; and when 
 you are her only companion, you mtist be important to her." 
 
 " I can never be important to any one." 
 
 "What is to prevent you?" 
 
 "Everything. My situation my foolishness and awkwardness." 
 
 "As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, 
 believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the 
 words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you 
 should not be important where you are known. You have good 
 sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful 
 heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to 
 return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend 
 and companion."
 
 1 8 MANSF1KLD PAKK. 
 
 "You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise; 
 " how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for tliinking so well of 
 me. Oh, cousin, if I am to go away, I shall remember your 
 goodness to the last moment of my life." 
 
 "Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at 
 such a distance as the White House. You speak as if you were 
 going two hundred miles off, instead of only across the park ; but 
 you will belong to us almost as much as ever. The two families 
 will be meeting every day in the year. The only difference will 
 be, that living with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought 
 forward as you ought to be. Here, there are too many whom 
 you can hide behind; but with her you will be forced to speak 
 for yourself." 
 
 " Oh, do not say so." 
 
 " I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs. Norris is 
 much bettor fitted than my mother for having the charge of you 
 now. She is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she 
 really interests herself about, and she will force you to do justice 
 to your natural powers." 
 
 Fanny sighed, and said, "I cannot see things as you do; but 
 I ought to believe you to be right rather than myself, and I am 
 very much obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to what 
 must be. If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me, it 
 would be delightful to feel myself of consequence to anybody ! 
 Here, I know I am of none, and yet I love the place so well." 
 
 " The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though you 
 quit the house. You will have as free a command of the park 
 and gardens as ever. Even your constant little heart need not 
 take fright at such a nominal change. You will have the same 
 walks to frequent, the same library to choose from, the same 
 people to look at, the same horse to ride." 
 
 " Very true. Yes, dear old grey pony. Ah, cousin, when I 
 remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave 
 me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good oh, how I have 
 trembled at my uncle's opening his lips if horses were talked 
 of; and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and 
 persuade me out of my fears, and convince me that I should like 
 it after a li ttle while, and feel how right you proved to be, I 
 am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well." 
 
 "And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris 
 will be as good for your mind as riding has been for your 
 health and as much for your ultimate happiness, too." 
 
 So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate 
 service it could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, for 
 Mrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking her. It had 
 never occurred to her, on the present occasion, but as a thing to 
 be carefully avoided. To prevent its being expected, she had
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 9 
 
 fixed on the smallest habitation which could rank as gnteel 
 among the buildings of Mansfield parish; the White House 
 being only just large enough to receive herself and her servants, 
 and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very 
 particular point. The spare rooms at the Parsonage had never 
 been wanted, but the absolute necessity of a spare room for a 
 friend was now never forgotten. Not all her precautions, how- 
 ever, could save her from being suspected of something better; 
 or, perhaps, her very display of the importance of a spare room 
 might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose it really intended for 
 Fanny. Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a certainty, 
 by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris, 
 
 " I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when 
 Fanny goes to live with you." 
 
 Mrs. Norris almost started. " Live with me, dear Lady 
 Bertram, what do you mean?" 
 
 "'Is not she to live with you? I thought you had settled it 
 with Sir Thomas." 
 
 " Me! never. I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thomas, 
 nor he to me. Fanny live with me ! the last thing in the world 
 for me to think of, or for anybody to wish that really knows us 
 both. Good heaven! what could I do with Fanny?-^-Me! a 
 poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfit for anything, my spirits 
 quite broken down ; what could I do with a girl at her time of 
 life, a girl of fifteen! the very age of all others to need most 
 attention and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test. 
 Sure Sir Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing! Sir 
 Thomas is too much my friend. Nobody that wishes me well, I 
 am sure, would propose it. How came Sir Thomas to speak to 
 you about it?" 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thought it best." 
 
 " But what did he say? He could not say he wished me to 
 take Fanny. I am sure in his heart he could not wish me to 
 do it." 
 
 "No; he only said he thought it very likely and I thought 
 so too. We both thought it would be a comfort to you. But 
 if you do not like it, there is no more to be said. She is no 
 incumbrance here." 
 
 " Dear sister! If you consider my unhappy state, how can she 
 be any comfort to me? Here am I, a poor desolate widow, 
 deprived of the best of husbands, my health gone in attending 
 and nursing him, my spirits still worse, all my peace in this 
 world destroyed, with barely enough to support me in the rank 
 of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so as not to disgrace 
 the memory of the dear departed; what possible comfort could 
 I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny ! If I could 
 wish it for my own sake, I would not do so unjust a thing by
 
 20 MANSFIELD 1'AHK. 
 
 the poor girl. She is in good hands, and sure of doing well. I 
 must struggle through my sorrows and difficulties as I c;:n." 
 " Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone? " 
 
 "Dear Lady Bertram! what am I fit for but solitude? Now 
 and then I shall hope to have a friend in my little cottage (I 
 shall always have a bed for a friend) ; but the most part of my 
 future days will be spent in utter seclusion. If I can but make 
 both ends meet, .that's all I ask for." 
 
 " I hope, sister, things arc not so very bad with you neither 
 considering Sir Thomas -says you will have six hundred a year." 
 
 " Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot live as 
 I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to bo 
 a better manager. I have been a liberal housekeeper enough, 
 but I shall not be ashamed to practise economy now. My 
 situation is as much altered as my income. A great many 
 things were due from poor Mr. Norris as clergyman of the parish 
 that cannot be expected from me. It is unknown how much 
 was consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At the 
 "\Vliite House, matters must be better looked after. I must live 
 within my income, or I shall be miserable; and I own it woidd 
 give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more to lay 
 by a little at the end of the year." 
 
 " I dare say you will. You always do, don't you?" 
 
 " My object, Lady Bertram, is to be of use to those that come 
 after me. It is for your children's good that I wish to be richer. 
 I have nobody else to care for ; but I should be very glad to 
 think I could leave a little trifle among them worth their 
 having." 
 
 ".You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about them. 
 They are sure of being well provided for. Sir Thomas will take 
 care of that." 
 
 " Why, you know Sir Thomas's means will be rather strait- 
 ened, if the Antigua estate is to make such poor returns." 
 
 " Oh, that will soon be settled. Sir Thomas has been writing 
 about it, I know." 
 
 " Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, " I 
 can only say that my sole desire is to be of use to your family; 
 and so, if Sir Thomas should ever speak again about my taking 
 Fanny, you will be able to say that my health and spirits put it 
 quite out of the question; besides that, I really should not have 
 a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend." 
 
 Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her 
 husband to convince him how much he had mistaken his sister- 
 in-law's views; and she was from that moment perfectly safe 
 from all expectation, or the slightest allusion to it from him. 
 He could not but wonder at her refusing to do anything for a 
 niece, whom she had been so forward to adopt; but, as she took
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 21 
 
 early care to make him, as well as Lady Bertram, understand 
 that whatever she possessed was designed for their family, he 
 soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same time that 
 it was advantageous and complimentary to them, would enable 
 him better to provide for Fanny himself. 
 
 Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears of a 
 removal; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on the dis- 
 covery, conveyed some consolation to Edmund for his disappoint- 
 ment in what he had expected to be so essentially serviceable to 
 her. Mrs. Norris took possession of the White House, the Grants 
 arrived at the Parsonage, and these events -over, everything at 
 Mansfield went on for some time as usual. 
 
 The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and sociable, 
 gave great satisfaction in the main among their new acquaintance. 
 They had their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out. 
 The Doctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good 
 dinner even' day; and Mrs. Grant, instead of contriving to 
 gratify him at little expense, gave her cook as high wages as 
 they did at Mansfield Park, and -was scarcely ever seen in her 
 offices. Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such 
 grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were 
 regularly consumed in the house. "Nobody loved plenty and 
 hospitality more than herself nobody more hated pitiful doings 
 the Parsonage, she believed, had never been wanting in 
 comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad character in her 
 time, but this was a way of going on that she could not under- 
 stand. A fine lady in a country parsonage was quite out of 
 place. Her store-room, she thought, might have been good 
 enough for Mrs, Grant to go into. Inquire where she would, 
 she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than 
 five thousand pounds." 
 
 Lady Bertram listened without much interest to this sort of 
 invective. She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist, 
 but she felt all the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant's being so 
 well settled in life without being handsome, and expressed her 
 astonishment on that point almost as often, though not so 
 diffusely, as Mrs. Norris discussed the other. 
 
 These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year, before 
 another event arose of such importance in the family, as might 
 fairly claim some place in the thoughts and conversation of the 
 ladies. Sir Thomas found it expedient to go to Antigua himself, 
 for the better arrangement of his affairs, and he took his eldest 
 son with him, in the hope of detaching him from some bad 
 connexions at home. They left England with the probability of 
 being nearly a twelvemonth absent. 
 
 The necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light, and the 
 hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to the effort
 
 22 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 of quitting the rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to 
 the direction of others at their present most interesting time of 
 life. He could not think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply 
 his place with them, or, rather, to perform what should have 
 been her own; but, in Mrs. Norris's watchful attention, and in 
 Edmund's judgment, he had sufficient confidence to make him go 
 without fears for their conduct. 
 
 Lady Bertram did not at all like to have her husband leave 
 her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, or 
 solicitude for his comfort, being one of those persons who think 
 nothing can be dangerous, or difficult, or fatiguing, to anybody 
 but themselves. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied on the occasion; 
 not for their sorrow, but for their want of it. Their father was 
 no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of 
 their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome. 
 They were relieved by it from all restraint ; and without aiming 
 at one gratification that would probably have been forbidden by 
 Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at their own dis- 
 posal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny's 
 relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her 
 cousins'; but a more tender nature suggested that her feelings were 
 ungrateful, and she really grieved because she could not grieve. 
 " Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers, 
 and who was gone perhaps never to return! that she should see 
 him go without, a tear! it was a shameful insensibility." He 
 had said to her, moreover, on the very last morning, that he 
 hoped she might see William again in the course of the ensuing 
 winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to Mansfield, 
 as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be known 
 to be in England. "This was so thoughtful and kind!" and 
 would he only have smiled upon her and called her " my dear 
 Fanny," wliile he said it, every former frown and cold address 
 might have been forgotten. But he had ended his speech in a 
 way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, " If William 
 does come to Mansfield, I hope yon may be able to convince him 
 that the many years which 'have passed since you parted have 
 not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; 
 though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects 
 too much like his sister at ten." She cried bitterly over this 
 reflection when her uncle was gone; and her cousins, on seeing 
 her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OM BERTRAM had of late spent so little of his 
 time at home, that he could be only nominally 
 mis-sod; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished 
 to lind how very well they did even without his 
 father, how well Edmund could supply his place 
 in can-ing, talking to the steward, writing to 
 the attorney, settling with the servants, and 
 equally saving her from all possible fatigue or 
 exertion in every particular, but that of directing her letters. 
 
 The earliest intelligence of the travellers' safe arrival in, 
 Antigua, after a favourable voyage, was received; though not 
 before Mrs. Norris had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and 
 trying to make Edmund participate them whenever she could get 
 him alone ; and as she depended on being the first person made 
 acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged 
 tiie manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's 
 assurances of their both being alive and well, made it necessary 
 to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatoiy speeches for 
 a while. 
 
 The winter came and passed without their being called for; 
 the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in 
 promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilettes, dis- 
 playing their accomplishments, and looking about for their 
 future husbands, had so much to do as, in addition to all her 
 own household cares, some interference in those of her sister, and 
 Mrs. Grant's wasteful doings to overlook, left her very little 
 occasion to be occupied even in fears for the absent. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the 
 belles of the neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and 
 brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy, and carefully 
 formed to general civility and obligingness, they possessed its 
 favour as well as its admiration. Their vanity was in such good 
 order, that they seemed to be quite free from it, and gave them- 
 selves no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour, 
 secured and brought round by her aunt, served to strengthen 
 them in believing they had no faults. 
 
 Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. 
 She was too indolent even to accept a mother's gratification in 
 witnessing their success and enjoyment at the expense of any 
 personal trouble, and the charge was made over to her sister, 
 who desired nothing better than a post of such honourable re- 
 presentation, and very thoroughly relished the means it afforded 
 her of mixing in society without having horses to hire.
 
 24 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she 
 enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's companion, when 
 they called away the rest of the family ; and, as Miss Lee had 
 k'ft Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertram 
 during the night of a ball or a party. She talked to her, listened 
 to her, read to her; and the tranquillity of such evenings, her 
 perfect security in such a tete-a-tete from any sound of unkind- 
 ness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom 
 know a pause hi its alarms or embarrassments. As to her 
 cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially 
 of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with ; but thought 
 too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be 
 admitted to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of 
 any nearer concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a com- 
 fortable winter to her; for though it brought no William to 
 England, the never-failing hope of his arrival was wortli much. 
 
 The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend the old 
 grey pony ; and for some time she was in danger of feeling the 
 loss in her health as well as in her affections ; for in spite of the 
 acknowledged importance of her riding on horseback, no measures 
 were taken for mounting her again, "because," as it was observed 
 by her aunts, " she might ride one of her cousins' horses at any 
 time when they did not want them;" and as the Miss Bertrams 
 regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had no idea of 
 carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice of any real 
 pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They took their 
 cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny 
 either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked be- 
 yond her strength at the instigation of the other ; Lady Bertram 
 holding exercise to be as unnecessary for everybody as it was 
 unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all 
 day, thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was 
 absent at this time, or the evil would have been earlier remedied. 
 AVhen he returned, and understood how Fanny was situated, and 
 perceived its ill effects, there seemed Math him but one thing to 
 be done; and that " Fanny must have a horse," was the resolute 
 declaration with which he opposed whatever could be urged by 
 the supineness of his mother, or the economy of his aunt, to 
 make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help think- 
 ing that some steady old tiling might be foiuid among the 
 numbers belonging to the Park, that would do vastly well ; or, 
 that one might be borrowed of the steward; or that perhaps Dr. 
 Grant might now and then lend them the pony he sent to the 
 post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unneces ..;;! y, 
 and even improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady's 
 horse of her own in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir 
 Thomas had never intended it; and she must say, that to be
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 25 
 
 making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great 
 expenses of his stable, at a time when a large part of his income 
 was unsettled, seemed to her very unjustifiable. " Fanny must 
 have a horse," was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Nbrris could not 
 sec it in the same light. Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed 
 with her son as to the necessity of it, and as to its being con- 
 sidered necessary by his father; she only pleaded against there 
 being any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's 
 return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. He 
 would be at home in September, and where would be the harm 
 of only waiting till September? 
 
 Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt 
 than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he 
 could not help paying more attention to what she said, and at 
 length determined on a method of proceeding which would ob- 
 viate the risk of his father's thinking he had done too much, and 
 at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of 
 exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He 
 had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a 
 woman. Two of them were hunters ; the third, a useful road- 
 horse: this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin 
 might ride; he knew where such a one was to be met with; and 
 having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon 
 completed. The new mare proved a treasure ; with a very little 
 trouble, she became exactly calculated for the purpose, and 
 Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. She had 
 not supposed before, that anything could ever suit her like the 
 old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far be- 
 yond any former pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever 
 receiving in the consideration of that kindness from wlu'ch her 
 pleasure sprung, was beyond all her words to express. She 
 regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, 
 as possessing worth, which no one but herself could ever appre- 
 ciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her, as no feelings 
 could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him 
 were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, 
 and tender. . 
 
 As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property 
 of Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use ; 
 and had Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection 
 again, he might have been excused in her eyes for not waiting 
 till Sir Thomas's return in September, for when September came, 
 Sir Thomas was still abroad, and without any near prospect of 
 finishing his business. Unfavourable circumstances had suddenly 
 arisen at a moment when he was beginning to turn all his 
 thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty in 
 which everything was then involved determined him on sending
 
 26 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 home his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. 
 Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's 
 health; but to very little purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was 
 concerned. Sir Thomas's sending away his son seemed to her 
 so like a parent's care, under the influence of a foreboding of evil 
 to himself, that she could not help feeling dreadful presentiments ; 
 and as the long evenings of autumn came on, was so terribly 
 haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage, as 
 to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of the Park. 
 The return of winter engagements, however, was not without its 
 effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so 
 pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest 
 niece, as tolerably to quiet her nerves. " If poor Sir Thomas 
 were fated never to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to 
 see their dear Maria well married," she very often thought; 
 always when they were in the company of men of fortune, and 
 particularly on the introduction of a young man who had re- 
 cently succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest places in 
 the country. 
 
 Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of 
 Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied him- 
 self in love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than 
 common sense; but as there was nothing disagreeable in his 
 figure or address, the young lady was well pleased with her 
 conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram 
 was beginning to think matrimony a duty ; and as a marriage 
 with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger 
 income than her father's, as well as ensure her the house in town, 
 which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of 
 moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if 
 she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous in promoting the 
 match, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance 
 its desirableness to either party; and, among other means, hy 
 seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother, who at present 
 lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram to 
 go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. 
 It was not long before a good understanding took place between 
 this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself 
 very desirous that her son should marry, and declared that of all 
 the young ladies she had ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her 
 amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best adapted to make 
 him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment, and admired 
 the nice discernment of character which could so well distinguish 
 merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all . 
 perfectly faultless an angel ; and, of course, so surrounded 1 >v 
 admirers, must be difficult in her choice : but yet, as far as Mrs. 
 Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance,
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 27 
 
 Mr. Rush worth appeared precisely the young man to deserve and 
 attach her. 
 
 After dancing with eacli other at a proper number of balls, the 
 young people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a 
 due reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much 
 to the satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general 
 lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, 
 felt the expediency of Mr. Rushworth's marrying Miss Bertram. 
 
 It was some months before Sir Thomas's consent could be 
 received; but, in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his 
 most cordial pleasure in the connection, the intercourse of the 
 two families was earned on without restraint, and no other 
 attempt made at secrecy, than Mrs. Morris's talking of it every- 
 where as a matter not to be talked of at present. 
 
 Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault 
 in the business; but no representation of his aunt's could induce 
 him to find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He coidd 
 allow his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he 
 was not pleased that her happiness should centre in a large in- 
 come; nor could he refrain from saying to himself, in Mr. Rush- 
 worth's company, " If tlus man had not twelve thousand a year, 
 he would be a very stupid fellow." 
 
 Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an 
 alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard 
 nothing but the perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connec- 
 tion exactly of the right sort, in the same county, and the 
 same interest, and his most hearty concurrence was conveyed 
 as soon as possible. He only conditioned that the marriage 
 should not take place before his return, which he was again 
 looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong 
 hopes of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving 
 Antigua before the the end of the summer. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in the month of July ; and Fanny 
 had just reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the 
 village received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. 
 Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the children of her mother by 
 a second marriage. They were young people of fortune. The 
 son had a good estate in Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand 
 pounds. As children, their sister had been always very fond of 
 them ; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed by the 
 death of their common parent, which left them to the care of a 
 brother of the father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she 
 had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle's house they had 
 found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though 
 agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these chil- 
 dren, or, at least, were no farther adverse in their feelings than 
 that each had their favourite, to whom they showed the greatest
 
 28 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted in the hoy, Mrs. 
 Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady's death which 
 now obliged her protegee, after some months' further trial at 
 her uncle's house, to find another homo. Admiral Crawford was 
 a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his 
 niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs. 
 Grant was indebted for her sister's proposal of coming to her, a 
 measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expe- 
 dient on the other ; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run 
 through the usual resources of ladies residing in the country 
 without a family of children, having more than filled her 
 favourite sitting-room with pretty furniture, and made a choice 
 collection of plants and poultry, was very much in want of 
 some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom 
 she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as long 
 as she remained single, was highly agreeable; and her chief 
 anxiety was, lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a 
 young woman who had been mostly used to London. 
 
 Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehen- 
 sions, though they arose principally from doubts of her sister's 
 style of living and tone of society ; and it was not till after she 
 had tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at 
 his own country-house, that she could resoh'e to hazard herself 
 among her other relations. To anything like a permanence of 
 abode, or limitation of society, Henry Crawford had, unluckily, 
 a great dislike; he could not accommodate his sister in an 
 article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the utmost 
 kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch 
 her away again, at half an hour's notice, whenever she were 
 weary of the place. 
 
 The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Craw- 
 ford found a sister without preciseness or rusticity a sister's 
 husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious 
 and well fitted ivp ; and Mrs. Grant received in those whom she 
 hoped to love better than ever, a young man and woman of very 
 prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was remarkably 
 pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; 
 the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant 
 immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was 
 delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object ; and 
 having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, she 
 thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister's. 
 She had not waited her arrival to look out for a suitable match 
 for her ; she had fixed on Tom Bertram ; the eldest son of a 
 Baronet Avas not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, 
 with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant 
 foresaw in her; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman,
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AHK. 29 
 
 Mary had not been three hours in the house before she told her 
 what she had planned. 
 
 Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence 
 so very near them, and not all displeased either at her sister's 
 early care, or the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her 
 object, provided she could marry well; and having seen Mr. 
 Bertram in town, she knew that objection could no more be made 
 to his person than to his situation in life. While she treated it 
 as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to think of it seriously. 
 The scheme was soon repeated to Henry. 
 
 "And now," added Mrs. Grant, " I have thought of something 
 to make it quite complete. I should dearly love to settle you both 
 in this country; and therefore, Hemy, you shall marry the 
 youngest Miss' Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured, ac- 
 complished girl, who will make you very happy." 
 
 Henry bowed and thanked her. 
 
 " My dear sister," said Mary, " if you can persuade him into 
 anything of the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to 
 find myself allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret 
 that you have not half-a-dozen daughters to dispose of. If you 
 can persuade Henry to marry, you must have the address of a 
 Frenchwoman. All that English abilities can do has been tried 
 already. I have three very particular friends who have been all 
 dying for Mm in their turn ; and the pains which they, their 
 mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt and my- 
 self, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is 
 inconceivable ! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. 
 If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broken, let 
 them avoid Henry." 
 
 " My dear brother, I will not believe this of you." 
 
 " No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than 
 Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. 
 I am of a cautious temper, and unwilling to risk my happim :-s 
 in a hurry. Nobody Can think more highly of the matrimonial 
 state than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most 
 justly described in those discreet lines of the poet, ' Heaven's last 
 best gift,' " 
 
 " There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and 
 only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable the 
 Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him." 
 
 " I pay very little regard," said Mrs. Grant, " to what any 
 young person says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a 
 disinclination for it, I only set it down that they have not yet 
 seen the right person." 
 
 Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling 
 no disinclination to the state herself.. 
 
 " Oh yes,. I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have every-
 
 30 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 body marry if they can do it properly : I do not like to have 
 people throw themselves away ; but everybody should marry as 
 soon as they can do it to advantage." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HE young people were pleased -with each 
 other from the first. On each side there was 
 5 much to attract, and their acquaintance soon 
 promised as early an intimacy as good 
 
 manners would warrant. Miss Crawford's 
 beauty did her no disservice with the Miss 
 Bertrams. They were too handsome them- 
 selves to dislike any woman for being so too, 
 and were almost as much charmed as their brothers with her 
 lively dark eye, clear brown complexion, and general prettiness. 
 Had she been tall, full formed, and fair, it might have been 
 more of a trial: but as it was, there could be no comparison; 
 and she was most allowably a sweet pretty girl, while they were 
 the finest young women in the country. 
 
 Her brother was not handsome: no, when they first saw him 
 he ATOS absolutely plain, black and plain ; but still he was the 
 gentleman, with a pleasing address. The second meeting proved 
 him not so very plain : he was plain, to be sure, but then he had 
 so much countenance, and his teeth were so good, and he was so 
 well made, that one soon forgot he was plain ; and after a third 
 interview, after dining in company with him at the Parsonage, 
 he was no longer allowed to be called so by anybody. He was, 
 in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever 
 known, and they were equally delighted with him. Miss 
 Bertram's engagement made him in equity the property of Julia, 
 of which Julia was full}' aware; and before he had been at 
 Mansfield a week, she was quite ready to be fallen in love with. 
 
 Maria's notions on the subject were more confused and indis- 
 tinct. She did not want to see or understand. " There could 
 be no harm in her liking an agreeable man everybody knew 
 her situation Mr. Crawford must take care of himself." Mr. 
 Crawford did not mean to be in any danger: the Miss Bertrams 
 were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased ; and he began 
 with no object but of making them like him. He did not want 
 them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to 
 have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great 
 latitude on such points. 
 
 " I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly, sister," said he,
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 31 
 
 as he returned from attending them to their carriage after the 
 said cliiiiier visit; " they are very elegant, agreeable girls." 
 
 " So they are, indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it. 
 But you like Julia best." 
 
 " Oh yes, I like Julia best," 
 
 " But do you really? for Miss Bertram is in general thought 
 the handsomest." 
 
 " So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every 
 feature, and I prefer her countenance but I like Julia best. 
 Miss Bertram is certainly the handsomest; and I have found her 
 the most agreeable, but I shall always like Julia best, because 
 you order me." 
 
 " I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you will like her 
 best at last." 
 
 " Do not I tell you that I like her best at first?" 
 
 "And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Remember that, 
 my dear brother. Her choice is made." 
 
 " Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged woman 
 is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied 
 with herself. Her cares are over, and she feels that she may 
 exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. All is safe 
 with a lady engaged; no harm can be done." 
 
 " Why, as to that, Mr. Rush worth is a very good sort of 
 young man, and it is a great match for her." 
 
 " But Miss Bertram does not care three straws for him; that 
 is your opinion of your intimate friend. / do not subscribe to it. 
 I am sure Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Eusliworth. 
 I could see it in her eyes, when he was mentioned. I think too 
 well of Miss Bertram to suppose she would ever give her hand 
 without her heart," 
 
 " Mary, how shall we manage him? " 
 
 " We must leave him to himself, I believe. Talking does no 
 good. He will be taken in at last." 
 
 " But I would not have him taken in, I would not have him 
 duped ; I would have it all fair and honourable." 
 
 " Oh dear let him stand his chance and be taken in. It will 
 do just as well. Everybody is taken in at some period or other." 
 
 " Not always in marriage, dear Mary." 
 
 " In marriage especially. With all due respect to such of the 
 present company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant, 
 there is not one in a hundred of either sex who is not taken in 
 when they marry. Look where I will, I see that it is so; and 
 I feel that it must be so, when I consider that it is, of all trans- 
 actions, the one in which people expect most from others, and 
 are least honest themselves." 
 
 "Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in 
 Hill-street."
 
 32 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 " My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the state ; but, 
 however, speaking from my own observation, it is a manoeuvring 
 business. I know so many who have married in the full expec- 
 tation and confidence of some one particular advantage in the 
 connexion, or accomplishment, or good quality in the person, who 
 have found themselves entirely deceived, and been obliged to put 
 up with exactly the reverse. What is this but a take in?" 
 
 " My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. I 
 beg your pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Depend upon 
 it, you see but half. You see the evil, but you do not see the 
 consolation. There will be little rubs and disappointments 
 everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if 
 one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another: 
 if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better; we find 
 comfort somewhere and those evil-minded observers, dearest 
 Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken hi and deceived 
 than the parties themselves." 
 
 "Well done, sister! I honour your esprit du corps. When 
 I am a wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish 
 my friends in general would be so too. It would save me many 
 a heart-ache." 
 
 " You are as bad as your brother, Mary ; but we will cure 
 you both. Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any 
 taking in. Stay with us, and we will cure you.'' 
 
 The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very 
 willing to stay. Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a 
 present home, and Henry equally ready to lengthen his visit. 
 He had come, intending to spend only a few days with them ; 
 but Mansfield promised well, and there was nothing to call him 
 elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them both with 
 her, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it 
 so : a talking pretty young woman like Miss Crawford LJ always 
 pleasant society to an indolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr. 
 Crawford's being his guest was an excuse for drinking claret 
 every day. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams' admiration of Mr. Crawford was more 
 rapturous than anything which Miss Crawford's habits made 
 her likely to feel. She acknowledged, however, that the Mr. 
 Bertrams were very fine young men, that two such young men 
 were not often seen together even in London, and that their 
 manners, particularly those of the eldest, were very good. He 
 had been much in London, and had more liveliness and gallantry 
 than Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and, indeed, 
 his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an 
 early presentiment that she should like the eldest best. She 
 knew it was her way. 
 
 Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, at
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 33 
 
 any rate ; he was the sort of young man to be generally liked, 
 his agreeableness was of the kind to be oftener found agreeable 
 than some endowments of a higher stamp, for he had easy 
 manners, excellent spirits, a large acquaintance, and a great deal 
 to say ; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, and a baronetcy, 
 did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt that he and 
 his situation might do. She looked about her with due conside- 
 ration, and found almost everything in his favour, a park, a real 
 park five miles round, a spacious modern-built house, so' well 
 placed and well screened as to deserve to be in any collection of 
 engravings of gentlemen's seats in the kingdom, and wanting 
 only to be completely new furnished pleasant sisters, a quiet 
 mother, and an agreeable man himself with the advantage of 
 being tied up from much gaming at present, by a promise to his 
 father, and of being Sir Thomas hereafter. It might do very 
 well: she believed she should accept him; and she began 
 accordingly to interest herself a little about the horse which he 
 had to run at the B races. 
 
 These races were to call him away not long after their 
 acquaintance began ; and as it appeared that the family did not, 
 from his usual goings on, expect him back again for many weeks, 
 it would bring his passion to an early proof. Much was said on 
 his side to induce her to attend the races, and schemes were 
 made for a large party to them, with all the eagerness of incli- 
 nation, but it would only do to be talked of. 
 
 And Fanny, what was she doing and thinking all this while? 
 and what was her opinion of the new-comers? Few young ladies 
 of eighteen could be less called on to speak their opinion than 
 Fanny. In a quiet way, very little attended to, she paid her 
 tribute of admiration to Miss Crawford's beauty; but as she still 
 continued to think Mr. Crawford very plain, in spite of her two 
 cousins having repeatedly proved the contrary, she never men- 
 tioned him. The notice which she excited herself, was to this 
 eftect. " I begin now to understand you all, except Miss Price," 
 said Miss Crawford, as she was walking with the Mr. Bertrams, 
 " Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at 
 the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being 
 out; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she is." 
 
 Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, " I 
 believe I know what you mean but I will not undertake to 
 answer the question. My cousin is grown up. She has the age 
 and sense of a woman, but the outs and not outs are beyond me." 
 
 IAnd yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. 
 !"he distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, 
 generally, speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not 
 have supposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl's being out 
 or not. A girl not out, has always the same sort of dress a 
 (1)
 
 34 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 close bonnet, for instance looks very demure, and never says a 
 word. You may smile but it is so I assure you and except 
 that it is sometimes carried a little too far, it is all very proper. 
 Girls should be quiet and modest. The most objectionable part 
 is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced into 
 company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such 
 very little time from reserve to quite the opposite to confidence! 
 That is the faulty part of the present system. One does not 
 like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to 
 everything and perhaps -when one has seen her hardly able to 
 speak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say you have 
 sometimes met with such changes." 
 
 " I believe I have: but this is hardly fair; I see what you are 
 at. You are quizzing me and Miss Anderson." 
 
 "No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what 
 you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I will quiz you with 
 a great deal of pleasure, if you will tell me what about." 
 
 "Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite so far 
 imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in 
 describing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for 
 mistake. It was exactly so. The Andersons of Baker-street. 
 We were speaking of them the other day, you know. Edmund, 
 you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. The circumstance 
 was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson 
 first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister 
 was not out, and I could not get her to speak to me. -I sat there 
 an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a 
 little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run 
 away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters of 
 business; and I could hardly get a word or a look from the 
 young lady, nothing like a civil answer,-^ she screwed up her 
 mouth, and turned from me with such an air! I did not see her 
 again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her at Mrs. 
 Holford's and did not recollect her. She came up to me, claimed 
 me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance, and talked 
 and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that 
 I must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, 
 it is plain, has heard the story." 
 
 "And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I 
 dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common 
 a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way 
 of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error 
 lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they 
 are often wrong." 
 
 " Those who are showing the world what female manners 
 should be" said Mr. Bertram, gallantly, " are doing a great 
 deal to set them right."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 35 
 
 " The error is plain enough," said the less courteous Edmund; 
 " such girl.-; are ill brought up. They are given wrong notions 
 from the beginning. They are always acting upon motives of 
 viinity, and there is no more real modesty in their behaviour 
 before they appear in public, than afterwards." 
 
 " I do not know," replied Miss Crawford, hesitatingly. " Yes, 
 I cannot agree with you there. It is certainly the most modest 
 part of the business. It is much worse to have girls not out, 
 give themselves the same airs and take the same liberties as if 
 they were, which I have seen done. That is worse than any- 
 thin:; quite disgusting! " 
 
 " Yes, that is very inconvenient, indeed," said Mr. Bertram. 
 "It leads one astray; one does not know what to do. The 
 close bonnet and demure air you describe so well (and nothing 
 was ever juster), tell one what is expected; but I got into a 
 dreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to 
 Kumsgate for a week with a friend last September, just after my 
 return from the West Indies. My friend Sneyd you have, 
 heard me speak of Sneyd, Edmund, his father and mother and 
 sisters were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion 
 1'laee they were out: we went after them, and found them on 
 the pier, Mrs. and the two Miss Sneyds, with others of their 
 acquaintance. I made my bow in form ; and as Mrs. Sneyd was 
 surrounded by men, attached myself to one of her daughters, 
 walked by her side all the way home, and made myself ns 
 agreeable as I could, the young lady perfectly easy in her 
 manners, and as ready to talk as to listen. I had not a suspicion 
 that I could be doing anything wrong. They looked just the 
 same: both well dressed, with veils and parasols like other girls; 
 but I afterwards found that I had been giving all my attention 
 to the youngest, who was not out, and had most excessively 
 offended the eldest. Miss Augusta ought not to have been 
 noticed for the next six months ; and Miss Sneyd, I believe, has 
 never forgiven me." 
 
 " That was bad indeed. Poor Miss Sneyd ! Though I have 
 no younger sister, I feel for her. To be neglected before one's 
 time, must be very vexatious; but it was entirely the mother's 
 fault. Miss Augusta should have been with her governess. Such 
 half and half doings never prosper. But now I must be satisfied 
 about Miss Price. Docs she go to balls? Does she dine out 
 everywhere, as well as at my sister's?" 
 
 " No," replied Edmund, " I do not think she has ever been to 
 a ball. My mother seldom goes into company herself, and dines 
 nowhere but with Mrs. Grant, and Fanny stays at home wiih 
 iicr." 
 
 " Oh, then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out."
 
 36 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 R. BERTRAM set off for , and Miss Craw- 
 ford was prepared to find a great chasm in 
 their society, and to miss him decidedly in 
 the meetings which were now becoming 
 almost daily between the families; and on 
 their all dining together at the Park soon 
 after his going, she retook her chosen place 
 near the bottom of the table, fully expecting 
 to feel a most melancholy diffei-ence in the change of masters. 
 It would be a very flat business, she was sure. In comparison 
 with his brother, Edmund would have nothing to say. The soup 
 would be sent round in a most spiritless manner, wine drunk 
 without any smiles or agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up 
 without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any former haunch, 
 or a single entertaining story about "my friend such-a-one." 
 She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the 
 upper end of the table, and in observing Mr. Rush-worth, who 
 was now making his appearance at Mansfield for the first time 
 since the Crawfords' arrival. He had been visiting a friend in a 
 neighbouring cotinty, and that friend having recently had his 
 grounds laid out by an improver, Mr. Rushworth was returned 
 with his head full of the subject, and very eager to be improving 
 his own place in the same way; and, though not saying much 
 to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The subject had 
 been already handled in the drawing-room ; it was revived in 
 the dining-parlour. Miss Bertram's attention and opinion was 
 evidently his cliief aim; and though her deportment showed 
 rather conscious superiority than any solicitude to oblige him, the 
 mention of Sothertoil Court, and the ideas attached to it, gave 
 her a feeling of complacency, which prevented her from being 
 very ungracious. 
 
 " I wish you could see Compton," said he, " it is the most 
 complete thing! I never saw a place so altered in my life. I 
 told Smith I did not know where I was. The approach, now, is 
 one of the finest things in the country : you see the house in the 
 most surprising manner. I declare, when I got back to Sotherton 
 yesterday, it looked like a prison quite a dismal old prison." 
 
 "Oh, for shame!" cried Mrs. Norris. "A prison, indeed! 
 Sotherton Court is the noblest old place in the world." 
 
 " It wants improvement, ma'am, beyond anything. I never 
 saw a place that wanted so much improvement in my life ; and 
 it is so forlorn, that I do not know what can be done with it." 
 " No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,"
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 37 
 
 said Mrs. Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; " but depend upon 
 it, Sotherton will have every improvement in tune which his 
 heart can desire." 
 
 " I must try to do something with it," said Mr. Rushworth, 
 "but I do not know what. I hope I shall have some good 
 friend to help me." 
 
 " Your best friend upon such an occasion," said Miss Bertram, 
 calmly, " would be Mr. Repton, I imagine." 
 
 " That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so well by 
 Smith, I think I had better have him at once. His terms arc 
 live guineas a day." 
 
 " Well, and if they were ten" cried Mrs. Norris, " I am sure 
 you need not regard it. The expense need not be any impedi- 
 ment. If I were you, I should not think of the expense. I 
 would have everything done in the best style, and made as nice 
 as possible. Such a place as Sotherton Court deserves everytliing 
 that taste and money can do. You have space to work upon 
 there, and gr&unds that will well reward you. For my own 
 part, if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of 
 Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, for, 
 naturally, I am excessively fond of it. It would be too ridiculous 
 for me to attempt anything where I am now, with my little half 
 acre. It would be quite a burlesque. But if I had more room, 
 I should take a prodigious delight in improving and planting. 
 We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: we made it 
 quite a different place from what it was when we first had it. 
 You young ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but 
 if dear Sir Thomas were here, he could tell you what improve- 
 ments we made : and a great deal more would have been done, 
 but for poor Mr. Norris's sad state of health. He could hardly 
 ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and that disheartened 
 me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to talk 
 of. If it had not been for that, we should have carried on the 
 garden wall, and made the plantation to shut out the church- 
 yard, just as Dr. Grant has done. We were always doing 
 something as it was. It was only the spring twelvemonth 
 before Mr. Norris's death, that we put in the apricot against the 
 stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting 
 to such perfection, sir," addressing herself then to Dr. Grant. 
 
 " The tree thrives well beyond a doubt, madam," replied Dr. 
 Grant. "The soil is good; and I never pass it without 
 regretting that the fruit should be so little worth the trouble of 
 gathering." 
 
 " Sir, it is a moor-park, we bought it as a moor-park, and it 
 cost us that i.s, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw 
 the bill, and I know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as 
 a moor-park."
 
 38 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " You were imposed on, ma'am," replied Dr. Grant: "these 
 potatoes have as much the flavour of a inoor-park apricot as 
 the fruit from that tree. It is an insipid fruit at the best ; but a 
 good apricot is eatable, which none from my garden are." 
 
 "The truth is, ma'am," said Mrs. Grant, pretending to 
 whisper across the table to Mrs. Norris, " that Dr. Grant hardly 
 knows what the natural taste of our apricot is ; he is scarcely 
 ever indulged with one, for it is so valuable a fruit, with a little 
 assistance, and ours is such a remarkably large, fair sort, that 
 what with early tarts and preserves, my cook contrives to get 
 them all." 
 
 Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and, 
 for a little while, other subjects took place of the improvements 
 of Sotherton. Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good 
 friends; their acquaintance had begun in dilapidations, and their 
 habits were totally dissimilar. 
 
 After a short interruption, Mr. Rushworth began again. 
 " Smith's place is the admiration of all the country; and it was 
 a mere nothing before Kepton took it in hand. I think I shall 
 have Repton." 
 
 "Mr. Kushworth," said Lady Bertram, "if I were you, I 
 would have a very pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into 
 a shrubbery in fine weather." 
 
 Mr. Eushworth was eager to assure her Ladyship of his 
 acquiescence, and tried to make out something complimentary: 
 but, between his submission to her taste, and his having always 
 intended the same himself, with the superadded objects of pro- 
 fessing attention to the comfort of ladies in general, and of 
 insinuating, that there was one only whom he was anxious to 
 please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end to 
 liis speech by a proposal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, however, 
 though not usually a great talker, had still more to say on the 
 subject next Ms heart. " Smith has not much above a hundred 
 acn's altogether, in his grounds, which is little enough, and 
 makes it more surprising that the place can have been so 
 improved. Now, at Sotherton, we have a good seven hundred, 
 without reckoning the water meadows ; so that I think, if so 
 much could be done at Compton, we need not despair. There 
 have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too 
 near the house, and it opens the prospect amazingly, which 
 makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would 
 certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down ; the avenue that 
 leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know," 
 turning to Miss Bertram particularly as he spoke. But Miss 
 Bertram thought it most becoming to reply, 
 
 "The avenue! Oh, I do not recollect it. I really know very 
 little of Sotherton."
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 39 
 
 Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, exactly 
 <>l>p<site Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening, 
 now looked at him, and said, in a low voice, 
 
 "Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it not make 
 you think of Cowper? ' Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn 
 your fate unmerited.' " 
 
 He smiled as he answered, " I am afraid the avenue stands a 
 bad chance, Fanny." 
 
 " I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, to see 
 the place as it is now, in its old state; but I do not suppose I 
 shall." 
 
 "Have you never been there? No, you never can; and, 
 unluckily, it is out of distance for a ride. I wish we could 
 contrive it." 
 
 " Oh, it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you will tell 
 me how it has been altered." 
 
 " I collect," said Miss Crawford, " that Sotherton is an old 
 place, and a place of some grandeur. In any particular style of 
 building?" 
 
 "The house was built in Elizabeth's time, and is a large, 
 regular brick building heavy, but respectable looking, and has 
 many good rooms. It is ill placed. It stands in one of the 
 lowest spots of the park; in that respect, unfavourable for 
 improvement. But the woods are fine, and there is a stream, 
 which, I dare say, might be made a good deal of. Mr. Eushworth 
 is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a modern dress, and 
 I have no doubt that it will be all done extremely well." 
 
 Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself, 
 " He is a well bred man; he makes the best of it." 
 
 " I do not wish to influence Mr. Kushworth," he continued ; 
 " but, had I a place to new-fashion, I should not put myself into 
 the hands of an improver. I would rather have an inferior 
 degree of beauty, of my own choice, and acquired progressively. 
 I would rather abide by my own blunders, than by his." 
 
 ''You would know what you were about, of course; but 
 that would not suit me. I have no eye or ingenuity for such 
 matters, but as they are before me ; and had I a place of my own 
 in the country, I should be most thankful to any Mr. Repton 
 who would undertake it, and give me as much beauty as he 
 could for my money ; and I should never look at it till it was 
 complete." 
 
 " It would be delightful to me to see the progress of it all," 
 said Fanny. 
 
 "Ay, you have been brought up to it. It was no part of my 
 education; and the only dose I ever had, being administered by 
 not the first favourite in the world, has made me consider 
 improvements in hand as the greatest of nuisances. Three years
 
 40 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 ago, the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a cottage at 
 Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in ; and my aunt 
 and I went down to it quite in raptures : but it being excessively 
 pretty, it was soon found necessary to be improved, and for three 
 months we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel walk to 
 step on, or a bench fit for use. I would have everything as 
 complete as possible in the country, shrubberies and llower- 
 gardens, and rustic seats innumerable : but it must be all done 
 without my care. Henry is different, he loves to be doing." 
 
 Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was much 
 disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suit 
 his sense of propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further 
 smiles and liveliness, to put the matter by for the present. 
 
 " Mr. Bertram," said she, " I have tidings of my harp at last. 
 I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has 
 . probably been these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances 
 we have so often received to the contrary." Edmund expressed 
 his pleasure and surprise. " The truth is, that our inquiries 
 were too direct ; we sent a servant, we went ourselves : this will 
 not do seventy miles from London but this morning we heard 
 of it in the right way. It was seen by some farmer, and he told 
 the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher's 
 son-in-law left word at the shop." 
 
 " I am veiy glad that you have heard of it, by any means, 
 and hope there will be no farther delay." 
 
 "I am to have it to-morrow; but, how do you think it is to 
 be conveyed? Not by a waggon or cart: oh no, nothing of that 
 kind could be hired in the village. I might as well have asked 
 for porters and a hand-barrow." 
 
 "You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the middle 
 of a very late hay harvest, to like a horse and cart?" 
 
 " I was astonished to find what a piece of work was made of 
 it! To want a horse and cart in the country seemed impossible, 
 so I told my maid to speak for one directly; and as I cannot 
 look out of my dressing-closet without seeing one farm-yard, nor 
 walk in the shrubbery without passing another, I thought it 
 would be only ask and have, and was rather grieved that I could 
 not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, when I found 
 that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most impossible 
 thing in . the world; had offended all the farmers, all the 
 labourers, all the hay in the parish. As for Dr. Grant's bailiff, 
 I believe I had better keep out of his way ; and my brother-in- 
 law himself, who is all kindness in general, looked rather black 
 upon me, when he found what I had been at," 
 
 " You could not be expected to have thought on the subject 
 before; but when you do think of it, you must see the impor- 
 tance of getting in the grass. The hire of a cart at any time
 
 MANSFIELD PAKE. 41 
 
 might not be so easy as you suppose; our farmers are not in the 
 habit of lotting them out: but, in harvest, it must be quite out 
 of their power to spare a horse." 
 
 " I shall understand all your ways in time ; but, coming down 
 with the true London maxim, that everything is to be got with 
 money, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy 
 independence of your country customs. However, I am to have 
 my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who is good nature itself, 
 has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it not be honourably 
 conveyed?" 
 
 Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and 
 hoped to be soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard 
 the harp at all, and wished for it very much. 
 
 "I shall be most happy to play to you both," said Miss 
 Crawford; "at least, as long as you can like to listen; probably 
 much longer, for I dearly love music myself, and where the 
 natural taste is equal, the player must always be best ofF, for she 
 is gratified in more ways than one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you 
 write to your brother, I entreat you to tell him that my harp '* 
 come, he heard so much of my misery without it. And you 
 may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive 
 airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know 
 his horse will lose." 
 
 "If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, 
 at present, foresee any occasion for writing." 
 
 " No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, 
 would you ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped. 
 The occasion would never be foreseen. What strange creatures 
 brothers are ! You would not write to each other but upon the 
 most urgent necessity in the world ; and when obliged to take 
 up the pen to say that such a horse is ill, or such a relation dead, 
 it is done in the fewest possible words. You have but one style 
 among you. I know it perfectly. Henry who is in every other 
 respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults 
 me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has 
 never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is 
 nothing more than, 'Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath 
 seems full, and everything as usual. Yours sincerely.' That is 
 the true manly style, that is a complete brother's letter." 
 
 "When they are at a distance from all their family," said 
 Fanny, colouring for William's sake, "they can write long 
 letters." 
 
 "Miss Price has a brother at sea," said Edmund, "whose 
 excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe 
 upon us." 
 
 "At sea, has she? In the king's service, of course." 
 
 Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his
 
 42 MANSFIELD PA14K. 
 
 determined silence obliged her to relate her brother's situation; 
 her voice was animated in speaking of liis profession, and the 
 foreign stations he had been on; but she could not mention the 
 number of years that he had been absent without tears in her 
 eyes. Miss Crawford civilly wished him an early promotion. 
 
 "Do you know anything of my cousin's captain?" said 
 Edmund; " Captain Marshall? You have a large acquaintance 
 in the navy, I conclude?" 
 
 "Among admirals, large enough; but," with an air of gran- 
 deur, " we know very little of the inferior ranks. Post-captains 
 may be very good sort of men, but they do not belong to us. 
 Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal; of them and 
 their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings 
 and jealousies. But, in general, I can assure you that they are 
 all passed over, and all very ill used. Certainly, my home at 
 my uncle's brought me acquainted with a circle of admirals. 
 Of Rears and Vices, I saw enough. Now, do not be suspecting 
 me of a pun, I entreat," 
 
 Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, "It is a noble 
 profession." 
 
 " Yes, the profession is well enough, under two circumstances : 
 if it make tKe fortune, and there be discretion in spending it; 
 but, in short, it is not a favourite profession of mine. It has 
 never worn an amiable form to me." 
 
 Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in 
 the prospect of hearing her play. 
 
 The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under 
 consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help 
 addressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from 
 Miss Julia Bertram. 
 
 "My dear Henry, have you nothing to say? You have been 
 an improver yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it 
 may vie with any place in England. Its natural beauties, I am 
 sure, are great, Everingham, as it used to be, was point in 
 my estimation ; such a happy fall of ground, and such timber ! 
 What would I not give to see it again!" 
 
 " Nothing could be so gratifying to mo as to hear your opinion 
 of it," was his answer; "but I fear there would be some dis- 
 appointment : you would not find it equal to your present ideas. 
 In extent, it is a mere nothing; - you would be surprised at its 
 insignificance ; and, as for improvement, there was very little for 
 me to do too little, I should like to have been busy much 
 longer." 
 
 "You are fond of the sort of thing?" said Julia. 
 
 "Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the 
 ground, which pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little 
 remained to be done, and my own consequent resolutions, I had
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 43 
 
 not been of age three months before Everinghain was all that it 
 is now. My plan was laid at Westminster, a little altered, 
 perhaps, at Cambridge, and at one-and-twenty executed. I am 
 inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having so much happiness 
 yet before him. I have been a devourer of my own." 
 
 " Those who sec quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly," 
 .said Julia. " You can never want employment. Instead of 
 envying Mr. Rushworth, you should assist him with your 
 opinion." 
 
 Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it 
 warmly, persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her 
 brother's; and as Miss Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and 
 gave, it her full support, declaring that, in her opinion, it was 
 infinitely better to consult with friends and disinterested advisers, 
 than immediately to throw the business into the hands of a 
 professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very ready to request the 
 favour of Mr. Crawford's assistance; and Mr. Crawford, after 
 properly depreciating his. own abilities, was quite at his service 
 in any way that could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then began to 
 propose Mr. Crawford's doing Mm the honour of coming over to 
 Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if 
 reading in her two nieces' minds their little approbation of a 
 plan which was to take Mr. Crawford away, interposed with an 
 amendment. 
 
 " There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford's willingness; but 
 why should not more of us go? Why shoidd not we make a 
 little party? Here are many that would be interested in your 
 improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, and that would like to 
 hear Mr. Crawford's opinion on the spot, and that might be of 
 some small use to you with their opinions; and for my own 
 part, I have been long wisliing to wait upon your good mother 
 again ; nothing but having no horses of my own could have made 
 me so remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with Mrs. 
 Rushworth, while the rest of you walked about and settled 
 things, and then we could all return to a late dinner here, or dine 
 at Sotherton, just as might be most agreeable to your mother,, 
 and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight. I dare say Mr. 
 Crawford would take my two nieces and me in his barouche, 
 and Edmund can go on horseback, you know, sister, and 1'anny 
 will stay at home with you." 
 
 Lady Bertram made no objection ; and every one concerned in 
 the going was forward in expressing their ready concurrence, 
 excepting Edmund, who heard it all and said nothing.
 
 44 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 > ELL, Fanny, and how do you like Miss 
 ' Crawford now ? " said Edmund the next 
 day, after thinking some time on the 
 'subject himself. "How did you like her 
 ' yesterday?" 
 
 "Very well very much. I like to 
 ?hear her talk. She entertains me; and 
 she is so extremely pretty, that I have 
 great pleasure in looking at her." 
 
 "It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has a 
 wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in her 
 conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?" 
 
 " Oh yes, she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she 
 did. I was quite astonished. An uncle with M r hom she has 
 been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults may 
 be, is so very fond of her brother, treating him, they say, quite 
 like a son. I could not have believed it! " 
 
 " I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong very 
 indecorous." 
 
 " And very ungrateful, I think." 
 
 " Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle 
 has any claim to her gratitude ; his wife certainly had ; and it 
 is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's memory which mis- 
 leads her here. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such 
 warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice 
 to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without throwing a shade on 
 the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which was most to 
 blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present con- 
 duct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural 
 and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely. 
 I do not censure her opinions ; but there certainly is impropriety 
 in making them public." 
 
 " Do not you think," said Fanny, after a little consideration, 
 " that this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, 
 as her niece has been entirely brought up by her? She cannot 
 have given her right notions of what was due to the Admiral." 
 
 " That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faults of 
 the niece to have been those of the aunt ; and it makes one more 
 sensible of the disadvantages she has been under. But I think 
 her present home must do her good. Mrs. Grant's manners are 
 just what they ought to be. She speaks of her brother with a 
 very pleasing affection." 
 
 " Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 45 
 
 made mo almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the 
 love or pood nature of a brother, who will not give himself the 
 trouble of writing anything worth reading, to his sisters, when 
 they are separated. I am sure William would never have used 
 me so, under any circumstances. And what right had she to 
 suppose, that you would not write long letters when you were 
 absent?" 
 
 " The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may 
 contribute to its own amusement or that of others; perfectly 
 allowable, when untincttired by ill humour or roughness ; and 
 there is not a shadow of either in the countenance or manner of 
 Miss Crawford, nothing sharp, or loud, or coarse. She is per- 
 fectly feminine, except in the instances we have been speaking of. 
 There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as I 
 did." 
 
 Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a 
 good chance of her thinking like him ; though at this period, and 
 on this subject, there began now to be some clanger of dissimi- 
 larity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, 
 which might lead him where Fanny could not follow. Miss 
 Crawford's attractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and 
 rather added to her beauty, wit, and good humour; for she 
 played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and 
 taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something 
 clever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the 
 parsonage every day, to be indulged with his favourite instru- 
 ment : one morning secured an invitation for the next ; for the 
 lady could not be unwilling to have a listener, and everything 
 was soon in a fair train. 
 
 A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as 
 herself ; and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, 
 and opening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich 
 foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart. The 
 season, the scene, the air, were all favourable to tenderness and 
 sentiment. Mrs. Grant tod her tambour frame were not without 
 their use : it was all in harmony ; and as everything will turn to 
 account when love is once set going, even the sandwich tray, and 
 Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at. 
 Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he 
 was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of sucli 
 intercourse, to be a good deal in love ; and to the credit of the 
 lady it may be added, that without his being a man of the world 
 or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the 
 gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt 
 it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly un- 
 derstand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule, he 
 talked no nonsense, he paid no compliments, his opinions were
 
 46 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a 
 charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, 
 which Miss Crawford might be equal to fee], though not equal to 
 discuss with herself. She did not think very much about it, 
 however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him 
 near her ; it was enough. 
 
 Fanny could not wonder that Edward .was at the Parsonage 
 every morning ; she would gladly have been there too, might she 
 have gone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hear the harp ; neither 
 could she wonder, that when the evening stroll was over, and 
 the two families parted again, he should think it right to attend 
 Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford 
 was devoted to the ladies of the Park-; but she thought it a very 
 bad exchange ; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine 
 and water for her, would rather go without it than not. Sho 
 was a little surprised that he could spend so many hours with 
 Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he 
 had already observed, and of which she was almost always re- 
 minded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in 
 her company ; but so it was. Edmund was fond of speaking to 
 her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the 
 Admiral had since been spared ; and she scrupled to point out 
 her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill nature. 
 The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her, was 
 the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the 
 former caught soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the 
 example of tho young ladies at the Park, and which, when 
 Edmund's acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging 
 the wish, and the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of 
 her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner that either 
 stable could furnish. No pain, no injury, however, was designed 
 by him to his cousin in this offer: she was not to lose a day's 
 exercise by it. The mare was only to be taken clown to the 
 Parsonage half an hour before her rides were to begin; and 
 Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling slighted, 
 was almost overpowered with gratitude that he should be asking 
 her leave for it. 
 
 Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to her- 
 self, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down 
 the mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent 
 time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who 
 always attended her when she rode without her cousins, were 
 ready to set forward. The second day's trial was not so guilt- 
 less. Miss Crawford's enjoyment of riding was such, that she 
 did not knot,- how to leave off. Active and fearless, and, though 
 rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horse- 
 woman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 47 
 
 something was probably added in Edmund's attendance and 
 instructions, and something more in the conviction of very 
 much surpassing her sex in general by her early progress, to 
 make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting, 
 and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, 
 and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. To 
 avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out. 
 
 The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within 
 sight of each other; but by walking fifty yards from the hall 
 door she could look down the park, and command a view of the 
 Parsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village 
 road; and in Dr. Grant's meadow she immediately saw the 
 group Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horseback, riding 
 side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two 
 or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party 
 it appeared to her all interested in one object cheerful be- 
 yond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her. 
 It was a sound which did not make her cheerful ; she wondered 
 that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang. She could not 
 turn her eyes from the meadow, she could not help watching all 
 that passed. At first Miss Crawford and her companion made 
 the circuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot's pace ; 
 then, at her apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and 
 to Fanny's timid nature it was most astonishing to see how well 
 she sat. After a few minutes, they stopped entirely, Edmund 
 was close to her, he was speaking to her, he was evidently 
 directing her management of the bridle, he had hold of her 
 hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye 
 could not reach. She must not wonder at all this; what could 
 be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself 
 useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? She could not 
 but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved 
 him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper 
 and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. 
 Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coach- 
 manship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no 
 active kindness in comparison of Edmund. She began to think 
 it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty ; if she 
 were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered. 
 
 Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquil- 
 lized, by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss 
 Crawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, 
 pass through a gate into the lane, and so into the park, and 
 make towards the spot where she stood. She began then to be 
 afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet 
 them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion. 
 
 " My dear Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, as soon as she
 
 48 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 was at all within hearing, "I am come to make my own 
 apologies for keeping you waiting but I have nothing in the 
 world to say for myself. I knew it was very late, and that I 
 was behaving extremely ill; and, therefore, if you please, you 
 must forgive me. Selfishness must always be forgiven, you 
 know, because there is no hope of a cure." 
 
 Fanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his 
 conviction that she should be in no hurry. " For there is more 
 than time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever 
 goes," said he, " and you have been promoting her comfort by 
 preventing her from setting off half an hour sooner : clouds are 
 now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat as she 
 would have done then. I wish you may not be fatigued by so 
 much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this "walk home." 
 
 " No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure 
 you," said she, as she sprang down with his help; "I am very 
 strong. Nothing ever fatigues me, but doing what I do not 
 like. Miss Price, I give way to you with a very bad grace ; 
 but I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant ride, and that I 
 may have nothing but good to hear of this dear, delightful, 
 beautiful animal." 
 
 The old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own 
 horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set 
 off across another part of the park ; her feelings of discomfort not 
 lightened by seeing, as she looked back, that the others were 
 walking down the hill together to the village; nor did her at- 
 tendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's 
 great cleverness as a horsewoman, which lie had been watching 
 with an interest almost equal to her own. 
 
 " It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for 
 riding!" said he. " I never see one sit a horse better. She did 
 not seem to have a thought of fear. Very different from yon, 
 miss, when you first began, six years ago come next Easter. 
 Lord bless me ! how you did tremble when Sir Thomas first had 
 you put on ! " 
 
 In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated. 
 Her merit in being gifted by nature with strength and courage 
 was fully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in 
 riding was like their own ; her early excellence in it was like 
 their own, and they had great pleasure in praising it. 
 
 "I was sure she would ride well," said Julia; "she has the 
 make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother's." 
 
 " Yes," added Maria, " and her spirits are as good, and she 
 has the same energy of character. I cannot but think that good 
 horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind." 
 
 When they parted at night, Edmund asked Fanny whether 
 she meant to ride the next dav.
 
 .MANSFIELD PARK. 49 
 
 " No, 1 do not know not if you want the mare," was her 
 answer. " I do not want her at all for myself," said he ; " but 
 whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Mis* 
 Crawford would be glad to have her for a longer time for a 
 whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to get as far 
 as Mansfield Common : Mrs. Grant 'has been telling her of its 
 fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal to 
 it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely 
 sorry to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. 
 She rides only for pleasure, you for health." 
 
 " I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," said Fanny; " I have 
 been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You 
 know I am strong enough now to walk very well." 
 
 Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and 
 the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning: 
 the party included all the young people but herself, and wag 
 much enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed again in the 
 evening discussion. A successful scheme of this sort generally 
 brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield Common 
 disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There 
 were many other views to be shown ; and though the weather 
 was hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. 
 A young party is always provided with a shady lane. Four fino 
 mornings successively were spent in this manner, in showing the 
 Crawfords the country, and doing the honours of its finest spots. 
 Everything answered; it was all gaiety and good humour, the 
 heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with 
 pleasure till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the 
 party was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one. 
 Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and 
 she was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with 
 perfect good humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account, who was 
 partly expected at the Park that clay; but it was felt as a 
 very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed 
 to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home. As 
 Mr. Rushworth did not come, the injury was increased, and she 
 had not even the relief of showing her power over him; she 
 coxild only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw 
 as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert. 
 
 Between ten and eleven, Edmund and Julia walked into the 
 drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, 
 the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting 
 there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and 
 Lady Bertram was half asleep ; and even Mrs. Norris, discom 
 posed by her niece's ill humour, and having asked one or two 
 questions about the dinner, which were not immediately attended 
 to, seemed almost determined to say no more. For ft few 
 (1) n
 
 50 MANSFIELD PARS. 
 
 minutes, the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of 
 the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond them- 
 selves ; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, 
 said, " But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?" 
 
 "No, not that I know of," replied Mrs. Norris; "she was 
 here a moment ago." 
 
 Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room, 
 which was a veiy long one, told them that she was on the sofa. 
 Mrs. Norris began Scolding. 
 
 " That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all 
 the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, 
 and employ yourself as we do? If you have no work of your 
 own, I can supply you from the poor basket. There is all the 
 new calico, that was bought last "Week, not touched yet. I am 
 sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out. You should 
 learn to think of other people; and take my word for it, it is a 
 shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a 
 sofa." 
 
 Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to her seat, at 
 the table, and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who was 
 in high good humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the 
 justice of exclaiming, " I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as 
 little upon the sofa as anybody in the house." 
 
 " Fanny," said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, " I 
 am sure you have the headach." 
 
 She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad. 
 
 " I can hardly believe you," he replied; " I know your looks 
 too well. How long have you had it?" 
 
 " Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat." 
 
 " Did you go out in the heat?" 
 
 " Go out! to be sure she did," said Mrs. Norris: " would you 
 have her stay within such a fine day as this? Were not we all 
 out? Even your mother was out to-day for above an hour." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Edmund," added her Ladyship, who had been 
 thoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp reprimand to Fanny ; 
 " I was out above an hour. I sat three quarters of an hour in 
 the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses, and very pleasant 
 it was, I assure you, but very hot. It was shady enough in the 
 alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again." 
 
 " Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?" 
 
 " Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor 
 thing! She found it hot enough; but they were so full blown 
 that one could not wait." 
 
 " There was no help for it, certainly," rejoined Mrs. Norris, in 
 a rather softened voice; "but I question whether her headach 
 might not be caught then, sister. There is nothing so likely to 
 give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun; but I dare say it
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 5 1 
 
 will be well to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic 
 vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled.'' 
 
 " She has got it," said Lady Bertram ; " she has had it ever 
 since she came back from your house the second time." 
 
 "What!" cried Edmund; "has she been walking as well as 
 cutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house, and 
 doing it twice, ma'am? No wonder her head aches." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear. 
 
 " I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Lady 
 Bertram ; " but when the roses were gathered, your aunt wished 
 to have them, and then you know they must be taken home." 
 
 " But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?" 
 
 "No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; 
 and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room and 
 bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again." 
 
 Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, "And 
 could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon 
 my word, ma'am, it has been a very ill-managed business." 
 
 " I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done 
 better," cried Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; " unless I 
 had gone myself, indeed ; but I cannot be in two places at once ; 
 and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your 
 mother's dairymaid, by her desire, and had promised John Groom 
 to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poor fellow was 
 waiting for me half an hour. I think nobody can justly accuse 
 me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really I cannot do 
 everything at once. And as for Fanny's just stepping down to 
 my house for me, it is not much above a quarter of a mile, 
 I cannot think I was unreasonable to ask it. How often do I 
 pace it three times a-day, early and late, ay, and in all weathers 
 too, and say nothing about it?" 
 
 " I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am." 
 
 " If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would 
 not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out on horseback 
 now this long while, and I am persuaded, that when she does 
 not ride, she ought to walk. If she had been riding before, I 
 should not have asked it of her. But I thought it would rather 
 do her good after being stooping among the roses ; for there is 
 nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue of that kind ; and 
 though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. Between 
 ourselves, Edmund,'' nodding significantly at his mother, "it 
 was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden, 
 that did the mischief." 
 
 " I am afraid it was, indeed," said the more candid Lady 
 Bertram, who had overheard her; " I am very much afraid she 
 caught the headach there, for the heat was enough to kill any- 
 body. It was as much as I could bear myself. Sitting and
 
 52 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 calling to pug, and trying to keep him from the flower-beds, was 
 almost too much for me." 
 
 Edmund said no more to either lady; but going quietly to 
 another table, on which the supper tray yet remained, brought a 
 glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater 
 part. She wished to be able to decline it; but the tears, which 
 a variety of feelings created, made it easier to swallow than to 
 speak. 
 
 Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was 
 still more angry with himself. His own forgetfulness of her was 
 worse than anything which they had done. Nothing of this 
 would have happened had she been properly considered ; but she 
 had been left fovir days together without any choice of companions 
 or exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her 
 unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to think 
 that for four days together she had not had the power of riding, 
 and very seriously resolved, however unwilling he must be to 
 check a pleasure of Miss Crawford's, that it should never happen 
 again." 
 
 Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the first 
 evening of her arrival at the Park. The state of her spirits had 
 probably had its share in her indisposition; for she had been 
 feeling neglected, and been struggling against discontent and 
 envy for some days past. As she leant on the sofa, to which 
 she had retreated that she might not be seen, the pain of her 
 mind had been much beyond that in her head ; and the sudden 
 change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her 
 hardly know how to support herself. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ANNT'S rides recommenced the very next 
 , day; and as it was a pleasant fresh-feeling 
 , morning, less hot than the weather had lately 
 )been, Edmund trusted that her losses both of 
 j health and pleasure would be soon made 
 Jgood. While she was gone, Mr. Rush worth 
 arrived, escorting his mother, who came to be 
 > civil, and to show her civility especially, in 
 urging the execution of the plan for visiting Sotherton, which 
 had been started a fortnight before, and which, in consequence of 
 her subsequent absence from home, had since lain dormant. 
 Mrs. Norris and her nieces wei'e all well pleased with its revival, 
 and an early day was named, and agreed to, provided Mr. 
 Crawford should be disengaged: the young ladies did not forget
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 53 
 
 that stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris would willingly have 
 answered for his being so, they would neither authorize the 
 liberty, nor run the risk; and at last, on a hint from Miss 
 Bertram, Mr. Rushworth discovered that the most proper thing 
 to be done was for him to walk down to the Parsonage directly, 
 and call on Mr. Crawford, and enquire whether Wednesday would 
 suit him or not. 
 
 Before his return Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford came in. 
 Having been out some time, and taken a different route to the 
 house, they had not met him. Comfortable hopes, however, 
 were given that he would find Mr. Crawford at home. The 
 Sotherton scheme was mentioned of course. It was hardly 
 possible, indeed, that anything else should be talked of, for Mrs. 
 Norris was in high spirits about it; and Mrs. Rushworth, a 
 well-meaning, civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought 
 nothing of consequence, but as it related to her own and her son's 
 concerns, had not yet given over pressing Lady Bertram to be 
 of the party. Lady Bertram constantly declined it; but her 
 placid manner of refusal made Mrs. Rushworth still think she 
 wished to come, till Mrs. Norris's more numerous words and 
 louder tone convinced her of the truth. 
 
 " The fatigue would be too much for my sister, a great deal 
 too much I assure you, my dear Mrs. Rushworth. Ten miles 
 there, and ten back, you know. You must excuse my sister on 
 this occasion, and accept of our two dear girls and myself without 
 her. Sotherton is the only place that could give her a wish to 
 go so far, but it cannot be, indeed. She will have a companion in 
 Fanny Price, you know, so it will all do very well ; and as for 
 Edmund, as he is not here to speak for himself, I will answer for 
 his being most happy to join the party. He can go on horse- 
 back, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to yield to Lady Bertram's 
 staying at home, could only be sorry. "The loss of her 
 Ladyship's company would be a great drawback, and she should 
 have been extremely happy to have seen the young lady too, 
 Miss Price, who had never been at Sothertou yet, and it was a 
 pity she should not see the place." 
 
 "You are very kind, you are all kindness, my dear madam," 
 cried Mrs. Norris ; " but as to Fanny, she will have oppor- 
 tunities in plenty of seeing Sothertou. She has time enough 
 before her; and her going now is quite out of the question. 
 Lady Bertram could not possibly spare her." 
 
 " Oh no I cannot do without Fanny." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, under the conviction that 
 even-body must be wanting to see Sotherton, to include Miss 
 Crawford in the invitation; and though Mrs. Grant, who had 
 not been at the trouble of visiting Mrs. Rushworth, on her
 
 54 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 coming into the neighbourhood, civilly declined it on her own 
 account, she was glad to secure any pleasure for her sister; and 
 Mary, properly pressed and persuaded, was not long in accepting 
 her share of the civility. Mr. Rushworth came back from the 
 Parsonage successful; and Edmund made his appearance just in 
 time to learn what had been settled for Wednesday, to attend 
 Mrs. Rushworth to her carriage, and walk half way down the 
 park with the two other ladies. 
 
 On his return to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs. Norris 
 trying to make up her mind as to whether Miss Crawford's 
 being of the party were desirable or not, or whether her brother's 
 barouche would not be full without her. The Miss Bertrams 
 laughed at the idea, assuring her that the barouche would hold 
 four perfectly well, independent of the box, on which one might 
 go with him. 
 
 " But why is it necessary," said Edmund, " that Crawford's 
 carriage, or his only, should be employed? Why is no use to 
 be made of my mother's chaise? I could not, when the scheme 
 was first mentioned the other day, understand why a visit from 
 the family was not to be made in the carriage of the family." 
 
 "What!" cried Julia: "go box'd up three in a post-chaise 
 in this weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No, 
 my dear Edmund, that will not quite do." 
 
 " Besides," said Maria, " I know that Mr. Crawford depends 
 upon taking us. After what passed at first, he would claim it 
 as a promise." 
 
 "And, my dear Edmund," added Mrs. Norris, "taking out 
 two carriages when one will do, would be trouble for nothing; 
 and, between ourselves, the coachman is not very fond of the 
 roads between this and Sotherton : he always complains bitterly 
 of the narrow lanes scratching his carriage, and you know one 
 should not like to have dear Sir Thomas, when he comes home, 
 find all the varnish scratched off." 
 
 " That would not be a very handsome reason for using Mr. 
 Crawford's," said Maria; "but the truth is, that Wilcox is a 
 stupid old fellow, and does not know how to drive. I will answer 
 for it that we shall find no inconvenience from narrow roads on 
 Wednesday." 
 
 " There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant," said 
 Edmund, "in going on the barouche box." 
 
 " Unpleasant! " cried Maria: "oh dear, I believe it would be 
 generally thought the favourite seat. There can be no com- 
 parison as to one's view of the country. Probably, Miss Craw- 
 ford will choose the barouche box herself." 
 
 "There can be no objection, then, to Fanny's going with you; 
 there can be no doubt of your having room for her." 
 
 "Fanny!" repeated Mrs. Norris; "my dear E4mund, there
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 55 
 
 is no idea of her going with us. She stays with her aunt. I 
 told Mrs. Rushworth so. She is not expected." 
 
 "You can have no reason, I imagine, madam," said he 
 addressing his mother, " for wishing Fanny not to be of the 
 party, but as it relates to yourself, to your own comfort. If you 
 could do without her, you would not wish to keep her at home? " 
 
 " To be sure not, but I cannot do without her." 
 
 " You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do." 
 
 There was a general cry out at this. "Yes," he continued, 
 " there is no necessity for my going, and I mean to stay at home. 
 Fanny has a great desire to see Sothertbn. I know she wishes 
 it very much. She has not often a gratification of the kind, 
 and I am sure, ma'am, you would be glad to give her the 
 pleasure now?" 
 
 "Oh yes, very glad, if your aunt sees no objection." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was very ready with the only objection which 
 could remain, their having positively assured Mrs. Rushworth 
 that Fanny could not go, and the very strange appearance there 
 would consequently be in taking her, which seemed to her a 
 difficulty quite impossible to be got over. It must have the 
 strangest appearance! It would be something so very uncere- 
 monious, so bordering on disrespect for Mrs. Rushworth, whose 
 own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding and attention, 
 that she really did not feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no 
 affection for Fanny, and no wish of procuring her pleasure at 
 any time; but her opposition to Edmund now, arose more from 
 partiality for her own scheme, because it was her own, than from 
 anything else. Sue felt that she had arranged everything 
 extremely well, and that any alteration must be for the worse. 
 When Edmund, therefore, told her in reply, as he did when she 
 would give him the hearing, that she need not distress herself on 
 Mrs. Rushworth's account, because he had taken the opportunity 
 as he walked with her through the hall of mentioning Miss Price 
 as one who would probably be of the party, and had directly 
 received a very sufficient invitation for her cousin, Mrs. Norris 
 was too much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and 
 would only say, " Very well, very well, just as you choose, settle 
 it your own way, I am sure I do not care about it." 
 
 " It seems very odd," said Maria, " that you should be staying 
 at home instead of Fanny." 
 
 " I am sure she ought to be very much obliged to you," added 
 Julia, hastily leaving the room as she spoke, from a consciousness 
 that she ought to offer to stay at home herself. 
 
 "Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion requires," 
 was Edmund's only reply, and the subject dropt. 
 
 Fanny's gratitude, when she heard the plan, was, in fact, much 
 greater than her pleasure. She felt Edmund's kindness with all,
 
 56 MANSHELU PAltK. 
 
 and more than all, the sensibility which he, unsuspicious of her 
 fond attachment, could be aware of; but that he should forego 
 any enjoyment on her account gave her pain, and her own satis- 
 faction in seeing Sotherton would be nothing without him. 
 
 The next meeting of the two Mansfield families produced 
 another alteration in the plan, and one that was admitted with 
 general approbation. Mrs. Grant offered herself as companion 
 for the day to Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and Dr. Grant 
 was to join them at dinner. Lady Bertram was very well 
 pleased to have it so, and the young ladies were in spirits again. 
 Even Edmund was very thankful for an arrangement which res- 
 tored him to his share of the party ; and Mrs. Norris thought it 
 an excellent plan, and had it at her tongue's end, and was on 
 the point of proposing it, when Mrs. Grant spoke. 
 
 Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfast the barouche 
 arrived, Mr. Crawford driving his sisters; and as everybody was 
 ready, there was nothing to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight, 
 and the others to take their places. The place of all places, the 
 envied seat, the post of honour, was unappropriated. To whose 
 happy lot was it to fall? While each of the Miss Bertrams 
 were meditating how best, and with the most appearance of 
 obliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled by Mrs. 
 Grant's saying, as she stepped from the carriage, "As there are 
 five of you, it will be better that one should sit with Henry ; and 
 us you were saying lately that you wished you could drive, 
 Julia, I think this will be a good opportunity for you to take a 
 lesson." 
 
 Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on the 
 barouche-box in a moment, the latter took her seat within, in 
 gloom and mortification; and the carriage drove off amid the 
 good wishes of the two remaining ladies, and the barking of pug 
 in his mistress's arms. 
 
 Their road was through a pleasant country; and Fanny, 
 whose rides had never been extensive, was soon beyond her 
 knowledge, and was very happy in observing all that was new, 
 and admiring all that was pretty. She was not often invited to 
 join in the conversation of the others, nor did she desire it. Her 
 own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions ; 
 and, in observing the appearance of the country, the bearings of 
 the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the harvest, the 
 cottages, the cattle, the children, she found entertainment that 
 could only have been heightened by having Edmund to speak to 
 of what she felt. That was the only point of resemblance between 
 her and the lady who sat by her; in everything but a value for 
 Edmund, Miss Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of 
 Fanny's delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw nature, 
 inanimate nature, with little observation ; her attention was all
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 57 
 
 for men and women, her talents for the light and lively. In 
 looking back after Edmund, however, when there was any 
 stretch of road behind them, or when he gained on them in 
 ascending a considerable hill, they were united, and a "there he 
 is " broke at the same moment from them both, more than once. 
 
 For the first seven miles Miss Bertram had very little real 
 comfort; her prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford and her 
 sister sitting side by side, full of conversation and merriment ; 
 and to see only his expressive profile as he turned with a smile 
 to Julia, or to catch the laugh of the other, was a perpetual 
 source of irritation, which her own sense of propriety could but 
 just smooth over. When Julia looked back, it was with a 
 countenance of delight, and whenever she spoke to them, it was 
 in the highest spirits: "her view of the country was charming, 
 she wished they all could see it," &c. ; but her only offer of 
 exchange was addressed to Miss Crawford, as they gained the 
 summit of a long hill, and was not more inviting than this: 
 " Here is a fine burst of country. I wish you had my seat, but 
 I dare say you will not take it, let me press you ever so much;" 
 and Miss Crawford could hardly answer, before they were moving 
 again at a good pace. 
 
 When they came within the influence of Sotherton associa- 
 tions, it was better for Miss Bertram, who might be said to have 
 two strings to her bow. She had Rushworth-feelings, and 
 Crawford-feelings, and in the vicinity of Sotherton, the former 
 had considerable effect. Mr. Eush worth's consequence was hers. 
 She could not tell Miss Crawford that " those woods belonged to 
 Sotherton;" she could not carelessly observe that "she believed 
 it was now all Mr. Rushworth's property on each side of the 
 road," without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to increase 
 with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, and ancient 
 manorial residence of the family, with all its rights of court-leet 
 and court-baron. 
 
 "Now, we shall have no more rough road, Miss Crawford, our 
 difficulties are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought to 
 be. Mr. Rushworth has made it since he succeeded to the 
 estate. Here begins the village. Those cottages are really a 
 disgrace. The church spire is reckoned remarkably handsome. 
 I am glad the church is not so close to the great house as often 
 happens in old places. The annoyance of the bells must be 
 terrible. There is the parsonage; a tidy looking house, and I 
 understand the clergyman and his wife are very decent people. 
 Those are alms-houses, built by some of the family. To the 
 right is the steward's house ; he is a very respectable man. Now, 
 we are coming to the lodge gates; but we have nearly a mile 
 through the park still. It is not ugly, you see, at this end; 
 there is some fine timber, but the situation of the house is
 
 58 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 dreadful. We go down hill to it for half a mile, and it is a 
 pity, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it had a better 
 approach." 
 
 Miss Crawford was not slow to admire ; she pretty well guessed 
 Miss Bertram's feelings, and made it a point of honour to promote 
 her enjoyment to the utmost. Mrs. Norris was all delight and 
 volubility ; and even Fanny had something to say in admiration, 
 and might be heard with complacency. Her eye was eagerly 
 taking in eveiy thing within her reach ; and after being at some 
 pains to get a view of the house, and observing that " it was a 
 sort of building which she could not look at but with respect," 
 she added, "Now, where is the avenue? The house fronts the 
 east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, must be at the back of 
 it Mr. Rushworth talked of the west front." 
 
 "Yes, it is exactly behind the house; begins at a little 
 distance, and ascends for half-a-mile to the extremity of the 
 grounds. You may see something of it here something of the 
 more distant trees. It is oak entirely." 
 
 Miss Bertram could now speak with decided information of 
 what she had known nothing about, when Mr. Rushworth had 
 asked her opinion; and her spirits were in as happy a flutter as 
 vanity and pride could furnish, when they drove up to the 
 spacious stone steps before the principal entrance. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 R. RUSHWORTH was at the door to receive 
 his fair lady; and the whole party were 
 welcomed by him with due attention. In 
 the drawing-room they were met with equal 
 cordiality by the mother, and Miss Bertram 
 . had all the distinction with each that she 
 could wish. After the business of arriving 
 was over, it was first necessary to eat, and 
 the doors were thrown open to admit them through one or two 
 intermediate rooms into the appointed dining-parlour, where a 
 collation was prepared with abundance and elegance. Much was 
 said, and much was ate, and all went well. The particular 
 object of the day was then considered. How would Mr. Crawford 
 like, in what manner would he choose, to take a survey of the 
 grounds? Mr. Rushworth mentioned his curricle. Mr. Crawford 
 suggested the greater desirableness of some carriage which might 
 convey more than two. "To be depriving themselves of the 
 advantage of other eyes and other judgments, might be an evil 
 even beyond the loss of present pleasure,"
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 59 
 
 Mrs. Rnshworth proposed that the chaise should be taken 
 also; but this was scarcely received as an amendment: the 
 young ladies neither smiled nor spoke. Her next proposition, 
 of showing the house to such of them as had not been there 
 before, was more acceptable, for Miss Bertram was pleased to 
 have its size displayed, and all were glad to be doing something. 
 
 The whole party rose accordingly, and under Mrs. Rushworth's 
 guidance were shown through a number of rooms, all lofty, and 
 many large, and amply furnished in the taste of fifty years back, 
 with shining floors, solid mahogany, rich damask, marble, 
 gilding, and carving, each handsome in its way. Of pictures 
 there were abundance, and some few good, but the larger part 
 were family portraits, no longer anything to anybody but Mrs. 
 Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn all that the 
 housekeeper could teach, and was now almost equally well 
 qualified to show the house. On the present occasion, she 
 addressed herself chiefly to Miss Crawford and Fanny, but there 
 was no comparison in the willingness of their attention ; for Miss 
 Crawford who had seen scores of great houses, and cared for 
 none of them, had only the appearance of civilly listening, while 
 Fanny, to whom everything was almost as interesting as it was 
 new, attended with unaffected earnestness to all that Mrs. 
 Rushworth could relate of the family in former times, its rise 
 and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, delighted to connect 
 anything with history already known, or warm her imagination 
 with scenes of the past 
 
 The situation of the house excluded the possibility of much 
 prospect from any of the rooms ; and while Fanny and some of 
 the others were attending Mrs. Rushworth, Henry Crawford was 
 looking grave and shaking his head at the windows. Every 
 room on the west front looked across a lawn to the beginning 
 of the avenue immediately beyond tall iron palisades and gates. 
 
 Having visited many more rooms than could be supposed to 
 be of any other use than to contribute to the window tax, and 
 find employment for housemaids, " Now," said Mrs. Rushworth, 
 " we are coming to the chapel, which properly we ought to enter 
 from above, and look down upon ; but as Ave are quite among 
 friends, I will take you in tins way, if you will excuse me." 
 
 They entered. Fanny's imagination had prepared her for 
 something grander than a mere spacious, oblong room, fitted up 
 for the purpose of devotion with nothing more striking or more 
 solemn than the profusion of mahogany, and the crimson velvet 
 cushions appearing over the the ledge of the family gallery above. 
 " I am disappointed," said she, in a low voice to Edmund. 
 " This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here, 
 nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no 
 arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be
 
 60 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 ' blown by the night wind of heaven.' No signs that a * Scottish 
 monarch sleeps below.' " 
 
 " You forget, Fanny, how lately all this has been built, and 
 for how confined a purpose, compared with the old chapels of 
 castles and monasteries. It was only for the private use of the 
 family. They have been buried, I suppose, in the parish church. 
 There you must look for the banners and the achievements." 
 
 " It was foolish of me not to think of all that, but I am 
 disappointed." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. " This chapel was fitted 
 up as you see it, in James the Second's time. Before that period, 
 as I understand, the pews were only wainscot; and there is 
 some reason to think that the linings and cusliions of the pulpit 
 and family seat were only purple cloth; but this is not quite 
 certain. It is a handsome chapel, and was formerly in constant 
 use both morning and evening. Prayers were always read in it 
 by the domestic chaplain, within the memory of many; but the 
 late Mr. Rushworth left it off." 
 
 " Every generation has its improvements," said Miss Crawford, 
 with a smile, to Edmund. 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr. Crawford ; 
 nnd Edmund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford, remained in a cluster 
 together. 
 
 " It is a pity," cried Fanny, " that the custom should have 
 been discontinued. It was a valuable part of former times. 
 There is sometliing in a chapel and chaplain so much in character 
 with a great house, with one's ideas of what such a household 
 should be ! A whole family assembling regularly for the purpose 
 of prayer is fine!" 
 
 " Very fine, indeed," said Miss Crawford, laughing. " It 
 must do the heads of the family -a great deal of good to force all 
 the poor housemaids and footmen to leave business and pleasure, 
 and say their prayers here twice a-day, while they are inventing 
 excuses themselves for staying away." 
 
 " That is hardly Fanny's idea of a family assembling," said 
 Edmund, " If the master and mistress do not attend themselves, 
 there must be more harm than good in the custom." 
 
 "At any rate, it is safer to leave people to their own devices on 
 such subjects. Everybody likes to go their own way to choose 
 their own time and manner of devotion. The obligation of 
 attendance, the formality, the restraint, the length of time 
 altogether it is a formidable thing, and what nobody likes; and 
 if the good people who used to kneel and gape in that gallery 
 could have foreseen that the time would ever come when meu 
 and women might lie another ten minutes in bed, when they woke 
 with a headach, without danger of reprobation because chapel 
 was missed, they would have jumped Avith joy and envy. Cannot
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 6 1 
 
 you imagine with what unwilling feelings the former belles of 
 the house of Rush-worth did many a time repair to this chapel? 
 The young Mrs. Eleanors and Mrs. Bridgets starched up into 
 seeming piety, but with heads full of something very different 
 especially if the poor chaplain were not worth looking at and, 
 in those days, I fancy parsons were very inferior even to what 
 they are now." 
 
 For a few moments she was unanswered. Fanny coloured and 
 looked at Edmund, but felt too angry for speech ; and he needed 
 a little recollection before he could say, " Your lively mind can 
 hardly be serious even on serious subjects. You have given us 
 an amusing sketch, and human nature cannot say it was not so. 
 We must all feel at times the difficulty of fixing our thoughts as 
 we could wish; but if you are supposing it a frequent thing, 
 that is to say, a weakness grown into a habit from neglect, what 
 could be expected from the private devotions of such persons? 
 Do you think the minds which are suffered, which are indulged 
 in wanderings in a chapel, would be more collected in a closet?" 
 
 " Yes, very likely. They would have two chances at least in 
 their favour. There would be less to distract the attention from 
 without, and it would not be tried so long." 
 
 " The mind which does not struggle against itself undor one 
 circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the other, I 
 believe ; and the influence of the place and of example may often 
 rouse better feelings than are begun with. The greater length 
 of the service, however, I admit to be sometimes too hard a 
 stretch upon, the mind. One wishes it were not so; but I have 
 not yet left Oxford long enough to forget what chapel prayers 
 are." 
 
 While this was passing, the rest of the party being scattered 
 about the chapel, Julia called Mr. Crawford's attention to her 
 sister, by saying, " Do look at Mr. Rushworth and Maria, standing 
 side by side, exactly as if the ceremony were going to be per- 
 formed. Have not they completely the air of it? " 
 
 Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, and stepping forward to 
 Maria, said, in a voice which she only could hear, " I do not 
 like to see Miss Bertram so near the altar." 
 
 Starting, the lady instinctively moved a step or two, but 
 recovering herself in a moment, affected to laugh, and asked him, 
 in a tone not much louder, " If he would give her away ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly," was his reply, 
 with a look of meaning. 
 
 Julia, joining them at the moment, carried on the joke. 
 
 " Upon my word, it is really a pity that it should not take 
 place directly, if we had but a proper license, for here we are all 
 together, and nothing in the world could be more snug and 
 pleasant." And she talked and laughed about it with so little
 
 62 MANSFIELD PARK* 
 
 caution, as to catch the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and 
 his mother, and expose her sister to the whispered gallantries of 
 her lover, while Mrs. Rushworth spoke with proper smiles and 
 dignity of its being a most happy event to her whenever it took 
 place. 
 
 " If Edmund were but in orders! " cried Julia, and running to 
 where he stood with Miss Crawford and Fanny: "My dear 
 Edmund, if you were but in orders now, you might perform the 
 ceremony directly. How unlucky that you are not ordained; 
 Mr. Rushworth and Maria are quite ready." 
 
 Miss Crawford's countenance, as Julia spoke, might have 
 amused a disinterested observer. She looked almost aghast 
 under the new idea she was receiving. Fanny pitied her. " How 
 distressed she will be at what she said just now," passed across 
 her mind. 
 
 "Ordained!" said Miss Crawford: "what, are you to be a 
 clergyman?" 
 
 "Yes; I shall take orders soon after my father's return 
 probably at Christmas." 
 
 Miss Crawford rallying her spirits, and recovering her com- 
 plexion, replied only, " If I had known this before, I would have 
 spoken of the cloth with more respect," and turned the subject. 
 
 The chapel was soon afterwards left to the silence and stillness 
 which reigned in it, with few interruptions, throughout the year. 
 Miss Bertram, displeased with her sister, led the way, and all 
 seemed to feel that they had been there long enough. 
 
 The lower part of the house had been now entirely shown, and 
 Mrs. Rushworth, never weary in the cause, would have pro- 
 ceeded towards the principal staircase, and taken them through 
 all the rooms above, if her son had not interposed with a doubt 
 of there being time enough. " For if," said he, with the sort of 
 self-evident proposition which many a clearer head does not 
 always avoid, " we are too long going over the house, we shall 
 not have time for what is to be done out of doors. It is past 
 two, and we are to dine at five." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth submitted; and the question for surveying 
 the grounds, with the who and the how, was likely to be more 
 fully agitated, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to arrange by what 
 junction of carnages and horses most could be done, when the 
 young people, meeting with an outward door, temptingly open on 
 a flight of steps which led immediately to turf and shrubs, and 
 all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for 
 air and liberty, all walked out. 
 
 "Suppose we turn down here for the present," said Mrs. 
 Rushworth, civilly taking the hint and following them. " Here 
 are the greatest number of our plants, and here are the curious
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 63 
 
 "Query," said Mr. Crawford, looking round him, "whether 
 we may not find something to employ us here, before we go 
 farther? I see walls of great promise. Mr. Rushworth, shall 
 . we summon a council on tliis lawn?" 
 
 "James," said Mrs. Rushworth to her son, "I believe the 
 wilderness will be new to all the party. The Miss Bertrams 
 have never seen the wilderness yet." 
 
 No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no 
 inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. All were 
 attracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed 
 about in happy independence. Mr. Crawford was the first to 
 move forward, to examine the capabilities of that end of the 
 house. The lawn, bounded on each side by a high wall, con- 
 tained beyond the first planted area a bowling-green, and beyond 
 the bowling-green a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades, 
 and commanding a view over them into the tops of the trees of 
 the wilderness immediately adjoining. It was a good spot for 
 fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followed by Miss Ber- 
 tram and Mr. Rushworth ; and when after a little time the others 
 began to form into parties, these tliree were found in busy con- 
 sultation on the terrace by Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny, 
 who seemed as naturally to unite, and who after a short partici- 
 pation of their regrets and difficulties, left them and walked on. 
 The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, 
 were still far behind ; for Julia, whose happy star no longer pre- 
 vailed, was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and 
 restrain her impatient feet to that lady's slow pace, while her aunt, 
 having fallen in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed 
 the pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip with her. Poor 
 Julia, the only one out of the nine not tolerably satisfied with their 
 lot, was now in a state of complete penance, and as different from 
 the Julia of the barouche-box as could well be imagined. The 
 politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty 
 made it impossible for her to escape ; while the want of that 
 higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, 
 that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right which 
 had not formed any essential part of her education, made her 
 miserable under it. 
 
 " This is insufferably hot, " said Miss Crawford, when they had 
 taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to 
 the door in the middle which opened to the wilderness. " Shall 
 any of us object to being comfortable? Here is a nice little wood, 
 if one can but get into it. What happiness if the door should not 
 be locked! but of course it is; for in these great places, the 
 gardeners are the only people who can go where they like." 
 
 The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they were all 
 agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving the unmiti-
 
 64 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 gated glare of day behind. A considerable flight of steps landed 
 them in the wilderness, which was a planted wood of about two 
 acres, and though chiefly of larch and laurel, and beech cut 
 down, and though laid out with too much regularity, was dark- 
 ness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with the bowling- 
 green and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, and 
 for some time could only walk and admire. At length, after a 
 short pause, Miss Crawford began with, " So you are to be a 
 clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me." 
 
 "Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me de- 
 signed for some profession, and might perceive that I am not a 
 lawyer, a soldier, or a sailor." 
 
 "Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And 
 you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a 
 fortune to the second son." 
 
 " A very praiseworthy practice,'' said Edmund, " but not quite 
 universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do 
 something for myself.'' 
 
 "But why are you to be a clergyman; I thought that was 
 always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose 
 before him.'' 
 
 " Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?" 
 " Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversa- 
 tion which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to 
 be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and 
 in any of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in 
 the church. A clergyman is nothing." 
 
 " The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as 
 well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or 
 fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But 
 I cannot call that situation nothing, which has the charge of all 
 that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or col- 
 lectively considered, temporally and eternally which has the 
 guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the 
 manners which result from their influence. No one here can 
 call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by 
 the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and 
 stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to 
 appear." 
 
 " You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one 
 has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. 
 One does not see much of this influence and importance in 
 society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom 
 seen themselves? How can two sennons a week, even suppos- 
 ing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have the 
 sense to prefer Blair's to his own, do all that you speak of? 
 govern the conduct and fashion, the manners of a large congrega-
 
 MANSFIELD 1'A K 1C. t ! . > 
 
 tiiiu for tlic rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman 
 out of his pulpit." 
 
 " .Tow are speaking of London, / am speaking of the nation 
 at large." 
 
 " The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the 
 rest." 
 
 " Xot, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice 
 throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities for our 
 best morality. It is not there, that respectable people of any 
 denomination can do most good; and it certainly is not there 
 that the influence of the clergy can be most felt. A fine preacher 
 is followed an:l admired; but it is not in fine preaching only that 
 a good clergyman will bo useful in his parish and his neighbour- 
 hood, where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size capable 
 of knowing his private character, and observing his general con- 
 duct, which in London can rarely be the case. The clergy are 
 lost there in the crowds of their parishioners. They are known to 
 the largest part only as preachers. And with regard to their in- 
 fluencing public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand 
 me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good breed- 
 ing, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the 
 ceivmonics of life. The manners I speak of might rather be 
 called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles ; the effect, 
 in short, of thos-j doctrines which it is their duty to teach and 
 recommend ; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found, that 
 as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the 
 rest of the nation." 
 
 " Certainly," said Fanny, with gentle earnestness. 
 
 "There," cried Miss Crawford, "you have quite convinced 
 Miss Price already." 
 
 " I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too." 
 
 " I do not think you ever will," said she, with an arch smile ; 
 " I am just as much surprised now as I was at first that you 
 should intend to take orders. You really are fit for something 
 better. Come, do change your mind. It is not too late. Go 
 into the law." 
 
 " Go into the law ! with as much ease as I was told to go into 
 this wilderness." 
 
 " Now you are going to say sometliing about law being the 
 worst wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; remember I 
 have forestalled you." 
 
 " You need not hurry when die object is only to prevent my 
 saying a bon-mot, for there is not the least wit in my nature. I 
 am a very matter-of-fact, plain-spoken being, and may blunder 
 on the borders of a repartee for half an hour together without 
 striking it out.'' * 
 
 A general silence succeeded. Each was thoughtful. Fanny 
 
 (1) E
 
 66 MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 
 
 made the first interruption by saying, " I wonder that I should 
 be tired with only walking in this sweet wood ; but the next time 
 we come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable to you, I should be 
 glad to sit down for a little while." 
 
 " My dear Fanny," cried Edmund, immediately drawing her 
 arm within his, " how thoughtless I have been ! I hope you are 
 not very tired. Perhaps," turning to Miss Crawford, "my other 
 companion may do me the honour of taking an arm." 
 
 " Thank you, but I am not at all tired." She took it, how- 
 ever, as she spoke, and the gratification of having her do so, of 
 feeling such a connection for the first time, made him a little 
 forgetful of Fanny. " You scarcely touch me," said he. " You 
 do not make me of any use. What a difference in the weight of 
 a woman's arm from that of a man ! At Oxford I have been a 
 good deal used to have a man lean on me for the length of a 
 street, and you are only a fly in the comparison." 
 
 "I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; for we 
 must have walked a mile at least in this wood. Do not you 
 think we have?" 
 
 " Not half a mile," was his sturdy answer ; for he was not yet 
 so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with 
 feminine lawlessness. 
 
 " Oh, you do not consider how much we have wound about. 
 We have taken such a very serpentine course ; and the wood 
 itself must be half a mile long in a straight line, for we 
 have never seen the end of it yet, since we left the first great 
 path." 
 
 " But if you remember, before we left that first great path, wo 
 saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista, 
 and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more 
 than a furlong in length." 
 
 " Oh, I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure it is a 
 very long wood ; and that we have been winding in and out ever 
 since we came into it ; and therefore when I say that we have 
 walked a mile in it, I must speak within compass." 
 
 " We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here," said Ed- 
 mund, taking out his watch. " Do you think we are walking 
 four miles an hour ?" 
 
 " Oh, do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always 
 too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch." 
 
 A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the 
 very walk they had been talking of : and standing back, well 
 shaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha into the park, 
 was a comfortable-sized bench, on which they all sat down. 
 
 "I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny," said Edmund, ob- 
 serving her; " why would not you speak sooner? This will be 
 a bad day's amusement for you, if you are to be knocked up.
 
 MANSFIELD 1'ARK. 67 
 
 Every sort of exercise fatigues her so soon, Miss Crawford, ex- 
 cept riding." 
 
 " How abominable in you, then, to lot me engross her horse 
 as I did all last week ! I am ashamed of you and of myself, but 
 it shall never happen again." 
 
 u Four attentiveness and consideration make me inorescn.-iMo 
 of my own neglect. Fanny's interest seems in safer hands with 
 you than with me." 
 
 " That she should be tired now, however, gives me no surprise ; 
 for there is nothing in the course of one's duties so fatiguing as 
 what we have been doing this morning seeing a great house, 
 dawdling from one room to another straining one's eyes and 
 one's attention hearing what one docs not understand admi- 
 ring what one does not care for. It is generally allowed to be the 
 greatest bore in the world, and Miss Price has found it so, though 
 she did not know it." 
 
 " I shall soon be rested," said Fanny : " to sit in the shade 
 on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refresh- 
 ment.'' 
 
 After sitting a little while, Miss Crawford was up again. "I 
 must move," said she, "resting fatigues me. I have looked 
 across the ha-ha till I am weary. I must go and look through 
 that iron gate at the same view, without being able to see it so 
 well." 
 
 Ivhmind left the seat likewise. ' " Now, Miss Crawford, if you 
 will look up the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot 
 be half a mile long, or half half a mile." 
 
 " It is an immense distance," said she ; " I see that with a 
 glance.'' 
 
 He still reasoned with her, but in. vain. She would not calcu- 
 late, si ic would not compare. She would only smile and assert. 
 The greatest degree of rational consistency could not have been 
 more engaging, and they talked with mutual satisfaction. At 
 last it was agreed that they should endeavour to determine the 
 dimensions of the wood by walking a little more about it. They 
 would go to one end of it, in the line they were then in (for there 
 was a straight green walk along the bottom by the side of the 
 ha-ha), and perhaps turn a little way in some other direction, if 
 it seemed likely to assist them, and be back in a few minutes. 
 Fanny said she was rested, and would have moved too, but this 
 was not suffered. Edmund urged her remaining where she was 
 with an earnestness which she could not resist, and she was left 
 on the bench to think with pleasure of her cousin's care, but 
 with great regret that she was not stronger. She watched them 
 till they had turned the comer, and listened till all sound of them 
 had ceased.
 
 68 MANSFlJiLD PAUK. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 QUARTER of an hour, twenty minutes, 
 passed away, and Fanny was still thinking 
 ; of Edmund, Miss Crawford, and herself, with- 
 out interruption from any one. She began (o 
 be surprised at being left so long, and to listen 
 with an anxious desire of hearing their steps 
 and their voices again. She listened, and at 
 length she heard ; she heard voices and feet 
 approaching ; but she had just satisfied herself that it was not 
 those she wanted, when Miss Bertram, Mr. Rushworth, and Mr. 
 Crawford, issued from the same path which she had trod herself, 
 and were before her. 
 
 "Miss Price all alone!' 1 and "my dear Fanny, how comes 
 this ?" were the first salutations. She told her story. " Poor 
 dear Fanny," cried her cousin, " how ill you have been used by 
 them ! You had better have staid with us." 
 
 Then seating herself with a gentleman on each side, she re- 
 sumed the conversation which had engaged them before, and dis- 
 cussed the possibility of improvements with much animation. 
 Nothing was fixed on but Henry Crawford was full of ideas 
 and projects, and, generally speaking, whatever he proposed was 
 immediately approved, first by her, and then by Mr. Rushworth, 
 whoso principal business seemed to be to hear the others, and 
 who scarcely risked an original thought of his own beyond a wuh 
 that they had seen his friend Smith's place. 
 
 After some minutes spent in this way, Miss Bertram observed 
 the iron gate, expressed a wish of passing through it into the 
 park, that their views and their plans might be more compre- 
 hensive. It was the very tiling of all others to be wished, it 
 was the best, it was the only way of proceeding with any ad- 
 vantage, in Henry Crawford's opinion ; and he directly saw a 
 knoll not half a mile off, which would give them exactly the 
 requisite command of the house. Go therefore they must to that 
 knoll, and through that gate ; but the gate was locked. Mr. 
 Rushworth wished he had brought the key ; he had been very 
 near thinking whether he should not bring the key ; he was de- 
 termined he would never come without the key again ; but still 
 this did not remove the present evil. They could not get 
 through ; and as Miss Bertram's inclination for so doing did by 
 no means lessen, it ended in Mr. Rushworth's declaring out- 
 right that he would go and fetch the key. He set off accord- 
 ingly.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 69 
 
 " It is undoubtedly the best thing we can do now, as we are 
 so far from the house already," said Mr. Crawford, when lie was 
 gone. 
 
 " Yes, there is nothing else to be done. But now, sincerely, 
 do not you find the place altogether worse than you expected?" 
 
 " No, indeed, far otherwi.se. I find it better, grander, more 
 complete in its style, though that style may not be the best. 
 And to tell you the truth," speaking rather lower, " I do not 
 think that / shall ever see Sothcrton again with so much plea- 
 sure as I do now. Another summer will hardly improve it to 
 me." 
 
 After a moment's embarrassment the lady replied, "You are 
 too much a man of the world not to see with the eyes of the 
 world. If other people think Sotherton improved, I have no 
 doubt that you will." 
 
 " I am afraid I am not quite so much the man of the world as 
 might be good for me in some points. My feelings are not quite 
 so evanescent, nor my memory of the past under such easy do- 
 minion as one finds to be the case with men of the world." 
 
 This was followed by a short silence. Miss Bertram began 
 again. " You seemed to enjoy your drive here this morning. I 
 was glad to see you so well entertained. You and Julia were 
 laughing the whole way." 
 
 "Were we? Yes, I believe we were; but I have not the 
 least recollection at what. Oh, I believe I was relating to her 
 some ridiculous stories of an old Irish groom of my uncle's. Your 
 sister loves to laugh." 
 
 " You think her more light-hearted than I am." 
 
 " More easily amused," he replied, "consequently, you know," 
 smiling, " better company. I could not have hoped to entertain 
 you Avith Irish anecdotes during a ten miles' drive." 
 
 " Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as Julia, but I have 
 more to think of new." 
 
 "You have, undoubtedly and there are situations in which 
 very high spirits would denote insensibility. Your prospects, how- 
 ever, arc too fair to justify want of spirits. You have a very 
 smiling scene before you." 
 
 " Do you mean literally or figuratively ? Literally, I con- 
 clude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines and the park looks very 
 cheerful. But unluckily that iron gate, that ha-ha, give me a 
 feeling of restraint and hardship. I cannot get out, as the star- 
 ling said." As she spoke, and it was with expression, she 
 walked to the gate : he followed her. " Mr. Rushworth is so 
 long fetching this key !" 
 
 " And for the world you would not get out without the key 
 and without Mr. Rushworth's authority and protection, or I think 
 you might with little difficulty pass round the edge of the gate.
 
 70 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 here, with my assistance ; I think it might be done, if you really 
 wished to be more at largo, and could allow yourself to think it 
 not prohibited." 
 
 " Prohibited ! nonsense ! I certainly can get out that way, and 
 I will. Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment you know 
 we shall not be out of sight." 
 
 " Or if we are, Miss Price will be BO good as to tell him, that 
 he will find vis near that knoll, the grove of oak on the knoll." 
 
 Fanny, feeling all this to be wrong, could not help making- an 
 effort to prevent it. " You will hurt yourself, Miss Bertram," 
 she cried, " you will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes 
 you will tear your gown you will be in danger of slipping 
 into the ha-ha. You had better not go." 
 
 Her cousin was safe on the other side, while these words were 
 spoken, and, smiling with all the good humour of success, she 
 said, " Thank yon, my dear Fanny, but I and my gown are 
 alive and well, and so good bye." 
 
 Fanny was again left to her solitude, and with no increase of 
 pleasant feelings, for she was sorry for almost all that she had 
 seen and heard, astonished at Miss Bertram, and angry with 
 Mr. Crawford. By taking a circuitous, and, as it appeared to 
 her, very unreasonable direction to the knoll, they were soon 
 beyond her eye; and for some minutes longer she remained 
 without sight or sound of any companion. She seemed to have 
 the little wood all to herself. She coiild almost have thought 
 that Edmund and Miss Crawford had left it, but that it was 
 impossible for Edmund to forget her so entirely. 
 
 She was again roused from disagreeable musings by sudden 
 footsteps: somebody was coming at a quick pace down the 
 principal walk. She expected Mr. Rushworth, but it was Julia, 
 who, hot and out of breath, and with a look of disappointment, 
 cried out on seeing her, " Heyday! Where ai - e the others? I 
 thought Maria and Mr. Crawford were with you." 
 
 Fanny explained. 
 
 "A pretty trick, upon my word ! I cannot see them anywm-iv,' 1 
 looking eagerly into the park. " But they cannot be very far off, 
 and I think I am equal to as much as Maria, even without help." 
 
 " But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment with 
 the key. Do wait for Mr. Rushworth." 
 
 " Not I, indeed. I have had enough of the family for one 
 morning. Why, child, I have but this moment escaped from 
 his horrible mother. Such a penance as I have been enduring, 
 while you were sitting here so composed and so happy ! It might 
 have been as well, perhaps, if you had been in my place, but you 
 always contrive to keep out of these scrapes." 
 
 This was a most unjust reflection, but Fanny could allow for 
 it, and let it pass: Julia was vexed, and her temper was hasty;
 
 MANSriKI.P I'ABK. 71 
 
 luit she felt thiit it would not last, and therefore taking no noti.-c, 
 only asked lier if she had not seen Mr. liushwortli. 
 
 " Yes, yes, we saw l;im. lie was posting away as if upon 
 life and death, and could but just spare time to tell us his errand, 
 and where you all were." 
 
 ' It is a pity that he should have so much trouble for nothing." 
 
 "That is Miss Maria's concern. I am not obliged to punish 
 myself for her sins. The mother I could not avoid, as Ion;; as 
 my tiresome aunt was dancing about with the housekeeper, but 
 the son I can get away from." 
 
 And she immediately scrambled across the fence, and walked 
 away, not attending to Fanny's last question of whether she had 
 seen anything of Miss Crawford and Edmund. The sort of dread 
 in which Fanny now sat of seeing Mr. liushworth, prevented her 
 thinking so much of their continued absence, however, as she 
 might have done. She felt that lie had been very 511 used, and 
 was quite unhappy in having to communicate what had passed. 
 He joined her within live minutes after Julia's exit; and though 
 she made the best of the story, lie was evidently mortified and 
 displeased in no common degree. At first he scarcely said any- 
 thing; his looks only expressed his extreme surprise* and vexation, 
 and he walked to the gate and stood there, without seeming to 
 know what to do. 
 
 "They desired me to stay my cousin Maria charged me to 
 say that you would find them at that knoll, or thereabouts." 
 
 "I do not believe I shall go any further," said he, sullenly; 
 '' I see nothing of them. By the time I get to the knoll, they 
 may be gone somewhere else. I have had walking enough." 
 
 And he sat down with a most gloomy countenance by Fanny. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said she; " it is very unlucky." And she 
 longed to be able to say something more to the purpose. 
 
 After an interval of silence, " I think they might as well have 
 staid for me," said he. 
 
 " Miss Bertram thought you would follow her." 
 
 " I should not have had to follow her if she had staid." 
 
 This could not be denied, and Fanny was silenced. After 
 another pause, he went on: " Pray, Miss Price, are you such a 
 great admirer of this Mr. Crawford as some people are? For 
 my part, I can see nothing in him.'' 
 
 " I do not think him at all handsome." 
 
 "Handsome! Nobody can call such an under-sized man 
 handsome. He is not five foot nine. I should not wonder if he 
 was not more than live foot eight. I think he is an ill-looking 
 fellow. In my opinion, these Crawfords are no addition at all. 
 We did very well without them." 
 
 A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and she did not know how 
 to contradict him.
 
 72 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " If I had made ally difficulty about fetching the key, there 
 mi^ht have been some exc'.tse, but I went the very moment she 
 said she wanted it." 
 
 " Nothing could be more obliging than your manner, I am 
 sure, and I dare say you walked as fast as you could ; but still 
 it is some distance, you know, from this spot to the house, quite 
 into the house; and when people are waiting, they are bad judges 
 of time, and every half minute seems like five." 
 
 He got up and walked to the gate again, and " wished lie had 
 had the key about him at the time." Fanny thought she discerned 
 iu his standing there an indication of relenting, which encouraged 
 her to another attempt, and she said, therefore, " It is a pity you 
 should not join them. They expected to have a better view of 
 the house from that part of the park, and will be thinking how 
 it may be improved ; and nothing of that sort, you know, can be 
 settled without you." 
 
 She found herself more successful in sending away, than 
 in retaining a companion. Mr. Eushworth was worked on. 
 " Well," said he, " if you really think I had better go: it would 
 be foolish to bring the key for nothing." And letting himself 
 out, he walked off without further ceremony. 
 
 Fanny's thoughts were now all engrossed by the two who had 
 left her so long ago, and getting quite impatient, she resolved to 
 go in search of them. She followed their steps along the bottom 
 Avalk, and had just turned up into another, when the voice and 
 the laugh of Miss Crawford once more caught her ear; the 
 sound approached, and a few more windings brought them before 
 her. They were just returned into the wilderness from the park, 
 1o which a side-gate, not fastened, had tempted them very soon 
 ftfter their leaving her, and they had been across a portion of the 
 park into the very avenue which Fanny had been hoping the 
 whole morning to reach at last, and had been sitting down under 
 one of the trees, This was their history. It was evident that 
 they had been spending their time pleasantly, and were not 
 aware of the length of their absence. Fanny's best consolation 
 was in being assured that Edmund had wished for her very much, 
 and that he should certainly have come back for her, had she 
 not been tired already ; but this was not quite sufficient to do 
 away the pain of having been left a whole hour, when he had 
 talked of only a few minutes, nor to banish the sort of curiosity 
 she felt, to know what they had been conversing about all that 
 time ; and the result of the whole was to her disappointment and 
 depression, as they prepared, by general agreement, to return to 
 the house. 
 
 On reaching the bottom of the steps to the terrace, Mrs. 
 Eushworth and Mrs. Norris presented themselves at the top, 
 just ready for the wilderness, at the end of an hour and a half
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 73 
 
 from their leaving the house. Mrs. Norris had been too well 
 employed to move, faster. Whatever cross accidents had occurred 
 to intercept the pleasures of her nieces, she had found a morning 
 of complete enjoyment for the housekeeper, after a great many 
 courtesies on the subject of pheasants, had taken her to the dairy, 
 told her all about their cows, and given her the receipt for a 
 famous cream cheese; and since Julia's leaving them, they had 
 been met by the gardener, with whom she had made a most 
 satisfactory acquaintance, for she had set him right as to his 
 grandson's illness, convinced him it was an ague, and promised 
 him a charm for it; and he, in return, had shown her all his 
 choicest nursery of plants, and actually presented her with a very 
 curious specimen of heath. 
 
 On this rencontre they all returned to the house together, there 
 to lounge away the time as they could with sofas, and chit-chat, 
 and Quarterly Reviews, till the return of the others, and the 
 arrival of dinner. It was late before the JMiss Bertrams and the 
 two gentlemen came in, and their ramble did not appear to have 
 been more than partially agreeable, or at all productive of any- 
 thing useful with regard to the object of the day. By their own 
 accounts they had been all walking after each other, and the 
 junction which had taken place at last seemed, to Fanny's 
 observation, to have been as much too late for re-establishing 
 harmony, as it confessedly had been for determining on any 
 alteration. She felt, as she looked at Julia and Mr. Rushworth, 
 that hers was not the only dissatisfied bosom amongst them; 
 there was gloom on the face of each. Mr. Crawford and Miss 
 Bertram were much more gay, and she thought that he was 
 taking particular pains, during dinner, to do away any little 
 resentment of the other two, and restore general good humour. 
 
 Dinner was soon followed by tea and coffee, a ten miles' drive, 
 home allowed no waste of hours; and from the time of their 
 sitting down to table, it was a quick succession of busy nothings 
 till the carriage came to the door, and Mrs. Nbrris, having 
 fidgeted about, and obtained a few pheasant's eggs and a cream 
 cheese from the housekeeper, and made abundance of civil speeches 
 to Mrs. Rushworth, was ready to lead the way. At the same 
 moment Mr. Crawford approaching Julia, said, " I hope I am 
 not to lose my companion, unless she is afraid of the evening air 
 in so exposed a scat." The request had not been foreseen, but 
 was very graciously received, and Julia's day was likely to end 
 almost as well as it began. Miss Bertram had made up her 
 mind to something different, and was a little disappointed; but 
 her conviction of being really the one preferred, comforted her 
 under it, and enabled her to receive Mr. Rushworth's parting 
 attentions as she ought. He was certainly better pleased to hand 
 her into the barouche than to assist her in ascending the box- 
 and his complacency seemed confirmed by the arrangement,
 
 74 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 "Well, Fanny, this has lx>cn a fine day for you, upon my 
 word ! " said Mr?. Xorris, as they drove through the park. 
 " Nothing but pleasure from beginning to end! I am sure yon 
 ought to be very much obliged to your aunt Bertram and me, 
 for contriving to let yon go. A pretty good clay's amusement 
 you have had ! " 
 
 Maria was ju-'t discontented enough to say directly, " I think 
 iiau have done pretty well yourself, ma'am. Your lap seems full 
 of good things, and here is <i basket of something between us, 
 which has been knocking my elbow unmercifully.'' 
 
 ' My dear, it is only a beautiful little heath, which that nice 
 old gardener would make me take; but if it is in your way, I 
 will have it in my lap directly. There, Fanny, you shall cam- 
 that parcel for me take great care of it do not let it fall; it 
 is a cream cheese, just like the excellent one we had at dinner. 
 Xothing would satisfy that good old Mrs. Whitaker, but my 
 taking one of the cheeses. I stood out as long as I could, till 
 the tears almost came into her eyes, and I knew it was just the 
 sort that my sister would be delighted with. That Mrs. Whitaker 
 is a treasure! She was quite shocked when I asked her whether 
 wine was allowed at the second table, and she has turned away 
 two housemaids for wearing white gowns. Take care of the 
 cheese, Fanny. Now I can manage the other parcel and the 
 basket very well." 
 
 "What else have you been spunging?" said Maria, half 
 pleased that Sotherton should be so complimented. 
 
 " Spunging, my dear! It is nothing but four of those beautiful 
 pheasant's eggs, which Mrs. Whitaker would quite force upon 
 me; she would not take a denial. She said it must be such an 
 amusement to me, as she understood I lived quite alone, to have 
 a few living creatures of that sort; and so to be sure it will. I 
 shall get tiie dairymaid to set them under the first spare hen. 
 and if they come to good I can have them moved to my own 
 house and borrow a coop; and it will be a great delight to me 
 in my lonely hours to attend to them. And if I have good 
 luck, your mother shall have some." 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and the drive was 
 as pleasant as the serenity of nature could make it; but when 
 Mrs. Norris ceased speaking, it was altogether a silent drive to 
 those within. Their spirite were in general exhausted; and to 
 determine whether the day had afforded most pleasure or pain, 
 might occupy the meditations of almost all.
 
 MANSFIKU) 1'AIIK. 75 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ' V-- r -,-Y' -. '"' ( ' :1 . v at Siiihertoii, wilh all its imperfec- 
 .;,tions, afforded the Miss I!ertrams mncli more 
 sv^S* '"""'''' '' '''clings than were derived from the 
 !B 1 "<"5-K'j ' etl( ' r - s ' ri>m Antigua, which soon afterwards 
 ^Biny! reached Mansfield. It was much pleasanter 
 .'.! tn think of Henry Craw ford than of their father; 
 ^Stgpand to think of their father in England again 
 ^>3bSlStttr Sf ^'' within a certain period, which these letters 
 obliged them to do, was a most unwelcome exercise. 
 
 November was the black month fixed for his return. Sir 
 Thomas wrote of i! with as much decision as experience and 
 anxiety could authorize. His business was so nearly concluded 
 as to justify him in proposing to take his passage in the Septem- 
 ber packet, and he consequently looked forward with the hope of 
 being with his beloved family again early in November. 
 
 Maria was more to be pitied than Julia ; for to her the father 
 brought a husband, and the return of the friend most solicitous 
 for her happiness would unite her to the lover, oa whom she had 
 chosen that happiness should depend. It was a gloomy prospect, 
 and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and liopo 
 when the mist cleared away, she should see something else. It 
 would hardly be early in November, there were generally delays, 
 a bad passage or something; that favouring something which 
 everybody who shuts their eyes while they look, or their under- 
 standings while they reason, feels the comfort of. It would 
 probably be the middle of November at least; the middle of 
 November was three months oft'. Three months comprised 
 thirteen weeks. Much might happen in thirteen weeks. 
 
 Sir Thomas woidd have been deeply mortified by a suspicion 
 of half that his daughters felt on the subject of his return, and 
 Avould hardly have found consolation in a knowledge of the 
 interest it excited in the breast of another young lady. Miss 
 Crav/lonl, on walking up with her brother to spend the evening 
 at Mansfield Park, heard the good news; and though seeming to 
 have no concern in the affair beyond politeness, and to have 
 vented all her feelings in a quiet congratulation, heard it with an 
 attention not so easily satisfied. Mrs. Norris gave the particulars 
 of the letters, and the subject was dropped ; but after tea, as Miss 
 ( 'mwford was standing at an open window with Edmund and 
 Fanny looking out on a twilight scene, while the Miss Bertrams, 
 Mr. Iviishworth, and Henry Crawford, were all busy with candles 
 at the piano-forte, she suddenly revived it by turning round
 
 76 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 towards the group, and saying, " How happy Mr. Rushworth 
 looks ! He is thinking of November." 
 
 Edmund looked round at Mr. Rushworth too, but had nothing 
 to say. "Your father's return will be a very interesting event." 
 
 "It will, indeed, after such an absence; an absence not only 
 long, but including so many dangers." 
 
 "It will be the forerunner also of other interesting events; 
 your sister's marriage, and your taking orders." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Don't be affronted," said she, laughing; "but it docs put 
 me in mind of some of the old heathen heroes, who, after per- 
 forming great exploits in a foreign land, offered sacrifices to the 
 gods on their safe return." 
 
 " There is no sacrifice in the case," replied Edmund, with a 
 serious smile, and glancing at the piano-forte again, "it is 
 entirely her own doing." 
 
 " Oil yes, I know it is. I was merely joking. She has done 
 no more than what every young woman would do ; and I have 
 no doubt of her being extremely happy. My other sacrifice of 
 course you do not understand." 
 
 " My taking orders, I assure you, is quite as voluntary as 
 Maria's marrying." 
 
 " It is fortunate that your inclination and your father's con- 
 venience should accord so well. There is a very good living 
 kept for you, I understand, hereabouts.'' 
 
 " Which you suppose has biassed me." 
 
 " But that I am sure it has not," cried Fanny. 
 
 " Thank you for your good word, Fanny, but it is more than 
 I woiild affirm myself. On the contrary, the knowing~that 
 there was such a provision for me probably did bias me. Nor 
 can I think it wrong that it should. There was no natural 
 disinclination to be overcome, and I see no reason why a man 
 should make a worse clergyman for knowing that he will have 
 a competence early in life. I was in safe hands. I hope I should 
 not have been influenced myself in a wrong way, and I am sure 
 my father was too conscientious to have allowed it. I have no 
 doubt that I was biassed, but I think it M r as blamelessly." 
 
 " It is the same sort of thing," said Fanny, after a short pause, 
 " as for the son of an admiral to go into the navy, or the son of a 
 general to be in the army, and nobody sees anything wrong in 
 that, Nobody wonders that they should prefer the line where 
 their friends can serve them best, or suspects them to be less in 
 earnest in it than they appear." 
 
 (t No, my dear Miss Price, and for reasons good. The pro- 
 fession, either navy or army, is its own justification. It has 
 everything in its favour; heroism, danger, bustle, fashion. 
 Soldiers and sailors .are always acceptable in society. Nobody 
 can wonder that men are soldiers and sailors."
 
 MAN.SHELD PARK. 77 
 
 " But the motives of a man who takes orders with the certainty 
 of preferment may be fairly suspected, you think?" said Edmund. 
 " To be justified in your eyes, he must do it in the most complete 
 uncertainty of any provision." 
 
 "What! take orders without a living! No; that is madness 
 indeed, absolute madness." 
 
 " Shall I ask you how the ehurch is to be filled, if a man is 
 neither to take orders with a living, nor without? No; for you 
 certainly would not know what to say. But I must beg some 
 a- 1 vantage to the clergyman from your own argument. As he 
 cannot be influenced by those feelings which you rank highly as 
 temptation and reward to the soldier and sailor in their choice of 
 a profession, as heroism, and noise, and fashion, are all against 
 him, he ought to be less liable to the suspicion of wanting sin- 
 cerity or good intentions in the choice of his." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt he is very sincere in preferring an income 
 ready made, to the trouble of working for one : who has the best 
 intentions of doing nothing all the rest of his days but eat, drink, 
 and grow fat. It is indolence, Mr. Bertram, indeed. Indolence 
 and love of ease a want of all laudable ambition, of taste for 
 good company, or of inclination to take the trouble of being 
 agreeable, which make men clergymen. A clergyman has 
 nothing to do but to be slovenly and selfish read the newspaper, 
 watch the weather, and quarrel with his wife. -His curate does 
 all the work, and the business of his own life is to dine." 
 
 " There are such clergymen, no doubt, but I think they are 
 not so common as to justify Miss Crawford in esteeming it their 
 general character. I suspect that in this comprehensive and 
 (may I say) commonplace censure, you are not judging from 
 yourself, but from prejudiced persons, whose opinions you have 
 been in the habit of hearing. It is impossible that your own 
 observation can have given you much knowledge of the clergy. 
 You can have been personally acquainted with very few of a set 
 of men you condemn so conclusively. You are speaking what 
 you have been told at your uncle's table." 
 
 " I speak what appears to me the general opinion ; and where 
 an opinion is general, it is usually correct. Though 7 have not 
 seen much of the domestic lives of clergymen, it is seen by too 
 many to leave any deficiency of information." 
 
 " Where any one body of educated men, of whatever denomi- 
 nation, are condemned indiscriminately, there must be a deficiency 
 of information, or (smiling) of something else. Your uncle, and 
 his brother admirals, perhaps, knew little of clergymen beyond 
 the chaplains whom, good or bad, they were always wishing 
 may." 
 
 " Poor William ! He has met with great kindness from the 
 chaplain of the Antwerp," was a tender apostrophe of Fanny's,
 
 78 MANSHELD VAiiK. 
 
 very much to the purpose of her own feelings, if not of the 
 conversation. 
 
 " 1 have been so little addicted to take my opinions from my 
 uncle," said Miss Crawford, "that I can hardly suppose and 
 since you push me so hard, I must observe, that I am not 
 entirely without the means of seeing what clergymen arc, being 
 at tliis present time the guest of my own brother, Dr. Grant. 
 And though Dr. Grant is most kind and obliging to me, and 
 though he is really a gentleman, and, I dare say, a good scholar 
 and clever, and often preaches good sermons, and is very re- 
 spectable, / see him to be an indolent, selfish ban vivant, who 
 must have his palate consulted in everything ; who will not stir 
 a linger for the convenience of any one; and who, moreover, if 
 the cook makes a blunder, is out of humour with his excellent 
 wife. To own the truth, Henry and I were partly driven out 
 this very evening by a disappointment about a green goose, 
 which he could not get the better of. My poor sister was forced 
 to stay and bear it." 
 
 "I do not wonder at your disapprobation, upon my word. It 
 is a great defect of temper, made worse by a very faulty habit of 
 self-Indulgence ; and to see your sister suffering from it must be 
 exceedingly painful to such feelings as yours. Fanny, it goes 
 against us. We cannot attempt to defend Dr. Grant." 
 
 "No," replied Fanny, "but we need not give up his profession 
 for all that; because, whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen, 
 
 he would have taken a . not a good temper into it ; and as 
 
 he must, either in the navy or army, have had a great many 
 more people under his command than he has now, I think more 
 would have been made unhappy by him as a sailor or soldier 
 than as a clergyman. Besides, I cannot but suppose that 
 whatever there may be to wish otherwise in Dr. Grant, would 
 have been in a greater danger of becoming worse in a more 
 active and worldly profession, where he would have had less time 
 and obligation where he might have escaped that knowledge 
 of himself, the frequency, at least, of that knowledge which it is 
 impossible he should escape as he is now. A man a sensible 
 man like Dr. Grant, cannot be in the habit of teaching others 
 their duty every week, cannot go to church twice eveiy Sunday, 
 and preach such very good sermons in so good a manner as he 
 does, without being the better for it himself. It must make him 
 think; and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavours to 
 rest rain himself than lie would if he had been any tiling but a 
 clergyman." 
 
 "We cannot prove the contrary, to be sure but I wish you 
 a better fate, Miss Price, than to be the wife of a man whose 
 amiableness depends upon his own sermons; for, though he may 
 preach himself into a good humour every Sunday, it will be bad
 
 MANSriELL) rAUK. 79 
 
 enough to have him quarrelling about green geese from Monday 
 morning till Saturday night." 
 
 " 1 think tlu> man who could often quarrel with Fanny," said 
 Edmund, affectionately, "must be beyond the reaeh of any 
 srrmons." 
 
 Fanny turned farther into the window; and Miss Crawford 
 had only time to say, in a pleasant manner, " 1 fancy Miss Price 
 has been more used to deserve praise than to hear it;" when 
 being earnestly invited by the Miss Bertrams to join in a glee, 
 she tripped off to the instrument, leaving Edmund looking after 
 her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her many virtues, from her 
 obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread. 
 
 "There goes good humour, I am sure," stiid he presently. 
 " There goes a temper which would never give pain! How well 
 she walks ! and how readily she falls hi with the inclination of 
 others ! joining them the moment she is asked. What a pity," 
 he added, after an instant's reflection, " that she should have been 
 in such hands!" 
 
 Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure of seeing him con- 
 tinue at the window with her, in spite of the expected glee; and 
 of having his eyes soon turned, like hers, towards the scene 
 without, where all that Avas solemn, and soothing, and lovely, 
 appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded night, and the contrast 
 of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke her feelings. 
 " Here's harmony!" said she; "here's repose! Here's what may 
 leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only 
 can attempt to describe! Here's what may tranquillize every 
 care, and lift the heart to rapture ! When I look out on such a 
 night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor 
 sorrow in the world ; and there certainly would be less of both if 
 the sublimity of nature were more attended to, and people were 
 carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene." 
 
 " I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely night, 
 and they are much to be pitied who have not been taught to 
 feel, iu some degree, as you do who have not, at least, been 
 given a taste for nature in early life. They lose a great deal." 
 
 " You taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin." 
 
 " I had a very apt scholar. There's Arcturus looking very 
 bright," 
 
 " Yes, and the Bear. I wish I coidd see Cassiopeia." 
 
 " We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be 
 afraid?" 
 
 " Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any 
 star-gazing." 
 
 " Yes; Fdo not know how it has happened." The glee began. 
 " We will stay till this is finished, Fanny," said lie, turning his 
 back on the window ; and as it advanced, she had the mortifi-
 
 80 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 cation of seeing lam advance too, moving forward by gentle 
 degrees towards the instrument, and when it ceased, he was 
 close by the singers, among the most urgent in requesting to hear 
 the glee again. 
 
 Fanny sighed alone at the window till scolded away by Mrs. 
 Norris's threats of catching cold. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IR THOMAS was to return in November, 
 and his eldest son had duties to call him 
 earlier home. The approach of September 
 brought tidings of Mr. Bertram, first in a 
 letter to the gamekeeper, and then in a letter 
 . to Edmund ; and by the end of August he 
 arrived himself, to ba gay, agreeable, and 
 gallant again as occasion served, or Miss 
 Crawford demanded ; to tell of races and "Weymouth, and parties 
 and friends, to which she might have listened six weeks before 
 with some interest, and altogether to give her the fullest con- 
 viction, by the power of actual comparison, of her preferring his 
 younger brother. 
 
 It was very vexatious, and she was heartily sorry for it; but 
 so it was; and so far from now meaning to many the elder, she 
 did not even want to attract him beyond what the simplest 
 claims of conscious beauty required : his lengthened absence from 
 Mansfield, without anything but pleasure in view, and his own 
 will to consult, made it perfectly clear that he did not care about 
 her ; and his indifference was so much more than equalled by her 
 own, that were he now to step forth the owner of Mansfield Park, 
 the Sir Thomas complete, which he was to be in time, she did 
 not believe she could accept him. 
 
 The season and duties which brought Mr. Bertram back to 
 Mansfield took Mr. Crawford into Norfolk. Everingham could 
 not do without him in the beginning of September. He went 
 for a fortnight a fortnight of such dulness to the Miss Bertrams 
 as ought to have put them both on their guard, and made even 
 Julia admit, in her jealousy of her sister, the absolute necessity 
 of distrusting his attentions, and wishing him not to return ; and 
 a fortnight of sufficient leisure, in the intervals of shooting and 
 sleeping, to have convinced the gentleman that he ought to keep 
 longer away, had he been in the habit of examining his own 
 motives, and of reflecting to what the indulgence of his idle 
 vanity was tending; but, thoughtless and seliish from prosperity 
 and bad example, he would not look beyond the present moment.
 
 * 
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 81 
 
 Tlio sisters, handsome, clever, and encouraging, were an amuse- 
 ment to his sated mind ; and finding, nothing in Norfolk to equal 
 the social pleasures of Mansfield, he gladly returned to it at the 
 time appointed, and was welcomed thither quite as gladly by 
 those, whom he came to trilie with farther. 
 
 Maria, with only Mr. liushworth to attend to her, and doomed 
 to the repeated details of his day's sport, good or bad, his boast 
 of his dogs, his jealousy of his neighbors, his doubts of their 
 qualification, and his zeal after poachers subjects which will not 
 find then- way to female feelings without some talent on one side 
 or some attachment on the other had missed Mr. Crawford 
 grievously; and Julia, unengaged and unemployed, felt all the 
 right of missing him much more. Each sister believed herself 
 the favourite. Julia might be justified in so doing by the hints 
 of Mrs. Grant, inclined to credit what she wished, and Maria by 
 the hints of Mr. Crawford himself. Every tiling returned into 
 the same channel as before his absence; his manners being to 
 each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground with either, 
 and just stopping short of the consistence, the steadiness, the 
 solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general notice. 
 
 Fanny was the only one of the party who found anything to 
 dislike ; but since the day at Sothcrton, she could never see Mr. 
 Crawford with either sister without observation, and seldom 
 without wonder or censure; and had her confidence in her own 
 judgment been equal to her exercise of it in every other respect, 
 had she been sure that she was seeing clearly, and judging can- 
 didly, she would probably have made some important communi- 
 cations to her usual confidant. As it was, however, she only 
 hazarded a hint, and the hint was lost. "I am rather surprised," 
 said she, " that Mr. Crawford should come back again so soon, 
 after being here so long before, full seven weeks; for I had un- 
 derstood he was so very fond of change and moving about, that 
 I thought something would certainly occur when he was once 
 gone, to take him elsewhere. He is used to much gayer places 
 than Mansfield." 
 
 " It is to his credit," was Edmund's answer, " and I dare say 
 it gives his sister pleasure. She does not like his unsettled 
 habits." 
 
 " What a favourite he is with my cousins ! " 
 
 " Yes, his manners to women are such as must please. Mrs. 
 Grant, I believe, suspects him of a preference for Julia; I have 
 never seen much symptom of it, but I wish it may be so. He 
 has no faults but what a serious attachment would remove." 
 
 " If Miss Bertram were not engaged," said Fanny, cautiously, 
 " I could sometimes almost think that he admired her more than 
 Julia." 
 
 " Which is, perhaps, more in favour of hid liking Julia best, 
 (1)
 
 
 82 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 than you, Fanny, may be aware; for I believe it often happens, 
 that a man, before he has quite made up his own mind, will dis- 
 tinguish the sister or intimate friend of the woman he is really 
 thinking of, more than the woman herself. Crawford has too 
 much sense to stay here if he found himself in any danger from 
 Maria ; and I am not at all afraid for her, after such a proof as 
 she has given, that her feelings are not strong." 
 
 Fanny supposed she must have been mistaken, and meant to 
 think differently in future ; but with all that submission to Ed- 
 mund could do, and all the help of the coinciding looks and hints 
 which she occasionally noticed in some of the others, and which 
 seemed to say that Julia was Mr. Crawford's choice, she knew 
 not always what to think. She was privy, one evening, to the 
 hopes of her aunt Norris on this subject, as well as to her feelings, 
 and the feelings of Mrs. Rushworth, on a point of some similarity, 
 and could not help wondering as she listened; and glad would 
 she have been not to be obliged to listen, for it was while all the 
 other young people were dancing, and she sitting, most unwil- 
 lingly, among the chaperons at the fire, longing for the re-en- 
 trance of her elder cousin, on whom all her own hopes of a 
 partner then depended. It was Fanny's first ball, though without 
 the preparation or splendour of many a young lady's first ball, 
 being the thought only of the afternoon, built on the late acqui- 
 sition of a violin player in the servants' hall, and the possibility 
 df raising five couples with the help of Mrs. Grant and a new 
 intimate friend of Mr. Bertram's just arrived on a visit. It had, 
 however, been a very happy one to Fanny through four dances, 
 and she was quite grieved to be losing even a quarter of an hour. 
 While waiting and wishing, looking now at the dancers and now 
 at the door, this dialogue between the two above-mentioned ladies 
 was forced on her: 
 
 " I think, ma'am," said Mrs. Xorris her eyes directed towards 
 Mr. Rushworth and Maria, who were partners for the second 
 time " we shall see some happy faces again now." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, indeed," replied the other, with a stately sim- 
 per, " there will be some satisfaction in looking on now, and I 
 think it was rather a pity they should have been obliged to part. 
 Young folks in their situation should be excused complying with 
 the common forms. I wonder my son did not propose it." 
 
 " I dare say he did, ma'am. Mr. Rushworth is never remiss. 
 But dear Maria has such a strict sense of propriety, so much of 
 that true delicacy which one seldom meets with now-a-days, 
 Mr*. Rushworth, that wish of avoiding particularity! Dear 
 ma'am, only look at her face at this moment; how different from 
 what it was the two last dances! " 
 
 Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were sparkling 
 v,-ith pleasure, and she was speaking with great animation, for
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 83 
 
 Julia and her partner, Mr. Crawford, were close to her; they 
 were all in a cluster together. How she had looked before, Fanny 
 could not recollect, for she had been dancing with Edmund her- 
 self, and had not thought about her. 
 
 Mrs. Norris continued, "It is quite delightful, ma'am, to see 
 young people so properly happy, so well suited, and so much the 
 thing! I cannot but think of dear Sir Thomas's delight. And 
 what do you say, ma'am, to the chance of another match? Mr. 
 Eushworth has set a good example, and such things are very 
 catching." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at 
 a loss. " The couple above, ma'am. Do you see no symptoms 
 there?" 
 
 " Oh dear Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a 
 very pretty match. What is his property?" 
 " .Four thousand a-year." 
 
 "Very well. Those who have not more, must be satisfied 
 with what they have. Four thousand a year is a pretty estate, 
 and he seems a very genteel, steady young man, so I hope Mis.s 
 Julia will be very happy." 
 
 " It is not a settled thing, ma'am, yet. We only speak of it 
 among friends. But I have very little doubt it will be. He is 
 growing extremely particular in his attentions." 
 
 Fanny could listen no farther. Listening and wondering 
 were nil suspended for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in the room 
 again ; and though feeling it would be a great honour to be asked 
 by him, she thought it must happen. He came towards their 
 ittle circle ; but instead of asking her to dance, drew a chair 
 icar her, and gave her an account of the present state of a sick 
 horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom he had just 
 parted. Fanny found that it was not to be, and in the modesty 
 of her nature immediately felt that she had been unreasonable in 
 expecting it. When he had told of his horse, he took a news- 
 paper from the table, and looking over it said in a languid way, 
 If you want to dance, Fanny,! will stand up with you." With 
 more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish 
 to dance. " I am glad of it," said he, in a much brisker tone, 
 and throwing down the newspaper again "for I am tired to death. 
 1 only wonder how the good people can keep it up so long. They 
 had need be all in love, to find any amusement in such folly 
 and so they are, I fancy. If you look at them you may see they 
 are so many couple of lovers all but Yates and Mrs. Grant-^- 
 and, between ourselves, she, poor woman, must want a lover as 
 much as any one of them. A desperate dull life hers must be 
 with the doctor," making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair, 
 the latter, who proving, however, to be close at his elbow, 
 instantaneous a change of expression and subject neces-
 
 84 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 sary, as Fanny, in spite of everything, could hardly help laughing 
 at. " A strange business this in America, Dr. Grant! What is 
 your opinion ? I always come to you to know what I am to 
 think of public matters." 
 
 " My dear Tom," cried his aunt soon afterwards, " as you are 
 not dancing, I dare say you will have no objection to join us in 
 a rubber; shall you?" then leaving her seat, and coming to 
 liim to enforce the proposal, added in a whisper, " We want to 
 make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you know. Your mother is 
 quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare time to sit 
 down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you, and I, and l)r. Grant 
 will just do; and though we play but half-crowns, you know you 
 may bet half-guineas with him." 
 
 " I should be most happy," replied he aloud, and jumping up 
 with alacrity, "it would give me the greatest pleasure but 
 that I am this moment going to dance. Come, Fanny," taking 
 her hand, " do not be dawdling any longer, or the dance will be 
 over." 
 
 Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible for 
 her to feel much gratitude towards her cousin, or distinguish, as 
 he certainly did, between the selfishness of another person and 
 his own. 
 
 " A pretty modest request upon my word ! '' he indignantly 
 exclaimed as they walked away. " To want to nail me to a 
 card table for the next two hours with herself and Dr. Grant, 
 who are always quarrelling, and that poking old woman, who 
 knows no more of whist than of algebra. I wish my good aunt 
 would be a little less busy ! And to ask me in such a way too ! 
 without ceremony, before them all, so as to leave me no possi- 
 bility of refusing. That is what I dislike most particularly. It 
 raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of 
 being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time ad- 
 dressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing 
 whatever it be! If I had not luckily thought of standing up 
 with you I could not have got out of it. It is a great deal too 
 bad. But when my aunt has got a fancy in her head, nothing 
 can stop her."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 85 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HE Honourable John Yates, this new friend, 
 had not much to recommend him beyond ha- 
 bits of fashion and expense, and being the 
 younger son of a lord with a tolerable inde- 
 pendence ; and Sir Thomas would probably 
 have thought his introduction at Mansfield 
 by no means desirable. Mr. Bertram's ac- 
 quaintance with him had begun atWeymouth, 
 where they had spent ten days together in the same society, and 
 the friendship, if friendship it might be called, had been proved 
 and perfected by Mr. Yates's being invited to take Mansfield in 
 his way, whenever he could, and by his promising to come; and 
 he did come rather earlier than had been expected, in consequence 
 of the sudden breaking-up of a large party assembled for gaiety 
 at the house of another friend, which he had left "Weymouth to 
 join. He came on the wings of disappointment, and with his 
 head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party ; and the 
 play, in which he had borne a part, was within two days of re- 
 presentation, when the sudden death of one of the nearest con- 
 nections of the family had destroyed the scheme and dispersed 
 the performers. To be so near happiness, so near fame, so near 
 the long paragraph in praise of the private theatricals at Eceles- 
 ford, the seat of the Right Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, 
 which would of course have immortalized the whole party for at 
 least a twelvemonth! and being so near, to lose it all, was 
 an injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates could talk 'of nothing 
 else. Ecclesford and its theatre, with its arrangements and 
 dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never -failing subject, and 
 to boast of the past his only consolation. 
 
 Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an itch 
 for acting so strong among young people, that he could hardly 
 out-talk the interest of his hearers. From the first casting of 
 the parts, to the epilogue, it was all bewitching, and there were 
 few who did not wish to have been a party concerned, or would 
 have hesitated to try their skill. The play had been Lovers' 
 Vows, and Mr. Yates was to have been Count Cassel. "A 
 trifling part," said he, " and not at all to my taste, and such a 
 one as I certainly would not accept again ; but I was determined 
 to make no difficulties. Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had ap- 
 propriated the only two characters worth playing before I reached 
 Eeclesford ; and though Lord Ravenshaw offered to resign his to 
 me, it was impossible to take it, you know. I was sorry for him
 
 86 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 that he should have so mistaken his powers, for he was no more 
 equal to the Baron a little man, with a weak voice, always 
 hoarse after the first ten minutes. It must have injured the 
 piece materially; but / was resolved to make no difficulties. Sir 
 Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, but that was 
 because Sir Henry wanted the part himself; whereas it was cer- 
 tainly in the best hands of the two. I was surprised to see Sir 
 Henry such a stick. Luckily the strength of the piece did nut 
 depend upon Mm. Our Agatha was inimitable, and the duke 
 was thought very great by many. And upon the whole it would 
 certainly have gone off wonderfully." 
 
 " It was a hard case, upon my word;" and, " I do think you 
 were very much to be pitied," were the kind responses of listen- 
 ing sympathy. 
 
 " It is not worth complaining about, but to be sure the poor 
 old dowager could not have died at a worse time ; an.l it is im- 
 possible to help wishing that the news-could have been suppre-~;-<l 
 for just the three days we wanted. It was but three days; and 
 being only a grandmother, and all happening two hundred miles 
 off, I think there would have been no great harm, and it was 
 suggested, I know; but Lord Kavenahaw, who I suppose is one 
 of the most correct men in England, would not hear of it." 
 
 "An afterpiece instead of a comedy," said Mr. Bertram. 
 " Lovers' Vows were at an end, and Lord and Lady Ravenshaw 
 left to act my Grandmother by themselves. Well, the jointure 
 may comfort him; and, perhaps, between friends, he began to 
 tremble for his credit and his lungs in the Baron, and wa not 
 sorry to withdraw ; and to make you amends. Yules, I think wo 
 must raise n little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our 
 manager." 
 
 This, though the thought of the moment, did not end with the 
 moment; for the inclination to act was awakened, and in no one- 
 more strongly than in him who was now master of the house ; 
 and who having so much 1 -isure as to make almost any novelty 
 a certain good, had likewise such a degree of lively talents and 
 comic taste, as were exactly adapted to the novelty of acting. 
 The thought returned again and again. " Oh, for the Eccleslord 
 theatre and scenery to try something with! '" Each sister could 
 echo the wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of 
 his gratifications it was yet an nntasted pleasure, was quite alive 
 at the idea. "I really believe," said he, " I could be fool enough 
 at this moment to undertake any character that ever was written, 
 from Shylock or Richard III. down to the singing hero of a farce 
 in his scarlet coat and cocked hat. I feel as if I could be any- 
 thing or everything, as if I could rant and storm, or sigh, or cut 
 capers in any tragedy or comedy in the English language. Let 
 us be doing something. Be it only half a play an act a scene;
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 87 
 
 Vv-hat should prevent us? Not these countenances, I am sure," 
 looking towards the Miss Bertrams, "and for a theatre, what sig- 
 nifies a theatre? We shall be only amusing ourselves. Any room 
 in this house might suffice." 
 
 " We must have a curtain," said Tom Bertram, " a few yards 
 of green baize for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough." 
 
 " Oh, quite enough," cried Mr. Yates, " with only just a sida 
 wing or two run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be 
 let down; nothing more would be necessary on such a plan as 
 this. For mere amusement among ourselves, we should want 
 nothing more." 
 
 " I believe we must be satisfied with less," said Maria. " There 
 would not be time, and other difficulties would arise. We must 
 rather adopt Mr. Crawford's views, and make the performance, 
 not the theatre, our object. Many parts of our best plays are 
 independent of scenery." 
 
 " Nay," said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm. " Let 
 us do nothing by halves. If we are to act, let it be in a theatre 
 completely fitted up with pit, box, and gallery, and let us have a 
 play entire from beginning to end ; so as it be a German play, no 
 matter what, with a good tricking, shifting afterpiece, and a 
 figure-dance, and a hornpipe, and a song between the acts. If 
 we do not outdo Ecclesford, we do nothing." 
 
 " Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable," said Julia. "Nobody 
 loves a play better than you do, or can have gone much farther 
 to see one." 
 
 " True, to sec real acting, good hardened real acting ; but I 
 would hardly walk from this room to the next to look at the 
 raw efforts of those who have not been bred to the trade, a set 
 of gentlemen and ladies, who have all the disadvantages of edu- 
 cation and decorum to struggle through." 
 
 After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, and 
 was discussed with unabated eagerness, every one's inclination 
 increasing by the discussion, and a knowledge of the inclination 
 of the rest; and though nothing was settled but that Tom Ber- 
 tram would prefer a comedy, and his sisters and Henry Crawford 
 a tragedy, and that nothing in the world could be easier than to 
 find a piece which would please them all, the resolution to act 
 something or other seemed so decided, as to make Edward quite 
 uncomfortable. He was determined to prevent it, if possible, 
 though his mother, who equally heard the conversation which 
 passed at table, did not evince the least disapprobation. 
 
 The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying his 
 strength. Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates, were 
 in the billiard-room. Tom returning from them into the draw- 
 ing-room, where Edmund was standing thoughtfully by the fire, 
 while Lady Bertram was on the sofa at a little distance, and
 
 88 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny close beside her arranging her work, thus began as ho 
 entered, 
 
 " Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours is not to be met 
 with, I believe, above ground. I can stand it no longer, and I 
 think, T may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it again ; 
 but one good thing I have just ascertained, it is the very room 
 for a theatre, precisely the shape and length for it; and tin- < 
 at the farther end, communicating with each other, as they may 
 be made to do in five minutes, by merely moving the bookcase 
 in my father's room, is the very thing we could have dc<i:v.l. if 
 if we had sat down to wish for it. And my father's room will 
 be an excellent green-room. It seems to join the billiard-room 
 on purpose." 
 
 " You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?" said Edmund 
 in a low voice, as his brother approached tlie tiro. 
 
 " Not serious! never more so, I assure yon. What is there to 
 surprise you in it ?" 
 
 " I think it would be very wrong. In a general light, jiriv.u 
 theatricals are open to some objections, but as we are ciiviini- 
 stanced, I must think it would lie highly injudicious, and more 
 than injudicious, to attempt anything <>f the kind. It would 
 show great want of feeling on my father's account, absent as lie 
 is, and in some degree of constant danger; and it Mould ! im 
 prudent, I think, with regard to Mario, whose situation is a very 
 delicate one, considering everything, extremely deliculc." 
 
 " You take up a thing so seriously! as if we were going to -.\, t 
 three times a week till my father's return, and invite all the 
 country. But it is not to be a display of that sort. We mean 
 nothing but a little amusement among ourselves, just to vary the 
 scene, and exercise our powers in something new. We want no 
 audience, no publicity. We may lie trusted, I think, in choosing 
 some play most perfectly unexceptionable ; and I can conei-h.' 
 no greater harm or danger to any of ns in conversing in the ele- 
 gant language of some respectable author than in chattering in 
 words of our own. I have no fears, and no scruples. And us to 
 my father's being absent, it is so far from an objection, that 1 
 consider it rather as a motive; for the expectation of his return 
 must be a very anxious period to my mother ; and if we can be 
 the means of amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits 
 for the next few weeks, I shall think our time very well 
 sperilt, and so, I am sure, will he. It is a very anxious period 
 for her." 
 
 As he said this, each looked towards tlu-ir mother. I,adv 
 Bertram, sunk back in one comer of the sofa, the picture of 
 health, wealth, ease, and tranquillity, was just falling into a 
 gentle dose, while Fanny was getting through the few difficulties 
 of her work for her.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 89 
 
 Edmund smiled and shook his head. 
 
 " By Jove ! this won't do," cried Tom, throwing himself into 
 a chair with a hearty laugh. " To be sure, my dear mother, 
 your anxiety I was unlucky there." 
 
 " What is the matter?" asked her Ladyship, in the heavy tone 
 of one half roused : " I was not asleep." 
 
 "Oh dear, no, ma'am nobody suspected you Well, Ed- 
 mund," he continued, returning to the former subject, posture, 
 and voice, as soon as Lady Bertram began to nod again, " but 
 this I u-ill maintain, that we shall be doing no harm." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you I am convinced that my father 
 would totally disapprove of it." 
 
 " And I am convinced to the contrary. Nobody is fonder of 
 the exercise of talent in young people, or promotes it more, than 
 my father ; and for anything of the acting, spouting, reciting kind, 
 I think he has always a decided taste. I am sure he encouraged 
 it in us as boy?. How many a time have we mourned over the 
 dead body of Julius C.Vosar, and to bed and not to be'd, in this 
 very room, for his amusement ! And I am sure, my name was 
 Xorral, every evening of my life through one Christmas holi- 
 days.'' 
 
 " It was a very different thing. You must see the difference 
 yourself. My father wished us, as schoolboys, to speak well, but 
 he would never wish his grown-up daughters to be acting plays. 
 His sense of decorum is strict." 
 
 " I know all that," said Tom, displeased. "I know my father 
 as well as you do; and I'll take care that his daughters do no- 
 thing to distress him. Manage your own concerns, Edmund, 
 and I'll take care of the rest of the family." 
 
 " If you are resolved on acting," replied the persevering Ed- 
 mund, " I must hope it will bo in a very small and quiet wayj and 
 I think a theatre ought not to be attempted. It would be taking 
 liberties with my father's house in his absence which could not 
 be justified. " 
 
 " For every thing of that nature, I will be answerable," said 
 Tom, in a decided tone. " " His house shall not be hurt. I havu 
 (jink 1 as great an interest in being careful of his house as you can 
 have ; and as to such alterations as I was suggesting just now, 
 such as moving a bookcase, or unlocking a door ; or even as 
 using the billiard-room for the space of a week without playing 
 .it liilliards in it, you might just as well suppose he would object 
 to our sitting more in this room, and less in the breakfast-room, 
 than we did before he went away, or to my sister's piano-forte 
 being moved from one side of the room to the other. Absolute 
 nonsc ]]-!'." 
 
 " The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will be wrong 
 as an expense.' 1
 
 90 MANSFIELD PAfcK. 
 
 " Yes, the expense of such nn undertaking would be prodi- 
 gious! Perhaps it might cost a whole twenty pounds. Some- 
 thing of a theatre we must have undoubtedly, but it will be on 
 the simplest plan ; a green curtain and a little carpenter's work, 
 
 and that's all ; and as the carpenter's work may be all done 
 
 at home by Christopher Jackson himself, it will be too absurd to 
 talk of expense ; and as long as Jackson is employed, every 
 thing will be right with Sir Thomas. Don't imagine that no- 
 body in this house can see or judge but yourself. Don't act 
 yourself, if you do not like it, but don't expect to govern every- 
 body else." 
 
 " No, as to acting myself," said Edmund, " that I absolutely 
 protest against." 
 
 Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund was 
 left to sit down and stir the fire in thoughtful vexation. 
 
 Fanny, who had heard it all, and borne Edmund company in 
 every feeling throughout the whole, now ventured to say, in her 
 anxiety to suggest some comfort, " Perhaps they may not be 
 able to find any play to suit them. Your brother's taste, and your 
 sisters', seem very different." 
 
 " I have no hope there, Fanny. If they persist in the scheme, 
 they will find something. I shall speak to my sisters and try to 
 dissuade them, and that is all I can do." 
 
 " I should think my aunt Norris would be on your sido." 
 
 " I dare say she would, but she has no influence with either 
 Tom or my sisters that could be of any use; and if I cannot 
 convince them myself, I shall let things take their course, with- 
 out attempting it through her. Family squabbling is the greatest 
 evil of all, and we had better do anything than be altogether by 
 the ears." 
 
 His sisters, to whom he had an opportunity of speaking the 
 next morning, were quite as impatient of his advice, quite as 
 unyielding to his representation, quite as determined in the cause 
 of pleasure, as Tom. Their mother had no objection to the plan, 
 and they were not in the least afraid of their father's disapproba- 
 tion. There could be no harm in what had been done in so many 
 respectable families, and by so many women of the first conside- 
 ration ; and it must be scrupulousness run mad, that could see 
 anything to censure in a plan like theirs, comprehending only 
 brothers and sisters, and intimate friends, and which would never 
 be heard of beyond themselves. Julia did seem inclined to admit 
 that Maria's situation might require particular caution and 
 delicacy but that could not extend to her she was at liberty ; 
 and Maria evidently considered her engagement as only raising 
 her so much more above restraint, and leaving her less occasion 
 than Julia, to consult either father or mother. Edmund had 
 little to hope, but he was still urging the subject, when Henry
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 91 
 
 Crawford entered the room, fresh from the Parsonage, calling 
 out, " No want of hands in our theatre, Miss Bertram. No want 
 of understrappers ; my sister desires her love, and hopes to be 
 admitted into the company, and will bo happy to take the part 
 of any old duenna, or tame confidant, that you may not like to do 
 yourselves." 
 
 Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, " What say you 
 now ? Can we be wrong if Mary Crawford feels the same ?" 
 And Edmund, silenced, was obliged to acknowledge that the 
 charm of acting might well carry fascination to the mind of 
 genius ; and with the ingenuity of love, to dwell more on the 
 obliging, accommodating purport of the message than on any- 
 thing else. 
 
 The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain ; and as to Mrs. 
 Norris, he was mistaken in supposing she would wish to make 
 any. She started no difficulties that were not talked down in 
 five minutes by her eldest nephew and niece, who were all- 
 powerful with her ; and, as the whole arrangement was to bring 
 very little expense to anybody, and none at all to herself, as 
 she foresaw in it all the comforts of hurry, bustle, and impor- 
 tance, and derived the immediate advantage of fancying herself 
 obliged to leave her own house, where she had been living a 
 month at her own cost, and take up her abode in theirs, that 
 every hour might be spent in their service, she was, in fact, ex- 
 ceedingly delighted with the project. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 i ANNY seemed nearer being right than Ed- 
 mund had supposed. The business of finding 
 play that would suit everybody proved- to 
 5 be no trifle ; and the carpenter had received 
 I his orders and taken his measurements, had 
 jgested and removed at least two sets of 
 difficulties, and having made the necessity of 
 an en i ar g em e n t of plan and expense fully 
 evident, was already at work, while a play was still to seek. 
 Other preparations were also in hand. An enormous roll of 
 green baize had arrived from Northampton, and been cut out by 
 Mrs. Norris, (with a saving by her good management, of full 
 three quarters of a yard,) and was actually forming into a cur- 
 tain by the housemaids, and still the play was wanting ; and as 
 two or three days passed away in this manner, Edmund began 
 almost to hope that none might ever be found. 
 
 There were, in fact, so many things to be attended to, so
 
 92 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 many people to bo pleased, so many best characters required, 
 and above all, such a need that the play should be at once both 
 tragedy and comedy, that there did seem as little chance of a 
 decision as anything pursued by youth and zeal could hold 
 out. 
 
 On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, 
 and Mr. Yates; on the comic, Tom Bertram, not quitr alone, be- 
 cause it was evident that Mary Crawford's wishes, though 
 politely kept back, inclined the same way: but his dctenninate- 
 ness and his power seemed to make allies unnecessary : ami, 
 independent of this great irreconcileable difference, they wanted 
 a piece containing very few characters in the whole, but every 
 character first-rate, and three principal women. All the Iwst 
 plays were run over in vain. Neither Hamlet, nor Macbeth, nor 
 Othello, nor Douglas, nor the Gamester, presented nnytliiii;;- 
 that" could satisfy even the tragedians; and the llivals, the School 
 for Scandal, Wheel of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a -long et cel< m, 
 were successively dismissed with yet wanner objections. No 
 piece could be proposed that did not supply somebody with a 
 difficulty, and on one side or the other it was a continual repe- 
 tition of, " Oh, no, that will never do. Let us have no ranting 
 tragedies. Too many characters. Not a tolerable woman's part 
 in the play. Anything but that, my dear Tom. It would he 
 impossible to fill it up. One could not expect anybody to taUi- 
 such a part. Nothing but buffoonery from Ix'ginning to end. 
 That might do, perhaps, but for the low parts. If I must give 
 my opinion, I have always thought it the most insipid play in 
 the English language. I do not wish to make objections, I 
 shall be happy to be of any use, but I think we could not choose 
 worse." 
 
 Fanny looked on and listened, not unamu<-ed to ok-erve the 
 selfishness which, more or less disguised, seemed to govern them 
 all, and wondering how it would end. For her own gratification 
 she could have wished that something might lie acted, for she 
 had never seen even half a play, but everything of higher con- 
 sequence was against it. 
 
 "This will never do," said Tom Bertram at last. ' \W are 
 wasting time most abominably. Something must be fixed on. 
 No matter what, so that something is chosen. We must not he 
 so nice. A few characters tob many must not frighten us. We 
 must double them. We must descend a little. If a par! is 
 insignificant, the greater our credit in making anything of it. 
 From this moment 7 make no difficulties. I take any part you 
 choose to give me, so as it be comic. Let it but be comic, I 
 condition for nothing more." 
 
 For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir at Law, 
 doubting only whether to prefer Lord Duberley or Dr. Par
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 93 
 
 for himself; and very earnestly, but very unsuccessfully, trying 
 to persuade the others that there were some tine tragic parts in 
 the rest of the dramatis persona. 
 
 The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended by the 
 same speaker, who, taking up one of the many volumes of plays 
 that lay on the table, and turning it over, suddenly exclaimed, 
 " Lovers' Vows! And why should not Lovers' Vows do for 
 ?<. as well as for the Ravenshaws? How came it never to be 
 thought of before? It strikes me as if it would do exactly. 
 What say you all? Here are two capital tragic parts for Yates 
 and Crawford, and here is the rhyming Butler for me if nobody 
 else wants it a trifling part, but the sort of thing I should not 
 dislike, and, as I said before, I am determined to take anything 
 and do my best. And as for the rest, they may be filled up by 
 anybody. It is only Count Cassel and Anhalt." 
 
 The suggestion was generally welcome. Everybody was 
 growing weary of indecision, and the first idea with everybody 
 was, that nothing had been proposed before so likely to suit them 
 all. Mr. Yates was particularly pleased: he had been sighing and 
 longing to do the Baron at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant 
 of Lord Ravenshaw's, and been forced to re-rant it all in his own 
 room. The storm through Baron Wildenheim was the height 
 of his theatrical ambition; and with the advantage of knowing 
 half the scenes by heart already, he did now, with the greatest 
 alacrity, offer his services for the part. To do him justice 
 however, he did not resolve to appropriate it for remembering 
 that there was some very good ranting ground in Frederick, he 
 professed an equal willingness for that. Henry Crawford was 
 ready to take either. Whichever Mr. Yates did not choose 
 would perfectly satisfy him, and a short parley of compliment 
 ensued. Miss Bertram, feeling all the interest of an Agatha in 
 the question, took on her to decide it, by observing to Mr. Yates, 
 that this was a point in which height and figure ought to be 
 considered, and that his being the tallest, seemed to fit him 
 peculiarly for the Baron. She was acknowledged to be quite 
 right, and the two parts being accepted accordingly, she was 
 certain of the proper Frederick. Three of the characters were 
 now cast, besides Mr. Rushworth, who was always answered for 
 by Maria as willing to do anything; when Julia, meaning, like 
 her sister, to be Agatha, began to be scrupulous on Miss 
 Crawford's account. 
 
 " This is not behaving well by the absent," said she. " Here 
 arc not women enough. Amelia and Agatha may do for Maria 
 and me, but here is nothing for your sister, Mr. Crawford." 
 
 Mr. Crawford desired that might not be thought of: he was 
 very sure his sister had no wish of acting, but as she might be 
 useful, and that she would not allow herself to be considered in
 
 94 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the present case. But this was immediately opposed by Tom 
 Bertram, who asserted the part of Amelia to be in every respect 
 the property of Miss- Crawford, if she would accept it. " It falls 
 as naturally as necessarily to her," said lie, " as Agatha does to 
 one or other of my sisters. It can be no sacrifice on their side, 
 for it is highly comic." 
 
 A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; for 
 each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it 
 pressed on her by the rest. Henry Crawford, who meanwhile 
 had taken up the play, and with seeming carelessness was 
 turning over the first act, soon settled the business. 
 
 " I must entreat Miss Julia Bertram," said he, " not to engage 
 in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity. 
 You must not, indeed you must not (turning to her). I could 
 not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The 
 many laughs we have had together would infallibly come across 
 me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be obliged to run 
 away." 
 
 Pleasantly, courteously it was spoken; but the manner was 
 lost in the matter to Julia's feelings. She saw a glance at Maria, 
 which confirmed the injury to herself: it was a scheme a trick; 
 she was slighted, Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph 
 which Maria was trying to suppress showed how well it Avas 
 understood; and before Julia could command herself enough to 
 speak, her brother gave his weight against her too, by saying, 
 " Oh yes, Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the best 
 Agatha. Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not 
 trust her in it. There is nothing of tragedy about her. She 
 has not the look of it. Her features are not tragic features, and 
 she walks too quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep 
 her countenance. She had better do the old countrywoman 
 the Cottager's wife; you had, indeed, Julia. Cottager's wife is 
 a very pretty part, I assure you. The old lady relieves the 
 high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit. 
 You shall be Cottager's wife." 
 
 "Cottager's wife!" cried Mr. Yates. "What are you talking 
 of? The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the merest 
 commonplace not a tolerable speech in the whole. Your sister 
 do that! It is an insult to propose it. At Ecclesford the 
 governess was to have done it. We all agreed that it could not 
 be offered to anybody else. A little more justice, Mr. Manager, 
 if you please. You do not deserve the office, if you cannot 
 appreciate the talents of your company a little better." 
 
 " Why as to that, my good friend, till I and my company 
 have really acted there must be some guess-work; but I mean 
 no disparagement to Julia. We cannot have two Agathas, and 
 we must have one Cottager's wife; and I am sure I set her the
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 95 
 
 example of moderation myself in being satisfied with the old 
 Butler. If the part is trifling she will have more credit in 
 making something of it; and if she is so desperately bent against 
 everything humourous, let her take Cottager's speeches instead 
 of Cottager's wife's, and so change the parts all through ; he is 
 solemn and pathetic enough, I am sure. It could make no 
 dillerence in the play ; and as for Cottager himself, when he has 
 got his wife's speeches, / would undertake him with all my 
 heart." 
 
 "With all your partiality for Cottager's wife," said Henry 
 Crawford, " it will be impossible to make anything of it lit for 
 your sister, and we must not suffer her good nature to be imposed 
 on. We must not allow her to accept the part. She must not 
 be left to her own complaisance. Her talents will be wanted in 
 Amelia. Amelia is a character more difficult to be well repre- 
 sented than even Agatha. I consider Amelia as the most difficult 
 character in the whole piece. It requires great powers, great 
 nicety, to give her playfulness and simplicity without extrava- 
 gance. I have seen good actresses fail in the part. Simplicity, 
 indeed, is beyond the reach of almost every actress by profession. 
 It requires a delicacy of feeling which they have not. It requires 
 a gentlewoman a Julia Bertram. You will undertake it, I 
 hope?" turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which 
 softened her a little; but while she hesitated what to say, 
 her brother again interposed with Miss Crawford's better 
 claim. 
 
 '' No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. It is not at all the part 
 for her. She would not like it. She would not do well. She 
 is too tall and robust. Amelia should be a small, light, girlish, 
 skipping figure. It is fit for Miss Crawford and Miss Crawford 
 only. She looks the part, and I am persuaded will do it 
 admirably." 
 
 Without attending to this, Henry Crawford continued his 
 supplication. " You must oblige us," said he, " indeed you 
 must. When you have studied the character, I am sure you 
 will feel it suit you. Tragedy may be your choice, but it will 
 certainly appear that comedy chooses you. You will be to visit 
 me in prison with a basket of provisions ; you will not refuse to 
 visit me in prison? I think I see you coming in with your 
 basket." 
 
 The influence of his voice was felt. Julia wavered; but was 
 he only trying to soothe and pacify her, and make her overlook 
 the previous affront? She distrusted him. The slight had been 
 most determined. He was, perhaps, but at treacherous play 
 with her. She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria's counte- 
 nance was to decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed but 
 Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew
 
 96 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense. 
 With hasty indignation, therefore, and a tremulous voice, she 
 said to him, "You do not seem afraid of not keeping your 
 countenance when I come in with a basket of provisions though 
 one might have supposed but it is only as Agatha that I was 
 to be so overpowering! " She stopped Henry Crawford looked 
 rather foolish, and as if he did not know what to say. Toin 
 Bertram began again, 
 
 " Miss Crawford must be Amelia. She will be an excellent 
 Amelia." 
 
 " Do not be afraid of my wanting the character," cried Julia, 
 with angry quickness : " I am not to be Agatha, and I am sure 
 I will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, it is of all parts in the 
 world the most disgusting to me. I quite detest her. An 
 odious, little, pert, unnatural, impudent girl. I have always 
 protested against comedy, and this is comedy in its worst form." 
 And so saying, she walked hastily out of the room, leaving 
 awkward feelings to more than one, but exciting small compas- 
 sion in any except Fanny, who had been a quiet auditor of the 
 whole, and who could not think of her as under the agitations of 
 jealousy without great pity. 
 
 A short silence succeeded her leaving them ; but her brother 
 soon returned to business and Lovers' Vows, and was eagerly 
 looking over the play, with Mr. Yates's help, to ascertain what 
 scenery would be necessary while Maria and Henry Crawford 
 conversed together in an under voice, and the declaration with 
 which she began of, " I am sure I would give up the part to 
 Julia most willingly, but that though I shall probably do it very 
 ill, I feel persuaded she Avould do it worse," was doubtless recei- 
 ving all the compliments it called for. 
 
 When this had lasted some time, the division of the party was 
 completed by Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates walking off together 
 to consult farther in the room now beginning to be called the 
 Theatre, and Miss Bertram's resolving to go down to the Parson- 
 age herself with the offer of Amelia to Miss Crawford ; and Fanny 
 remained alone. 
 
 The first use she made of her solitude was to take iip the 
 volume which had been left on the table, and begin to acquaint 
 herself with the play of which she had heard so much. Her 
 curiosity was all awake, and she ran through it with an eagerness 
 which was suspended only by intervals of astonishment, that it 
 could be chosen in the present instance that it could be pro- 
 posed and accepted in a private theatre! Agatha and Amelia 
 appeared to her in their different ways so totally improper for 
 home representation the situation of one, and the language of 
 the other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty, 
 that she could hardly suppose her cousins could be aware of what
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 97 
 
 they were engaging in ; and longed to have them roused as soon 
 as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly 
 make. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ISS CRAWFORD accepted the part very 
 readily; and soon after Miss Bertram's return 
 from the Parsonage, Mr. Rushworth arrived, 
 and another character was consequently cast. 
 He had the offer of Count Cassel and Anhalt, 
 and at first did not know which to choose, 
 and wanted Miss Bertram to direct him ; but 
 upon being made to understand the different 
 style of the characters, and which was which, and recollecting 
 that he had once seen the play in London, and had thought 
 Anhalt a very stupid fellow, he soon decided for the Count. 
 Miss Bertram approved the decision, for the less he had to learn 
 the better ; and though she could not sympathise in his wish that 
 the Count and Agatha might be to act together, nor wait very 
 patiently while he was slowly turning over the leaves with the 
 hope of still discovering such a scene, she very kindly took his 
 part in hand, and curtailed eveiy speech that admitted being 
 shortened; besides pointing out the necessity of his being very 
 much dressed, and choosing his colours. Mr. Rushworth liked 
 the idea of his finery very well, though affecting to despise it; 
 and was too much engaged with what his own appearance would 
 be to think of the others, or draw any of those conclusions, or 
 feel any of that displeasure which Maria had been half prepared 
 for. 
 
 Tims much was settled before Edmund, who had been out ajl 
 the morning, knew anything of the matter ; but when he entered 
 the drawing-room before dinner, the buzz of discussion was high 
 between Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates ; and Mr. Rushworth stepped 
 forward with great alacrity to tell him the agreeable news. 
 
 "We have got a play," said he. "It is to be Lover's Vows; 
 and I am to be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a blue 
 dress, and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another 
 fine fancy suit by way of a shooting-dress. I do not know how 
 I shall like it." 
 
 Fanny's eyes followed Edmund, and her heart beat for him as 
 she heard this speech, and saw his look, and felt what his sen- 
 sations must be. 
 
 " Lovers' Vows!" in a tone of the greatest amazement, was his 
 only reply to Mr. Rushworth, and he turned towards his brother 
 and sisters as if hardly doubting a contradiction. 
 (1) o
 
 98 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 "Yes," cried Mr. Yates. "After all our debatings and diffi- 
 culties, we find there is nothing that will suit us altogether so 
 well, nothing so unexceptionable, as Lovers' Vows. The wonder 
 is, that it should not have been thought of before. My stupidity 
 was abominable, for here we have all the advantage of what I 
 saw at Ecclesford; and it is so useful to have anything of a 
 model! We have cast almost every part." 
 
 "But what do you do for women?" said Edmund, gravely, 
 and looking at Maria. 
 
 Maria blushed in spite of herself as she answered, " I take the 
 part which Lady Ravenshaw was to have done, and (with a 
 bolder eye) Miss Crawford is to be Amelia." 
 
 " I should not have thought it the sort of play to be so easily 
 filled up with us," replied Edmund, turning away to the fire 
 where sat his mother, aunt, and Fanny, and seating himself with 
 a look of great vexation. 
 
 Mr. Rushworth followed him to say, " I come in three times, 
 and have two-and-forty speeches. That's something, is not it? 
 But I do not much like the idea of being so fine. I shall hardly 
 know myself in a blue dress, and a pink satin cloak." 
 
 Edmund could not answer him. In a few rniimtes Mr. 
 Bertram was called out of the room to satisfy some doubts of the 
 carpenter ; and being accompanied by Mr. Yates, and followed 
 soon afterwards by Mr. Rushworth, Edmund almost immediately 
 took the opportunity of saying, " I cannot before Mr. Yates 
 speak what I feel as to this play, without reflecting on his friends 
 at Ecclesford; but I must now, my dear Maria, tell you, that I 
 think it exceedingly unfit for private representation, and that I 
 hope you will give it up. I cannot but suppose you will when 
 you have read it carefully over. Read only the first act aloud 
 to either your mother or aunt, and see how you can approve it. 
 It will not be necessary to send you to your father's judgment, I 
 am convinced." 
 
 " We see things very differently," cried Maria. " I am per- 
 fectly acquainted with the play, I assure you; and with a very 
 few omissions, and so forth, which will be made, of course, I can 
 see nothing objectionable in it; and / am not the only young 
 woman you find, who thinks it very fit for private representation." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," was his answer ; " but in this matter it is 
 you who arc to lead. You must set the example. If others 
 have blundered, it is your place to put them right, and show 
 them what true delicacy is. In all points of decorum, your con- 
 duct must be law to the rest of the party." 
 
 This picture of her consequence had some effect, for no one 
 loved better to lead than Maria; and with far more good humour 
 she answered, " I am much obliged to you, Edmund; you mean 
 very well, I am sure: but I still think you see things too
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 99 
 
 strongly; and I cannot undertake to harangue all the rest upon 
 a subject of this kind. There would be the greatest indecorum, 
 I think." 
 
 " Do you imagine that I could have such an idea in my head? 
 No: let your conduct be the only harangue. Say that, on 
 examining the part, you feel yourself unequal to it; that you find 
 it requiring more exertion and confidence than you can be sup- 
 posed to have. Say this with firmness, and it will be quite 
 enough. All who can distinguish will understand your motive. 
 The play will be given up, and your delicacy honoured as it 
 ought." 
 
 " Do not act anything improper, my dear," said Lady Bertram : 
 " Sir Thomas would not like it Fanny, ring the bell ; I must 
 have my dinner. To be sure Julia is dressed by this time." 
 
 " I am convinced, madam," said Edmund, preventing Fanny, 
 " that Sir Thomas would not like it." 
 
 "There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?" 
 
 " If I were to decline the part," said Maria, with renewed zeal, 
 " Julia would certainly take it." 
 
 "What!" cried Edmund, "if she knew your reasons!" 
 
 " Oh, she might think the difference between us the difference 
 in our situations that she need not be so scrupulous as / might 
 feel necessary. I am sure she would argue so. No: you must 
 excuse me; I cannot retract my consent; it is too far settled, 
 everybody would be so disappointed, Tom would be quite angry ; 
 and if we are so very nice, we shall never act anything." 
 
 " I was just going to say the very same tiling," said Mrs. 
 Norris. " If every play is to be objected to, you will act nothing, 
 and the preparations will be all so much money thrown away, 
 and I am sure that would be a discredit to iis all. I do not 
 know the play; but, as Maria says, if there is anything a little 
 too warm (and it is so with most of them) it can be easily left 
 out. "We must not be over precise, Edmund. As Mr. Rushworth 
 is to act too, there can be no harm. I only wish Tom had 
 known his own mind when the carpenters began, for there was 
 the loss of half a day's work about those side-doors. The curtain 
 will be a good job, however. The maids do their work very well, 
 and I think we shall be able to send back some dozens of the 
 rings. There is no occasion to put them so very close together. 
 I am of some use, I hope, in preventing waste and making the 
 most of things. There should always be one steady head to 
 superintend so many young ones. I forgot to tell Tom of some- 
 thing that happened to me this very day. I had been looking 
 about me in the poultry yard, and was just coming out, when 
 who should I see but Dick Jackson making up to the servants' 
 hall-door with two bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them 
 to father, you may be sure; mother had chanced to send him of
 
 100 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 a message to Either, and then father had bid him bring up them" 
 two bits of board, for he could not no how do without them. I 
 knew what all this meant, for the servants' dinner-bell was 
 ringing at the very moment over our heads ; and as I hate such 
 encroacliing people (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have 
 always said so just the sort of people to get all they can), I 
 said to the boy directly (a great lubberly fellow of ten years old, 
 you know, who ought to be ashamed of himself) ' I'll take the 
 boards to your father, Dick, so get you home again as fast as you 
 can.' The boy looked very silly, and turned away without 
 offering a word, for I believe I might speak pretty sharp ; and I 
 dare say it will cure him of coming marauding about the house 
 for one while. I hate such greediness so good as your father is 
 to the family, employing the man all the year round!" 
 
 Nobody was at the trouble of an answer; the others soon 
 returned ; and Edmund found that to have endeavoured to set 
 them right must be his only satisfaction. 
 
 Dinner passed heavily. Mrs. Norris related again her triumph 
 over Dick Jackson, but neither play nor preparation were 
 otherwise much talked of, for Edmund's disapprobation was felt 
 even by his brother, though he would not have owned it. Maria, 
 wanting Henry Crawford's animating support, thought the sub- 
 ject better avoided. Mr. Yates, who was trying to make himself 
 agreeable to Julia, found her gloom less impenetrable on any topic 
 than that of his regret at her secession from their company; and 
 Mr. Rushworth, having only his own part and his own dress in 
 his head, had soon talked away all that could be said of either. 
 
 But the concerns of the theatre were suspended only for an 
 hour or two: there was still a great deal to be settled; and the 
 spirits of evening giving fresh courage, Tom, Maria, and Mr. 
 Yates, soon after being reassembled in the drawing-room, seated 
 themselves in committee at a separate table, with the play open 
 before them, and were just getting deep in the subject, when a 
 most welcome interruption was given by the entrance of Mr. and 
 Miss Crawford, who, late and dark, and dirty as it was, could not 
 help coming, and were received with the most grateful joy. 
 
 "Well, how do you go on?" and "What have you settled?" 
 and " Oh, we can do nothing without you," followed the first 
 salutations ; and Henry Crawford was soon seated with the other 
 three at the table, while his sister made her way to Lady Bertram, 
 and with pleasant attention was complimenting her. " I must 
 really congratulate your Ladyship," said she, " on the play being 
 chosen ; for though you have borne it with exemplary patience, 
 I am sure you must be sick of all our noise and difficulties. The 
 actors may be glad, but the by-standers must be infinitely more 
 thankful for a decision ; and I do sincerely give you joy, madam, 
 as well as Mrs. Norris, and everybody else who is in the same
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 101 
 
 predicament," glancing half fearfully, half slily, beyond Fanny 
 to Edmund. 
 
 She was very civilly answered by Lady Bertram, but Edmund 
 said nothing. His being only a by-stander was not disclaimed. 
 After continuing in chat with the party round the fire a few 
 minutes, Miss Crawford returned to the party round the table ; 
 and standing by them, seemed to interest herself in their arrange- 
 ments till, as if struck by a sudden recollection, she exclaimed, 
 " My good friends, you are most composedly at work upon these 
 cottages and ale-houses, inside and out but pray let me know 
 my fate in the meanwhile. Who is to be Anhalt? What 
 gentleman among you am I to have the pleasure of making 
 love to?" 
 
 For a moment no one spoke; and then many spoke together 
 to tell the same melancholy truth that they had not got any 
 Anhalt. " Mr. Rushworth was to be Count Cassel, but no one 
 had yet undertaken Anhalt." 
 
 " I had my choice of the parts," said Mr. Rushworth ; " but I 
 thought I should like the Count best though I do not much 
 relish the finery I am to have." 
 
 "You chose very wisely, I am sure," replied Miss Crawford, 
 with a brightened look, "Anhalt is a heavy part." 
 
 " The Count has two-and-forty speeches," returned Mr. Rush- 
 worth, " which is no trifle." 
 
 " I am not at all surprised," said Miss Crawford, after a short 
 pause, "at this want of an Anhalt. Amelia deserves no better. 
 Such a forward young lady may well frighten the men." 
 
 " I should be but too happy in taking the part, if it were 
 possible," cried Tom; " but, unluckily, the Butler and Anhalt are 
 in together. I will not entirely give it up, however-; I will try 
 what can be done I will look it over again." 
 
 "Your brother should take the part," said Mr. Yates, in a low 
 voice. " Do not you think he would?" 
 
 " 7 shall not ask him," replied Tom, in a cold, determined 
 manner. 
 
 Miss Crawford talked of something else, and soon afterwards 
 rejoined the party at the fire. 
 
 "They do not want me at all," said she, seating herself. "I 
 only puzzle them, and oblige them to make civil speeches. Mr. 
 Edmund Bertram, as you do not act yourself, you will be a 
 disinterested adviser ; and, therefore, I apply to you. What shall 
 we do for an Anhalt? Is it practicable for any of the others to 
 double it? What is your advice?" 
 
 "My advice," said he, calmly, "is that you change the play." 
 
 " / should have no objection," she replied; for though I should 
 not particularly dislike the part of Amelia if well supported 
 that is, if everything went well I shall be sorry to be an in-
 
 102 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 convenience but as they do not choose to hear your advice at 
 that table (looking round) it certainly will not be taken." 
 
 Edmund said no more. 
 
 " If any part could tempt you to act, I suppose it would be 
 Anhalt," observed the lady, archly, after a short pause ; "for he 
 is a clergyman, you know." 
 
 " That circumstance would by no means tempt me," he re- 
 plied, " for I should be sorry to make the character ridiculous 
 by bad acting. It must be very difficult to keep Anhalt from 
 appearing a formal, solemn lecturer; and the man who chooses 
 the profession itself, is, perhaps, one of the last who would wish 
 to represent it on the stage." 
 
 Miss Crawford was silenced; and with some feelings of re- 
 sentment and mortification, moved her chair considerably nearer 
 the tea-table, and gave all her attention to Mrs. Norris, who was 
 presiding there. 
 
 " Fanny," cried Tom Bertram, from the other table, where 
 the conference was eagerly carrying on, and the conversation 
 incessant, " we want your services." 
 
 Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand ; for the 
 habit of employing her in that Avay was not yet overcome, in 
 spite of all that Edmund could do. 
 
 " Oh, we do not want to disturb you from your seat. We do 
 not want your present services. We shall only want you in our 
 play. You must be Cottager's wife." 
 
 " Me! " cried Fanny, sitting down again with a most frightened 
 look. " Indeed you must excuse me. I could not act anything 
 if you were to give me the world. No., indeed, I cannot act." 
 
 " Indeed, but you must, for we cannot excuse you. It need 
 not frighten you ; it is a nothing of a part, a mere nothing, not 
 above half-a- dozen speeches altogether, and it will not much 
 signify if nobody hears a word you say, so you may be as creep- 
 mouse as you like, but we must have you to look at." 
 
 " If you are afraid of half-a-dozen speeches," cried Mr. Rush- 
 worth, " what would you do with such a part as mine ? I have 
 forty-two to learn." 
 
 " It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart," said Fanny, 
 shocked to find herself at that moment the only speaker in the 
 room, and to feel that almost every eye was upon her; " but I 
 really cannot act." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you can act well enough for us. Learn your part, 
 and we will teach you all the rest. You have only two scenes, 
 and as I shall be Cottager, I'll put you in and push you about ; 
 and you will do it very well, I'll answer for it." 
 
 " No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me. You can- 
 not have an idea. It would be absolutely impossible for inc. 
 If / were to undertake it, I should only disappoint you."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 03 
 
 " Phoo! Phoo! Do not be so shamefaced. You'll lo it very 
 w;ll. Every allowance will be made for you. W do not ex- 
 pect perfection. You must get a brown gown, and a white 
 apron, and a mob cap, and we must make you a few wrinkles, 
 and a little of the crowsfoot at the corner of your eyes, and you 
 will be a very proper, little old woman." 
 
 " You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me," cried 
 Fanny, growing more and more red from excessive agitation, 
 and looking distressfully at Edmund, who was kindly observing 
 her; but unwilling to exasperate his brother by interference, 
 gave her only an encouraging smile. Her entreaty had no 
 effect on Tom : he only said again what he had said before, 
 and it was not merely Tom, for the requisition was now 
 backed by Maria, and Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates, with an 
 urgency which differed from his, but in being more gentle or 
 more ceremonious, and which altogether was quite overpowering 
 to Fanny; and before she could breathe after it, Mrs. Norris 
 completed the whole, by thus addressing her in a whisper at 
 once angry and audible: " What a piece of work here is about 
 nothing, I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a 
 difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort, so 
 kind as they are to you ! Take the part with a good grace, and 
 let us hear no more of the matter, I entreat." 
 
 " Do not urge her, madam," said Edmund. " It is not fair 
 to urge her in this manner. You see she does not like to act. 
 Let her choose for herself as well as the rest of us. Her judg- 
 ment may be quite as safely trusted. Do not urge her any 
 more." 
 
 " I am not going to urge her," replied Mrs. Norris, sharply; 
 " but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she 
 does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her very ungrate- 
 ful, indeed, considering who and what she is." 
 
 Edmund was too angry to speak ; but Miss Crawford looking 
 for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at 
 Fanny, whose tears were beginning to show themselves, imme- 
 diately said, with some keenness, " I do not like my situation; 
 this place is too hot for me," and moved away her chair to the 
 opposite side of the table close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind 
 low whisper, as she placed herself, " Never mind, my dear Miss 
 Price this is a cross evening, everybody is cross and teasing 
 but do not let us mind them;" and with pointed attention 
 continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in 
 spite of being out of spirits herself. By a look at her brother, 
 she prevented any farther entreaty frcftn the theatrical board, 
 and the really good feelings by which she was almost purely 
 governed, were rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost 
 in Edmund's favour.
 
 104 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny did not love Miss Crawford: but she felt very much 
 obliged to her for her present kindness ; and when, from taking 
 notice of her work, and wishing she could work as well, and 
 begging for the pattern, and supposing Fanny was now preparing 
 for her appearance, as of course she would come out when her 
 consul was married, Bliss Crawford proceeded to enquire if she 
 had heard lately from her brother at sea, and said that she had 
 quite a curiosity to see him, and imagined him a very fine young 
 man, and advised Fanny to get his picture drawn before he went 
 to sea again, she could not help admitting it to be very agree- 
 able flattery, or help listening, and answering with more anima- 
 tion than she had intended. 
 
 The consultation on the play still went on ; and Miss Craw- 
 ford's attention was called from Fanny by Tom Bertram's telling 
 her, with infinite regret, that he found it absolutely impossible 
 for Mm to undertake the part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler : 
 he had been most anxiously trying to make it out to be feasible, 
 but it would not do, he must give it up. " But there will 
 not be the smallest difficulty in filling it," he added. " We have 
 but to speak the word; we may pick and choose. I could name 
 at this moment at least six young men within six miles of us, 
 Who are wild to be admitted into our company, and there are 
 one or two that would not disgrace us, I should not be afraid 
 to trust either of the Olivers or Charles Maddox. Tom Oliver 
 is a very clever fellow, and Charles Maddox is as gentleman- 
 like a man as you will see anywhere, so I will take my horse 
 early to-morrow morning, and ride over to Stoke, and settle 
 with one of them." 
 
 While he spoke, Maria was looking apprehensively round at 
 Edmund in full expectation that he must oppose such an enlarge- 
 ment of the plan as this so contrary to all their first protesta- 
 tions; but Edmund said 'nothing. After a moment's thought, 
 Miss Crawford calmly replied, "As far as I am concerned, I can 
 have no objection to anything that you all think eligible. Have 
 I ever seen either of the gentlemen ? Yes, Mr. Charles Maddox 
 dined at my sister's one day, did not he, Henry? A quiet-look- 
 ing young man. I remember him. Let him be applied to, if 
 you please, for it will be less unpleasant to me than to have a 
 perfect stranger." 
 
 Charles Maddox was to be the man. Tom repeated his reso- 
 lution of going to Mm early on the morrow; and though Julia, 
 who had scarcely opened her lips before, observed, in a sarcastic 
 manner, and with a glance first at Maria, and then at Edmund, 
 that " the Mansfield theatricals would enliven the whole neigh- 
 bourhood exceedingly," Edmund still held his peace, and showed 
 his feelings only by a determined gravity. 
 
 " I am not very sanguine as to our play," said Miss Crawford,
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 105 
 
 in an under voice, to Fanny, after some consideration; "and I 
 can tell Mr. Macldox, that I shall shorten some of his speeches, 
 and a great many of my own, before we rehearse together. It 
 will be very disagreeable, and by no means what I expected." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T was not in Miss Crawford's power to talk 
 Fanny into any real forgetfulness of what had 
 passed. When the evening was over, she 
 went to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated 
 ' by the shock of such an attack from her 
 cousin Tom, so public and so persevered In, 
 and her spirits sinking under her aunt's un- 
 kind reflection and reproach. To be called 
 into notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the prelude 
 to something so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do 
 what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge 
 of obstinacy and ingratitude" follow it, enforced with such a hint 
 at the dependence of her situation, had been too distressing at 
 the time to make the remembrance when she was alone much 
 less so, especially with the superadded dread of what the mor- 
 row might produce in continuation of the subject. Miss Craw- 
 ford had protected her only for the time ; and if she were applied 
 to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that 
 Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what 
 should she do? She fell asleep before she could answer the ques- 
 tion, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the next 
 morning. The little white attic, which had continued her sleep- 
 ing-room ever since her first entering the family, proving in- 
 competent to suggest any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she 
 was dressed, to another apartment more spacious and more meet 
 for walking about in and thinking, and of which she had now 
 for some time been almost equally mistress. It had been their 
 school-room; so called till the Miss Bertrams would not allow it 
 to be called so any longer, and inhabited as such to a later period. 
 There Miss Lee had lived, and there they had read and written, 
 and talked and laughed, till within the last three years, when she 
 had quitted them. The room had then become useless, and for 
 some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, when she visited 
 her plants, or wanted one of the books, which she was still glad 
 to keep there, from the deficiency of space and accommodation in 
 her little chamber above: but gradually, as her value for the 
 comforts of it increased, she had added to her possessions, and 
 spent more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose her,
 
 1 06 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it, that it 
 was now generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it 
 had been called ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now 
 considered Fanny's almost as decidedly as the white attic : the 
 smallness of the one making the use of the other so evidently 
 reasonable, that the Miss Bertrams, with every superiority in 
 their own apartments, which their own sense of superiority could 
 demand, were entirely approving it ; and Mrs. Norris, having 
 stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny's account, 
 was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody else 
 wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the 
 indulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the 
 house. 
 
 The aspect was so favourable, that even without a fire it was 
 habitable in many an early spring and late autumn morning, to 
 such a willing mind as Fanny's; and while there was a gleam 
 of sunshine, she hoped not to be driven from it entirely, even 
 when winter came. The comfort of it in her hours of leisure was 
 extreme. She could go there after anything unpleasant below, 
 and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or some train of 
 thought at hand. Her plants, her 1x>oks of which she had been 
 a collector, from the first hour of her commanding a shilling 
 her writing-desk, and hrr works of charity and ingenuity, <MM 
 all within her reach; or if indisposed for employment! if nothing 
 but musing would do, she could scarcely see an object in that 
 room which had not an interesting remembrance connected with 
 it. Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend ; 
 ami though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her, 
 though her motives had been often misunderstood, her feelings 
 disregarded, and her compreliension undervalued, though she 
 had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet 
 almost every recurrence of either had led to something consola- 
 tory; her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had 
 been encouraging, or what was yet more frequent or more dear 
 Edmund had been her champion and her friend; he had 
 supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her 
 not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made 
 her tears delightful, and the whole was now so blended together, 
 so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its 
 charm. The room was most dear to her, and she would not have 
 changed its furniture for the handsomest in the house, though 
 what had been originally plain had suffered all the ill-usage of 
 children^ and its greatest elegancies and ornaments were a faded 
 footstool of Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three 
 transparencies, made in a rage for transparencies, for the three 
 lower panes of one window, where Tintern Abbey held its station 
 between a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland, a
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 107 
 
 collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being anywhere 
 else, over the mantelpiece, and by their side, and pinned against 
 the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the 
 Mediterranean by William, with H. M. S. Antwerp at the bot- 
 tom, in letters as tall as the mainmast. 
 
 To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its 
 influence on an agitated, doubting spirit to see if by looking at 
 Edmund's profile she could catch any of his counsel, or by giving 
 air to her geraniums she might inhale a breeze of mental strength 
 herself. But she had more than fears of her own perseverance 
 to remove : she had begun to feel undecided as to what she ought 
 to do; and as she walked round the room her doubts were in- 
 creasing. Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked, 
 so strongly wished for ? What might be so essential to a scheme 
 on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest com- 
 plaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature selfish- 
 ness and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's 
 judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation 
 of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in 
 spite of all the rest? It would be so horrible to her to act, that 
 she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her own 
 scruples ; and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins 
 to being obliged were strengthened by the sight of present upon 
 present that she had received from them. The table between the 
 windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes which 
 had been given her at different times, principally by Tom ; and 
 she grew bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these 
 kind remembrances produced. A tap at the door roused her in 
 the midst of this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her 
 gentle " come in" was answered by the appearance of one, before 
 whom all her doubts were wont to be laid. Her eyes brightened 
 at the sight of Edmund. 
 
 "Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?" said 
 he. 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " I want to consult I want your opinion." 
 
 "My opinion!" she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, 
 liighly as it gratified her. 
 
 " Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what to do. 
 This acting scheme gets worse and worse, you see. They have 
 chosen almost as bad a play as they could: and now, to complete 
 the business, are going to ask the help of a young man very 
 slightly known to any of us. This is the end of all the privacy 
 and propriety which was talked about at first. I know no harm 
 of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must 
 spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is 
 highly objectionable, the more than intimacy the familiarity.
 
 108 MANSFIELD PABK. 
 
 I cannot think of it -with any patience ; and it does appear to me 
 an evil of such magnitude as must, if possible, be prevented. 
 Do not you see it in the same light?" 
 
 "Yes; hut what can be done? Your brother is so deter- 
 mined ? " 
 
 " There is but one thing to be done, Fanny. I must take 
 Anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet 
 Tom." 
 
 Fanny could not answer him. 
 
 " It is not at all what I like," he continued. " No man can 
 like being driven into the appearance of such inconsistency. 
 After being known to oppose the scheme from the beginning, 
 there is absurdity in the face of my joining them now, when they 
 are exceeding their first plan in every respect ; but I can think of 
 no other alternative. Can you, Fanny?" 
 
 " No," said Fanny, slowly, " not immediately but " 
 
 " But what? I see your judgment is not with me. Think it 
 a little over. Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of 
 the mischief that may, of the unpleasantness that must, arise 
 from a young man's being received in this manner domesticated 
 among us authorized to come at all hours and placed suddenly 
 on a footing which must do away all restraints. To think only 
 of the license which every rehearsal must tend to create. It is 
 all very bad! Put yourself in Miss Crawford's placo, Fanny. 
 Consider what it would be to act Amelia with a stranger. She 
 has a right to be felt for, because she evidently feels for herself. 
 I heard enough of what she said to you last night, to understand 
 her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger ; and as she pro- 
 bably engaged in the part with different expectations perhaps 
 without considering the subject enough to know what was likely 
 to be it would be ungenerous, it would be really wrong to ex- 
 pose her to it Her feelings ought to be respected. Does it not 
 strike you so, Fanny ? You hesitate." 
 
 " I am sorry for Miss Crawford ; but I am more sorry to see 
 you drawn in to do what you have resolved against, and what you 
 are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be 
 sucli a triumph to the others !" 
 
 " They will not have much cause of triumph when they see 
 how infamously I act. But, however, triumph there certainly will 
 be, and I must brave it. But If I can be the means of restrain- 
 ing the publicity of the business, of limiting the exhibition, of 
 concentrating our folly, I shall be well repaid. As I am now, I 
 have no influence, I can do notliing : I have offended them, and 
 they will not hear me ; but when I have put them in good 
 humour by this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading 
 them to confine the representation within a much smaller circle 
 than they are now in the high road for. This will be a material
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 109 
 
 gain. My object is to confine it to Mrs. Rushvrorth and the 
 Grants. Will not this be worth gaining ?" 
 
 " Yes, it will be a great point." 
 
 " But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any 
 other measure by which I have a chance of doing equal good ?" 
 
 " No, I cannot think of anything else." 
 
 " Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfort- 
 able without it." 
 
 "Oh, cousin." 
 
 " If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself and yet 
 
 But it is absolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this 
 
 way, riding about the country in quest of anybody who can be 
 persuaded to act no matter whom : the look of a gentleman is 
 to be enough. I thought you would have entered more into Miss 
 Crawford's feelings." 
 
 " No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief 
 to her," said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner. 
 
 " She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour 
 to you last night. It gave her a very strong claim on my good- 
 will." 
 
 " She was very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her 
 spared " 
 
 She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience 
 stopped her in the'middle, but Edmund was satisfied. 
 
 " I shall walk down immediately after breakfast," said he, 
 " and am sure of giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny, 
 I will not interrupt you any longer. You want^ to be reading. 
 But I could not be easy till I had spoken to you, and come to a 
 decision. Sleeping or waking, my head has been full of tliis 
 matter all night. It is an evil but I am certainly making it 
 less than it might be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him directly 
 and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all 
 in high good humour at the prospect of acting the fool together 
 with such unanimity. You in the meanwhile will be taking a 
 trip into China, I suppose. How does Lord Macartney go on ? 
 (opening a volume on the table and then taking up some others.) 
 And here are Crabbe's Talcs, and the Idler, at hand to relieve 
 you, if you tire of your great book. I admire your little estab- 
 lishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty 
 your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit comfortably down 
 to your table. But do not stay here to be cold." 
 
 He went ; but there was no reading, no China, no composure 
 for Fanny. He had told her the most extraordinary, the most 
 inconceivable, the most unwelcome news ; and she could think of 
 nothing else. To be acting ! After all his objections objec- 
 tions so just and so public ! After all that she had heard him 
 say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could it
 
 110 
 
 be possible ? Edmund so inconsistent. Was he not deceiving 
 himself? Was he not wrong? Alas ! it was all Miss Craw- 
 ford's doings. She had seen her influence in every speech, and 
 was miserable. The doubts and alarms as to her own conduct, 
 which had previously distressed her, and which had all slept 
 while she listened to him, were become of little consequence now. 
 This deeper anxiety swallowed them up. Things should take 
 their course ; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might 
 attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach ; 
 and if at last obliged to yield no matter it was all misery 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 T was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. 
 Bertram and Maria. Such a victory over 
 ' Edmund's discretion had been beyond their 
 hopes, and was most delightful. There was 
 
 ?no longer anything to disturb them in their 
 darling project, and they congratulated each 
 other in private on the jealous weakness to 
 which they attributed the change, with all 
 the glee of feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still 
 look grave, and say he did not like the scheme in general, and 
 must disapprove the play in particular ; their point was gained ; 
 he was to act, and he was driven to it by the force of selfish in- 
 clinations only. Edmund had descended from that moral eleva- 
 tion which he had maintained before, and they were both as 
 much the better as the happier for their descent. 
 
 They behaved very well, however, to him on the occasion, 
 betraying no exultation beyond the lines about the corners of 
 the mouth, and seemed to think it as great an escape to be quit 
 of the intrusion of Charles Maddox, as if they had been forced 
 into admitting him against their inclination. " To have it quite 
 in their own family circle was what they had particularly wished. 
 A stranger among them would have been the destruction of all 
 their comfort ;" and when Edmund, pursuing that idea, gave a 
 hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were 
 ready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything. 
 It was all good humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered 
 to contrive his dress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt's last 
 scene with the Baron admitted a good deal of action and emphasis, 
 and Mr. Rushworth undertook to count his speeches. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Tom, "Fanny may be more disposed to oblige 
 us now. Perhaps you may persuade her."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. Ill 
 
 " No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act." 
 " Oh, very well." And not another word was said; but Fanny 
 felt herself again hi danger, and her indifference to the danger 
 was beginning to fail her already. 
 
 There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park 
 on this change in Edmuud ; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in 
 hers, and entered with such an instantaneous renewal of cheer- 
 fulness into the whole affair, as could have but one effect on him. 
 " He was certainly right in respecting such feelings; she was glad 
 he had determined on it." And the morning wore away in satis- 
 factions very sweet, if not very sound. One advantage resulted 
 from it to Fanny ; at the earnest request of Miss Crawford, Mrs. 
 Grant had, with her usual good humour, agreed to undertake the 
 part for which Fanny had been wanted ; and this was all that 
 occurred to gladden her heart during the day ; and even this, 
 when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was 
 Miss Crawford to whom she was obliged, it was Miss Crawford 
 whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose 
 merit in making them was spoken of with a glow of admiration. 
 She was safe ; but peace and safety were unconnected here. Her 
 mind had been never farther from peace. She could not feel that 
 she had done wrong herself, but she was disquieted in every other 
 way. Her heart and her judgment were equally against Ed- 
 mund's decision : she could not acquit his unsteadiness ; and his 
 happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy 
 and agitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which 
 seemed an insult, with friendly expressions towards herself which 
 she could hardly answer calmly. Everybody around her was 
 gay and busy, prosperous and important ; each had their object 
 of interest, their part, their dress, their favourite scene, their 
 friends and confederates all were finding employment in consult- 
 ations and comparisons, or diversion in the playful conceits they 
 suggested. She alone was sad and insignificant ; she had no 
 share in anything ; she might go or stay, she might be in the 
 midst of their noise, or retreat from it to the solitude of the east 
 room, without being seen or missed. She could almost think 
 anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant was of 
 consequence : her good-nature had honourable mention her taste 
 and her time were considered her presence was wanted she 
 was sought for, and attended, and praised ; and Fanny was at 
 first in some danger of envying her the character she had ac- 
 cepted. But reflection brought better feelings, and showed her 
 that Mrs. Grant was entitled to respect, which could never have 
 belonged to her ; and that had she received even the greatest, 
 she could never have been easy in joining a scheme which, con- 
 sidering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether. 
 
 Fanny's heart was not absolutely the only saddened one
 
 112 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 amongst them, as she soon began to acknowledge herself. Julia 
 was a sufferer, too, though not quite so blamelessly. 
 
 Henry Crawford had trifled with her feelings : but she had 
 very long allowed and even sought his attentions, with a jealousy 
 of her sister so reasonable as ought to have been their cure ; and 
 now that the conviction of his preference for Maria had been 
 forced on her, she submitted to it without any alarm for Maria's 
 situation, or any endeavoiir at rational tranquillity for herself. 
 She either sat in gloomy silence, wrapt in such gravity as nothing 
 could subdue, no curiosity touch, no wit amuse ; or allowing the 
 attentions of Mr. Yates, was talking with forced gaiety to him 
 alone, and ridiculing the acting of the others. 
 
 For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry Crawford 
 had endeavoured to do it away by the usual attack of gallantry 
 and compliment, but he had not cared enough about it to perse- 
 vere against a few repulses ; and becoming soon too busy with his 
 play to have time for more than one flirtation, he grew indifferent 
 to the quarrel, or rather thought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly 
 putting an end to what might ere long have raised expectations 
 in more than Airs. Grant. She was not pleased to see Julia ex- 
 cluded from the play, and sitting -by disregarded ; but as it was 
 not a matter which really involved her happiness, as Henry must 
 be the best judge of his own, and as he did assure her, with a 
 most persuasive smile, that neither he nor Julia had ever had a 
 serious thought of each other, she could only renew her former 
 caution as to the elder sister, entreat him not to risk his tran- 
 quillity by too much admiration there, and then gladly take her 
 share in anything that brought cheerfulness to the young people 
 in general, and that did so particularly promote the pleasure of 
 the two so dear to her. 
 
 " I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry," was her 
 observation to Mary. 
 
 " I dare say she is," replied Mary, coldly. " I imagine both 
 sisters are." 
 
 " Both ! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of 
 it. Think of Mr. Rushworth." 
 
 " You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. 
 It may do her some good. I often think of Mr. Rushworth's 
 property and independence, and wish them in other hands ; but 
 I never think of him. A man might represent the county with 
 such an estate ; a man might escape a profession and represent 
 the county." 
 
 " I dare say he will be in parliament soon. When Sir Thomas 
 comes, I dare say he will be in for some borough, but there has 
 been nobody to put him in the way of doing anything yet." 
 
 " Sir Thomas is to achieve many mighty things when he 
 comes home," said Mary, after a 'pause. " Do you remember
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. ] 1 3 
 
 Hawkins Browne's 'Address to Tobacco,' in imitation of Pope? 
 
 ' Blest leaf ! whose aromatic gales dispense 
 To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense.' 
 
 I will parody them : 
 
 Blest Knight ! whose dictatorial looks dispense 
 To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense. 
 
 Will not that do, Mrs. Grant ? Everything seems to depend 
 upon Sir Thomas's return." 
 
 "You will find his consequence very just and reasonable when 
 you see him in his family, I assure you. I do not think we do 
 so well without him. lie has a fine dignified manner, which 
 suits the head of such a house, and keeps everybody in their 
 place. Lady Bertram seems more of a cipher now than 
 when he is at home; and nobody else can keep Mrs. Norris in 
 order. But, Mary, do not fancy that Maiia Bertram cares for 
 Henry. I am sure Julia does not, or she would not have flirted 
 as she did last night with Mr. Yates; and though he and Maria 
 are very good friends, 1 think she likes Sotherton too well to be 
 inconstant." 
 
 " I would not give much for Mr. Bushworth's chance, if Henry 
 stepped in before the articles were signed." 
 
 "If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and 
 as soon as the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously, and 
 make him know his own mind ; and if he means nothing, we will 
 send him off, though he is Henry, for a time." 
 
 Julia did suffer, however, though Mrs. Grant discerned it not, 
 and though it escaped the notice of many of her own family like- 
 wise. She had loved, she did love still, and she had all the suf- 
 fering which a warm temper and a high spirit were likely to 
 endure under the disappointment of a dear, though irrational 
 hope, with a strong sense of ill usage. Her heart was sore and 
 angry, and she was capable only of angry consolations. The 
 sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was now be- 
 come her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each other; 
 and Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end to 
 the attentions which were still carrying on there, some punish- 
 ment to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as Avell as 
 towards Mr. Rushworth. With no material fault of temper, or 
 difference of opinion, to prevent their being very good friends 
 while their interests were the same, the sisters, under such a trial 
 as this, had not affection or principle enough to make them mer- 
 ciful or just, to give them honour or compassion. Maria felt her 
 triumph, and pursued her purpose, careless of Julia; and Julia 
 could never see Maria distinguished by Henry Crawford without 
 trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a public distur- 
 bance at last. 
 
 CD H
 
 114 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia ; but there was no 
 outward fellowship between them. Julia made no communica- 
 tion, and Fanny took no liberties. They were two solitary suf- 
 ferers, or connected only by Fanny's consciousness. 
 
 The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia's 
 discomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be im- 
 puted to the fulness of their own minds. They were totally 
 preoccupied. Tom was engrossed by the' concerns of his theatre, 
 and saw nothing that did not immediately relate to it. Edmund, 
 between his theatrical and his real part, between Miss Crawford's 
 claims and his own conduct, between love and consistency, was 
 equally unobservant; and Mrs. Norris was too busy in contriving 
 and directing the general little matters of the company, superin- 
 tending their various dresses with economical expedient, for which 
 nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integrity, half- 
 a,-crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure 
 for watching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness, of his 
 daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 VERYTHING was now in a regular train ; 
 'theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were 
 all getting forward ; but though no other 
 great impediments arose, Fanny found, before 
 many days were past, that it was not all un- 
 , interrupted enjoyment to the party themselves, 
 1 and that she had not to witness the continu- 
 ance of such unanimity and delight, as had 
 been almost too much for her at first. Everybody began to have 
 their vexation. Edmund had many. Entirely against his judg- 
 ment, a scene-painter arrived from town, and was at work, much 
 to the increase of the expenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat 
 of their proceedings; and his brother, instead of being really 
 guided by him as to the privacy of the representation, was giving 
 an invitation to every family who came in his way. Tom liim- 
 self began to fret over the scene-painter's slow progress, and to 
 feel the miseries of waiting. He had learned his part all his 
 parts for he took every trifling part that could be united with 
 the Butler, and began to be impatient to be acting; and every 
 day thus unemployed was tending to increase his sense of the 
 insignificance of all his parts together, and make him more ready 
 to regret that some other play had not been chosen. 
 
 Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the 
 only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and distresses
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 115 
 
 of most of them. She knew that Mr. Yates was in general 
 thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in 
 Henry Crawford ; that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be 
 unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; 
 that Edmund was behind-hand with his part, and that it was 
 misery to have anything to do with Mr. Bushworth, who was 
 wanting a prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that 
 poor Mr. Eushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with 
 him: his complaint came before her as well as the rest; and so 
 decided to her eye was her cousin Maria's avoidance of him, and 
 so needlessly often the rehearsal of the first scene between her 
 and Mr. Crawford, that she had soon all the terror of other com- 
 plaints from him. So for from being all satisfied and all enjoy- 
 ing, she found everybody requiring something they had not, and 
 giving occasion of discontent to the others. Everybody had a 
 part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they 
 ought, nobody would remember on which side they were to 
 come in, nobody but the complainer would observe any direc- 
 tions. 
 
 Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoyment 
 fropi the play as any of them ; Henry Crawford acted well, and 
 it was a pleasure to her to creep into the theatre, and attend the 
 rehearsal of the first act in spite of the feelings it excited in 
 some speeches for Maria. Maria she also thought acted well 
 too well ; and after the first rehearsal or two, Fanny began to 
 be their only audience, and sometimes as prompter, sometimes 
 as spectator, was often very useful. As far as she could judge, 
 Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor of all; he had 
 more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, more 
 talent and taste than Mr. Yates. She did not like him as a man, 
 but she must admit him to be the best actor, and on this point 
 there were not many who differed from her. Mr. Yates, indeed, 
 exclaimed against his tameness and insipidity ; and the day came 
 at last, when Mr. Eushworth turned to her with a black look, 
 and said, " Do you think there is anything so very fine in all 
 this? For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him; and 
 between ourselves, to see such an undersized, little, mean-looking 
 man, set up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous in my opinion." 
 
 From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy, 
 which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little 
 pains to remove; and the chances of Mr. Eushworth's ever at- 
 taining to the knowledge of his two-and-forty speeches became 
 much less. As to his ever making anything tolerable of them, 
 nobody had the smallest idea of that except his mother; she, 
 indeed, regretted that his part was not more considerable, and 
 deferred coming over to Mansfield till they were forward enough 
 in their rehearsal to comprehend all his scenes ; but the others
 
 116 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and 
 the first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter 
 through the rest. Fanny, in her pity and kind-heartedness, was 
 at great pains to teach him how to learn, giving him all the helps 
 and directions in her power, trying to make an artificial memory 
 for him, and learning every word of his part herself, but Avitliout 
 his being much the forwarder. 
 
 Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she cer- 
 tainly had ; but with all these, and other claims on her time and 
 attention, she was as far from finding herself without employment 
 or utility amongst them, as without a companion in uneasiness; 
 quite as far from having no demand on her leisure as on her 
 compassion. The gloom of her first anticipations was proved to 
 have been unfounded. She was occasionally useful to all ; she 
 was perhaps as much at peace as any. 
 
 There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover, 
 in which her help was wanted ; and that Mrs. Norris thought her 
 quite as well off as the rest, was evident by the manner in which 
 she claimed it: "Come, Fanny," she cried, "these are fine 
 times for you, but you must not be always walking from one 
 room to the other and doing the looldngs-on, at your ease, in 
 this way, I want you here. I have been slaving myself till I 
 can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without 
 sending for any more satin ; and now I think you may give me 
 your help in putting it together. There are but three seams, 
 you may do them in a trice. It would be lucky for me if 1 had 
 nothing but the executive part to do. You are best ofl^ I can 
 tell you ; but if nobody did more than you, we should not get on 
 very fast." 
 
 Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any 
 defence; but her kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf, 
 
 " One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny should be delighted : 
 it is all new to her, you know: you and I used to be very fond 
 of a play ourselves and so am I still and as soon as I am a 
 little more at leisure, 7 mean to look in at their rehearsals too. 
 "What is the play about, Fanny, you have never told me?" 
 
 "Oh, sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not one of 
 those who can talk and work at the same time. It is about 
 Lovers' Vows." 
 
 " I believe," said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, " there will be 
 three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give yon 
 an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once." 
 
 " You had better stay till the curtain is hung," interposed Mrs. 
 Norris " the curtain will be hung in a day or two, there is 
 very little sense in a play without a curtain and I am much 
 mistaken if you do not find it draw up into very handsome 
 festoons."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 117 
 
 l,ady l.erlnim seemed quite resigned to waiting. Fanny did 
 not share her aunt's composure ; she thought of the morrow a 
 great deal, for if the three acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss 
 Crawford would then be acting together for the first time; the 
 third act would bring a scene between them which interested her 
 most particularly, and which she was longing and dreading to 
 sec how they would perform. The whole su!>je<-t of it was love 
 a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and 
 very little short of a declaration of love be made by the lady. - 
 
 She had read, and read the scene again with many painful, 
 many wondering emotions, and looked forward to their represen- 
 tation of it as a circumstance almost too interesting. She did 
 not In-Iicrc they had yet rehearsed it, even in private. 
 
 The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and 
 Fanny's consideration of it did not become less agitated. She 
 worked very diligently under her aunt's directions, but her dili- 
 gence and her silence concealed a very absent, anxious mind; 
 and about noon she made her escape with her work to the east 
 room, that she might have no concern in another, and, as she 
 deemed it, most unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which 
 Henry Crawford was just proposing, desirous at once, of having 
 her time to herself, and of .avoiding the sight of Mr. Rushworth. 
 A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies 
 walking up from the Parsonage, made no change in her wish of 
 retreat, and she worked and meditated in the east room, undis- 
 turbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door 
 was followed by the entrance of Miss Crawford. 
 
 "Am I right? Yes; this is the east room. My dear Miss 
 Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my way to you on 
 purpose to entreat your help." 
 
 Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to show herself mistress 
 of the room by her civilities, and looked at the bright bars of 
 her empty grate with concern. 
 
 " Thank you I am quite warm very warm. Allow me to 
 stay here a little while, and do have the goodness to hear me my 
 third act. I have brought my book, and if you would but re- 
 hearse it with me, I should be so obliged! I came here to-day 
 intending to rehearse it with Edmund by ourselves against the 
 evening, but he is not in the way; and if he were, I do not think 
 I could go through it with Mm, till I have hardened myself a 
 
 little, for really there is a speech or two You will be so 
 
 good, won't you?" 
 
 Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could 
 not give them in a very steady voice. 
 
 " Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?" con- 
 tinued Miss Crawford, opening her book. " Here it is. I did 
 not think much of it at first but, upon my word There,
 
 118 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 look at that speeeh, and that, and that. How am I ever to look 
 him in the face and say such tilings? Could you do it? But 
 then he is your cousin, which makes all the difference. You must 
 rehearse it with me, that I may fancy you him, and get on by 
 degrees. You have a look of his sometimes." 
 
 " Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness 
 but I must read the part, for I can say very little of it." 
 
 " None of it, I suppose. You are to have the book, of course. 
 Now for it. We must have two chairs at hand for you to bring 
 forward to the front of the stage. There very good school-room 
 chairs, not made for a theatre, I dare say ; much more fitted for 
 little girls to sit and kick their feet against when they are learn- 
 ing a lesson. What would your governess and your uncle say to 
 see them used for such a purpose? Could Sir Thomas look in 
 upon us just now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsing 
 all over the house. Yates is storming away in the dining-room. 
 I heard him as I came up stairs, and the theatre is engaged of 
 course by those indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and Frederick. 
 If they are not perfect, I shall be surprised. By the bye, I looked 
 in upon them five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at 
 one of the times when they were trying not to embrace, and Mr. 
 Rushworth was with me. I thought he began to look a little 
 queer, so I turned it off as well as I could, by whispering to 
 him, ' We shall have an excellent Agatha, there is something so 
 maternal in her manner, so completely maternal in her voice 
 and countenance.' Was not that well done of me? He brigh- 
 tened up directly. Now for my soliloquy." 
 
 She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest feeling 
 which the idea of representing Edmund was so strongly calcu- 
 lated to inspire; but with looks and voice so truly feminine, as to 
 be no very good picture of a man. With such an Anhalt, how- 
 ever, Miss Crawford had courage enough ; and they had got 
 through half the scene, when a tap at the door brought a pause, 
 and the entrance of Edmund, the next moment, suspended it all. 
 
 Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure, appeared in each of the 
 three on this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund was come on 
 the very same business that had brought Miss Crawford, con- 
 sciousness and pleasure were likely to be more than momentary 
 in them. He, too, had his book, and was seeking Fanny, to ask 
 her to rehearse with him, and help him to prepare for the evening, 
 without knowing Miss Crawford to be in the house; and great 
 was the joy and animation of being thus thrown together of 
 comparing schemes and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind 
 offices. 
 
 She could not equal them in their warmth. Her spirits sank 
 under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly 
 nothing to both, to have any comfort in having been sought by
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 119 
 
 either. They must now rehearse together. Edmftnd proposed, 
 urged, entreated it till the lady, not very unwilling at first, 
 could refuse no longer and Fanny -was wanted only to pfol&pt 
 and observe them. She was invested, indeed, with the office of 
 judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it and tell 
 them all their faults ; but from doing so every feeling within her 
 shrank, she could not, would not, dared not attempt it : had sliS 
 been otherwise qualified for criticism, her conscience must have 
 restrained her from venturing at disapprobation. She tclieved 
 herself to feel too much of it in the aggregate for honesty ov 
 safety in particulars. To prompt them must be enough for her; 
 and it was sometimes more than enough ; for she could not al- 
 ways pay attention to the book. In watching them she forgot 
 herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of Edmund's man- 
 ner, had once closed the page and turned away exactly as ho 
 wanted help. It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and 
 she was thanked and pitied ; but she deserved their pity more 
 than she hoped they would ever surmise. At last the scene was 
 over, and Fanny forced herself to add her praise to the compli- 
 ments each was giving the other; and when again alone, and 
 able to recall the whole, she was inclined to believe their perfor- 
 mance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must 
 ensure their, credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to 
 herself. Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand 
 the brunt of it again that very day. 
 
 The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was certainly 
 to take place in the evening: Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords were 
 engaged to return for that purpose as soon as they could after 
 dinner; and every one concerned was looking forward with 
 eagerness. There seemed a general diffusion of cheerfulness on 
 the occasion: Tom was enjoying such an advance towards the 
 end, Edmund was in spirits from the morning's rehearsal, and 
 little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed away. All were 
 alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon 
 followed them, and, with the exception of Lady Bertram, Mrs. 
 Norris, and Julia, everybody was hi the theatre at an early hour, 
 and, having lighted it up as well as its unfinished state admitted, 
 were waiting only the arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords 
 to begin. 
 
 They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was no 
 Mrs. Grant. She could not come. Dr. Grant, professing an in- 
 disposition, for which he had little credit with his fair sister-in- 
 law, coidd not spare his wife. 
 
 " Dr. Grant is ill," said she, with mock solemnity. " He has 
 been ill ever since he did not eat any of the pheasant to-day. 
 He fancied it tough sent away his plate and has been suffer- 
 ing ever since,"
 
 120 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Here was disappointment ! Mrs. Grant's non-attendance was 
 sad indeed. Her pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made. 
 her always valuable amongst them but now she was absolutely 
 necessary. They could not act, they could not rehearse with any 
 .satisfaction without her. The comfort of the whole evening was 
 destroyed. What was to be done? Tom, as Cottager, was in 
 despair. After a pause of perplexity, some eyes began to be 
 turned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say, '' If Miss Price 
 would be so good as to read the part." She was immediately 
 surrounded by supplications, everybody asked it, even Ed- 
 mund said, " Do Fanny, if it is not very disagreeable to you." 
 
 But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the idea of 
 it. Why was not Miss Crawford to be .applied to as well ? Or 
 why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to 
 be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all? She had 
 known it would irritate and distress her she had known it her 
 duty to keep away. She was properly punished. 
 
 " You have only to read the part," said Henry Crawford, with 
 renewed entreaty. 
 
 " And I do believe she can say every word of it," added Maria, 
 " for she could put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty 
 places. Fanny, I am sure you know the part." 
 
 Fanny could not say she did not; -and as they all persevered, 
 as Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look of even fond 
 dependence on her good-nature, she must yield. She would do 
 her best. Everybody was satisfied; and she was left to the 
 tremors of a most palpitating heart, while the others prepared to 
 begin. 
 
 They did begin ; and, being too much engaged in their own 
 noise to be struck by any usual noise in the other part of the 
 house, had proceeded some way, when the door of the room was 
 thrown open, and Julia, appearing at it, with a face all aghast, 
 exclaimed, "My father is come! He is in the hall at this 
 moment." 
 
 1CND OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 it! 
 
 VOLUMK THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ; OW is the consternation of the party to be 
 described? To the greater number it was a 
 
 j moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in 
 the house! All felt the instantaneous con- 
 
 iviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake 
 
 /was harboured anywhere. Julia's looks were 
 an evidence of the fact that made it indis- 
 putable; and after the first starts and excla- 
 mations, not a word was spoken for half a minute ; each with an 
 altered countenance was looking at some other, and almost each 
 was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most 
 appalling! Mr. Yates might consider it only as a vexatious 
 interruption for the evening, and Mr. Kushworth might imagine 
 it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under some 
 degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, every other 
 heart was suggesting "What will become of us? what is to be 
 done now?" It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear 
 were the corroborating sounds of opening doors and passing 
 footsteps. 
 
 Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy and 
 bitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lost in the com- 
 mon cause ; but at the moment of her appearance, Frederick was 
 listening with looks of devotion to Agatha's narrative, and press- 
 ing her hand to his heart; and as soon as she could notice this, 
 and see that, in spite of the shock of her words, he still kept his 
 station and retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled 
 again with injury, and looking as red as she had been white 
 before, she turned out of the room, saying, " / need not be afraid 
 of appearing before him." 
 
 Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment the two
 
 122 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessity of doing some- 
 thing. A very few words between them were sufficient. The 
 case admitted no difference of opinion ; they must go to the draw- 
 ing-room directly. Maria joined them with the same intent, 
 just then the stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance 
 which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support. 
 Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment, a 
 moment of such peculiar proof and importance, was worth ages 
 of doubt and anxiety. She hailed it as an earnest of the 
 most serious determination, and was equal even to encounter 
 her father. They walked off, utterly needless of Mr. Rush- 
 worth's repeated question of, " Shall I go too ? Had not I better 
 go too? Will not it be right for me to go too?" but they were 
 no sooner through the door than Henry Crawford undertook to 
 answer the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him by all means 
 to pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay, sent him after 
 the others with delighted haste. 
 
 Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She 
 had been quite overlooked by her cousins; and as her own 
 opinion of her claims on Sir Thomas's affection was much too 
 humble to give her any idea of classing herself with his children, 
 she was glad to remain behind and gain a little breathing-time. 
 Her agitation and alarm exceeded all that was endured by the 
 rest, by the right of a disposition which not even innocence could 
 keep from suffering. She was nearly fainting: all her former 
 habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it compassion 
 for him and for almost every one of the party on the develope- 
 mcnt before him with solicitude on Edmund's account inde- 
 scribable. She had found a seat, where in excessive trembling 
 she was enduring all those fearful thoughts, while the other three, 
 no longer under any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings 
 of vexation, lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature 
 arrival as a most untoward event, and without mercy wishing 
 poor Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage, or were 
 still in Antigua. 
 
 The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, 
 from better understanding the family, and judging more clearly 
 of the mischief that must ensue. The ruin of the play was to 
 them a certainty : they felt the total destruction of the scheme to 
 be inevitably at hand ; wlrile Mr. Yates considered it only as a 
 temporary interruption, a disaster for the evening, and could even 
 suggest the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea, 
 when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas was over, and he might 
 be at leisure to be amused by it. The Crawfords laughed at the 
 idea ; and having soon agreed on the propriety of their walking 
 quietly home and leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr. 
 Vates's accompanying them and spending the evening at the
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 123 
 
 Parsonage. But Mr. Yates, having never been with those who 
 thought much of parental claims, or family confidence, could not 
 perceive that anything of the kind was necessary ; and therefore, 
 thanking them, said, "he preferred remaining where he was, that 
 lie might pay his respects to the old gentleman handsomely since 
 he was come; and besides, he did not think it would be fair by 
 the others to have everybody run away." 
 
 Fanny was just beginning to collect herself, and to feel that if 
 she staid longer behind it might seem disrespectful, when this 
 point was settled, and being commissioned with the brother and 
 sister's apology, saw them preparing to go as she quitted the 
 room herself to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before 
 her uncle. 
 
 Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door; and 
 after pausing a moment for what she knew would not come, for 
 a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to her, 
 she turned the lock in desperation, and the lights of the drawing- 
 room and all the collected family were before her. As she 
 entered, her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was at that 
 moment looking round him, and saying, " But where is Fanny? 
 Why do not I see my little Fanny?" and, on perceiving her, 
 came forward with a kindness which astonished and penetrated 
 her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and 
 observing with decided pleasure how much she was grown! 
 Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She was quite 
 oppressed. He had never been so kind, so very kind to her in 
 his life. His manner seemed changed ; his voice was quick from 
 the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity 
 seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked 
 at her again enquired particularly after her health, and then 
 correcting himself, observed, that he need not enquire, for her 
 appearance spoke sufficiently on that point A fine blush having 
 succeeded the previous paleness of her face, he was justified in 
 his belief of her equal improvement in health and beauty. He 
 enquired next after her family, especially William ; and his kind- 
 ness altogether was such as made her reproach herself for loving 
 him so little, and thinking his return a misfortune ; and when, 
 on having courage to lift her eyes to Ids face, she saw that he 
 was grown thinner, and had the burnt, fagged, worn look of 
 fatigue and a hot climate, eveiy tender feeling was increased, 
 and she was miserable in considering how much unsuspected 
 vexation was probably ready to burst on him. 
 
 Sir Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who at his sug- 
 gestion now seated themselves round the fire. He had the best 
 right to be the talker; and the delight of his sensations in being 
 again in his own house, in the centre of his family, after such a 
 separation, made him communicative and chatty in a very unusual
 
 1 24 MAN8F1ELD PAKK. 
 
 degree; and he was ready to give every information as to his 
 voyage, and answer ever}' question of his two sons almost before 
 it was put. His business in Antigua had latterly been pros- 
 perously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool, having had 
 an opportunity of making his passage thither in a private vi-s-el, 
 instead of waiting for the packet; and all the little particulars of 
 his proceedings and events, his arrivals and departures, wen- 
 most promptly delivered, as he sat by Lady Bertram am! looked 
 with heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him interrupting 
 himself more than once, however, to remark on his good fortune 
 in finding them all at home coining unexpectedly as he did 
 all collected together exactly as he could have wished, but dared 
 not depend on. Mr. Kushworth was not forgotten: a most 
 friendly reception and warmth of hand-shaking had already met 
 him, and with pointed attention* he was now included in the 
 objects most intimately connected with Mansfield. There was 
 nothing disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir 
 Thomas was liking him already. 
 
 By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unbroken, 
 unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely 
 happy to see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his 
 sudden arrival, as to place her nearer agitation than she had bcea 
 for the last twenty years. She had been almost fluttered for a 
 few minutes, and still remained so sensibly animated as to put 
 away her work, move pug from her side, and give all her atten- 
 tion and all the rest of her sofa to her husband. She had no 
 anxieties for anj r body to cloud her pleasure: her own time had 
 been irreproachably spent during his absence: she had done a 
 great deal of carpet- ivork, and made many yards of fringe ; and 
 she would have answered as freely for the good conduct and 
 useful pursuits of all the young people as for her own. It was 
 so agreeable to her to see him again, and hear him talk, to have 
 her ear amused and her whole comprehension filled by his 
 narratives, that she began particularly to feel how dreadfully she 
 must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been 
 for her to bear a lengthened absence. 
 
 Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness to 
 her sister. Not that she was incommoded by many fears of Sir 
 Thomas's disapprobation when the present state of his house 
 should be known, for her judgment had been so blinded that, 
 except by the instinctive caution with which she had whisked 
 away Mr. Kushworth's pink satin cloak as her brother-in-law 
 entered, she could hardly be said to show any sign of alarm ; but 
 she was vexed by the manner of his return. It had left her 
 nothing to do. Instead of being sent for out of the room, and 
 seeing him first, and having to spread the happy news through 
 the house, Sir Thomas, with a very reasonable dependence.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 125 
 
 perhaps, on the nerves of his wife and children, had sought no 
 confidant Imt the butler, and had been following him almost 
 instantaneously into the drawing-room. Mrs. Korris felt herself 
 defrauded of an office on which she had always depended, whether 
 Iiis arrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded ; and was 
 now trying to be in a bustle without having anything to bustle 
 about, and labouring to be important where nothing; was wanted 
 but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have consented 
 to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with troublesome 
 directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions of despatch; 
 but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would take 
 nothing, nothing till tea came he would rather wait for tea. 
 Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something different; 
 and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England, 
 when the alarm of a French" privateer was at the height, she 
 burst through his recital with the proposal of soup. "Sure, my 
 dear Sir Thomas, a basin of soup would be a much better thing 
 for you than tea. Do have a basin of soup." 
 
 Sir Thomas could not be provoked. " Still the same anxiety 
 for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris," was his answer. 
 "But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea." 
 
 ' : \\Vil, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you speak for tea 
 directly, suppose you hurry Baddeley a little, he seems behind- 
 hand to night." She carried this point, and Sir Thomas's nar- 
 rative proceeded. 
 
 At length there was a pause. His immediate communications 
 were exhausted, and it seemed enough to be looking joyfully 
 around him, now at one, now at another of the beloved circle ; 
 but the pause was not long: in the elation of her spirits Lady 
 Bertram became talkative, and what were the sensations of her 
 children upon hearing her say, " How do you think the young 
 people have been amusing themselves lately, Sir Thomas? They 
 have been acting. We have been all alive with acting." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what have you been acting?" 
 
 " Oh, they'll tell you all about it." 
 
 " The all will be soon told," cried Tom, hastily, and with 
 affected unconcern; "but it is not worth while to bore my fat her 
 with it now. You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We 
 have just been trying, by way of doing something, and amusing 
 my mother, just within the last week, to get up a few scenes, a 
 mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains almost since 
 October began, that we have been nearly confined to the house 
 for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3d. 
 Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no 
 attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield 
 Wood, and Kdmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we 
 brought home six brace between us, and might each have killed
 
 126 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 six times as many; but we Respect your pheasants, sir, I assure 
 you, as much as you could desire. I do not think you will find 
 your woods by any means worse stocked than they were. / 
 never saAV Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants in my life as this 
 year. I hope you will take a day's sport there yourself, sir, 
 soon." 
 
 For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick feelings 
 subsided; but when tea was soon afterwards brought in, and Sir 
 Thomas, getting up, said that he found he could not be any 
 longer in the house without just looking into his own dear room, 
 every agitation was returning. He was gone before anything 
 had been said to prepare him for the change he must find there; 
 and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance. Edmund was 
 the first to speak: 
 
 " Something must be done," said he. 
 
 " It is time to think of our visitors," said Maria, still feeling 
 her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart, and caring little 
 for anything else. "Where did you leave Miss Crawford, 
 Fanny?" 
 
 Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message. 
 
 " Then poor Yates is all alone," cried Tom. " I will go and 
 fetch him. He will be no bad assistant when it all comes out." 
 
 To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness 
 the first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had 
 been a good deal surprised to find candles burning in his room; 
 and on casting his eye round it, to see other symptoms of recent 
 habitation and a general air of confusion in the furniture. The 
 removal of the book-case from the billiard-room door struck him 
 especially, but he had scarcely more than time to feel astonished 
 at all this, before there were sounds from the billiard-room to 
 astonish him still further. Some one was talking there in a veiy 
 loud accent he did not know the voice more than talking 
 almost hallooing. He stept to the door, rejoicing at that moment 
 in having the means of immediate communication, and, opening 
 it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, and opposed to a 
 ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down 
 backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir 
 Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever 
 given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered 
 at the other end of the room ; and never had he found greater 
 difficulty in keeping his countenance. His father's looks of 
 solemnity and amazement on this his first appearance on any 
 stage, and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron 
 Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his 
 bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such an exhibition, 
 such a piece of true acting as he would not have lost upon any 
 account. It would be the last in all probability the last scene
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 27 
 
 on that stage ; but he was sure there could not be a finer. The 
 house would close with the greatest eclat. 
 
 There was little time, however, for the indulgence of any 
 images of merriment. It was necessary for him to step forward, 
 too, and assist the introduction, and with many awkward sensa- 
 tions he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with all 
 the appearance of cordiality which was due to his own character, 
 but was really as far from pleased with the necessity of the 
 acquaintance as with the manner of its commencement. Mr. 
 Yates's family and connections were sufficiently known to him, 
 to render his introduction as the " particular friend," another of 
 the hundred particular friends of his son, exceedingly unwelcome; 
 and it needed all the felicity of being again at home, and all the 
 forbearance it could supply, to save Sir Thomas from anger on 
 finding himself thus bewildered in his own house, making part 
 of a ridiculous exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, and 
 forced in so untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance of a 
 young man whom he felt sure of disapproving, and whose easy 
 indifference and volubility in the course of the first five minutes 
 seemed to mark him the most at home of the two. 
 
 Tom understood his father's thoughts, and heartily wishing he 
 might be always as well disposed to give them but partial 
 expression, began to see more clearly than he had ever done 
 before, that there might be some ground of offence that there 
 might be some reason for the glance his father gave towards the 
 ceiling and stucco of the room ; and that when he inquired with 
 mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table, he was not 
 proceeding beyond a very allowable curiosity. A few minutes 
 were enough for such unsatisfactory sensations on each side ; and 
 Sir Thomas, having exerted himself so far as to speak a few 
 words of calm approbation in reply to an eager appeal of Mr. 
 Yates, as to the happiness of the arrangement, the three gentlemen 
 returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an 
 increase of gravity which was not lost on all. 
 
 " I come from your theatre," said he, composedly, as he sat 
 down; " I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity 
 to my own room but in every respect, indeed, it took me by 
 surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having 
 assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, 
 as far as I could judge by candlelight, and does my friend 
 Christopher Jackson credit." And then he would have changed 
 the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace over domestic matters 
 of a calmer hue ; but Mr. Yates, without discernment to catch 
 Sir Thomas's meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion 
 enough to allow him to lead the discourse while he mingled 
 among the others with the least obtrusiveness himself, would 
 keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with
 
 128 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 questions and remarks relative to it, and finally would make him 
 hear the whole history of liis disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir 
 Thomas listened most politely, but found much to offend his 
 ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill opinion of Mr. Yates's habits 
 of tli inking, from the beginning to the end of tiie story; and 
 when it was over, could give him no other assurance of sympathy 
 than what a slight bow conveyed. 
 
 " This was, in fact, the origin of unr acting," said Tom, after a 
 moment's thought. "My friend Yates brought the infection from 
 Ecclcsford, and it spread as those things always spread, you 
 know, sir the faster, probably from your having so often en- 
 couraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading 
 old ground again." 
 
 Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible, 
 and immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they had 
 done and were doing ; told him of the gradual increase of their 
 views, the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present 
 promising state of affairs ; relating everything with so blind an inte- 
 rest as made him not only totally unconscious of the uneasy move- 
 ments of many of his friends as they sat, the change of countenance, 
 the fidget, the hem ! of unquietness, but prevented him even from 
 seeing the expression of the face on which his own eyes were 
 fixed from seeing Sir Thomas's dark brow contract as he looked 
 with enquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwell- 
 ing particularly on the latter, and speaking a language, a remon- 
 strance, a reproof, which he felt at his heart. Not less acutely 
 was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind her 
 aunt's end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself, saw all 
 that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund 
 from his father she coidd never have expected to witness ; and to 
 feel that it was in any degree deserved was an aggravation in- 
 deed. Sir Thomas's look implied, "On your judgment, Edmund, 
 I depended; what have you been about?" She knelt in spirit to 
 her uncle, and her bosom swelled to utter, " Oh, not to him ! 
 Look so to all the others, but not to /<;//" 
 
 Mr. Yates was still talking. " To own the truth, Sir Thomas, 
 we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived this even- 
 ing. "We were going through the three first acts, and not unsuc- 
 cessfully upon the whole. Our company is no^v* so dispersed, 
 from the Crawfords being gone home, that nothing more can be 
 done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your com- 
 pany to-morrow evening, I should not be afraid of the result. 
 We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young per- 
 formers; we bespeak your indulgence." 
 
 "My indulgence shall be given, sir," replied Sir Thomas 
 gravely, " but without any other rehearsal." And witli a re- 
 lenting smile he added, " I come home to be happy and indul-
 
 MANSFIELD 1>A11K. 1 2'J 
 
 gent." Then turning away towards any or all of the rest, he 
 tranquilly said, " Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my 
 last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable ac- 
 quaintances?" 
 
 Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but ho 
 being entirely without particular regard for either, without jca- 
 loi i*y either in love or acting, could speak very handsomely of 
 both. " Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant gentlemanlike man ; 
 his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl." 
 
 Mr. liushworth could be silent no longer. " I do not say he 
 is not gentlemanlike, considering; but you should tell your fa- 
 ther he is not above five feet tight, or he will be expecting a 
 well -looking man.'' 
 
 Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with 
 some surprise at the speaker. 
 
 "If I must say what I think,'' continued Mr. Rush worth, "ir 
 my opinion it is very disagreeable to be. always rehearsing. It 
 is having too much of a good thing. I am not so fond of acting 
 as I was at first. I think we are a great deal better employed, 
 sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing." 
 
 Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approving 
 s-.uile, " I am happy to find our sentiments on this subject so 
 much the same. It gives me sincere satisf.iction. That I should 
 be cautious and quick-sighted, and feel many scruples which my 
 children do not feel, is perfectly natural; and equally so that ;// 
 value for domestic tranquillity, for a home which shuts out noisy 
 pleasures, should much exceed theirs. But at your time of life 
 to feel all this, is a most favourable circumstance for yourself and 
 for everybody connected with you; and I am sensible of the im- 
 portance if having an ally of such weight." 
 
 Sir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth's opinion in 
 better words than he could find himself. He was aware that he 
 must not expect a genius in Mr. Kuslnvorth; but as a well- 
 judging, steady young man, with better notions than his elocu- 
 tion would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly. 
 It was impossible for many of the others not to smile. Mr. 
 Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; 
 but by looking, as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with 
 Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did 
 Ins best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer. 
 
 (1)
 
 130 MANSFIELD PAEK. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DMUND'S first object the next morning was 
 to see his father alone, and give him a fair 
 statement of the whole acting scheme, de- 
 fending his own share in it as far only as he 
 could then, in a soberer moment, feel his mo- 
 t tives to deserve, and acknowledging, with 
 > perfect ingenuousness, that his concession had 
 < been attended with such partial good as to 
 make his judgment in it very doubtful. He was anxious, while 
 vindicating himself, to say nothing unkind of the others; but 
 there was only one amongst them whose conduct he could men- 
 tion without some necessity of defence or palliation. " We have 
 all been more or less to blame," said he, " every one of us, ex- 
 cepting Fanny. Fanny is the only one who has judged rightly 
 throughout; who has been consistent. Her feelings have been 
 steadily against it from first to last. She never ceased to think 
 of what was due to you. You will find Fanny everything you 
 could wish." 
 
 Sir Thomas saw all the impropriety of such a scheme among 
 , such a party, and at such a time, as strongly as his son had ever 
 supposed he must ; he felt it too much, indeed, for many words ; 
 and having shaken hands with Edmund, meant to try to lose 
 the disagreeable impression, and forget how much "he had been 
 forgotten himself as soon as he could, after the house had been 
 cleared of every object enforcing the remembrance, and restored 
 to its proper state. He did not enter into any remonstrance with 
 his other children : he was more willing to believe they felt their 
 error, than to run the risk of investigation. The reproof of an 
 immediate conclusion of everything, the sweep of every prepara- 
 tion, would be sufficient. 
 
 There was one person, however, in the house, whom he could 
 not leave to learn his sentiments merely through his conduct. 
 He could not help giving Mrs. Norris a hint of his having hoped, 
 that her advice might have been interposed to prevent what her 
 judgment must certainly have disapproved. The young people 
 had been very inconsiderate in forming the plan; they ought to 
 have been capable of a better decision themselves ; but they were 
 young, and, excepting Edmund, he believed, of unsteady charac- 
 ters; and with greater surprise, therefore, he must regard her ac- 
 quiescence in their wrong measures, her countenance of their un- 
 safe amusements, than that such measures and such amusements 
 should have been suggested. Mrs. Norris was a little confounded
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 131 
 
 and as nearly being silenced as ever she haU been in her life; 
 lor she was ashamed to confess having never seen any of the 
 impropriety which was so glaring to Sir Thomas, and would not 
 have admitted that her influence was insufficient that she might 
 have talked in vain. Her only resource was to get out of the 
 subject as fast as possible, and turn the current of Sir Thomas's 
 ideas into a happier channel. She had a great deal to insinuate, 
 in her own praise as to general attention to the interest and com- 
 fort of his family, much exertion and many sacrifices to glance 
 at in the form of hurried walks and sudden removals from hut- 
 own fireside, and many excellent hints of distrust and economy 
 to Lady Bertram and Edmund to detail, whereby a most con- 
 siderable saving had always arisen, and more than one bad ser- 
 vant been detected. But her chief strength lay in Sotherton. 
 Her greatest support and glory was in having formed the con- 
 nection with the Rushworths. There she was impregnable. 
 She took to herself all the credit of bringing Mr. liushworth's 
 admiration of Maria to any effect. " If I had not been active," 
 said she, " and made a point of being introduced to his mother, 
 and then prevailed on my sister to pay the iirst visit, I am as 
 certain as I sit here that nothing would have come of it for 
 Mr. Rushworth is the sort of amiable modest young man who 
 wants a great deal of encouragement, and there were girls enough 
 on the catch for him if we had been idle. But I left no stone 
 unturned. I was ready to move heaven and earth to persuade; 
 my sister, and at last I did persuade her. You know the dis- 
 tance to Sotherton ; it Weis in the middle of winter, and tho 
 roads almost impassable, but I did persuade her." 
 
 " I know how great, how justly great your influence is with 
 Lady Bertram and her children, and am the more concerned that 
 it should not have been " 
 
 " My dear Sir Thomas, if you had seen the state of the roads 
 that day ! I thought we should never have got through them, 
 though, we had the four horses of course ; and poor old coachman 
 would attend us, out of his great love and kindness, though he 
 was hardly able to sit the box on account of the rheumatism 
 which I had been doctoring him for ever since Michaelmas. I 
 cured him at last; but he was very bad all the winter and this 
 was such a day, I could not help going to him up in his room 
 before we set off to advise him not to venture: he was putting 
 on his wig so I said, ' Coachman, you had much better not go, 
 your Lady and I shall be very safe; you know how steady 
 Stephen is,, and Charles has been upon the leaders so often now, 
 * that I am sure there is no fear.' But, however, I soon found it 
 would not do; he was bent upon going, and as I hate to be 
 worrying and officious, I said no more; but my heart quite 
 ached for him at every jolt, and when we got into the rough
 
 132 JLVNaHKLD i'AUK. 
 
 lanes about Stoke, -(there \vliat with frost and snow upon beds of 
 stones, it was worse than anything you can imagine, I was quite 
 in an agony about him. And then the poor horses too! To see 
 them straining away ! You know how I always feel for the 
 hordes. And when we got to the bottom of Sanderoft Hill, what 
 do you think I did ? You will laugh at me but I got out and 
 walked up. I did indeed. It might not be saving them much, 
 but it was something, and I eould not bear to sit at my ease, and 
 be dragged up at the expense of those noble animals. I caught 
 a dreadful cold, but that I did not regard. My object was ac- 
 complished in the visit." 
 
 "I hope we shall always think the acquaintance worth any 
 trouble that might be taken to establish it. There is nothing 
 very striking in Mr. llushworth's manners, but I was pleased 
 last night with what appeared to be his opinion on one subject 
 his decided preference of a quiet family-party to the bustle and 
 confusion of acting. He seemed to feel exactly as one could 
 wish." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and the more you know of him the better you 
 wiil like him. He is not a shining character, but he has a 
 thousand good qualities; and is so disposed to look up to you, 
 that I am quite laughed at about it, for everybody considers it as 
 my doing. ' Upon my word, Mrs. Norris,' said Mrs. Grant, the 
 other day, 'if Mr. liushworth were a, son of your own he could 
 not hold Sir Thomas in greater respect.' " 
 
 Sir Thomas gave up the point, foiled by her evasions, dis- 
 armed by her flattery ; and was obliged to rest satislied with 
 the conviction that where the present pleasure of those she loved 
 was at stake, her ki ;duess did sometimes overpower her judgment. 
 
 It was a busy morning with him. Conversation with any of 
 them occupied but a small part of it. He had to reinstate him- 
 self in all the wonted concerns of his Manslield lift-, to sec his 
 steward and hi-s bailiff to examine a d compute and, in the 
 intervals of business, to walk into his stables and his gardens, and 
 nearest plantations; but active and methodical, he had not only 
 done all th's bei'i re he resumed his seat as master of the house at 
 dinner, he had also set tha carpenter to work in pulling down 
 what had been so lately put up in the billiard- room, and given 
 the scene-painter his dismissal, long enough to justify the pleas- 
 ing belief of his being then at least us far off as Northampton. 
 The scene-painter was gone, having spoiled only the floor of one 
 room, ruined all the coachman's sponge?, and made five of the 
 under-servants idle and dissatisfied; and Sir Thomas was in 
 hopes that another day or two would suffice to wipe away every ' 
 outward memento of what had been, even to the destruction of 
 every unbound copy of Lover's Vows in the house, for he was 
 burning all that met his eye.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 38 
 
 Mr. Yates was beginning now to understand Sir Tlioma*^ in- 
 tentions, though as far as ever from understanding their source. 
 lie and his friend liad been out witli their guns the chief of the 
 morning, and Tom had taken the opportunity of explaining, 
 with proper apologies for hi.s father's particularity, what was to 
 be expected. Mr. Yates felt it as acutely as might be sup- 
 posed. To be a second time disappointed in the same way 
 was an instance of very severe ill-luck ; and his indignation was 
 such, that had it not been for delicacy towards his friend, and 
 his friend's youngest sister, he believed he should certainly at- 
 tack the Baronet on the absurdity of his proceedings, and argue 
 him into a little more rationality. He believed this very stoutly 
 while he was in Mansfield Wood, and all the way home; but 
 there was a something in Sir Thomas, when they sat round the 
 same table, which made Mr. Yates think it wiser to let him 
 pursue his own way, and feel the 'foil}- of it without opposition. 
 He had known many disagreeable fathers before, and often been 
 struck with the inconveniences they occasioned, but never, in 
 the whole course of his life, had he seen one of that class, so 
 unintelligibly moral, so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas. 
 He was not a man to be endured but for his children's sake, and he 
 might be thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yates did 
 yet mean to stay a few days longer under his roof. 
 
 The evening passed with external smoothness, though almost 
 every mind was ruffled ; and the music which Sir Thomas called 
 for from his daughters helped to conceal the want of real har- 
 mony. Maria was in a good deal of agitation. It was of the 
 utmost consequence to her that Crawford should now lose no 
 time in declaring himself, and she wns disturbed that even a day 
 should be gone by without seeming to advance that point. She 
 had been expecting to see him the whole morning and all 
 the evening, too, was still expecting him. Mr. Uushworth bad 
 set off early with the great news for Sotherton; and she had 
 fondly hoped for such an immediate eclaircissement as might 
 save him the trouble of ever coming back again. Hut they had 
 seen no one from the Parsonage not a creature, and had heard 
 no tidings beyond a friendly note of congratulation and inquiry 
 from Mrs. Grant to I>ady Uertram. It was the first day for 
 many, many weeks, in which the families had been wholly di- 
 vided. Fonr-and-twenty hours had never passed before, since 
 August began, without bringing them together in some way or 
 other. It was a sad anxious day; and the morrow, though 
 differing in the sort of evil, did by no means bring less. A few 
 moments of feverish enjoyment were followed by hours of acute 
 suffering. Henry Crawford was again in the house: he walked 
 up with Dr. Grant, who was anxious to pay LU respects to Sir 
 Thomas, and at rather an early hour they were ushered into the 
 breakfast-room, where were most of- the familv. Sir Thomas
 
 134 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 soon appeared, and Maria saw with delight and agitation the 
 introduction of the man she loved to her father. Her sensations 
 were indefinable, and so were they a few minutes afterwards 
 upon hearing Henry Crawford, who had a chair between herself 
 and Tom, ask the latter in an under voice, whether there were 
 any plan for resuming the play after the present happy inter- 
 ruption (with a courteous glance at Sir Thomas), because, in 
 that case, he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at 
 any time required by the party : he was going away immediate- 
 ly, being to meet his uncle at Bath without delay ; but if there 
 were any prospect of a renewal of Lovers' Yows, he should hold 
 himself positively engaged, he should break through every other 
 claim, he should absolutely condition with his uncle for attend- 
 ing them whenever he might be wanted. The play should not 
 be lost by his absence. 
 
 "From Bath, Norfolk, London, York, wherever I may be," 
 Said he, " I will attend you from any place in England, at an 
 hour's notice." 
 
 It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak and not 
 his sister. He could immediately say with easy fluency, " I am 
 sorry you are going but as to our play, that is all over en- 
 tirely at an end (looking significantly at his father). The 
 painter was sent off yesterday, and very little will remain of the 
 theatre to-morrow. I knew how that would be from the first. 
 It is early for Bath. You will find nobody there." 
 
 " It is about my uncle's usual time." 
 
 " When ilo you think of going?" 
 
 " I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day." 
 
 " Whose stables do you use at Bath?" was the next question ; 
 and while this branch of the subject was under discussion, Maria, 
 who wanted neither pride nor resolution, was preparing to en- 
 counter her share of it with tolerable calmness. 
 
 To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he had al- 
 ready said, with only a softened air and stronger expressions of 
 regret. But what availed his expressions or his air? He was 
 going and if not voluntarily going, voluntarily intending to 
 stay away ; for, excepting what might be due to his uncle, his 
 engagements were all self-imposed. He might talk of necessity, 
 but she knew his independence. The hand which had so pressed 
 hers to his heart ! the hand and the heart were alike motionless 
 and passive now ! Her spirits supported her, but the agony of 
 her mind was severe. She had not long to endure what arose 
 from listening to language which his actions contradicted, or to 
 bury the tumult of her feelings under the restraint of society; 
 for general civilities soon called his notice from her, and the 
 farewell visit, as it then became openly acknowledged, was a very 
 short one. He was gone he had touched her hand for a short
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 135 
 
 time, he had made his parting bow, and she might seek directly 
 all that solitude could do for her. Henry Crawford was gone 
 gone from the house, and witliin two hours afterwards from the 
 parish, and so ended all the hopes his selfish vanity had raised 
 in Maria and Julia Bertram. 
 
 Julia could rejoice that he was gone. His presence was be- 
 ginning to be odious to her ; and if Maria gained him not, she 
 was now cool enough to dispense with any other revenge. She 
 did not want exposure to be added to desertion. Henry 
 Crawford gone, she could even pity her sister. 
 
 With a purer spirit did Fanny rejoice in the intelligence. She 
 heard it at dinner, and felt it a blessing. ,By all the others it 
 was mentioned with regret ; and his merits honoured with due 
 gradation of feeling, from the sincerity of Edmund's too partial 
 regard, to the unconcern of his mother speaking entirely by rote. 
 Mrs. Norris began to look about her and wonder that his falling 
 in love with Julia had come to nothing; and could almost fear 
 that she had been remiss herself in forwarding it; but with so 
 many to care for, how was it possible for even her activity to 
 keep pace with her wishes ? 
 
 Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise. In 
 his departure Sir Thomas felt the chief interest: wanting to be 
 alone with his family, the presence of a stranger superior to Mr. 
 Yates must have been irksome; but of him, trifling and confident, 
 idle and expensive, it was every way vexatious. In himself he 
 was wearisome, but as the friend of Tom and the admirer of 
 Julia he became offensive. Sir Thomas had been quite indifferent 
 to Mr. Crawford's going or staying but his good wishes for Mr. 
 Yates's having a pleasant journey, as he walked with him to the 
 hall door, were given with genuine satisfaction. Mr. Yates had 
 staid to see the destruction of every theatrical preparation at 
 Mansfield, the removal of everything appertaining to the play : 
 he left the house in all the soberness of its general character ; 
 and Sir Thomas hoped, in seeing him out of it, to be rid of the 
 worst object connected with the scheme, and the last that must 
 be inevitably reminding him of its existence. 
 
 Mrs. Norris contrived to remove one article from his sight that 
 might have distressed him. The curtain over which she had 
 presided with such talent and such success went off with her to 
 her cottage, where she happened to be particularly in want of 
 green baize.
 
 1 36 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IR THOMAS'S return made a striking change 
 in the ways of the family, independent of 
 Lovers' Vows. Under his government, Mans- 
 field was an altered place. Some members 
 of their society sent away, and the spirits of 
 many others saddened, it was all sameness 
 and gloom, compared with the past a sombre 
 family party rarely enlivenedt There was 
 little intercourse with the Parsonage. Sir Thomas, drawing back 
 from intimacies in general, was paiticularly disinclined, at this 
 time, for any engagements but in one quarter. The Kushwortbs 
 were the only addition to his own domestic circle which he could 
 solicit. 
 
 Edmund did not wonder that such should be his father's 
 feelings, nor could he regret anything but the exclusion of the 
 Grants. "But they," he observed to Fanny, "have a claim. 
 They seem to belong to us they seem to be part of ourselves. 
 I could wish my father were more sensible of their very great 
 attention to my mother and sisters while he was away. I am 
 afraid they may feel themselves neglected, but the truth is, that 
 my father hardly knows them. They had not been here a 
 twelvemonth when he left England. If he knew them better, 
 he would value their society as it deserves, for they are, in fact, 
 exactly the sort of people he would like. V"e are sometimes a 
 little in want of animation among ourselves: my sisters seem 
 out of spirits, and Tom is certainly not at his ease. Dr. and 
 Mrs. Grant would enliven us, and make our evenings pass away 
 Avith more enjoyment even to my father." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Fanny: "in my opinion, my uncle 
 would not like any addition. I think he values the very quiet- 
 ness you speak of, and that the repose of his own family circle is 
 all he wants. And it does not appear to me that we are more 
 serious than we used to be I mean before my uncle went abroad. 
 As well as I can recollect, it was always much the same. There 
 was never much laughing in his presence; or, if there is any 
 difference, it is not more I think than such an absence has a 
 tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of shyness; 
 but I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry , 
 except when my uncle was in town. No young people's are, I 
 suppose, when those they look up to are at home." 
 
 " I believe you are right, Fanny," was his reply, after a short 
 consideration. " I believe our evenings are rather returned to 
 what they were, than assuming a new character. The novelty
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 13? 
 
 was in their being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that 
 only a few weeks will give! I have been feeling as if we had 
 never lived so before." 
 
 " I suppose I am graver than other people," said Fanny. 
 " The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my 
 uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour 
 together. It entertains me more than many other tilings have 
 done but then I am unlike other people, I c'aro say." 
 
 "Why should you dare say that? (smiling) Do you want 
 to be told that you are only unlike other people in being mure 
 wise and discreet? But when did you, or anybody, ever get a 
 compliment from me, Fanny? (Jo to my father if you want t;> 
 be complimented. He will satisfy you. Ask your uncle what 
 he thinks, and you will hear compliments enough; and though 
 they may be chiefly on your person, you must put up with it, 
 and trust to his seeing as much beauty of mind in time." 
 
 Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite embarrassed 
 her. 
 
 " Your uncle thinks yon very pretty, dear Fanny and that is 
 the long and the short of the matter. Anybody but myself would 
 have made something more of it, and anybody but you would 
 resent that you had not been thought very pretty before; but 
 the truth is, that your irhcle never did admire you till now and 
 now he does. Your complexion is so improved ! and you have 
 gained so much countenance! and your iigure nay, Fanny, do 
 not turn away about it it is but an uncle If you cannot bear 
 an uncle's admiration, what is to become of you? You must 
 really begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking 
 at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman." 
 
 " Oh, don't talk so, don't talk so," cried Fanny, distressed by 
 more feelings than he was aware of; but seeing that she was 
 distressed, he had done with the subject, and only added mor^ 
 seriously, 
 
 " Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every 
 respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are 
 one of those who are too silent in the evening circle." 
 
 " But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. 
 Did not you hear me ask him about the slave trade last night?'' 
 
 " I did and was in hopes the question would be followed up 
 by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of 
 farther." 
 
 "And I longed to do it but there was such a dead silence! 
 And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, 
 or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like I 
 thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself oft' at their 
 expense, by showing a curiosity and pleasure in his information 
 which lie must wish his own daughters to feel "
 
 138 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the 
 other day that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and 
 praise as other women were of neglect. We were talking of you 
 at the Parsonage, and those were her words. She has great 
 cliscernmenti I know nobody who distinguishes characters 
 better. For so young a woman, it is remarkable ! She certainly 
 understands you better than you arc understood by the greater 
 part of those who have known you so long ; and with regard to 
 some others, I can perceive, from occasional lively hints, the 
 unguarded expressions of the moment, that she could define 
 many as accurately, did not delicacy forbid it I wonder what 
 she thinks of my father! She must admire him as a fine-looking 
 man, with most gentlemanlike, dignified, consistent manners; 
 but, perhaps, having seen him so seldom, his reserve may be a 
 little repulsive. Could they be much together, I feel sure of 
 their liking each other. He would enjoy her liveliness and 
 she has talents to value his powers, I wish they met more 
 frequently! I hope she does not suppose there is any dislike on 
 his side." 
 
 " She must know herself too secure of the regard of all the 
 rest of you," said Fanny, with half a sigh, " to have any such 
 apprehension. And Sir Thomas's wishing just at first to be only 
 with his family, is so very natural, tfiat she can argue nothing 
 from that. After a little while I dare say we shall be meeting 
 again in the same sort of way, allowing for the difference of the 
 time of year." 
 
 " This is the first October that she has passed in the country 
 since her infancy. I do not call Tunbridge or Cheltenham the 
 country ; and November is a still more serious month, and I can 
 see that Mrs. Grant is very anxious for her not finding Mansfield 
 dull as winter comes on." 
 
 Fanny could have said a great deal, but it was safer to say 
 nothing, and leave untouched all Miss Crawford's resources, her 
 accomplishments, her spirits, her importance, her friends, lest it 
 should betray her into any observations seemingly unhandsome. 
 Miss Crawford's kind opinion of herself deserved at least a grate- 
 ful forbearance, and she began to talk of something else. 
 
 " To-morrow, I think, my uncle dines at Sotherton, and you 
 and Mr. Bertram too. We shall be quite a small party at home. 
 I hope my uncle may continue tp like Mr. Rushworth." 
 
 " That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him less after 
 to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hours in his company. I 
 should dread the stupidity of the day, if there were not a much 
 greater evil to follow the impression it must leave on Sir 
 Thomas. He cannot much longer deceive himself. I am sorry 
 for them all, and would give something that Rushworth and 
 Maria had never met."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 139 
 
 In fli is quarter, indeed, disappointment was impending over 
 Sir Thomas. Not all his good-will for Mr. Rushworth, not all 
 Mr. Rushworth's deference for him, could prevent him from soon 
 discerning some part of the truth that Mr. Rushworth was an 
 inferior young man, as ignorant in business as in books, with 
 opinions in general unfixed, and without seeming much aware 
 of it himself. 
 
 He had expected a veiy different son-in-law : and beginning 
 to feel grave on Maria's account, tried to understand her feelings. 
 Little observation there was necessary to tell him that indifference 
 was the most favourable state they could be in. Her behaviour 
 to Mr. Rushworth was careless and cold. She could not, did 
 not like him. Sir Thomas resolved to speak seriously to her. 
 Advantageous as would be the alliance, and long standing and 
 public as was the engagement, her happiness must not be sacri- 
 ficed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, been accepted on too 
 short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better, she was 
 repenting. 
 
 With solemn kindness Sir Thohias addressed her; told her his 
 fears, inquired into her wishes, entreated her to be open and 
 sincere, and assured her that every inconvenience should be 
 braved, and the connexion entirely given up, if she felt herself 
 unhappy in the prospect of it. He would act for her and release 
 her. Maria had a moment's struggle as she listened, and only a 
 moment's: when her father ceased, she was able to give her 
 answer immediately, decidedly, and with no apparent agitation. 
 She thanked him for his great attention, his paternal kindness, 
 but he was quite mistaken in supposing she. had the smallest 
 desire of breaking through her engagement, or was sensible of 
 any change of opinion or inclination since her forming it. She 
 had the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth's character and dis- 
 position, and could not have a doubt of her happiness with him. 
 
 Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to 
 urge the matter quite so far as his judgment might have dictated 
 to others. It was an alliance which he could not have relin- 
 quished without pain; and thus lie reasoned. Mr. Rushworth 
 was young enough to improve : Mr. Rushworth must and would 
 improve in good society; and if Maria could now speak so 
 securely of her happiness with him, speaking certainly without 
 the prejudice, the blindness of love, she ought to be believed. 
 Her feelings, probably, were not acute; he had never supposed 
 them to be so: but her comforts might not be less on that 
 account; and if she could dispense with seeing her husband a 
 leading, shining character, there would certainly be everything 
 else in her favour. A well-disposed young woman, who did not 
 marry for love, was in general but the more attached to her own 
 family ; and the nearness of Sotherton to Mansfield must naturally
 
 1 40 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 hold out the greatest temptation, and would, in all probability, 
 be a continual supply of the most amiable and innocent enjoy- 
 ments. Such and such-like were the reasonings of Sir Thomas 
 happy to escape the embarrassing evils of a rupture, the wonder, 
 the reflections, the reproach that must attend it; happy to secure 
 a marriage which would bring him such an addition of respect- 
 ability and inmu'iice, and very happy to think anything of his 
 daughter's disposition that was most favourable for the purpose. 
 
 To her the conference clos-'d sis satisfactorily as to him. She 
 was in a stale of mind to be glad that she had secured her fata 
 iK'vond recall that she had pledged herself anew to Sotherton 
 that she was safe from the possibility of giving Crawford the 
 triumph of governing her actions, and destroying her prospects; 
 and retired in proud resolve, determined only to behave inord 
 cautiously to Mr. Rushworth in future, that her father might 
 not be again suspecting her. 
 
 Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within t!ie first three 
 or four days after Henry Crawford's leaving Mansfield, before her 
 feelings were at all tranquillized, before she had given up every 
 hope of him, or absolutely resolved on enduring his rival, her 
 answer might have been different; but after another three or four 
 days, when there was no return, no letter, no message no 
 symptom of a softened heart no hope of advantage from 
 separation her mind ttecame cool enough to seek all the comfort 
 that pride and self-revenge could give. 
 
 Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should 
 not know that lie had done it; lie should not destroy her credit, 
 her appearance, her prosperity, too. He should not have to 
 think of her as pining in the retirement of Mansfield for /</, 
 rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, f..r 
 liix sake. Independence was more needful than ever; the want 
 of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and less 
 able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. The 
 liberty which his absence had given was now become absolutely 
 necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as 
 possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle 
 and the world, for a wounded spirit. Her mind was quite 
 determined, and varied not. 
 
 To such feelings delay, even the delay of much preparation, 
 would have been an evil, and Mr. Uusliworth could hardly be 
 more impatient for the marriage than herself. In all the impor- 
 tant preparations of the mind she was complete: being prepared 
 for matrimony by a hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity; 
 by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man 
 she was to marry. The rest might wait. The preparations of 
 new carriages anil furniture might wait for London and spring, 
 wiu-n her own taste could have fairer play.
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 1 4 1 
 
 The principals being all agreed in this respect, it soon appeared 
 that a very few weeks would be sufficient for such arrangements 
 as must precede the wedding. 
 
 Mrs. Kushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way for 
 the fortunate young woman whom her dear son had selected; 
 and very early in November removed herself, her maid, her 
 footman, and her chariot, with true dowager propriety, to Bath 
 there to parade over the wonders ofSothcrton in her evening 
 parties enjoying them as thoroughly, perhaps, in the animation 
 of a card-table as she had overdone on the spot and before the 
 middle of t!ie same month the ceremony had taken place which 
 gave Sotherton another mistress. 
 
 It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly 
 dressed the two bridemuids were duly inferior her father gave 
 her away her mother stood with salts in her hand, expecting 
 to be agitated her aunt tried to cry and the service was im- 
 pressively read by Dr. Grant. Nothing could be objected to when 
 it came under the discussion of the neighbourhood, except that 
 the carriage-whieh eonvej'etl the bride and bridegroom and Julia 
 from the church door to Sotherton was the same chaise which 
 Mr. Kushworth had used for a twelvemonth before. In every- 
 thing else the etiquette of the day might stand the strictest 
 investigation. 
 
 It was done, and they were gone. Sir Thomas felt as an 
 anxious father must feel, and was indeed experiencing much of 
 the agitation which his wife had been apprehensive offer herself, 
 but had fortunately escaped. Mrs. Norris, most happy to assist 
 in the duties of the day, by spending it at the Park to support 
 her sister's spirits, and drinking the health of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kush worth in a supernumerary glass or two, was all joyous 
 delight for she had made the match she had done everything 
 and no one would have supposed, from her confident triumph, 
 that she had ever heard of conjugal infelicity in her life, or could 
 have the smallest insight into the disposition of the niece who 
 had been brought up under her eye. 
 
 The plan of the young couplu was to proceed, after a few days, 
 to Brighton, a d take a house there for some weeks. Every 
 public place was new to Maria, and Brighton is almost as gay in 
 winter as in summer. "Whon the novelty of amusement there 
 was over, it would be time for the wider range of London. 
 
 Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalry between 
 the sisters had ceased, they had been gradually recovering much 
 of their former good understanding; and were at least sufficiently 
 friends to make each of them exceedingly glad to be with the 
 ether at such a time. Some other companion than Mr. Rush- 
 worth was of the first consequence to his lady ; and Julia was 
 quite as eager for novelty and pleasure as Maria, though she
 
 142 MANSFIELD PAliK. 
 
 might not have struggled through so much to obtain them, and 
 could better bear a subordinate situation. 
 
 Their departure made another material change at Mansfield, 
 a chasm which required some time to till up. The family circle 
 became greatly contracted; and though the Miss Bertrams had 
 latterly added little to its gaiety, they could not but be missed. 
 Even their mother missed them and how much more their 
 tender-hearted cousin, who wandered about the house, and thought 
 of them, and felt for them, with a degree of affectionate regret 
 which they had never done much to deserve! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I ANNY'S consequence increased on the dc- 
 | parture of her cousins. Becoming, as she 
 then did, the only young woman in the 
 ^drawing-room, the only occupier of that iu- 
 ! teresting division of a family in which -she 
 'had hitherto held so humble a third, it was 
 impossible for her not to be more looked at, 
 'more thought of and attended to, than she 
 had ever been before ; and " where is Fanny ?" became no un- 
 common question, even without her being wanted for any one's 
 convenience. 
 
 Not only at home did her value increase, but at the Parsonage 
 too. In that house which she had hardly entered twice a year 
 since Mr. Norris's death, she became a welcome, an invited 
 guest ; and in the gloom and dirt of a November day, most ac- 
 ceptable to Mary Crawford. Her visits there, beginning by 
 chance, were continued by solicitation. Mrs. Grant, really 
 eager to get any change for her sister, could, by the easiest self- 
 deceit, persuade herself that she was doing the kindest thing by 
 Fanny, and giving her the most important opportunities of im- 
 provement hi pressing her frequent calls. 
 
 Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand by 
 her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close to the 
 Parsonage; and being descried from one of the windows endea- 
 vouring to find shelter under the branches and lingering leaves 
 of an oak just beyond their premises, was forced, though not 
 without some modest reluctance on her part, to come in. A civil 
 servant she had withstood: but when Dr. Grant himself went 
 out with an umbrella, there was nothing to be done but to be 
 very much ashamed and to get into the house as fast as possible; 
 and to poor Miss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the 
 dismal rain in a very desponding state of mind, sighiug over the
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 143 
 
 ruin of all her plan of exercise for that morning, and of every 
 chance of seeing a single creature beyond themselves for the next 
 twenty -four hours, the sound of a little bustle at the front door, 
 and the sight of Miss Price dripping with wet in the vestibule, 
 was delightful. The value of an event on a wet day in the 
 country was most forcibly brought before her. She was all alive 
 again directly, and among the most active in being useful to 
 Fanny, in detecting her to be wetter than she would at first 
 allow, . and providing her with dry clothes ; and Fanny, after 
 being obliged to submit to all this attention, and to being assisted 
 and waited on by mistresses and maids, being also obliged, on 
 returning down stairs, to be fixed in their drawing-room for an 
 hour while the rain continued, the blessing of something fresh to 
 see and think of was thus extended to Miss Crawford, and might 
 carry on her spirits to the period of dressing and dinner. 
 
 The two sisters were so land to her, and so pleasant, that 
 Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she have believed her- 
 self not in the way, and could she have foreseen that the weather 
 would certainly clear at the end of the hour, and save her from 
 the shame of having Dr. Grant's carriage and horses out to take 
 her home, with which she was threatened. As to anxiety for 
 any alarm that her absence in such weather might occasion at 
 home, she had nothing to suffer on that score; for as her being 
 out was known only to her two aunts, she was perfectly aware 
 that none would be felt, and that in whatever cottage aunt Norris 
 might choose to establish her during the rain, her being in such 
 cottage would be indubitable to aunt Bertram. 
 
 It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing a 
 harp in the room, asked some questions about it, which soon led 
 to an acknowledgment of her wishing very much to hear it, and 
 a confession, which could hardly be believed, of her having never 
 yet heard it since its being in Mansfield. To Fanny herself it 
 appeared a very simple and natural circumstance. She had 
 scarcely ever been at the Parsonage since the instrument's arrival, 
 there had been no reason that she should; but Miss Crawford, 
 calling to mind an early expressed wish on the subject, was con- 
 cerned at her own neglect; and " shall I play to you now ?" and 
 "what will you have?" were questions immediately following 
 with the readiest good humour. 
 
 She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener, and a 
 listener who seemed so much obliged, so full of -wonder at the 
 performance, and who showed herself not wanting in taste. She 
 played till Fanny's eyes, straying to the window on the weather's 
 being evidently fair, spoke what she felt must be done. 
 
 " Another quarter of an hour," said Miss Crawford, " and we 
 shall see how it Will be. Do not run away the first moment of 
 its holding up. Those clouds look alarming."
 
 141 MAXSFIEJLL) PARK. 
 
 " But tliey are passed over," said Fanny. " I have been 
 watching them. This weather is all from the south." 
 
 "' South or north, I know a black cloud when I sec it; and 
 you must not set forward while it is so threatening. And besides 
 I want to play something more to you a very pretty piece 
 and your cousin Edmund's prime favourite. You must st;iv and 
 l.car your cousin's favourite." 
 
 Fanny felt that she must ; and though she had not Availed for 
 that sentence to be thinking of Kdniund, such a memento made 
 her particularly awake to his idea, and she fancied him sitting in 
 that room again and again, perhaps in the very spot where she sat 
 now, listening with constant delight to the favourite air, played, 
 as it appeared to her, with superior tone and expression; and 
 tliough pleased with it herself, and glad to like whatever was 
 liked by him, she was more sincerely impatient to go away at 
 the conclusion of it than she had been before; and on this being 
 evident, she was so kindly asked to call again, to take them in 
 her walk whenever she could, to come and hear more of the harp, 
 that she felt it necessary to be done, if no objection arose at 
 home. 
 
 Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which took place 
 between them within the first fortnight after the Miss Bertrams' 
 going away, an intimacy resulting principally from Miss Craw- 
 ford's desire of something new, and wh ch had little reality in 
 Fanny's feelings. Fanny went to her every two or three days : 
 it seemed a kind of fascination: she could not be easy without 
 going, and yet it was without loving her, without ever thinking 
 like her, without any sense of obligation for being sought after 
 now when nobody else was to be had ; and deriving no higher 
 pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and 
 that often .at the expense of her judgment, when it was raised by 
 pleasantry on people or subjects which she wished to be respected. 
 She went, however, and they sauntered about together many a 
 half hour in Mrs. Grant's shrubbery, the weather being unusually 
 mild for the time of year; and venturing sometimes even to sit 
 down on one of the bench.es now comparatively unsheltered, re- 
 maining there perhaps till, in the midst of some tender ejacula- 
 tion of Fanny's, on the sweets of so protracted an autumn, they 
 were forced by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking down the 
 last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up and walk for 
 warmth. 
 
 " This is pretty, very pretty," said Fanny, looking around her 
 as they were thus sitting together one day: "every time I come 
 into this shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty. 
 Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along 
 the upper side of the lield, never thought of as anything, or 
 capable of becoming anything; and now it is converted into a
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 45 
 
 walk, and it would be dilficult to say whether most valuable as 
 a convenience or an ornament; and, perhaps, in another three 
 years we may be forgetting almost forgetting what it was be- 
 fore. How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of 
 time, and the changes of the human mind!" And following the 
 latter train of thought, she soon afterwards added: "If any one 
 faculty of our nature may bo called more wonderful than the rest, 
 I do think it is memory. There seems something more speak- 
 ingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequali- 
 ties of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The 
 memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient : at 
 others, so bewildered and so weak ; and at others again, so tyran- 
 nic, so beyond control! \Vc are, to be sure, a miracle every way 
 but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem pe- 
 culiarly past rinding out." 
 
 Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say ; 
 and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what 
 she thought must interest. 
 
 " It may seem impertinent in me to praise, but I must admire 
 the taste Mrs. Grant has shown in all this. There is such a 
 quiet simplicity in the plan of the walk! not too much 
 attempted !" 
 
 " Yes," replied Miss Crawford, carelessly, " it does very well 
 for a place of this sort. One does not think of extent here; and 
 between ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined 
 a country parson ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the 
 kind." 
 
 " I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive !" said Fanny, in 
 reply. " My uncle's gardener always says the soil here is better 
 than his own, and so it appears from the growth of the laurels 
 and evergreens in general. The evergreen ! How beautiful, how 
 welcome, how wonderful the evergreen! When one thinks of it, 
 how astonishing a variety of nature ! In some countries we 
 know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does Mot 
 make it less amazing, that the same soil and the same sun should 
 nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their exis- 
 tence. You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of 
 doors, especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt 
 to get into this sort of wondering strain. One cannot fix one's 
 eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food 
 for a rambling fancy." 
 
 "To say the truth," replied Miss Crawford, " I am something 
 like tha famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV. ; and may 
 declare that I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing 
 myself in it. If anybody had told me a year ago that this place 
 would be my home, that I should be spending month after 
 month here, as I have done, I .certainly should not have believed 
 
 (1) K
 
 1 46 MANSFIELD PAUK. 
 
 them. I have now been here nearly five mouths; and, moreover, 
 the quietest five months I ever passed." 
 
 " Too quiet for you, I believe." 
 
 " I should have thought so theoretically myself, but," and her 
 eyes brightened as she spoke, " take it all and all, I never spent 
 so happy a summer. But then, "with a more thoughtful air and 
 lowered voice, " there is no saying what it may lead to." 
 
 Fanny's heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal to sur- 
 mising or soliciting any tiling more. Miss Crawford, however, 
 with renewed animation, soon went on : 
 
 " I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country 
 residence than I had ever expected to be. I can even suppose it 
 pleasant to spend half the year hi the country, under certain 
 circumstances very pleasant. An elegant, moderate sized house 
 in the centre of family connections ; continual engagements among 
 them ; commanding the first society in the neighbourhood ; 
 looked up to, perhaps, as leading it even more than those of 
 larger fortune, and turning from the cheerful round of such 
 amusements to nothing worse than a tete-a-tete with the person 
 one feels most agreeable in the world. There is nothing fright- 
 ful in such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need not envy 
 the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as that.' 11 " Envy 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth!" was all that Fanny attempted to say 
 
 " Come, come, it would be very unhandsome in us to be severe 
 on Mrs. Rushworth, for I look forward to our owing her a great 
 many gay, brilliant, happy hours. I expect we shall be all very 
 much at Sotherton another year. Such a match as Miss Ber- 
 tram has made is a public blessing; for the first pleasures of Mr. 
 Rushworth's wife must be to fill her house, and give the best 
 balls in the country." 
 
 Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thought - 
 fulness, till suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she 
 exclaimed, " Ah ! here he is." It was not Mr. Rushworth, how- 
 ever, but Edmund, who then appeared walking towards them 
 with Mrs. Grant. " My sister and Mr. Bertram. I am so glad 
 your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr. Bertram again. 
 There is something in the sound of Mr. Edmund Bertram so 
 formal, so pitiful, so younger -brother- like, that I detest it." 
 
 "How differently we feel!" cried Fanny. "To me, the 
 sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so en- 
 tirely without warmth or character! It just stands for a gentle- 
 man, and that's all. But there is nobleness in the name of 
 Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown; of kings, 
 princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry 
 and warm affections." 
 
 " I grant you the name is good in itself, and Lord Edmund 
 or Sir Edmund sounds delightfully; but sink it under the chill,
 
 MANSFIELD PAUK. 147 
 
 the annihilation of a Mr. and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. 
 John or Mr. Thomas. Well, shall we join and disappoint them 
 of half their lecture upon sitting down out of doors at this time 
 of year, by being up before they can begin?" 
 
 Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was the first 
 time of his seeing them together since the beginning of that bet- 
 ter acquaintance which he had been hearing of with great 
 satisfaction. A friendship between two so very dear to him 
 was exactly what he could have wished: and to the credit of 
 the lover's understanding be it stated, that he did not by any 
 means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater gainer 
 by such a friendship. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Crawford, " and do not you scold us for our 
 imprudence ? What do you think we have been sitting down for 
 but to be talked to about it, and entreated and supplicated never 
 to do so again?" 
 
 " Perhaps I might have scolded," said Edmund, " if either of 
 you had been sitting down alone; but while you do wrong to- 
 gether, I can overlook a great deal." 
 
 " They cannot have been sitting long," cried Mrs. Grant, " for 
 when I went up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase 
 window, and then they were walking." 
 
 " And really," added Edmund, " the day is so mild, that your 
 sitting down for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent. 
 Our weather must not always be judged by the calendar. We 
 may sometimes take greater liberties in November than in May." 
 
 " Upon my word." cried Miss Crawford, " you are two of the 
 most disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with ! 
 There is no giving you a moment's uneasiness. You do not 
 know how much we have been sufFering, nor what chills we have 
 felt! But I have long thought Mr. Bertram one of the worst 
 subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvre against common 
 sense that a woman could be plagued with. I had very little 
 hope of him from the first ; but you, Mrs. Grunt, my sister, my 
 own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little." 
 
 " Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have not 
 the smallest chance of moving me. I have my alarms, but they 
 are quite in a different quarter ; and if I could have altered the 
 weather, you would have had a good sharp east- wind blowing on 
 you the whole time for here are some of my plants which Uobert 
 wifl leave out because the nights are so mild, and I know the end 
 of it will be, that we shall have a sudden change of weather, a 
 hard frost setting in all at once, taking everybody (at least Robert) 
 by surprise and I shall lose every one ; and what is worse, cook 
 has just been telling me that the turkey, which I particularly 
 wished not to be dressed till Sunday, because I know how much 
 more Dr. Grant would ejoy it on Sunday after the fatigues of
 
 148 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the day, will not keep beyond to-morrow. These are something 
 like grievances, and make me think the weather most unseason- 
 ably close." 
 
 " The sweets of housekeeping in a country village !'' said Miss 
 Crawford, archly. " Commend me to the nurseryman and the 
 poulterer." 
 
 " My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deanery of West- 
 minster or St Paul's, and I should be as glad of your nursery- 
 man and poulterer as you could be. But we have no such people 
 in Mansfield. What would you have me do ?" 
 
 " Oh, you can do nothing but what you do already; be plagued 
 very often, and never lose your temper." 
 
 " Thank you but there is no escaping these little vexations, 
 Mary, live where we may ; and when you are settled in town 
 and I couie to see you, I dare say I shall find you with yours, 
 in spite of the nurseryman and the poulterer or perhaps on their 
 very account, Their remoteness and unpunctuality, or their 
 exorbitant charges and frauds, will be drawing forth bitter lamen- 
 tations." 
 
 " I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anything of the 
 sort A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever 
 heard of. It certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part 
 of it." 
 
 " You intend to be very rich?" said Edmund, with a look 
 which, to Fanny's eye, had a great deal of serious meaning. 
 
 " To be sure. Do not you? Do not we all?" 
 
 " I cannot intend anything wliich it must be so completely 
 beyond my power to command. Miss Crawford may choose her 
 degree of wealth. She has only to fix on her number of 
 thousands a year, and there can be no doubt of their coming. 
 My intentions are only not to be poor." 
 
 "By moderation and economy, and bringing down your wants 
 to your income, and all that. I understand you, and a very 
 proper plan it is for a person at your time of life, with such limited 
 means and indifferent connections What can you want but a 
 decent maintenance? You have not much time before you ; and 
 your relations are in no situation to do anything for you, or to 
 mortify you by the contrast of their own wealth and consequence. 
 Be honest and poor, by all means but I shall not envy you ; I 
 do not much think I shall even respect you. I have a much 
 greater respect for those that are honest and rich." 
 
 " Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is precisely 
 what I have no manner of concern with. I do not mean to be 
 poor. Poverty is exactly what I have determined against. 
 Honesty, in the something between, in the middle state of worldly 
 circumstances, is all tliat I am anxious for your not looking down 
 on."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 149 
 
 " But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher. 
 I must look down upon anything contented with obscurity when 
 it might rise to distinction." 
 
 " But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least rise 
 to any distinction." 
 
 This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned 
 an " Oh!" of some length from the lady before she could add, "You 
 ought to be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army 
 ten years ago." 
 
 " That is not so much to the purpose now ; and as to my being 
 in parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial as- 
 sembly for the representation of younger sons who have little to 
 live on. No, Miss Crawford," he added, in a more serious tone, 
 " there are distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought 
 myself without any chance absolutely without chance or possi- 
 bility of obtaining but they are of a different character." 
 
 A look of consciousness, as he spoke, and what soomed a con- 
 sciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's side as sV ; made some 
 laughing answer, was sorrowful food for Fanny's observation ; 
 and finding herself quite unable to attend as she o; gut to Mrs. 
 Grant, by whose side she was now following the othoi ?, she had 
 nearly resolved on going home immediately, and only A aited for 
 courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock at ^iansfield 
 Park, striking three, made her feel that she had really beiVi much 
 longer absent than usual, and brought the previous self-inquiry 
 of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how, to a 
 very speedy issue. With undoubting decision she directly began 
 her adieus ; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect, 
 that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had 
 walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back. 
 
 Fanny's hurry increased ; and without in the least expecting 
 Edmund's attendance, she would have hastened away alone ; but 
 the general pace was quickened, and they all accompanied her 
 into the house through which it was necessary to pass. Dr._ 
 Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopped to speak to him 
 she found, from Edmund's manner, that he did mean to go witli 
 her. He, too, was taking leave. She could not but be thankful. 
 In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to 
 eat his mutton with him the next day ; and Fanny had barely 
 time for an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, 
 with sudden recollection, turned to her, and asked for the pleasure 
 of her company too. This was so new an attention, so perfectly 
 new a circumstance in the events of Fanny's life, that she was <;11 
 surprise and embarrassment; and while stammering out her great 
 obligation, and her " but she did not suppose it would be in 
 her power," was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help. 
 But Edmund, delighted with her having such a happiness offered,
 
 150 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 and ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she 
 had no objection but on her aunt's account, could not imagine that 
 his mo- her would make any difficulty of sparing her, and there- 
 fore ga ,'t his decided opcn advice that the invitation should be 
 accept '1; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his en- 
 courag >ment, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was 
 soon .'.-Itled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. 
 Grant night expect her. 
 
 " And you know what your dinner will be," said Mrs. Grant, 
 smiling " the turkey, and I assure you a very fine one ; for, 
 my dear," turning to her husband, " cook insists upon the turkey's 
 being dressed to-morrow." 
 
 " Very well, very well," cried Dr. Grant, " all the better ; I 
 am glad to hear you have anything so good in the house. But 
 Miss Price and Mr. Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take 
 their chance. We none of us want to hear the bill of fare. A 
 friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view. 
 A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and 
 your cook choose to give us." 
 
 The two cousins walked home together ; and, except in the 
 immediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke 
 of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for 
 her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure estab- 
 lished, it was a silent walk ; for having finished that subject, he 
 grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TIT why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said 
 1 Lady Bertram. " How came she to think of 
 ) asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you 
 know, in this sort of way. I cannot spare 
 her, and I am sure she does not want to go. 
 Fanny, you do not Avant to go, do you?" 
 
 "If you put such a question to her," cried 
 Edmund, preventing his cousin's speaking, 
 "Fanny will immediately say, No; but I am sure, my dear 
 mother, she would like to go; and I can sec no reason why she 
 should not." 
 
 "1 cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking 
 her? She never did before. She used to ask your sisters now 
 and then, but she never asked Fanny." 
 
 " If you cannot do without me, ma'am " said Fanny, in a 
 
 self-denvinsr tone.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 5 1 
 
 "But my mother will have my father with her all the 
 evening." 
 
 " To be sure, so I shall." 
 
 " Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am." 
 
 "That's well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask 
 Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without 
 her." 
 
 " As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant my father's 
 opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted or 
 not; and I think he will consider it a right thing by Sirs. Grant, 
 as well as by Fanny, that being the first invitation it should be 
 accepted." 
 
 " I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very 
 much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said, to 
 any purpose, till Sir Thomas were present ; but the subject in- 
 volving, as it did, her own evening's comfort for the morrow, 
 was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram's mind, that half an 
 hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from 
 his plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again, 
 when he had almost closed the door, with " Sir Thomas, stop a 
 moment I have something to say to you." 
 
 Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of 
 raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir 
 Thomas came back. Her story began ; and Fanny immediately 
 slipped out of the roomj for to hear herself the subject of any 
 discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves cpuld bps;:, 
 She was anxious, she knew more anxiovis perhaps than she 
 ought to be for what was it after all whether she went or staid? 
 but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, 
 and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, 
 and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear 
 properly submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, wenp 
 on well. It began, on Lady Bertram's part, with-^-" I hav 
 something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs, Grant lias 
 asked Fanny to dinner." 
 
 " "Well," said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the 
 surprise. 
 
 "Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?" 
 
 " She will be late," said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch ; 
 "but what is your difficulty?" 
 
 Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks 
 in his mother's story. He told the whole; and she had only to 
 add, " So strange ! for Mrs. Grant never used to aslc her." 
 
 " But is it not very natural," observed Edmund, " that Mrs. 
 Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visiter for her 
 sister?"
 
 152 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 "Nothing can be more natural," said Sir Thomas, after a 
 short deliberation; "nor, were there no sister in the case, could 
 anything, in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant's show- 
 ing civility to Miss Price, to Lady Bertram's niece, could never 
 want explanation. The only surprise I can feel is, that this 
 should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly 
 right in giving only a conditional answer. She appears to feel 
 as she ought. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, 
 since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason 
 why she should be denied the indulgence." 
 
 "But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?" 
 
 " Indeed I think you may/' 
 
 " She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not 
 here." 
 
 " Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day 
 with us, and I shall certainly be at home." 
 
 "Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund." 
 
 The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her 
 door in his way to his own. 
 
 " Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the small- 
 est hesitation on your uncle's side. He had but one opinion. 
 You are to go." 
 
 "Thank you, lam so glad," was Fanny's instinctive reply; 
 though when she had turned from him and shut the door, she 
 could not help feeling, "And yet why should I be glad? for 
 am I not certain of seeing or hearing something there to pain 
 me?" 
 
 In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as 
 such an engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty 
 arjd importance in hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she 
 had scarcely ever dined out before; and though now going only 
 half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and 
 all the little interests of preparation were enjoyments in them- 
 selves. She had neither sympathy nor assistance from those who 
 ought to have entered into her feelings and directed her taste ; 
 for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and 
 Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of 
 an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill 
 humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure, 
 both present an 1 future, as much as possible. 
 
 " Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with 
 such attention and indulgence ! You ought to be very much 
 obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for 
 letting you go, and you ought to look upon it as something ex- 
 traordinary: for I hope you are aware that there is no real occa- 
 sion for your going into company in this sort of way, or ever 
 dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon ever
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 153 
 
 being repeated. Nor must you be fancying, that the invitation is 
 meant as any particular compliment to yoic; the compliment is 
 intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it 
 a civility due to us to take a little notice of you, or else it would 
 never have come into her head, and you may be very certain, 
 that if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have 
 been asked at all." 
 
 Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. 
 Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny, who found herself ex- 
 pected to speak, could only say that she was very much obliged 
 to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and that she was endea- 
 vouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to 
 prevent her being missed. 
 
 " Oh, depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, 
 or you would not be allowed to go. / shall be here, so you may 
 be quite easy about your aunt. And I hope you will have a 
 very agreeable day, and find it all mighty delightful. But I 
 must observe, that five is the very awkwardest of all possible 
 numbers to sit down to table ; and I cannot but be surprised that 
 such an elegant lady as Mrs. Grant should not contrive better! 
 And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up 
 the room so dreadfully ! Had the Doctor been contented to take 
 my clining-table when I came away, as anybody in their senses 
 would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his 
 own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here . 
 how infinitely better it would have been ! and how much mope 
 he would have been respected ! for people are never respected 
 when they step out of their proper sphere. Remember that, 
 Fanny. Five, only five to be sitting round that table. However, 
 you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say." 
 
 Mrs. Norris fetched breath and went on again. 
 
 " The nonsense and folly of people's stepping out of their rank 
 and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right 
 to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company 
 Avithout any of us ; and I do beseecli and entreat you not to be 
 putting yourself forward, and talking and giving yoiir opinion 
 as if you were one of your cousins as if you were dear Mrs. 
 Kushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember, 
 wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last ; and though 
 Mi.ss Crawford is in a manner at home, at the Parsonage, you 
 are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at 
 night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave 
 him to settle, that." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I should not thing of anything else." 
 
 " And if it should rain which I think exceedingly likely, for 
 I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life 
 you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the
 
 154 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do not go home to-night, 
 and, therefore, the carriage will not be out on my account; so 
 you must make up your mind to what may happen, and take 
 your things accordingly." 
 
 Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own 
 claim* to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when 
 Sir Thomas, soon afterwards, just opening the door, said, "Fanny, 
 at what time would you have the carriage come round?" she felt 
 a degree of astonishment which made it impossible for her to 
 speak. 
 
 "My dear Sir Thomas!'' cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, 
 " Fanny can walk." 
 
 "Walk!' 1 repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable 
 dignity, and coming farther into the room. "My niece walk to 
 a dinner engagement, at this time of the year! AVill twenty 
 minutes after four suit you?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings 
 almost of a criminal towards Mrs. Jf orris; and not bearing to 
 remain with her in what might seem a state of triumph, she 
 followed her uncle out of the room, having staid behind him only 
 long enough to hear these words spoken in angry agitation : - 
 
 " Quite unnecessary ! a great deal too kind ! Hut Edmund 
 goes; true it is upon Edmund's account. I observed he was 
 hoarse on Thursday night," 
 
 But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the car^ 
 riage was for herself, and herself alone; and her uncle's con- 
 sideration of her, comjng immediately after such representations 
 from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude lyhen she was 
 alone. 
 
 The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute 
 brought down the gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most 
 scrupulous fear of being late, been many minutes seated in the 
 drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them off in as good time as his 
 own correctly punctual habits required. 
 
 " Now I must look at you, Fanny," said Edmund, with the 
 Uind smjle of an affectionate brother, " and tell you how I like 
 you; and as well as J can judge by this light, you look very 
 nicely indeed. What have you got on ?" 
 
 " The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on 
 my cousin's marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought 
 I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that I might, not have 
 such another opportunity all the winter. I hope you do not 
 think me too fine." 
 
 "A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. 
 No, I ses no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly 
 proper. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy 
 spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?"
 
 MANSFIELD PATJK. 1 55 
 
 In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable- 
 yard and coach-house. 
 
 " Hey-day T' said Edmund, "here's company, here's a carriage! 
 who have they got to meet us?' ! And letting down the side- 
 glass to distinguish, "Tis Crawford's, Crawford's barouche, I 
 protest! There are his own two men pushing it back into its 
 old quarters. He is here, of cours->. This is quite a surprise, 
 Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him." 
 
 There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say 
 how very differently she felt; but the idea of having such another 
 to observe her, was a great increase of the trepidation with which 
 she performed tlu: very awful ceremony of walking into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was ; having 
 been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the 
 smiles and pleased looks of the three others standing round him, 
 showed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to 
 them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting 
 passed between him and Edmund; and, with the exception of 
 Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to her, there might 
 be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the 
 party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being 
 suffered to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of 
 this herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety 
 of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Xorris's opinion, to being 
 the principal lady in company, and to all the little distinctions 
 consequent thereon, she found, while they were at table, such a 
 happy flow of conversation prevailing in which she was not 
 required to take any part there was so much to be said between 
 the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two 
 young men about hunting, so much of polities between Mr. 
 Crawford and Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together 
 between Mr. Crawford and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest 
 prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very 
 agreeable day. She could not compliment the newly-arrived 
 gentleman, however, with any appearance of interest jn a scheme 
 for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunter* 
 from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by 
 Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in 
 possession of his mind, and which lie seemed to want to be 
 encouraged even by her to resolve on. Her opinion was sought 
 as to the probable continuance of the open weather, but her 
 answers were as short and indifferent a^ civility allowed. She 
 could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have him 
 speak to her. 
 
 Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her 
 thoughts on seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance
 
 156 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 affected his spirits. Here he was again on the same ground 
 where all had passed before, and apparently as willing to stay 
 and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never 
 known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them spoken of 
 by him only in a general way, till they were all reassembled in 
 the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some 
 matter of business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to 
 engross them, and Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began 
 talking of them with more particularity to his other sister. 
 With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he 
 said, " So Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I under- 
 stand happy man!" 
 
 " Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, 
 have they not? And Julia is with them." 
 
 " And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off." 
 
 " Mr. Yates ! Oh, we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not 
 imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park ; do 
 yon, Miss Price? I think my friend Julia knows better than to 
 entertain her father with Mr. Yates." 
 
 "Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!" continued 
 Crawford. "Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I 
 see him now his toil and his despair. Well, I am much mis- 
 taken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and- 
 forty speeches to her;" adding, with a momentary seriousness, 
 " She is too good for him much too good." And then changing 
 his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, 
 lie said, " You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kind- 
 ness and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable 
 patience in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part 
 in trying to give him a brain which nature had denied to mix 
 up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of your own ! 
 He might not have sense enough himself to estimate your kind- 
 ness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from all the 
 rest of the party." 
 
 Fanny coloured, and said nothing. 
 
 "It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!" he exclaimed, breaking 
 forth again, after a few minutes' musing. " I shall always look 
 back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was 
 such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused. 
 Everybody felt it. We were all alive. There was employment, 
 hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of the day. Always some 
 little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got 
 over. I never was happier." 
 
 " With silent indignation, Fanny repeated to herself, " Never 
 happier! never happier than when doing what you must know 
 was not justifiable! never happier than when behaving so dis- 
 honourably and unfeelingly!. Oh, what a corrupted mind!"
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 157 
 
 " We were unlucky, Miss Price," he continued, in a lower 
 tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not 
 at all aware of her feelings, " we certainly were very unlucky. 
 Another week, only one other week, would have been enough for 
 us. I think if we had had the disposal of events if Mansfield 
 Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or 
 two about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not 
 that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous 
 weather but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I 
 think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a 
 week's calm in the Atlantic at that season." 
 
 He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting 
 her face, said with a firmer tone than usual, "As far as / am 
 concerned, sir, I would not have delayed his return for a day. 
 My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that 
 in my. opinion everything had gone quite far enough." 
 
 She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life 
 before, and never so angrily to any one ; and when her speech 
 was over, she trembled and blushed at her own daring. He was 
 surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, 
 replied in a calmer, graver tone, and as if the candid result of 
 conviction, " I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than 
 prudent. We were getting too noisy." And then turning the 
 conversation, he would have engaged her on some other subject, 
 but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not 
 advance in any. 
 
 Miss Crawford, who had heen repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant 
 and Edmund, now observed, " Those gentlemen must have some 
 very interesting point to discuss." 
 
 " The most interesting in the world," replied her brother 
 " how to make money how to turn a good income into a better. 
 Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is 
 to step into so soon. I find he takes orders in a few weeks. 
 They were at it in the dming-parlour. I am glad to hear Ber- 
 tram will be so well off. He will have a very pretty income to 
 make ducks and drakes with, and eanied without much trouble. 
 I apprehend he will not have less than seven hundred a year. 
 Seven hundred a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and 
 as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for his menus 
 plaisirs ; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will 
 be the sum total of sacrifice." 
 
 His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, " Nothing 
 amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody 
 settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than 
 themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your 
 menus plaisirs were to be limited to seven hundred a year." 
 
 "Perhaps I might; but all that you know is entirely com-
 
 158 MANSFIELD PA11K. 
 
 parativc. Birthright and habit must settle the business. Ber- 
 tram is certainly well off for a cadet of even a Baronet's family. 
 By the time he is four or rive and twenty lie will have seven 
 hundred a year, and nothing to do for it." 
 
 Miss Crawford could have said that there would be something 
 to do and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of; 
 but she checked herself and let it pass ; and tried to look calm 
 and unconcerned when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards 
 joined them. 
 
 " Bertram," said Henry Crawford, " I shall make a point of 
 coining to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I 
 shall come on purpose to encourage a young beginner. When 
 is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me in encouraging 
 your cousin? Will not you engage to attend witli your eyes 
 steadily fixed on him the whole time as I shall do not to lose 
 a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence 
 pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets 
 and a pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, 
 you know, that Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you." 
 
 "I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can," said 
 Edmund; "for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and 
 I should be more sorry to see you trying at it, than almost any 
 other man." 
 
 "Will he not feel this?" thought Fanny. "No, he can feel 
 nothing as he ought." 
 
 The party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting 
 each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist table 
 was formed after tea formed really for the amusement of Dr. 
 Grant, by his attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed 
 so and Miss Crawford took her harp she had nothing to do 
 but to listen ; and her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest 
 of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then ad- 
 dressed to her a question or observation, which she could not 
 avoid answering. Miss Crawford was too much vexed by what 
 had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With 
 that she soothed herself and amused her friend. 
 
 The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders, 
 coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still 
 hoped uncertain and at a distance, w;<s felt with resentment and 
 mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought 
 her influence more. She had begun to think of him she felt 
 that she had with great regard, with almost decided intentions ; 
 but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It 
 was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attach- 
 ment, by fixing himsalf in a situation which he must know she 
 would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his 
 indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without
 
 15 ( J 
 
 any idea beyond immediate amusement. It' he could so com- 
 mand hia affections, hers should do her 110 harm. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CRAWFORD had quite made up his 
 . mind by the next morning to give another 
 fortnight to Mansfield, and having sent for 
 his hunters, and written a few lines of ex- 
 planation to the Admiral, he looked round at 
 sister as he staled and threw the letter 
 from him, and seeing the coast clear of the 
 rest of the family, said, with a smile, " And 
 how do you think I mean to am us;? myself, Mary, on the days 
 that I do not hunt? I am grown too old to go out more than 
 three times a week; but I have a plan for the intermediate days, 
 and what do you think it is?" 
 
 " To walk and ride with me, to be sure." 
 " Not exactly, though I shall bo happy to do both, but that 
 would be exercise only to my body, and I must take care of my 
 mind. Besides, that would be all recreation and indulgence, 
 without the wholesome alloy of labour, and I do not like to eat 
 the bread of idleness. No, my plan is to make Fanny Price in 
 love with me." 
 
 " Fanny Price ! Nonsense ! No, no. You ought to be satis- 
 tied with her two cousins." 
 
 " But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price, without 
 making a small hole in Fanny Price's heart. You do not seem 
 properly aware of her claims to notice. When we talked of her 
 last night, you none of you seemed sensible of the wonderful 
 improvement that has taken place in her looks within the last 
 six weeks. You see her every day, and therefore do not notice 
 it; but I assure you, she is quito a different creature from what 
 she was in the autumn. She was then merely a quiet, modest, 
 iv.;t plain-looking girl, but she is now absolutely pretty. I used 
 to think she had neither complexion or countenance; but in that 
 soft skin of hers, so frequently tinged with a blush as it was 
 yesterday, there is decided beauty; and from what I observed of 
 her eyes and mouth, I do not despair of their being capable 
 of expression enough when she has anything to express. 
 And then her air, her manner, her tout ensemble, is so 
 indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches, 
 at least, since October." 
 
 "Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall 
 women to compare her with, mid because she has got a new
 
 1 60 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 gown, and you never saw her so well dressed before. She is just 
 what she was in October, believe me. The truth is, that she 
 was the only girl in company for you to notice, and you must 
 have a somebody. I have always thought her pretty not 
 strikingly pretty but ' pretty enough ' as people say ; a sort of 
 beauty that grows on one. Her eyes should be darker, but she 
 lias a sweet smile; but as for this wonderful degree of improve- 
 ment, I am sure it may all be resolved into a better stylo of 
 dress, and your having nobody else to look at ; and therefore if 
 you do set about a flirtation with her, you never will persuade 
 me that it is in compliment to her beauty, or that it proceeds 
 from anything but your own idleness and folly." 
 
 Her brother gave only a smile to this accusation, and soon 
 afterwards said, " I do not quite know what to make of Miss 
 Fanny. I do not understand her. I could not tell what she 
 would be at yesterday. What is her character? Is she solemn? 
 Is she queer? Is she prudish? Why did she draw back and 
 look so grave at me? I could hardly get her to speak. I never 
 was so long in company with a girl in my life trying to enter- 
 tain her and succeed so ill ! Never met with a girl who looked 
 so grave on me ! I must try to get the better of this. Her 
 looks say, ' I will not like you, I am determined not to like you,' 
 and I say, she shall." 
 
 "Foolish fellow! And so this is her attraction after all! 
 This it is her not caring about you which gives her such a soft 
 skin, and makes her so much taller, and produces all these 
 charms and graces ! I do desire that you will not be making 
 her really unhappy; a little love, perhaps, may animate and do 
 her good, but I will not have you plunge her deep, for she is as 
 good a little creature as ever lived, and has a great deal of 
 feeling." 
 
 "It can be but for a fortnight," said Henry; "and if a 
 fortnight will kill her, she must have a constitution which 
 uotliing could save. No, I will not do her any harm, dear little 
 soul! I only want her to look kindly on me, to give me smiles 
 as well as blushes, to keep a chair for me by herself wherever 
 we are, and be all animation when I take it and talk to her ; to 
 think as I think, be interested in all my possessions and plea- 
 sures, try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when I 
 go away that she shall never be happy again. I want nothing 
 more." 
 
 " Moderation itself!" said Mary. " I can have no scruples 
 now. Well, you will have opportunities enough of endeavouring 
 to recommend yourself, for we are a great deal together." 
 
 And without attempting any further remonstrance, she left 
 Fanny to her fate a fate which, had not Fanny's heart been 
 guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss Crawford, might have
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 161 
 
 been a little harder than she deserved ; for although there doubt- 
 less are such unconquerable young ladies of eighteen (or one 
 should not read about them) as are never to be persuaded into 
 love against their judgment by all that talent, manner, atten- 
 tion, and flattery can do, I have no inclination to believe Fanny 
 one of them, or to think that with so much tenderness of dispo- 
 sition, and so much taste as belonged to her, she could have 
 escaped heart-whole from the courtship (though the courtship 
 only of a fortnight) of such a man as Crawford, in spite of there 
 being some previous ill opinion of him to be overcome, had not 
 her affection been engaged elsewhere. With all the security 
 which love of another and dis-esteem of him could give to the 
 peace of mind he was attacking, his continued attentions con- 
 tinued, but not obtrusive, and adapting themselves more and 
 more to the gentleness and delicacy of her character, obliged 
 her very soon to dislike him less than formerly. She had by no 
 means forgotten the past, and she thought as ill of him as ever ; 
 but she felt his powers : he was entertaining ; and his manners 
 were so improved, so polite, so seriously and blamelessly polite, 
 that it was impossible not to be civil in return. 
 
 A very few days were enough to effect this; and at the end of 
 those few days, circumstances arose which had a tendency rather 
 to forward his views of pleasing her, inasmuch as they gave her 
 a degree of happiness which must dispose her to be pleased with 
 everybody. William, her brother, the so long absent and dearly 
 loved brother, was in England again. She had a letter from him 
 herself, a few hurried happy lines, written as the ship came up 
 Channel, and sent into Portsmouth, with the first boat that left 
 the Antwerp, at anchor, in Spithead ; and when Crawford walked 
 up with the newspaper in his hand, which he had hoped would 
 bring the first tidings, he found her trembling with joy over 
 this letter, and listening with a glowing, grateful countenance to 
 the kind invitation which her uncle was most collectedly dic- 
 tating in reply. 
 
 It was but the day before, that Crawford had made himself 
 thoroughly master of the subject, or had in fact become at all 
 aware of her having such a brother, or his being in such a ship, 
 but the interest then excited had been very properly lively, de- 
 termining him on his return to town to apply for information as 
 to the probable period of the Antwerp's return from the Mediter- 
 ranean, &c. ; and the good luck which attended his early exami- 
 nation of ship news the next morning, seemed the reward of Iris 
 ingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing her, as well 
 as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral, in having for many 
 years taken in the paper esteemed to have the earliest naval 
 intelligence. He proved, however, to be too late. All those fine 
 first feelings, of which he had hoped to be the exciter, were al- 
 
 (1) T.
 
 1 62 MANSFIELD t>ARK. 
 
 ready given. P>ut his intention the kindness of his intention 
 was thankfully acknowledged quite thankfully and warmly, 
 for she was elevated beyond the common timidity of her mind by 
 the flow of her love for William. 
 
 This clear William would soon be amongst them. There 
 could be no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence immediately, 
 for he was still only a midshipman ; and as his parents, from living 
 on the spot, must already have seen him and be seeing him per- 
 haps daily, his direct holidays might with justice be instantly 
 given to the sister, who had been his best correspondent through 
 a period of seven years, and the uncle who had done most for 
 his support and advancement ; and accordingly the reply to her 
 reply, fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as soon as 
 possible ; and scarcely ten days had passed since Fanny had been 
 in the agitation of her first dinner visit, when she found herself 
 in an agitation of a higher nature watching in the hall, in the 
 lobby, on the stairs, for the first sound of the carriage which was 
 to bring her a brother. 
 
 It came happily while she was thus waiting; and there being 
 neither ceremony nor fearfulness to delay the moment of meet- 
 ing, she was with him as lie entered the house, and the first 
 minutes of exquisite feeling had no interruption and no wit- 
 nesses, imless the servants chiefly intent upon opening the proper 
 doors could be called such. This was exactly what Sir Thomas 
 and Edmund had been separately conniving at, as each proved 
 to the other by the sympathetic alacrity with which they both 
 advised Mrs. Norris's continuing where she was, instead of rush- 
 ing out into the hull as soon as the- noises of the arrival reached 
 them. 
 
 William and Fanny soon showed themselves; and Sir Thomas 
 had the pleasure of receiving, in Ins protege, certainty a very differ- 
 ent person from the one he had equipped seven years ago, but a 
 young man of an open, pleasant countenance, and frank, un- 
 studied, but feeling and respectful manners, and such as con- 
 firmed him his friend. 
 
 It was long before Fanny could recover from the agitating 
 happiness of such an hour as was formed by the last thirty 
 minutes of expectation, and the first of fruition ; it was some 
 time even before her happiness could be said to make her happy, 
 before the disappointment inseparable from the alteration of per- 
 son, had vanished, and she could see in him the same William as 
 before, and talk to him, as her heart had been yearning to do, 
 through many a past year. That time, however, did gradually 
 come, forwarded by an affection on his side as warm as her own, 
 and much less encumbered by refinement or self-distrust. She 
 was the first object of his love, but it was a love which his 
 stronger spirits, and bolder temper, made it as natural for him to
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 163 
 
 express as to feel. On the morrow, they were walking about 
 together with true enjoyment, and every succeeding morrow re- 
 newed a tete-a-tete, which Sir Thomas could not but observe 
 with complacency, even before Edmund had pointed it out to 
 him. 
 
 Excepting the moments of peculiar delight, which any marked 
 or unlooked-for instance of Edmund's consideration of her in the 
 last few months had excited, Fanny had never known so much 
 felicity in her life, as in tins unchecked, equal, fearless intercourse 
 with the brother and friend, who was opening all his heart to 
 her, telling her all his hopes and fears, plans, and solicitudes 
 respecting that long thought of, dearly earned, and justly valued 
 blessing of promotion who could give her direct and minute 
 information of the father and mother, brothers and sisters, of 
 whom she very seldom heard who was interested in all the 
 comforts and all the little hardships of her home, at Mansfield 
 ready to think of every member of that home as she directed, or 
 differing only by a less scrupulous opinion, and more noisy abuse 
 of their aunt Norris and with whom (perhaps the dearest 
 indulgence of the whole) all the evil and good of their earliest 
 years could be gone over again, and every former united pain 
 and pleasure retraced with the fondest recollection. An advan- 
 tage this, a strengthener of love, in which even the conjugal tie 
 is beneath the fraternal. Children of the same family, the same 
 blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some 
 means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent con- 
 nexions can supply; and it must be by a long and unnatural 
 estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connexion can 
 justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are 
 ever entirely outlived. Too often, alas, it is so. Fraternal love, 
 sometimes almost everything, is at others worse than nothing. 
 But with William and Fanny Price it was still a sentiment in 
 all its prime and freshness, wounded by no opposition of interest, 
 cooled by no separate attachment, and feeling the influence of 
 time and absence only in its increase. 
 
 An affection so amiable was advancing each in the opinion of 
 all who had hearts to value anything good. Henry Crawford 
 was as much struck with it as any. He honoured the warm- 
 hearted, blunt fondness of the young sailor, which led him to say, 
 with his hands stretched towards Fanny's head, " Do you know, 
 I begin to like that queer fashion already, though when I first 
 heard of such things being done in England I could not believe 
 it, and when Mrs. Brown, and the other women, at the Commis- 
 sioner's, at Gibraltar, appeared in the same trim, I thought they 
 were mad; but Fanny can reconcile me to anything;" and saw, 
 with lively admiration, the glow of Fanny's cheek, the brightness 
 of her eye, the deep interest, the absorbed attention, while her
 
 164 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 brother was describing any of the imminent hazards, or terrific 
 scenes, which such a period, at sea, must supply. 
 
 It was a picture which Henry Crawford had moral taste 
 enough to value. Fanny's attractions increased increased two- 
 fold; for the sensibility which beautified her complexion and 
 illumined her countenance was an attraction in itself. He was 
 no longer in doubt of the capabilities of her heart. She had 
 feeling, genuine feeling. It would be something to be loved by 
 such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her young, unsophis- 
 ticated mind! She interested him more than he had foreseen. 
 A fortnight was not enough. His stay became indefinite. 
 
 William was often called on by his uncle to be t!ic talker. 
 His recitals were amusing in themselves to Sir Thomas, but the 
 chief object in seeking them, was to understand the reriter, to 
 know the young man by his histories; and he listened to his 
 clear, simple, spirited details with full satisfaction seeing in 
 them the proof of good principles, professional knowledge, energy, 
 courage, and cheerfulness everything that conld deserve or 
 promise well. Young as he was, William had already seen a 
 great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean in the West 
 Indies in the Mediterranean again had been often taken on 
 shore by the favour of his captain, and in the course of seven 
 years had known every variety of danger which sea and war 
 together could offer. With such means in his power he had a 
 right to be listened to; and though Mrs. Norris could fidget 
 about the room, and disturb everybody in quest of two needlefuls 
 of thread or a second-hand shirt button in the midst of her 
 nephew's account of a shipwreck or an engagement, everybody 
 else was attentive; and even Lady Bertram could not hear of 
 such horrors unmoved, or without sometimes lifting her eyes 
 from her work to say, " Dear me! how disagreeable! I wonder 
 anybody can ever go to sea." 
 
 To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed 
 to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. 
 His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest 
 respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through 
 such bodily hardships, and given such proofs of mind. The 
 glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made 
 his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast ; 
 and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing 
 himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with 
 so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was! 
 
 The wish was rather eager than lasti: g. He was roused 
 from the reverie of retrospection and regret produced by it, by 
 some inquiry from Edmund as to his plans for the next day's 
 hunting; and he found it was as well to be a man of fortune at 
 once with horses and grooms at his command. In one respect
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 165 
 
 it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness 
 where he wished to oblige. With spirits, courage, and curiosity 
 up to anything, William expressed an inclination to hunt; and 
 Crawford could mount him without the slightest inconvenience 
 to himself, and with only some scruples to obviate in Sir Thomas, 
 who knew better than his nephew the value of such a loan, and 
 some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She feared for William ; 
 by no means convinced by all that he could relate of his own 
 horsemanship in various countries, of the scrambling parties in 
 which he had been engaged, the rough horses and mules he had 
 ridden, or liis many narrow escapes from dreadful falls, that he 
 was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an 
 English fox-chase; nor till he returned safe and well, without 
 accident or discredit, could she be reconciled to the risk, or feel 
 any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford, for lending the horse, 
 which he had fully intended it should produce. When it was 
 proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could 
 allow it to be a kindness, and even reward the owner with a 
 smile when the animal was one minute tendered to his use again ; 
 and the next with the greatest cordiality, and in a manner not 
 to be resisted, made over to his use entirely so long as he remained 
 in Northamptonshire. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 V HE intercourse of the two families was at 
 s period more nearly restored to what it 
 rhad been in the autumn, than any member 
 M of the old intimacy had thought ever likely 
 f to be again. The return of Henry Crawford, 
 W'A and the arrival of William Price, had much 
 
 to ^ w * tn **' ** ut muc h was st '^ owing to 
 Sir Thomas's more than toleration of the 
 neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. His mind, now dis- 
 engaged from the cares which had pressed on him at first, was at 
 leisure to find the Grants and their young inmates really Avorth 
 visiting; and though infinitely above scheming or contriving for 
 any the most advantageous matrimonial establishment that 
 could be among the apparent possibilities of any one most dear 
 to him, and disdaining even as a littleness the being quick-sighted 
 on such points, he could not avoid perceiving, in a grand and 
 careless way, that Mr. Crawford was somewhat distinguishing 
 his niece nor perhaps refrain (though unconsciously) from 
 giving a more willing assent to invitations on that account. 
 His readiness, however, in agreeing to dine at the Parsonage,
 
 166 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 when the general invitation was at last hazarded, after many 
 debates and many doubts as to whether it were worth while, 
 " because Sir Thomas seemed so ill inclined! and Lady Bertram 
 was so indolent!" proceeded from good breeding and good-will 
 alone, and had nothing to do with Mr. Crawford, but as being 
 one in an agreeable group; for it was in the course of that very 
 visit, that he first began to think, that any one in the habit of 
 such idle observations would hare thought that Mr. Crawford 
 was the admirer of Fanny Price. 
 
 The meeting was generally felt to be a pleasant one, being 
 composed in a good proportion of those who would talk and those 
 who would listen ; and the dinner itself was elegant and plentiful, 
 according to the usual style of the Grants, and too much accord- 
 ing to the usual habits of all to raise any emotion except in 
 Mrs. Norris, who could never behold either the wide table or the 
 number of dishes on it with patience, and who did always 
 contrive to experience some evil from the passing of the sen-ants 
 behind her chair, and to bring away some fresh conviction of its 
 being impossible among so many dishes but that some must be 
 cold. 
 
 In the evening it was found, according to the predetermination 
 of Mrs. Grant and her sister, that after making up the whist 
 table there would remain sufficient for a round game, and every- 
 body being as perfectly complying and without a choice as on 
 such occasions they always are, speculation was decided on almost 
 as soon as whist ; and Lady Bertram soon found herself in the 
 critical situation of being applied to for her own choice between 
 the games, and being required either to draw a card for whist or 
 not She hesitated. Luckily Sir Thomas was at hand. 
 
 "What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation ; 
 which will amuse me most?" 
 
 Sir Thomas, after a moment's thought, recommended specula- 
 tion. He was a whist player himself, and perhaps might feel 
 that it would not much amuse him to have her for a partner. 
 
 "Very well," was her Ladyship's contented answer "then 
 speculation, if you please, Mrs. Grant. I know nothing about it, 
 but Fanny must teach me." 
 
 Here Fanny interposed, however, with anxious protestations 
 of her own equal ignorance ; she had never played the game nor 
 seen it played in her life ; and Lady Bertram felt a moment's in- 
 decision again but upon everybody's assuring her that nothing 
 could be so easy, that it was the easiest game on the cards, and 
 Henry Crawford's stepping forward with a most earnest request 
 to be allowed to sit between her Ladyship and Miss Price, and 
 teach them both, it was so settled ; and Sir Thomas, Mrs. Norris, 
 and Dr. and Mrs. Grant being seated at the table of prime intel- 
 lectual state and dignity, the remaining six, under Miss Craw-
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 167 
 
 ford's direction, were arranged round the other. It was a fine 
 arrangement for Henry Crawford, who was close to Fanny, and 
 with his hands full of business, having two persons' cards to 
 manage as well as his own for though it was impossible fin- 
 Fanny not to feel herself mistress of the rules of the game in three 
 minutes, lie had yet to inspirit her play, sharpen her avarice, 
 and harden her heart, which, especially in any competition with 
 William, was a work of some difficulty; and as for Lady Ber- 
 tram, he must continue in charge of all her fame and fortune 
 through the' whole evening; and if quick enough to keep her 
 from looking at her cards when the deal began, must direct her in 
 whatever was to be done with them at the end of it. 
 
 lie was in high spirits, doing everything with happy ease, 
 and pre-eminent in all the lively turns, quick resources, and pjay- 
 ful impudence that could do honour to the game ; and the round 
 table was altogether a very comfortable contrast to the steady 
 sobriety and orderly silence of the other. 
 
 Twice had Sir Thomas enquired into the enjoyment and suc- 
 cess of his lady, but in vain; no pause was long enough for the 
 time his measured manner needed ; and very little of her state 
 could be known till Mrs. Grant was able, at the end of the first 
 rubber, to go to her and play her compliments. 
 
 " I hope your Ladyship is pleased with the, game." 
 " Qh dear, yes. Very entertaining, indeed. A very odd game. 
 I do not know what it is all about. I am never to see my cards; 
 and Mr. Crawford does all the rest." 
 
 "Bertram," said Crawford, some time afterwards, taking the 
 opportunity of a little languor in the game, " I have never told 
 you what happened to me yesterday in my ride home." They 
 had been hunting together, and were in the midst of a good run, 
 and at some distance from Mansfield, when his horse being found 
 to have flung- a shoe, Henry Crawford had been obliged to give 
 up, and make the best of his way back. "I told you I lost 'my 
 way after passing that old farm-house, with the yew-trees, be- 
 cause I can never bear to ask; but I have not told you that, with 
 my usual luck for I never do wrong without gaining by it I 
 found myself hi due time in the very place which I had a curiosity 
 to see. I was suddenly, upon turning the corner of a steepish 
 downy field, in the midst of a retired little village between gently 
 rising hills ; a small stream before me to be forded, a church 
 standing on a sort of knoll to my right which church was 
 strikingly large and handsome for the place, and not a gentleman 
 or half a gentleman's house to be seen excepting one to be pre- 
 sumed the Parsonage, within a stone's throw of the said knoll 
 and church. I found myself, in short, in Thornton Laccy." 
 
 " It sounds like it," said Edmund; "but which way did you 
 turn after passing Scwcll's farm ?"
 
 168 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions; though 
 were I to answer all that you could put in the course of an hour, 
 you would never be able to prove that it was not Thornton Lacey 
 for such it certainly was." 
 
 "You enquired then?" 
 
 " No, I never inquire. But I told a man mending a hedge 
 that it was Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it." 
 
 " You have a good memory. I had forgotten having ever told 
 you half so much of the place." 
 
 Thornton Lacey was the name of his impending living, as Miss 
 Crawford well knew ; and her interest hi a negotiation for William 
 Price's knave increased. 
 
 "Well," continued Edmund, "and how did you like what you 
 saw ?" 
 
 " Very much, indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will 
 be work for five summers at least before the place is live-able." 
 
 " No, no, not so bad as that. The farm-yard must be moved, 
 I grant you ; but I am not aware of anything else. The house 
 is by no means bad, and when the yard is removed, there may 
 be a very tolerable approach to it." 
 
 " The farm-yard must be cleared away entirely, and planted 
 up to shut out the blacksmith's shop. The house must be 
 turned to front the east instead of the north the entrance and 
 principal rooms, I mean, must be on that side, where the view is 
 really very pretty ; I am sure it may be done. And there must 
 be your approach through what is at present the garden. You 
 must make a new garden at what is now the back of the house ; 
 which will be giving it the best aspect in the world sloping to 
 the south-east. The ground seems precisely formed for it. I 
 rode fifty yards up the lane between the church and the house in 
 order to look about me; and saw how it might all be. Nothing 
 can be easier. The meadows beyond what will be the garden, as 
 well as what now is, sweeping round from the lane I stood in to 
 the north-east, that is, to the principal road through the village, 
 must be all laid together of course ; very pretty meadows they 
 are, finely sprinkled with timber. They belong to the living, I 
 suppose. If not, you must purchase them. Then the stream 
 something must be done with the stream ; but I could not quite 
 determine what. I hsul two or three ideas." 
 
 "And I have two or three ideas also," said Edmund, "and 
 one of them is, that very little of your plan for Thornton Lacey 
 will ever be put in practice. I must be satisfied with rather less 
 ornament and beauty. I think the house and premises may be 
 made comfortable, and given the air of a gentleman's residence 
 without any very heavy expense, and that must suffice me ; and 
 I hope may suffice all who care about me." 
 
 Bliss Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of a certain
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 169 
 
 tone of voice and a certain half-look attending the last expression 
 of liis hope, made a hasty finish of her dealings with William 
 Price ; and securing his knave at an exorbitant rate, exclaimed, 
 " There, I will stake my last like a woman of spirit. No cold 
 prudence for me. I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If 
 I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it." 
 
 The game was hers, and only did not pay her for what she 
 had given to secure it. Another deal proceeded, and Crawford 
 began again about Thornton Lacey. 
 
 "My plan may not be the best possible; I had not many 
 minutes to form it in : but you must do a good deal. The place 
 deserves it, and you will find yourself not satisfied with much 
 less than it is capable of. (Excuse me, your Ladyship must 
 not see your cards. There, let them lie just before you.) The 
 place deserves it, Bertram. You talk of giving it the air of a 
 gentleman's residence. That will be done, by the removal of the 
 farm-yard ; for, independent of that terrible nuisance, I never 
 saw a house of the kind which had in itself so much the air of a 
 gentleman's residence, so much the look of a something above a 
 mere parsonage house above the expenditure of a few hundreds 
 a-year. It is not a scrambling collection of low single rooms, 
 with as many roofs as windows it is not cramped into the 
 vulgar compactness of a square farm-house it is a solid, roomy, 
 mansion-like looking house, such as one might suppose a respect- 
 able old country family had lived in from generation to genera- 
 tion, through two centuries at least, and were now spending 
 from two to three thousand a year in." Miss Crawford listened, 
 and Edmund agreed to this. " The air of a gentleman's residence, 
 therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it is 
 capable of much more. (Let me see, Mary ; Lady Bertram 
 bids a dozen for that queen ; no, no, a dozen is more than it is 
 worth. Lady Bertram does not bid a dozen. She will have 
 nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) By some such improve- 
 ments as I have suggested, (I do not really require you to proceed 
 upon my plan, though, by-the-bye, I doubt anybody's striking 
 out a better,) you may give it a higher character. You may 
 raise it into a place. From being the mere gentleman's residence, 
 it becomes, by judicious improvement, the residence of a man of 
 education, taste, modern manners, good connections. All this 
 may be stamped on it ; and that house receive such an air as to 
 make its owner be set down as the great landholder of the parish, 
 by every creature travelling the road ; especially as there is no 
 real squire's house to dispute the point ; a circumstance, between 
 ourselves, to enhance the value of such a situation in point of 
 privilege and independence beyond all calculation. You think 
 with me, I hope (turning with a softened voice to Fanny.) 
 Have you ever seen the place?"
 
 1TO MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interest in 
 the subject by an eager attention to her brother, who was driving 
 as hard a bargain, and imposing on her as much as he could ; 
 but Crawford pursued with "No, no, you must not part with the 
 queen. You have bought her too dearly, and your brother does 
 not offer half her value. No, no, sir, hands off hands off. 
 Your sister does not part with the queen. She is quite deter- 
 mined. The game will be yours," turning to her again "it 
 will certainly be yours." 
 
 "And Fanny had much rather it were William's," said 
 Edmund, smiling at her. " Poor Fanny ! not allowed to cheat 
 herself as she wishes !" 
 
 " Mr. Bertram," said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards, 
 "you know Henry to be such a capital improver, that you can- 
 not possibly engage in anything of the sort at Thornton Lacey 
 without accepting his help. Only think how useful he was at 
 Sotherton ! Only think what grand things were produced there 
 by our all going with him one hot day in August to drive about 
 the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There we went, and 
 there we came home again ; and what was done there is not 
 to be told !" 
 
 Fanny's eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment with an 
 expression more than grave even reproachful ; but on catching 
 his, were instantly withdrawn. With something of conscious- 
 ness, he shook his head at his sister, and laughingly replied, " I 
 cannot say there was much done at Sotherton ; but it was a hot 
 day, and we were all walking after each other, and bewildered." 
 As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he added, in a low 
 voice, directed solely at Fanny, " I should be sorry to have my 
 powers of planning judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see 
 things very differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then . " 
 
 Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and being just 
 then in the happy leisure which followed securing the odd trick 
 by Sir Thomas's capital play and her own, against Dr. and Mrs. 
 Grant's great hands, she called out, in high good-humour, 
 " Sotherton! Yes, that is a place, indeed, and we had a charm- 
 ing day there. William, you are quite out of luck : but the next 
 time you come, I hope dear Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth will be at 
 home, and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly received 
 by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their rela- 
 tions, and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are at 
 Brighton now, you know in one of the best houses there, as 
 Mr. Rushworth's fine fortune gives them a right to be. I do not 
 exactly know the distance, but when you get back to Portsmouth, 
 if it is not very far off, you ought to go over, and pay your 
 respects to them ; and I could send a little parcel by you that I 
 want to get conveyed to your cousins."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 7 1 
 
 " I should bo very happy, aunt but Brighton is almost by 
 Beaehey Head; and if I could get so far, I could not expect to 
 be welcome in such a smart place as that poor scrubby mid- 
 shipman as I am." 
 
 Mrs. Nbrris was beginning an eager assurance of the affa- 
 bility he might depend on, when she was stopped by Sir Tho- 
 mas's saying with authority, " I do not advise your going to 
 Brighton, William, as I trust you may soon have more conve- 
 nient opportunities of meeting; but my daughters would be 
 happy to see their cousins anywhere ; and you will find Mr. 
 Bushworth most sincerely disposed to regard all the connexions 
 of our family as his own." 
 
 " I would rather find him private secretary to the First Lord 
 than anything else," was William's only answer, in an under 
 voice, not meant to reach far, and the subject dropped. 
 
 As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Craw- 
 ford's behaviour ; but when the whist table broke up at the end 
 of the second rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to 
 dispute over their last play, he became a looker-on at the other, 
 he found his niece the object of attentions, or rather of profes- 
 sions of a somewhat pointed character. 
 
 Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme about 
 Thornton Lacey ; and not being able to catch Edmund's ear, was 
 detailing it to his fair neighbour with a look of considerable ear- 
 nestness. His scheme was to rent the house himself the follow- 
 ing winter, that he might have a home of his own in that neigh- 
 bourhood ; and it was not merely for the use of it in the hunting 
 season (as he was then telling her), though that consideration 
 had certainly some weight, feeling as he did that, in spite of all 
 Dr. Gra-.t's very great kindness, it was impossible for him and 
 his horses to be accommodated where they now were without 
 material inconvenience ; but his attachment to that neighbour- 
 hood did not depend upon one amusement or one season of the 
 year : he had set his heart upon having a something there that 
 he could come to at any time, a little homestall at his command, 
 where all the holidays of his year might be spent, and he might 
 find himself continuing, improving, and perfecting that friendship 
 and intimacy with the Mansfield Park family which was increas- 
 ing in value to him every day. Sir Thomas heard and was not 
 offended. There was no want of respect in the young man's ad- 
 dress ; and Fanny's reception of it was so proper and modest, so 
 calm and uninviting, that he had nothing to censure in her. 
 She said little, assented only here and there, and betrayed no 
 inclination either of appropriating any part of the compliment to 
 herself, or of strengthening his views in favour of Northampton- 
 shire. Finding by whom he was observed, Henry Crawford 
 addressed himself on the same subject to Sir Thomas, in a more 
 every-day tone, but still with feeling.
 
 172 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have, per- 
 haps, heard me telling Miss Price. May I hope for your acqui- 
 escence, and for your not influencing your son against such a 
 tenant?" 
 
 Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, "It is the only way, sir, 
 in which I could not wish you established as a permanent neigh- 
 bour ; but I hope, and believe, that Edmund will occupy his own 
 house at Thornton Lacey. Edmund, am I saying too much ?" 
 
 Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on ; 
 but, on understanding the question, was at no loss for an 
 answer. 
 
 " Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But, Craw- 
 ford, though I refuse you as a tenant, come to me as a friend. 
 Consider the house as half your own every winter, and we will 
 add to the stables on your own improved plan, and with all the 
 improvements of your improved plan that may occur to you this 
 spring." 
 
 " We shall be the losers;" continued Sir Thomas. " His 
 going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcome contrac- 
 tion of our family circle ; but I should have been deeply morti- 
 fied, if any son of mine could reconcile himself to doing less. It 
 is peifectly natural that you should not have thought much on 
 the subject, Mr. Crawford. But a parish has wants and claims 
 which can be known only by a clergyman constantly resident, 
 and which no proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same 
 extent. Edmund might, in the common phrase, do the duty of 
 Thornton, that is, he might read prayers and preach, without 
 giving up Mansfield Park ; he might ride over, every Sunday, to 
 a house nominally inhabited, and go through divine service ; he 
 might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every seventh day, 
 for three or four hours, if that would content him. But it will 
 not. He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a 
 weekly sermon can convey ; and that if he does not live among 
 his parishioners, and prove himself, by constant attention, their 
 well-wisher and friend, he does very little either for their good or 
 his own." 
 
 Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence. 
 
 " I repeat again," added Sir Thomas, " that Thornton Lacey 
 is the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should not be 
 happy to wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier." 
 
 Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks. 
 
 " Sir Thomas," said Edmund, " undoubtedly understands the 
 duty of a parish priest. We must hope Ins son may prove that 
 he knows it too." 
 
 Whatever effect Sir Thomas's little harangue might really 
 produce on Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations in 
 two of the others, two of his most attentive listeners, Miss Craw- 
 ford and Fanny. One of whom, having never before understood
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 173 
 
 that Thornton was so soon and so completely to be his home, 
 was pondering with downcast eyes on what it would be, not to 
 see Edmund every day ; and the other, startled from the agree- 
 able fancies she had been previously indulging on the strength of 
 her brother's description, no longer able, in the picture she had 
 been forming of a future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink 
 the clergyman, and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised, 
 and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune was 
 considering Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer of 
 all this, and suffering the more from that involuntary forbearance 
 which his character and manner commanded, and from not 
 daring to relieve herself by a single attempt at throwing ridicule 
 on his cause. 
 
 All the agreeable of her speculation was over for that hour. 
 It was time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed ; and 
 she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion, and be 
 able to refresh her spirits by a change of place and neighbour. 
 
 The chief of the party were now collected irregularly round 
 the lire, and waiting the final break-up. William and Fanny 
 were the most detached. They remained together at the other- 
 wise deserted card-table, talking very comfortably, and not 
 thinking of the rest, till some of the rest began to think of them. 
 Henry Crawfofd's chair was the first to be given a direction 
 towards them, and he sat silently observing them for a few 
 minutes; himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir Thomas, 
 who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant. 
 
 " This is the assembly night," said William. " If I were at 
 Portsmouth, I should be at it, perhaps." 
 
 " But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?" 
 
 " No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of Ports- 
 mouth and of dancing, too, when I cannot have you. And I do 
 not know that there would be any good in going to the assembly, 
 for I might not get a partner. The Portsmouth girls turn up 
 their noses at anybody who has not a commission. One might 
 as well be nothing as a midshipman. One is nothing, indeed. 
 You remember the Gregorys ; they are grown up amazing fine 
 girls, but they will hardly speak to me, because Lucy is courted 
 by a lieutenant." 
 
 " Oh, shame, shame ! But never mind it, WiUiani"(her own 
 cheeks in a glow of indignation as she spoke). It is not worth 
 minding. It is no reflection on you; it is no more than what 
 the greatest admirals have all experienced, more or less, in their 
 time. You must think of that ; you must try to make up your 
 mind to it as one of the hardships which fall to every sailor's 
 share like bad weather and hard living only with this advan- 
 tage, that there will be an end to it, that there will come a time 
 when you will have nothing of that sort to endure. When you
 
 174 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 are a lieutenant ! only think, William, when you are a lieute- 
 nant, how little you will care for any nonsense of this kind." 
 
 " I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny. 
 Everbody gets made but me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear William, do not talk so, do not be so desponding. 
 My uncle says nothing, but I am sure he will do everything in 
 his power to get you made. He knows, as well as you do, of 
 what consequence it is." 
 
 She was checked by the sight of her uncle much nearer to 
 them than she had any suspicion of, and each found it necessary 
 to talk of something else. 
 
 "Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?" 
 
 " Yes, very ; only I am soon tired." 
 
 " I should like to go to a ball with you and see you dance. 
 Have you never any balls at Northampton ? J should like 
 to see you dance, and I'd dance with you if you would, for 
 nobody would know who I was here, and I should like to be 
 your partner once more. We used to jump about together 
 many a time, did not we? when the hand-organ was in the 
 street? I am a pretty good dancer in my way, but I dare 
 say you are a better." And turning to his uncle, who was now 
 close to them, " Is not Fanny a very good dancer, sir ?" 
 
 Fanny, in dismay at such an unprecedented question, did not 
 know which way to look, or how to be prepared for the answer. 
 Some very grave reproof, or at least the coldest expression of 
 indifference, must be coming to distress her brother, and sink her 
 to the ground. But, on the contrary, it was no worse than, " I 
 am sorry to say that I am unable to answer your question. I 
 have never seen Fanny dance since she was a little girl ; but I 
 trust we shall both think she acquits herself like a gentlewoman 
 when we do see her, which, perhaps, we may have an opportu- 
 nity of doing ere long." 
 
 " I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance, Mr. 
 Price," said Henry Crawford, leaning forward, " and will engage 
 to answer every inquiry which you can make on the subject, to 
 your entire satisfaction. But I believe (seeing Fanny look 
 distressed) it must be at some other time. There is one 
 person in company who does not like to have Miss Price 
 spoken of." 
 
 True enough, he had once seen Fanny dance ; and it was 
 equally true that he would now have answered for her gliding 
 about with quiet, light elegance, and in admirable time : but in 
 fact he could not for the life of him recall what her dancing had 
 been, and rather took it for granted that she had been present 
 than remembered anything about her. 
 
 He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing ; and Sir 
 Thomas, by no means displeased, prolonged the conversation on
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 175 
 
 in general, and was so well engaged in describing the 
 balls of Antigua, and listening to what his nephew could relate 
 of the different modes of dancing which had fallen within his 
 observation, that ho had not heard his carriage announced, and 
 was first called to the knowledge of it by the bustle of Mrs. 
 Norris. 
 
 "Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? We are going. 
 Do not you see your aunt is going? Quick, quick. I cannot 
 bear to keep good old Wilcox waiting. You should always 
 remember the coachman and horses. My dear Sir Thomas, we 
 have settled it that the carriage should come back for you, and 
 Edmund, and William." 
 
 Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrange- 
 ment, previously communicated to his wife and sister; but that 
 seemed forgotten by Mrs. Norris, who must fancy that she settled 
 it all herself. 
 
 Fanny's last feeling in the visit was disappointment for the 
 shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from the servant to 
 bring and put round her shoulders was seized by Mr. Crawford's 
 quicker hand, and she was obliged to be indebted to his more 
 prominent attention. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 i ILLIAM'S desire of seeing Fanny dance 
 ' made more than a momentary impression on 
 his uncle. The hope of an opportunity, which 
 Sir Thomas had then given, was not given 
 to be thought of no more. He remained 
 -steadily inclined to gratify so amiable a 
 , feeling to gratify anybody else who might 
 wish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure 
 to the young people in general ; and having thought the matter 
 over, and taken his resolution in quiet independence, the result 
 of it appeared the next morning at breakfast, when, after recalling 
 and commending what his nephew had said, he added, " I do not 
 like, William, that you should leave Northamptonshire without 
 this indulgence. It would give me pleasure to see you both 
 dance. You spoke of the balls at Northampton. Your cousins 
 have occasionally attended them ; but they would not altogether 
 suit us now. The fatigue would be too much for your aunt. I 
 believe, we must not think of a Northampton ball. A dance at 
 home would be more eligible ; and if " 
 
 "Ah, my dear Sir Thomas," interrupted Mrs. Norris, "I knew 
 what was coming. I knew what you were going to say. If
 
 176 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 dear Julia were at home, or dearest Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton, 
 to afford a reason, an occasion for such a thing, you would be 
 tempted to give the young people a dance at Mansfield. I know 
 you would. If they were at home to grace the ball, a ball you 
 would have this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, "William, 
 thank your uncle." 
 
 "My daughters," replied Sir Thomas, gravely interposing, 
 " have their pleasures at Brighton, and I hope are very happy ; 
 but the dance which I think of giving at Mansfield will be for 
 their cousins. Could we be all assembled, our satisfaction would 
 undoubtedly be more complete, but the absence of some is not to 
 debar the others of amusement." 
 
 Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. She saw decision 
 in his looks, and her surprise and vexation required some minutes' 
 silence to be settled into composure. A ball at such a time ! 
 His daughters absent and herself not consulted! There was 
 comfort, however, soon at hand. She must be the doer of every- 
 thing; Lady Bertram would of course be spared all thought and 
 exertion, and it would all fall upon her. She should have to do 
 the honours of the evening : and this reflection quickly restored 
 so much of her good humour as enabled her to join in with the 
 others, before their happiness and thanks were all expressed. 
 
 Edmund, William, and Fanny, did, in their different ways, 
 look and speak as much grateful pleasure in the promised ball, 
 as Sir Thomas could desire. Edmund's feelings were for the 
 other two. His father had never conferred a favour or shown a 
 kindness more to his satisfaction. 
 
 Lady Bertram was perfectly quiescent and contented, and had 
 no objection to make. Sir Thomas engaged for its giving her 
 very little trouble; and she assured him "that she was not at 
 all afraid of the trouble, indeed she could not imagine tYierc 
 would be any." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was ready with her suggestions as to the rooms 
 he would think fittest to be used, but found it all pre-arranged ; 
 and when she would have conjectured and hinted about the day, 
 it appeared that the day was settled too. Sir Thomas had been 
 amusing himself witli shaping a very complete outline of the 
 business; and as soon as she would listen quietly, could read his 
 list of the families to be invited, from whom he calculated, with 
 all necessary allowance for the shortness of the notice, to collect 
 young people enough to form twelve or fourteen couple; and 
 could detail the considerations which had induced him to fix on 
 the 22d, as the most eligible day. William was required to be 
 at Portsmouth on the 24th ; the 22d would therefore be the last 
 day of his visit ; but where the days were so few it would be 
 unwise to fix on any earlier. Mrs. Norris was obliged to be 
 satisfied with thinking just the same, and with having been on
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 77 
 
 the point of proposing the 22d herself, as by far the best day for 
 the purpose. 
 
 The ball was now a settled thing, and before the evening a 
 proclaimed thing to all whom it concerned. Invitations were 
 sent with despatch, and many a young lady went to bed that 
 night with her head full of happy cares as well as Fanny. To 
 her, the cares were sometimes almost beyond the happiness; 
 for young and .inexperienced, with small means of choice, and no 
 confidence in her own taste the "how she should be dressed" 
 was a point of painful solicitude; and the almost solitary orna- 
 ment in her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William 
 had brought her from Sicily, was the greatest distress of all, for 
 she had nothing but a bit of riband to fasten it to ; and though 
 she had worn it in that manner once, would it be allowable at 
 such a time, in the midst of all the rich ornaments which she 
 supposed all the other young ladies would appear in? And yet 
 not to wear it! William had wanted to buy her a gold chain 
 too, but the purchase had been beyond his means, and therefore 
 not to wear the cross might be mortifying him. These were 
 anxious considerations; enough to sober her spirits even under 
 the prospect of a ball given principally for her gratification. 
 
 The preparations meanwhile went on, and Lady Bertram con- 
 tinued to sit on her sofa without any inconvenience from them. 
 She had some extra visits from the housekeeper, and her maid 
 was rather hurried in making up a new dress for her: Sir Thomas 
 gave orders, and Mrs. Norris ran about ; but all this gave her 
 no trouble, and, as she had foreseen, "there was, in fact, no 
 trouble in the business." 
 
 Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares; his mind 
 being deeply occupied in the consideration of two important events 
 now at hand, which were to fix his fate in life ordination and 
 matrimony events of such a serious character as to make the 
 ball, which would be very quickly followed by one of them, 
 appear of less moment in his eyes than in those of any other 
 person in the house. On the 23d he was going to a friend near 
 Peterborough in the same situation as himself, and they were to 
 receive ordination in the course of the Christmas week. Half 
 his destiny would then be determined but the other half might 
 not be so very smoothly wooed. His duties would be established, 
 but the wife who was to share, and animate, and reward those 
 duties, might yet be unattainable. He knew his own mind, but 
 he was not always perfectly assured of knowing Miss Crawford's. 
 There'were points on which they did not quite agree; there were 
 moments in which she did not seem propitious; and though 
 trusting altogether to her affection, so far as to be resolved 
 (almost resolved) on bringing it to a decision, within a very 
 short tune, as soon as the variety of business before him were 
 
 (1) M
 
 178 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 arranged, and he knew what lie had to offer her he had many 
 anxious feelings, many doubting hours as to the result. His 
 conviction of her regard for him was sometimes very strong ; he 
 could look back on a long course of encouragement, and she was 
 as perfect in disinterested attachment as in everything else. But 
 at other times doubt and alarm intermingled with his hopes; and 
 when he thought of her acknowledged disinclination for privacy 
 and retirement, her decided preference of a London life what 
 could he expect but a determined rejection? unless it were an 
 acceptance even more to be deprecated, demanding such sacrifices 
 of situation and employment on his side as conscience must 
 forbid. 
 
 The issue of all depended on one question. Did she love him 
 well enough to forego what had used to be essential points did 
 she love him well enough to mak-j them no longer essential? 
 And this question, which he was continually repeating to him- 
 self, though oftenest answered with a " Yes," had sometimes 
 its "No." 
 
 Miss Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on this cir- 
 cumstance the "no" and the "yes" had been very recently in 
 alternation. lie had seen her eyes sparkle as she spoke of the 
 dear friend's letter, which claimed a long visit from her in 
 London, and of the kindness of Henry, in engaging to remain 
 where he was till January, that he might convey her thither; he 
 had heard her speak of the pleasure of such a journey with a'i 
 animation which had "no" in every tone. 15ut this had 
 occurred on the first day of its being settled, within the (ir.^t 
 hour of the burst of such enjoyment, when nothing but the 
 friends she was to visit was before her. He had since heard her 
 express herself differently with other feelings more checkered 
 feelings; he had heard her tell Mrs. Grant that she should leave 
 her with regret ; that she began to believe neither the friends 
 nor the pleasures she was going to were worth those she left 
 behind; and that though she felt she must go, and knew she 
 should enjoy herself when once away, she was already looking 
 forward to being at Mansfield again. AVas there not a "yes" in 
 all this? 
 
 With such matters to ponder over, and arrange, and rearrange, 
 Edmund could not, on his own account, think very much of the 
 evening, which the rest of the family were looking forward to 
 with a more equal degree of strong interest. Independent of his 
 two cousins' enjoyment in it, the evening was to him of no higher 
 value ^than any other appointed meeting of the two families 
 might be. In every meeting there was a hope of receiving 
 further confirmation of Miss Crawford's attachment; but the 
 whirl of a ball-room, perhaps, was not particularly favourable to 
 the excitement or expression of serious feelings. To engage her
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 179 
 
 early for the two first dances, was all the command of individual 
 happiness which lie felt in his power, and the only preparation 
 for the hall which he could enter into, in spite of all that was 
 passing around him on the subject, from morning till night. 
 
 Thursday was the day of the ball, and on Wednesday morn- 
 ing, Fanny, still unable to satisfy herself as to what she ought 
 to wear, determined to seek the counsel of the more enlightened, 
 and apply to Mrs. Grant and her sistc]-, whose acknowledged 
 taste would certainly bear her blameless ; ni:d as Kdiinmd :md 
 William were gone to Northampton, and she had reason to think 
 Mr. Crawford likewise nut, she walked down to the Parsonage 
 without much fear of wanting :<n opportunity for private dis- 
 cussion; and the privacy of sikh a discussion was a mo.--t 
 important part of it to Fanny, being more than half ashamed of 
 her own solicitude. 
 
 She met Miss Crawford within a few yards of the Parsonage, 
 just setting out to call on her, and as it seemed to her, that In r 
 friend, though obliged to insist on turning back, was unwilling 
 to lose her walk, she explained her business at once, and observed, 
 that if she would be so kind as to give her opinion, it might be 
 all talked over as well without doors as within. Miss Crawford 
 appeared gratified by the application, and after a momem's 
 thought urged Fanny's returning with her in a much more 
 cordial manner than before, and proposed their going up into her 
 room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without dis- 
 turbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were together in the drawing 
 room. It was just the plan to suit Fanny; and with a great 
 deal of gratitude on her side for such ready and kind attention, 
 they proceeded in-doors and up-stairs, and were soon deep in fie 
 interesting subject. Miss Crawford, pleased with the appeal, 
 gave her all her best judgment and taste, made everything easy 
 by her suggestions, and tried to make everything agreeable by 
 her encouragement. The dress being settled in all its grander 
 parts, " But what shall you have by way of necklace?" said 
 iMiss Crawford. "Shall not you wear your brother's cross?" 
 And as she spoke she was undoing a small parcel, which Fanny 
 had observed in her hand when they met. Fanny acknowledged 
 her wishes and doubts on this point; she did not know how 
 either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it. She w:is 
 answered by having a small trinket-box placed before her, and 
 being requested to choose from among several gold chains and 
 necklaces. Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawford 
 was provided, and such the object of her intended visit; and in 
 the kindest manner she now urged Fanny's taking one for the 
 cross and to keep for her sake, saying everything she could think 
 of to obviate the scruples which were making Fanny start back 
 at first with a look of horror at the proposal.
 
 1 80 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " You see what a collection I have," said she, " more by half 
 than I ever use or think of. I do not ofl'er them as new. I 
 otter nothing but an old necklace. You must forgive the liberty, 
 and oblige me." 
 
 Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift was too 
 valuable. But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case 
 with so much affectionate earnestness through all the heads of 
 William and the cross, and the ball, and herself, as to be finally 
 successful. Fanny found herself obliged to yield, that she might 
 not be accused of pride or indifference, or some other littleness ; 
 and having with modest reluctance given her consent, proceeded 
 to make the selection. She looked and looked, longing to know 
 which might be least valuable ; and was determined in her choice 
 at last, by fancying there was one necklace more frequently 
 placed before her eyes than the rest. It was of gold, prettily 
 worked; and though Fanny would have preferred a longer and 
 a plainer chain as more adapted for her purpose, she hoped, in 
 fixing on this, to be choosing what Miss Crawford least wished 
 to keep. Mi.ss Crawford smiled her perfect approbation; and 
 hastened to complete the gift by putting the necklace round her, 
 and making her see how well it looked. Fanny had not a word 
 to say against its becomingness, and excepting what remained 
 of her scruples, was exceedingly pleased with an acquisition so 
 very apropos. She would rather perhaps have been obliged to 
 some other person. l>ut this was an unworthy feeling. Miss 
 Crawford had anticipated her wants with a kindness which 
 proved her a real friend. " When I wear this necklace I shall 
 always think of you," said she, "and feel how very kind you 
 were.'' 
 
 " You must think of somebody else, too, when you wear that 
 necklace," replied Miss Crawford. " You must think of Henry, 
 for it was his choice in the first place. He gave it to me, and 
 with the necklace I make over to you all the duty of remembering 
 the original giver. It is to be a family remembrancer. The 
 sister is not to be in your mind without bringing the brother 
 too." 
 
 Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would have 
 returned the present instantly. To take what had been the gift 
 of another person of a brother too, impossible! it must not 
 be! and with an eagerness and embarrassment quite diverting 
 to her companion, she laid down the necklace again on its 
 cotton, and seemed resolved either to take another or none at all. 
 Miss Crawford thought she had never seen a prettier conscious- 
 ness. " My dear child," said she, laughing, " what are you 
 afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as 
 mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are you 
 imagining he would be too much flattered by seeing round your
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 181 
 
 lovely throat an ornament which his money purchased three 
 years ago, before he knew there was such a throat in the world? 
 or perhaps looking archly you suspect a confederacy between 
 us, ami that what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at 
 his desire V 
 
 With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a 
 thought. 
 
 " Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, more seriously but with- 
 out at all believing her, " to convince me that you suspect no 
 trick, and arc as unsuspicious of compliment as I have always 
 found you, take the necklace, and say no more about it. Its 
 bring a gift of my brother's need not make the smallest difference 
 in your accepting it, as I assure you it makes none in my 
 willingness to part with it. He is always giving me something 
 or other. I have such innumerable presents from him that it is 
 quite impossible for me to value, or for him to remember half. 
 And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it six 
 times: it is very pretty but I never think of it; and though 
 you would be most heartily welcome to any other in my trinket- 
 box, you have happened to fix on the very one which, if I have 
 a choice, I would rather part with and see in your possession 
 than any other. Say no more against it, I intreat you. Such 
 a trifle is not worth half so many words." 
 
 Fanny dared not make any further opposition; and with 
 renewed but less happy thanks accepted the necklace again, for 
 there was an expression in Miss Crawford's eyes which she could 
 not be satisfied with. 
 
 It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford's 
 change of manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried 
 to please her he was gallant he was attentive he was some- 
 thing like what he had been to her cousins: he wanted, she 
 supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity as he had cheated them ; 
 and whether he might not have some concern in this necklace ! 
 She could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss Crawford, 
 complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a friend. 
 
 Heflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possession of what 
 she had so much wished for did not bring much satisfaction, she 
 now walked home again with a change rather than a diminu- 
 tion of cares since her treading that path before.
 
 182 
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 N reaching home, Fanny went immediately 
 up ftairs to deposit this unexpected acquisi- 
 tion, this doubtful good of a necklace, in some 
 favourite box in the east room which held all 
 her smaller treasures; but on opening the 
 door, what was her surprise to find her cousin 
 Edmund there writing at the table! Such a 
 sight having never occurred before, was almost 
 as wonderful as it was welcome. 
 
 " Fanny," said he directly, leaving his scat and his pen, and 
 meeting her with something in his hand, " I beg your pardon 
 for being here. I came to look for you, and after waiting a little 
 while in hope of your coining in, was making use of your ink- 
 stand to explain my errand. You will find the beginning of a 
 note to yourself; but I can now speak my business, Avhich is 
 merely to beg your acceptance of this little trifle a chain for 
 William's cross. You ought to have had it a week ago, but 
 there has been a delay from my brother's not being in town by 
 several days so soon as I expected; and I have only just now 
 received it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain 
 itself, Fanny. I endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your 
 t.iste; but at any rate I know you will be kind to my intentions, 
 and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love of one of your 
 oldest friends." 
 
 And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, over- 
 powered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could 
 iittempt to speak; but quickened by one sovereign wish she then 
 called out, "Oh, cousin, stop a moment, pray stop!" 
 lie turned back. 
 
 " I cannot attempt to thank you," she continued, in a very 
 agitated manner, " thanks are out of the question. I feel much 
 more than I can possibly express. Your goodness in thinking 
 
 of me in such a way is beyond " 
 
 " If this is all you have to say, Fanny " smiling and 
 
 turning away again. 
 
 " No, no, it is not. I want to consult you." 
 Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel he had 
 just put into her hand, and seeing before her, in all the niceness 
 of jewellers' packing, a plain gold chain perfectly simple and 
 neat, she could not help bursting forth again, "Oh, this is 
 beautiful, indeed! this is the very thing, precisely what 1 wished 
 for! this is the only ornament I have ever had a desire to possess. 
 It will exactly suit my cross. They must and shall be worn
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 83 
 
 together. It comes, too, in such an acceptable moment. Oh, 
 cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is." 
 
 " My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too much. 
 I am most happy that you like the chain, and that it should be 
 here in time for to-morrow; but your thanks are far beyond the 
 occasion. Believe me, I have no pleasure in the world superior 
 to that of contributing to yours. No, I can safely say, I have no 
 pleasure so complete, so unalloyed. It is without a drawback." 
 
 Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have lived 
 an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, after 
 waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its 
 heavenly flight by saying, " But what is it that you want to 
 consult me about?" 
 
 It was about the necklace, which she was now most earnestly 
 longing to return, and hoped to obtain his approbation of her 
 doing. She gave the history of her recent visit, and now her 
 raptures might well be over; for Edmund was so struck with 
 the circumstance, so delighted with what Miss Crawford had 
 done, so gratified by such a coincidence of conduct between them, 
 that Fanny could not but admit tfie superior power of one pleasure 
 over his own mind, though it might have its drawback. It was 
 some time before she could get his attention to her plan, or any 
 answer to her demand of his opinion: he was in a reverie of fond 
 reflection, uttering only now and then a few half sentences of 
 praise: but when ho did awake, and understand, he was very 
 decided in opposing what she wished. 
 
 " Keturn the necklace! Xo, my dear Fanny, upon no account. 
 It would be mortifying her severely. There can hardly be a 
 more unpleasant sensation than the having anything returned on 
 our hands, which wo have given with a reasonable hope of its 
 contributing to the comfort of a friend. Why should she lose a 
 pleasure which he has shown herself so deserving of?" 
 
 " If it had been given to me in the lirst instance,'' said Fanny, 
 "I should not have thought of returning it; but being her 
 brother's present^ is not it fair to suppose that she would rather 
 not part with it, when it is not wanted?" 
 
 " She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable at least; 
 and its having been originally her brother's gift makes no differ- 
 ence, for as she was not prevented from offering, nor you from 
 taking it on that account, it ought not to affect your keeping it. 
 No doubt it is handsomer than mine, and fitter for a ball-room." 
 
 " No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its way, 
 and for my purpose not half so fit. The chain will agree with 
 William's cross beyond all comparison better than the necklace." 
 
 " For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it be a sacrifice 
 I am sure you will, upon consideration, make that sacrifice 
 rather than give paiu to one who has been so studious of your
 
 1 84 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 comfort. Miss Crawford's attentions to you have been not 
 more than you were justly entitled to I am the last person to 
 think that could be but they have been invariable; and to be 
 returning them with what must have something the air of in- 
 gratitude, though I know it could never have the meaning, is 
 not in your nature, I am sure. Wear the necklace, as you are 
 engaged to do to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was 
 not ordered with any reference to the ball, be kept for commoner 
 occasions. This is my advice. I would not have the shadow 
 of a coolness between the two whose intimacy I have been ob- 
 serving with the greatest pleasure, and in whose characters there 
 is so much general resemblance in true generosity and natural 
 delicacy as to make the few slight differences, resulting principally 
 from situation, no reasonable hinderance to a perfect friendship, 
 I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise," he repeated, 
 his voice sinking a little, " between the two dearest objects I 
 have on earth." 
 
 He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny remained to tranquillise 
 herself as she could. She was one of his two dearest that must 
 support her. But the other! the first! She had never heard 
 him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than 
 what she had long perceived, it was a stab; for it told of his 
 own convictions and views. They were decided. He would 
 marry Miss Crawford. It was a stab, in spite of every long- 
 standing expectation; and she was obliged to repeat again and 
 again, that she was one of his two dearest, before the words gave 
 her any sensation. Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve 
 him, it would be oh, how different would it be how far more 
 tolerable! But he was deceived in her; he gave her merits 
 which she had not ; her faults were what they had ever been, 
 but he saw them no longer. Till she had shed many tears over 
 this deception, Fanny could not subdue her agitation; and the 
 dejection which followed could only be relieved by the influence 
 of fervent prayers for Ms happiness. 
 
 It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to 
 overcome all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness 
 in her affection for Edmund. To call or to fancy it a loss, a 
 disappointment, would be a presumption ; for which she had not 
 words strong enough to satisfy her own humility. To think of 
 him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in 
 her be insanity. To her, he could be nothing under any circum- 
 stances nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea 
 occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden ? It 
 ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. 
 She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of 
 judging of Miss Crawford's character and the privilege of true 
 solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart.
 
 MANSFIELD PABK. J 85 
 
 She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined to do 
 -her duty; but having also many of the feelings of youth and 
 nature, let her not be much wondered at, if, after making all 
 these good resolutions on the side of self-government, she seized 
 the scrap of paper on which Edmund had begun writing to her, 
 as a treasure beyond all her hopes, and reading with the tenderest 
 emotion these words, " My very dear Fanny, you must do me 
 the favour to accept " locked it up with the chain, as the 
 dearest part of the gift. It was the only thing approaching to a 
 letter which she had ever received from him ; she might never 
 receive another; it was impossible that she ever should receive 
 another so perfectly gratifying in the occasion and the style. 
 Two lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most 
 distinguished author never more completely blessed the re- 
 searches of the fondest biographer. The enthusiasm of a woman's 
 love is even beyond the biographer's. To her, the handwriting 
 itself, independent of anything it may convey, is a blessedness. 
 Never were such characters cut by any other human being, as 
 Edmund's commonest hand-writing gave ! This specimen, written 
 in haste as it was, had not a fault ; and there was a felicity in 
 the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement of " My very 
 dear Fanny," which she could have looked at for ever. 
 
 Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by 
 this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she was able, in 
 due time, to go down and resume her usual employments near 
 her aunt Bertram, and pay her the usual observances without 
 any apparent want of spirits. 
 
 Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came ; and 
 opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, un- 
 manageable days often volunteer, for soon after breakfast a very 
 friendly note was brought from Mr. Crawford to William, stating 
 that as he found himself obliged to go to London on the morrow 
 for a few days, he could not help trying to procure a companion ; 
 and therefore hoped that if William could make up his mind to 
 leave Mansfield half a day earlier than had been proposed, he 
 would accept a place in his carriage. Mr. Crawford meant to be 
 in town by his uncle's accustomary late dinner hour, and William 
 was invited to dine with him at the Admiral's. The proposal 
 was a very pleasant one to William himself, who enjoyed the 
 idea of travelling post with four horses and such a good- 
 humoured, agreeable friend ; and in likening it to going up with 
 despatches, was saying at once everything in favour of its happi- 
 ness and dignity which his imagination could suggest; and 
 Fanny, from a different motive, was exceedingly pleased : for the 
 original plan was that William should go up by the mail from 
 Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed 
 him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth
 
 1 86 MAKSHELD PARK. 
 
 coach ; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her 
 of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having 
 William spared from the fatigue of such a journey, to think of 
 anything else. Sir Thomas approved of it for another reason. 
 His nephew's introduction to Admiral Crawford might be of 
 service. The Admiral, he believed, had interest. Upon the 
 whole, it was a very joyous note. Fanny's spirits lived on it 
 half the morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its 
 writer being himself to go away. 
 
 As for the ball so near at hand, she had too many agitations 
 and fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she 
 ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have, by the, 
 many young ladies looking forward to the same event in situa- 
 tions more at ease, but und-r circumstances of less novelty, less 
 interest, less peculiar gratification than would be attributed to 
 hf. Miss Price, known only by name to half the people 
 invited, was now to make her first appearance, and must be re- 
 g.irded as the Queen of the evening. Who could be happier than 
 Mi.<s Price? But Miss Price had not been brought up to the 
 trade of coming out ; and had she known in what light this ball 
 wit.-, in general, considered respecting her, it would very much 
 hav ; lessened her comfort by increasing the fears she already 
 ha-1, of doing wrong and being looked at. To dance without 
 much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength 
 and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with 
 Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see 
 William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from her aunt 
 Xorris, was the height of her ambition, and seemed to compre- 
 hend her greatest possibility of happiness. As these were the 
 best of her hopes, they could not always prevail ; and in the 
 course of a long morning, spent principally with her two aunts, 
 she was often under the influence of much less sanguine views. 
 William, determined to niiike this last clay a day of thorough 
 enjoyment, was out snipe shooting ; Edmund, she had too much 
 reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage; and left alone to bear 
 the worrying of Mrs. Norris, who was cross because the house- 
 keeper would have her own way with the supper, and whom she 
 could not avoid though the housekeeper might, Fanny was worn 
 down at last to think everything an evil belonging to the ball, 
 and when sent off with a parting worry to dress, moved as 
 languidly towards her own room, and felt as incapable of happi- 
 ness as if she had been allowed no share in it. 
 
 As she walked slowly up stairs she thought of yesterday ; it 
 had been about the same hour that she had returned from the. 
 Parsonage, and found Edmund in the east-room. " Suppose I 
 were to find him there again to-day!" said she to herself, in a 
 fond indulgence of fancy.
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 1 87 
 
 " Fanny," said a voice at that moment near her. Starting 
 find looking up, she saw across the lobby she had just reached 
 Edmund himself, standing at the head of a different staircase. 
 He came towards her. " You look tired and fagged, Fanny. 
 You have been walking too far." 
 
 " No, I have not been out at all." 
 
 " Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse. 
 You hud better have gone out." 
 
 Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make no 
 answer; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness, 
 she believed he had soon ceased to think of her countenance. He 
 did not appear in spirits ; something unconnected with her was 
 probably amiss. They proceeded up stairs together, their rooms 
 being on the same floor above. 
 
 " I come from Dr. Grant's," said Edmund, presently. " You 
 may guess my errand then 1 , Fanny." And he looked so conscious, 
 that Fanny could think but of one errand, which turned her too 
 sick for speech. " I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the 
 two first dances," was the explanation that followed, and brought 
 Fanny to life again, enabling her, as she found she was expected 
 to speak, to utter something lik;- an inquiry as to the result. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "she i.s engaged to me; but (with a 
 smile that did not sit easy) s'.ie says it is to be the last time that 
 she ever will dance with me. She is not serious. I think, I 
 hope, I am sure she is not scions but I would rather not hear 
 it. She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she 
 never will. For my own sake, I could wish there had been no 
 ball just at I mean not this very week, this very day to- 
 morrow I leave home." 
 
 Fanny struggled for speech, and said, " I am very sorry that 
 anything lias occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day 
 of pleasure. My uncle meant it so." 
 
 " Oil yes, yes, and it will be a day of pleasure. It will all end 
 right. I am only vexed for a moment. In fact, it is not that 
 I consider the ball as ill-timed; what does it signify? But, 
 Fanny," stopping her, by taking her hand, and speaking low and 
 seriously, " you know what all this means. You see how it is ; 
 and could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and 
 why I am vexed. Let me talk to you a little. You are a kind, 
 kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this morning, 
 and cannot get the better of it. I know her disposition to be as 
 sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former 
 companions makes her seem gives to her conversation, to her 
 professed opinions, sometimes a tinge of wrong. She does not 
 think evil, but she speaks it speaks it in playfulness and 
 though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul." 
 
 " The effect of education," said Fanny, gently.
 
 188 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Edmund could not but agree to it. " Ye.*, that uncle and 
 aunt! They have injured the finest mind! for sometimes, Fanny, 
 I own to you, it does appear more than manner; it appears as if 
 the mind itself was tainted." 
 
 Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, and 
 therefore, after a moment's consideration, said, " If you only 
 want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can ; but I 
 am not qualified for an adviser. Do not ask advice of me. I 
 am not competent." 
 
 " You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an office, but 
 you need not be afraid. It is a subject on which I should never 
 ask advice; it is the sort of subject on which it had better never 
 be asked; and few, I imagine, do ask it, but when they want to 
 be influenced against their conscience. I only want to talk to 
 
 you." 
 
 "One thing more. Excuse the liberty but take care how 
 you talk to me. Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter 
 you may be sorry for. The time may come " 
 
 The colour rushed into her eyes as she spoke. 
 
 "Dearest Fanny!" cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his 
 lips, with almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Craw- 
 ford's, " you are all considerate thought! But it is unnecessary 
 here. The time will never come. No such time as you allude 
 to will ever come. I begin to think it most improbable; the 
 chances grow less and less: and even if it should there will be 
 nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need be 
 afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples; and 
 if they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise 
 her character the more by the recollection of the faults she once 
 had. You are the only being npon earth to whom I should say 
 what I have said; but you have always known my opinion of 
 her; you can bear me witness, Fanny, that I have never been 
 blinded. How many a time have we talked over her little 
 errors! You need not fear me; I have almost given up every 
 serious idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed if, what- 
 ever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy 
 without the sincerest gratitude." 
 
 He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen. He 
 had said enough to give Fanny some happier feelings than she 
 had lately known, and with a brighter look, she answered, '' Yes, 
 cousin, I am convinced that you would be incapable of anything 
 else, though perhaps some might not. I cannot be afraid of 
 hearing anything you wish to say. Do not check yourself. 
 Tell me whatever you like." 
 
 They were now on the second floor, and the appearance of a 
 housemaid prevented any further conversation. For Fanny's 
 present comfort it was concluded, perhaps, at the happiest
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 1 89 
 
 moment: had he been able to talk another five minutes, there is 
 no saying that he might not have talked away all Miss Craw- 
 ford's faults and his own despondence. But as it was, they 
 parted with looks on his side of grateful affection, and with some 
 very precious sensations on hers. She had felt nothing like it for 
 hours. Since the first joy from Mr. Crawford's note to William 
 had worn away, she had been in a state absolutely the reverse; 
 there had been no comfort around, no hope within her. Xow, 
 everything was smiling. William's good fortune returned again 
 upon her mind, and seemed of greater value than at first. The 
 ball, too such an evening of pleasure before her! It was now 
 a real animation; and she began to dress for it with much of the 
 happy flutter which belongs to a ball. All went well she did 
 not dislike her own looks; and when she came to the necklaces 
 again, her good fortune seemed complete, for upon trial the one 
 given her by Miss Crawford would by no means go through the 
 ring of the cross. She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear 
 it; but it was too large for the purpose. His, therefore, must 
 iie worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the chain 
 :iiid the cross, those memorials of the two most beloved of her 
 heart, those dearest tokens so formed for each other by everything 
 real and imaginary and put them round her neck, and seen and 
 felt how full of William and Edmund they were, she was able, 
 without an effort, to resolve on wealing Miss Crawford's necklace 
 too. She acknowledged it to be right. Miss Crawford had a 
 claim; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere 
 witli the stronger "claims, the truer kindness of another, she could 
 do her justice even with pleasure to herself. The necklace really 
 looked very well; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably 
 satisfied with herself and all about her. 
 
 Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion, with 
 an unusual degree of wakefuluess. It had really occurred to her, 
 unprompted, that Fanny, preparing for a ball, might be glad of 
 better help than the upper housemaid's, and when dressed herself, 
 she actually sent her own maid to assist her; too late, of course, 
 to be of any use. Mrs. Chapman had just reached the attic 
 floor, when Miss Price came out of her room completely dressed, 
 and only civilities were necessary; but Fanny felt her aunt's 
 attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs. Chapman 
 could do themselves.
 
 1 90 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TCI! uncle and both her aunts were in the 
 drawing-room when Fanny Avon t down. To 
 the former she was an inn resting object, and 
 he saw with pleasure the general elegance of 
 !i'T appearance, and her being in remarkablv 
 good looks. The neatness and propriety of her 
 3 dress was all that lie would allow himself to 
 commend in her presence, but upon her leaving 
 th room again soon afterwards, he spoke of her beauty with very 
 decided praise.. 
 
 " Yes," said I-ady Bertram, " she looks very well. I sent 
 Chapman to her." 
 
 "Look well! Oh, yes," eried Mrs. Norris, "she has good 
 reason to look well with all her advantage s ; brought up in this 
 family as she has Ix-en, with all the benefit of her cousins' man- 
 ners before her. Only think, my dear Sir Thomas, what extra- 
 ordinary advantages you and I have been the means of giving 
 her. The very gown you have been taking notice of is your own 
 generous present to her when dear Mrs. Kushworth married. 
 What would she have been if we had not taken her by the 
 hand?" 
 
 Sir Thomas said no more; but when they sat down to table the 
 eyes of the two young men assured him, that the subject might 
 l>e gently touched again when the ladies withdrew, with more 
 success. Fanny saw that she was approved ; and the conscious- 
 ness of looking well made her look still better. From a variety 
 of causes she was happy, and she was soon made still happier ; 
 for in following her aunts out of the room, Edmund, who was 
 holding open the door, said, as she passed him, " You must dance 
 with me, Fanny; you must keep two dances for me; any two 
 that you like, except the first." She had nothing more to wish 
 for. She had hardly ever been in a stats so nearly approaching 
 high spirits in her life. Her cousins' former gaiety on the day 
 of a ball was no longer surprising to her; she felt it to be indeed 
 very charming, nd was actually practising her steps about the 
 drawing-room as long as she could be safe from the notice of her 
 aunt Norris, who was entirely taken up at lirst in fresh arrang- 
 ing and injuring the noble fire which the butler had prepared. 
 
 Half an hour followed, that would have been at least languid 
 itnder any other circumstances, but Fanny's happiness still pre- 
 vailed. It was but to think of her conversation with Edmund ; 
 and what was the restlessness of Mrs. Norris ? What were the 
 yawns of Lady Bertram ?
 
 MANSFIELD PAHK. 191 
 
 The gentlemen joined them ; and soon after began the sweet 
 expectation of a carriage, when a general spirit of case and en- 
 joyment seemed diffused, and they all stood about and talked and 
 laughed, and every moment had its pleasure and its hope. Fanny 
 felt that there must be a struggle in Edmund's cheerfulness, but 
 it was delightful to see the efibrt so successfully made. 
 
 When the carriages were really heard, when the guests began 
 really to assemble, her own gaiety of heart was much subdued : 
 tlu- sight of so many si rangers threw her back into herself; and 
 besides the gravity and formality of the. lir.-t great circle, which 
 the manners of neither Sir Thomas nor Lady Bertram were of a 
 kind to do away, slie found herself occasionally called on to in- 
 dnre something worse. She was introduced here and there by 
 her uncle, and forced to be spoken to, and to courtesy, and t,> 
 speak again. This was a hard duty, and she was never sum- 
 moned to it, without looking at \Villiam, as he walked about at 
 his ease in the background of the scene, and longing to be with 
 him. 
 
 The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a favourable 
 epocl!. The stillness of the meeting soon gave way before their 
 popular manners and more diffused intimacies: little groups 
 were formed, and everybody grew comfortable. Fanny felt the 
 advantage; and, drawing back from the toils of civility, would 
 have been again most happy, could she have kept her eyes from 
 wandering between Edmund and Mary Crawford. She looked 
 all loveliness and what might not be the end of it? Her own 
 musings were brought to an end on perceiving Mr. Crawford 
 U'fore her, and her thoughts were put into another channel by 
 his engaging her almost instantly for the two first dances. Her 
 happiness on this occasion was very much a-Ia-mortal, finely 
 checkered. To be secure of a partner at first was a most essen- 
 tial good for the moment of beginning was now growing seri- 
 ously near ; and she so little understood her own claims as to 
 think that if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have 
 been the last to be sought after, and should have received a 
 partner only through a series of inquiry, and bustle, and inter- 
 ference, which would have been terrible; but at the same time 
 there was a pointedness in his manner of asking her, which she 
 did not like, and she saw his eye gland 'g for a moment at her 
 necklace with a smile she thought there was a smile wl.ic.li 
 made her blush and feel wretched. And though there was no 
 second glance to disturb her, though his object seemed then to be 
 only quietly agreeable, she could not get the better of her em- 
 barrassment, heightened as it was by the idea of his perceiving 
 it, and had no composure till he turned away to some one else. 
 Then she could gradually rise up to the genuine satisfaction of 
 having a partner, a voluntary partner secured against the 
 dancing bewail.
 
 192 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 When the company were moving into the ball-room, she found 
 herself for the first time near Miss Crawford, whose eyes and 
 smiles were immediately and more unequivocally directed as her 
 brother's had been, and who was beginning to speak on the sub- 
 ject, when Fanny, anxious to get the story over, hastened to give 
 the explanation of the second necklace the real chain. Miss 
 Crawford listened ; and all her intended compliments and insinu- 
 ations to Fanny were forgotten : she felt only one thing; and her 
 eyes, bright as they had been before, showing they could yet be 
 brighter, she exclaimed with eager pleasure, " Did he ? Did 
 Jvlmund? That was like himself. Xo other man would have 
 thought of it. I honour him beyond expression." And she 
 looked around as if longing to tell him so. He was not near, he 
 was attending a party of ladies out of the room ; and Mrs. Grant 
 coming up to the two girls, and taking an arm of each, they 
 followed with the rest. 
 
 Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking long 
 even of Miss Crawford's feelings. They were in the ball-room, 
 the violins were playing, and her mind was in a flutter that for- 
 bade its fixing on anything serious. She must watch the general 
 arrangements, and see how everything was done. 
 
 In a few minutes Sir Thomas came to her, and asked if she 
 were engaged; and the "Yes, sir, to Mr. Crawford," was exactly 
 what he intended to hear. Mr. Crawford was not far off; Sir 
 Thomas brought him to her, saying something which discovered 
 to Fanny, that she was to lead the way and open the ball ; an 
 idea that had never occurred to her before. Whenever she had 
 thought on the minutiae of the evening, it had been as a matter 
 of course that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford ; and 
 the impression was so strong, that though her uncle spoke the 
 contrary, she could not help an exclamation of surprise, a hint 
 of her unfitness, an entreaty even to be excused. To be urging 
 her opinion against Sir Thomas's, was a proof of the extremity 
 of the case ; but such was her horror at the first suggestion, that 
 she could actually look him in the face and say that she hoped it 
 might be settled otherwise ; in vain, however : Sir Thomas 
 smiled, tried to encourage her, and then looked too serious, and 
 said too decidedly " It must be so, my dear," for her to hazard 
 another word ; and she found herself the next moment conducted 
 by Mr. Crawford to the top of the room, and standing there to 
 be joined by the rest of the dancers, couple after couple as they 
 were formed. 
 
 She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many 
 elegant young women! The distinction was too great. It was 
 treating her like her cousins! And her thoughts flew to those 
 absent cousins with most unfeigned and truly tender regret, 
 that they were not at home to take their own place in the room,
 
 MANSFIELD PAltK. 1 93 
 
 and have their share of a pleasure which would have beea so 
 very delightful to them. So often as she had heard them wish 
 for a ball at home as the greatest of all felicities! And to have 
 them away when it was given and for her to be opening the 
 ball and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped they would not 
 envy her that distinction now ; but when she looked back to the 
 st.-ite of things in the autumn, to what they had all been to each 
 other when once dancing in that house before, the present arrange- 
 ment was almost more than she could understand herself. 
 
 The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to 
 Fawny, for the first dance at least : her partner was in excellent 
 spirits, and tried to impart them to her ; but she was a great 
 deal too much frightened to Lave any enjoyment, till she could 
 suppose herself no longer looked at. Young, pretty, and gentle, 
 however, she had no awkwardnesses that were not as good as 
 graces, and there were few persons present that were not dis- 
 posed to praise her. She was attractive, she was modest, she 
 was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon said to be admired by 
 Mr. Crawford. It was enough to give her general favour. Sir 
 Thomas himself was watching her progress down the dance witli 
 much complacency: he was proud of his niece; and without at- 
 tributing all her personal beauty, as Mrs. Norm seemed to do, 
 to her transplantation to Mansfield, he was pleased with himself 
 for having supplied everything else education and manners she 
 owed to him. 
 
 Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas's thoughts as he stood ; 
 and having in spite of all his wrongs towards her, a general 
 prevailing desire of recommending herself to him, took an op- 
 portunity of stepping aside to say some-thing agreeable of Fanny. 
 Her praise was warm, anil he received it as. sho could wish, 
 joining in it as far as discretion, and politeness, and slowness of 
 speech would allow, a:id certainly appearing to greater advan- 
 tage on the subject than his lady did soon afterwards, when 
 Mary, perceiving her on a. sofa very near, turned round before 
 she began to dar.ee, to compliment her on Miss Price's looks. 
 
 " Yes, she does look very well," was Lady Bertram's placid 
 reply. " Chapman helped her to dress. I sent Chapman to her." 
 Not but that she was really pleased to have Fanny admired; 
 but she was so much more struck with her own kindness in 
 sending Chapman to her, that she could not get it out of her 
 head. 
 
 Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of gratify- 
 ing her by commendation of Fanny; to her, it was as the oc- 
 casion offered. " Ah, ma'am, how much we want dear Mrs. 
 liushworth and Julia to-night!" and Mrs. Norris paid her with 
 as many smiles and courteous words as she had time for, amid 
 so much occupation as she found for heraciv n making up card- 
 
 0)
 
 1 94 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas, and trying to move all the 
 chaperons to a better part of the room. 
 
 Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in her 
 intentions to please. She meant to be giving her little heart a 
 happy flutter, and filling her with sensations of delightful self- 
 consequence ; and misinterpreting Fanny's blushes, still thought 
 .she must be doing so when she went to her after the two first 
 dances, and said, with a significant look, "Perhaps you can tell 
 me why my brother goes to town to-morrow ? He says he has 
 business there, but will not tell me what. The first time he 
 ever denied me his confidence ! But this is what we all come to. 
 All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must apply to you 
 for information. Pray, what is Henry going for?" 
 
 Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrass- 
 ment allowed. 
 
 " Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, laughing, " I must sup- 
 pose it to be purely for the pleasure of conveying your brother, 
 and talking of you by the way." 
 
 Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discontent; 
 while Miss Crawford wondered she did not smile, and thought 
 her over-anxious, or thought her odd, or thought her anything 
 rather than insensible of pleasure in Henry's attentions. Fanny 
 had a good deal of enjoyment in the course of the evening; but 
 Henry's attentions had very little to do with it. She would 
 much rather not have been asked by him again so very soon, 
 and she wished she had not been obliged to suspect that his 
 previous inquiries of Mrs. Norris, about the supper hour, were 
 all for the sake of securing her at that part of the evening. But 
 it was not to be avoided : he made her feel that she was the ob- 
 ject of all ; though she could not say that it was unpleasantly 
 .done, that there was indelicacy or ostentation in his manner 
 and sometimes, when he talked of William, he was really not 
 unagreeable, and showed even a warmth of heart which did him 
 credit. But still his attentions made no part of her satisfaction. 
 She was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw how 
 perfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five minutes that she 
 could walk about with him and hear his account of his partners ; 
 she was happy in knowing herself admired ; and she was happy in 
 having the two dances with Edmund still to look forward to, during 
 the greatest part of the evening, her hand being so eagerly sought 
 after, that her indefinite engagement with him was in continual 
 perspective. She was happy even when they did take place ; 
 but not from any flow of spirits on his side, or any such ex- 
 pressions of tender gallantry as had blessed the morning. His 
 mind was fagged, and her happiness sprung from being the 
 friend with whom it could find repose. " I am worn out with 
 civility," said he. " I have been talking incessantly all night,
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 195 
 
 and with nothing to say. But with you, Fanny, there may be 
 peace. You will not want to be talked to. Let us have the 
 luxury of silence." Fanny would hardly even speak her agree- 
 ment. A weariness, arising probably, in great measure, from 
 the same feelings which he had acknowledged in the morning, 
 was peculiarly to be respected, and they went down their two 
 dances together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any 
 looker-on, that Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for his 
 younger son. 
 
 The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss 
 Crawford had been in gay spirits when they iirst danced to- 
 gether, but it was not her gaiety that could do him good ; it 
 rather sank than raised his comfort: and afterwards for he 
 found himself still impelled to seek her again she had absolutely 
 pained him by her manner of speaking of the profession to which 
 he was now on the point of belonging. They had talked and 
 they had been silent he had reasoned she had ridiculed and 
 they had parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny, not able 
 to refrain entirely from observing them, had seen enough to be 
 tolerably satisfied. It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund 
 was suffering; yet some happiness must and would arise from 
 the very conviction that he did suffer. 
 
 When her two dances with him were over, her inclination and 
 strength for more were pretty well at an end; and Sir Thomas, 
 having seen her rather walk than dance down the shortening 
 set, breathless, and with her hand at her side, gave his orders for 
 her sitting down entirely. From that time Mr. Crawford sat 
 down likewise. 
 
 " Poor Fanny !" cried William, coming for a moment to visit 
 her, and working away his partner's fan as if for life : " how 
 soon she is knocked up! Why the sport is but just begun. I 
 hope we shall keep it up these two hours. How can you be 
 tired so soon ?" 
 
 " So soon ! my good friend," said Sir Thomas, producing his 
 watch with all necessary caution " it is three o'clock, and j-our 
 sister is not iised to this sort of hours." 
 
 " Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I 
 go. Sleep as long as you can, and never mind me." 
 " Oh, William." 
 
 " What! Did she think of being up before you set off?" 
 " Oh yes, sir," cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her seat to 
 be nearer her uncle ; "I must get up and breakfast with him. 
 It will be the last time, you know the last morning." 
 
 " You had better not. He is to have breakfasted and be gone 
 by half-past nine. Mr. Crawford, I think you call for him at 
 half-past nine?" 
 
 Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears in
 
 1 96 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 her eyes for denial; and it ended in a gracious "Well, well," 
 which was permission. 
 
 " Yes, half-past nine," said Crawford to William, as the latter 
 was leaving them, " and I shall be punctual, for there will be no 
 kind sister to get up for me." And in a lower tone to Fanny, 
 " I shall have only a desolate house to hurry from. Your 
 brother will find my ideas of time and his own very different 
 to-morrow." 
 
 After a short consideration, Sir Thomas asked Crawford to 
 join the early breakfast party in that house instead of eating 
 alone; he should himself be of it; and the readiness with which 
 his invitation was accepted convinced him that the suspicions 
 whence, he must confess to himself, this very ball had in a great 
 measure sprung, were well founded. Mr. Crawford was in love 
 with Fanny. He had a pleasing anticipation of what would be. 
 His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just 
 done. She had hoped to have William all to herself, the last 
 morning. It would have been an unspeakable indulgence. But 
 though her wishes were overthrown, there was no spirit of mur- 
 muring within her. On the contrary, she was so totally unused 
 to have her pleasure consulted, or to have anything take place at 
 all in the way she could desire, that she was more disposed to 
 wonder and rejoice in having carried her point so far, than to 
 repine at the counteraction which followed. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, Sir Thomas was again interfering a little 
 with her inclination, by advising her to go immediately to bed. 
 " Advise" was his word, but it was the advice of absolute power, 
 and she had only to rise and, with Mr. Crawford's very cordial 
 adieus, pass quietly away; stopping at the entrance door, like 
 the Lady of Branxholm Hall, " one moment and no more," to 
 view the happy scene, and take a last look at the five or six 
 determined couple, who were still hard at work and then, 
 creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the cease- 
 less country-dance, feverish with hopes and fears, soup and negus, 
 sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in 
 spite of everything, that a ball was indeed delightful. 
 
 In thus sending her away, Sir Thomas perhaps might not be 
 thinking merely of her health. It might occur to him, that 
 Mr. Crawford had been sitting by her long enough, or he might 
 mean to recommend her as a wife by showing her persuadableness.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HE ball was over and the breakfast was 
 soon over too; the last kiss was given, and 
 William was gone. Mr. Crawford had, as he 
 foretold, been very punctual, and short and 
 pleasant had been the meal. 
 : After seeing William to the last moment, 
 Jff$-$ Fanny walked back into the breakfast-room 
 with a very saddened heart to grieve over the 
 melancholy change ; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in 
 peace, conceiving, perhaps, that the deserted chair of each young 
 man might exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remain- 
 ing cold pork bones and mustard in William's plate, might but 
 divide her feelings with the broken egg-shells in Mr. Crawford's. 
 She sat and cried con amore as her uncle intended, but it was 
 con amore fraternal and no other. William was gone, and she 
 now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and 
 selfish solicitudes unconnected with him. 
 
 Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even think 
 of her aunt Norris in the meagrencss and cheerlessness of her 
 own small house, without reproaching herself for some little 
 want of attention to her when they had been last together; 
 much less could her feelings acquit her of having done and said 
 and thought everything by William, that was due to him for a 
 whole fortnight. 
 
 It was a heavy, melancholy day. Soon after the second 
 breakfast, Edmund bade them good-bye for a week, and mounted 
 his horse for Peterborough, and then all were gone. Nothing 
 remained of last night but remembrances, which she had nobody 
 to share in. She talked to her aunt Bertram she must talk to 
 somebody of the ball ; but her aunt had seen so little of what 
 had passed, and had so little curiosity, that it was heavy work. 
 Lady Bertram was not certain of anybody's dress or anybody's 
 place at supper, but her own. " She could not recollect what it 
 was that she had heard about one of the Miss Maddoxes, or what 
 it was that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny : she was not 
 sure whether Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford 
 or of William, when he said he was the finest young man in the 
 room; somebody had whispered something to her, she had 
 forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be." And these were 
 her longest speeches and clearest communications: the rest was 
 only a languid "Yes yes very well did you? did he? I 
 did not see that I should not know one from the other." This
 
 198 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 was very bad. It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp 
 answers would have been ; but she being gone home with all the 
 supernumerary jellies to nurse a sick maid, there was peace and 
 good humour in their little party, though it could not boast much 
 beside. 
 
 The evening was heavy like the day: " I cannot think what 
 is the matter with me," said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things 
 were removed. " I feel quite stupid. It must be sitting up so 
 late last night. Fanny, you must do something to keep me 
 awake. I cannot work. Fetch the cards, I feel so very 
 stupid." 
 
 The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with 
 her aunt till bedtime ; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself, 
 no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond 
 (he reckonings of the game: " And that makes thirty-one; four 
 in hand and eight in crib. You are to deal, ma'am; shall I 
 deal for you?" Fanny thought and thought again of the 
 difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and 
 all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and 
 smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing- 
 room, and out of the drawing-room, and everywhere. Now it 
 was languor, and all but solitude. 
 
 A good night's rest improved her spirits. She could think of 
 William the next day more cheerfully; and as the morning 
 afforded her an opportunity of talking over Thursday night witli 
 Mrs Grant and Miss Crawford, in a very handsome style, with 
 all the heightenings of imagination and all the laughs of play- 
 fulness which are so essential to the shade of a departed ball, 
 she could afterwards bring her mind without much effort into its 
 every-day state, and easily conform to the tranquillity of the 
 present quiet week. 
 
 They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known 
 there for a whole day together, and he was gone on whom the 
 comfort and cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal 
 chiefly depended. But this must be learned to be endured. He 
 would soon be always gone; and she was thankful that she 
 could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice, 
 receive his questions, and even answer them without such 
 wretched feelings as she had formerly known. 
 
 " We miss our two young men," was Sir Thomas's observation 
 on both the first and second day, as they formed their very 
 reduced circle after dinner; and in consideration of Fanny's 
 swimming eyes, nothing more was said on the first day tlian to 
 drink their good health ; but on the second it led to something 
 farther. William was kindly commended and his promotion 
 hoped for. "And there is no reason to suppose," added Sir 
 Thomas, " but that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 199 
 
 As to Edmund, we must learn to do without him. This will be 
 the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Bertram, " but I wish he was not going 
 away. They are all going away, I think. I wish they would 
 stay at home." 
 
 This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just 
 applied for permission to go to town with Maria ; and as Sir 
 Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the permission 
 should be granted, Lady Bertram, though in her own good- 
 nature she would not have prevented it, was lamenting the 
 change it made in the prospect of Julia's return, which would 
 otherwise have taken place about this time. A great deal of 
 good sense followed on Sir Thomas's side, tending to reconcile 
 his wife to the arrangement. Everything that a considerate 
 parent ought to feel was advanced for her use; and everything 
 that an affectionate mother must feel in promoting her children's 
 enjoyment was attributed to her nature. Lady Bertram agreed 
 to it all with a calm "Yes;" and at the end of a quarter of an 
 hour's silent consideration spontaneously observed, " Sir Thomas, 
 1 have been thinking and I am very glad we took Fanny as 
 we did, for now the others are away we feel the good of it." 
 
 Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by adding, 
 " Very true. "We show Fanny what a good girl we think her 
 by- praising her to her face she is now a very valuable com- 
 panion. If we have been kind to her, she is now quite as 
 necessary to us." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Bertram, presently ; " and it is a comfort 
 to think that we shall always have her." 
 
 Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and 
 gravely replied, " She will never leave us, I hope, till invited 
 to some other home that may reasonably promise her greater 
 happiness than she knows here." 
 
 " And that is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas. "Who should 
 invite her? Maria might be very glad to see her at Sotherton 
 now and then, but she would not think of asking her to live 
 there and I am sure she is better off here and besides, I cannot 
 do without her." 
 
 The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great 
 house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage. 
 To the young lady at least in each family it brought very 
 different feelings. What was tranquillity and comfort to Fanny 
 was tedionsness and vexation to Mary. Something arose from 
 difference, of disposition and habit one so easily satisfied, the 
 other so unused to endure; but still more might be imputed to 
 difference of circumstances. In some points of interest they were 
 exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny's mind, Edmund's 
 absence was really in its cause and its tendency a relief. To
 
 200 MANSFIELD 
 
 Mary it was every way painful. She felt the want of his society 
 every day, almost every hour, and was too much in want of it 
 to derive anything but irritation from considering the object for 
 which he went. He could not have devised anything more 
 likely to raise his consequence than this Aveek's absence, occurring 
 as it did at the very time of her brother's going away, of William 
 Price's going too, and completing the sort of general break-up of 
 a party which had been so animated. She felt it keenly. They 
 were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of 
 rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for. 
 Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions, 
 and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry 
 that they had hardly parted friends at the ball), she could not 
 help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his 
 merit and affection, and longing again for the almost daily 
 meetings they lately had. His absence was unnecessarily long. 
 He should not have planned such an absence he should not 
 have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mans- 
 field was so near. Then she began to blame herself. She wished 
 she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She 
 was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expres- 
 sions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been. 
 It was ill-bred it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid 
 with all her heart. 
 
 Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad, 
 but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and 
 brought no Edmund when Saturday came and still no Edmund 
 . and when, through the slight communication with the other 
 family which Sunday produced, she learned that he had actually 
 written home to defer his return, having promised to remain 
 some days longer with his friend. 
 
 If she had felt impatience and regret before, if she had been 
 sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong effect on him, 
 she now felt and feared it all tenfold more. She had, more- 
 over, to contend with one disagreeable emotion entirely new to 
 her jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen had sisters he might find 
 them attractive. But at any rate his staying away at a time 
 when, according to all preceding plans, she was to remove to 
 London, meant something that she could not bear. Had Henry 
 returned, as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, 
 she should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became abso- 
 Jftfely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to learn 
 spmefhuig more. She could not live any longer in such*6olitary 
 wretchedness and she made her way to the Park, through difti- 
 ulties of walking y/hich she had deemed unconquerable a week 
 Before, for the chance p.f hearing a little in addition, for the sake 
 flf at Je^st jiearmg his name.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 201 
 
 The first half hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram 
 were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope 
 for nothing. But at last Lady Bertram left the room and then 
 almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as 
 well regulated as she could: "And how do you like your 
 cousin Edmund's staying away so long? Being the only 
 young person at home, I consider you as the greatest sufferer. 
 You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you ?" 
 
 "I do not "know," said Fanny, hesitatingly. "Yes I had 
 not particularly expected it." 
 
 " Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is 
 the general way all young men do." 
 
 "He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen be- 
 fore. " 
 
 " He finds the house more agreeable now. He is a very a 
 very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help being 
 rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London, 
 as will now undoubtedly be the case. I am looking for Henry 
 every day, and as soon as he conies there will be nothing to de- 
 tain me at Mansfield. I should like to have seen him once more, 
 I confess. But you must give my compliments to him. Yes 
 I think it must be compliments. Is not there a something 
 wanted, Miss Price, in our language a something between 
 compliments and and love to suit the sort of friendly ac- 
 quaintance we have had together? So many months' acquaint- 
 ance ! But compliments may be sufficient here. Was his letter 
 a long one? Does he give you much account of what he is 
 doing? Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?" 
 
 " I only heard a part of the letter: it was to my uncle but I 
 believe it was very short; indeed I am sure it was but a few 
 lines. All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to 
 stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. A few days 
 longer, or some days longer, I am not quite sure which." 
 
 " Oh, if he wrote to his father but I thought it might have 
 been to Lady Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his father, no 
 wonder he was concise. Who could write chat to Sir Thomas ? 
 If he had written to you, there would have been more particu- 
 lars. You would have heard of balls and parties. He would 
 have sent you a description of everything and everybody. How 
 many Miss Owens are there?" 
 
 " Three grown up." 
 
 " Are they musical ?" 
 
 " I do not at all know. I never heard." 
 
 " That is the first question, you know," said Miss Crawford, 
 trying to appear gay and unconcerned, "which every woman 
 who plays herself is sure to ask about another. But it is very 
 foolish to ask questions about any young ladies about any three
 
 202 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 sisters just grown up ; for one knows, without being told, exactly 
 what they are all very accomplished and pleasing, and one 
 very pretty. There is a beauty in every family, it is a regular 
 thing. Two play on the piano-forte, and one on the harp and 
 all sing or would sing if they were taught or sing all the 
 better for not being taught or something like it." 
 
 " I know nothing of the Miss Owens," said Fanny, calmly. 
 
 " You know nothing and you care less, as people say. Never 
 did tone express indifference plainer. Indeed, how can one care 
 for those one has never seen? Well, when your cousin comes 
 back, he will find Mansfield very quiet ; all the noisy ones gone, 
 your brother and mine and myself. I do not like the idea of 
 leaving Mrs. Grant now the time draws near. She does not like 
 my going." 
 
 Fanny felt obliged to speak. "You cannot doubt your being 
 missed by many," said she. " You will be very much missed." 
 
 Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or 
 see more, and then laughingly said, " Oh yes, missed as every 
 noisy evil is missed when it is taken away ; that is, there is a 
 great difference felt. But I am not fishing ; don't compliment 
 me. If I am missed, it will appear. I may be discovered by 
 those who want to see me. I shall not be in any doubtful, or 
 distant, or unapproachable region." 
 
 Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Craw- 
 ford was disappointed ; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant 
 assurance of her power, from one who she thought must know : 
 and her spirits were clouded again. 
 
 "The Miss Owens," said she, soon afterwards, "suppose you 
 were to have one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacey : 
 how should you like it? Stranger things have happened. I 
 dare say they are trying for it. And they are quite in the right, 
 for it would be a very pretty establishment for them. I do 
 not at all wonder or blame them. It is everybody's duty to do 
 as well for themselves as they can. Sir Thomas Bertram's son 
 is somebody ; and now he is in their own line. Their father is 
 a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all 
 clergymen together. He is their lawful property, he fairly 
 belongs to them. You don't speak, Fanny Miss Price you 
 don't speak. But honestly now, do not you rather expect it 
 than otherwise ?" 
 
 " No," said Fanny, stoutly, " I do not expect it at all." 
 
 " Not at all !" cried Miss Crawford, with alacrity. " I wonder 
 at that. But I dare say you know exactly I always imagine 
 you are perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all 
 or not at present." 
 
 " No, I do not," said Fanny, softly, hoping she did not err 
 either in the belief or the acknowledgment.
 
 MANSFIELD PA&K. 203 
 
 Her companion looked at her keenly ; and gathering greater 
 spirit from the blush soon produced from such a look, only said, 
 " He is best oft' as he is," and turned the subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ISS CRAWFORD'S uneasiness was much 
 lightened by this conversation, and she 
 walked home again in spirits which might 
 have defied almost another week of the same 
 small party in the same bad weather, had 
 they been put to the proof; but as that very 
 evening brought her brother down from Lon- 
 don again in quite, or rather' more than 
 quite, his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing further to try her 
 own. His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but 
 the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might have irritated, 
 but now it was a pleasant joke suspected only of concealing 
 something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself. And 
 the next day did bring a surprise to her. Henry had said 
 he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be 
 back in ten minutes but he was gone above an hour; and when 
 his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the 
 garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried 
 out, " My dear Henry, where can you possibly have been all 
 this time?" he had only to say that he had been sitting with 
 Lady Bertram and Fanny. 
 
 " Sitting with them an hour and a half!" exclaimed Mary. 
 But this was only the beginning of her surprise. 
 " Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his, and walk- 
 ing along the sweep as if not knowing where he was " I could 
 not get away sooner Fanny looked so lovely! I am quite de- 
 termined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it as- 
 tonish you? No: you must be aware that I am quite determined 
 to marry Fanny Price." 
 
 The surprise was now complete; for, in spite of whatever his 
 consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such 
 views had never entered his sister's imagination ; and she looked 
 so truly the astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat 
 what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly. The con- 
 viction of his determination once admitted, it was not unwelcome. 
 There was even pleasure with the surprise. Mary was in a state 
 of mind to rejoice in a connexion with the Bertram family, and 
 to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath 
 him.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " Yes, Mary," was Henry's concluding assurance. " I am 
 fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began but 
 this is the end of them. I have (I natter myself) made no in- 
 considerable progress in her affections ; but my own are entirely 
 fixed." 
 
 " Lucky, lucky girl !" cried Mary, as soon as she could speak 
 " what a match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my 
 first feeling; but my second, which you shall have as sincerely, 
 is, that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your 
 happiness as heartily as I wish and desire it. You will have 
 a sweet little wife ; all gratitude and devotion. Exactly what 
 you deserve. What an amazing match for her! Mrs. Norris 
 often talks of her luck ; what will she say now? The delight of 
 all the family, indeed ! And she has some true friends in it. 
 How they will rejoice! But tell me all about it. Talk 
 to me for ever. When did you begin to think seriously about 
 her?" 
 
 Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a 
 question, though nothing can be more agreeable than to have it 
 asked. " How the pleasing plague had stolen on him " he could 
 not say; and before he had expressed the same sentiment with a 
 little variation of words three times over, his sister eagerly inter - 
 mpted him with " Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took 
 you to London ! This was your business ! You chose to con- 
 sult the Admiral, before you made up your mind." 
 
 But this he stoutly den'ed. He knew his uncle too well to 
 consult him on any matrimonial scheme. The Admiral hated 
 marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of 
 independent fortune. 
 
 " When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, " he will 
 dote on her. She is exactly the woman to do away every pre- 
 judice of such a man as the Admiral, for she is exactly such a 
 woman as he thinks does not exist in the world. She is the very 
 impossibility he would describe if indeed he has now delicacy 
 of language enough to embody his own ideas. But till it is ab- 
 solutely settled settled beyond all interference he shall know 
 nothing of the matter. No, Man,', you are quite mistaken. You 
 have not discovered my business yet." 
 
 " Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must 
 relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price wonder- 
 ful quite wonderful! That Mansfield should have done so 
 much for that you should have found your fate in Mansfield ! 
 But you are quite right, you could not have chosen better. 
 There is not a better girl in the world, and you do not want for 
 fortune; and as to her connexions, they are more than good. 
 The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this 
 country. She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be
 
 MANS11ELD 1'AKK. 205 
 
 enough for the world. But go on, go on. Tell me more. What 
 are your plans? Docs she know her own happiness?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What are you waiting for?" 
 
 " For for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is 
 not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain." 
 
 " Oh no, you cannot. Were you even less pleasing supposing 
 her not to love you already (of which, however, I can have little 
 doubt), you would be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of 
 her disposition would secure her all your own immediately. 
 From my soul I do not think she would many you without love; 
 that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninflu- 
 enced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but ask her to love 
 you, and she will never have the heart to refuse." 
 
 As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy 
 to tell as she could be to listen : and a conversation followed 
 almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had 
 in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell 
 on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty of face and figure, 
 Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the ex- 
 haustless theme. The gentleness, modest}', and sweetness of her 
 character were warmly expatiated on, that sweetness which 
 makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judg- 
 ment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he 
 can never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to 
 depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there 
 one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way 
 or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance? 
 Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her 
 brother ! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth 
 of her heart was equal to its gentleness ? What could be more 
 encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her 
 understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear: and 
 her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant 
 mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense 
 not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was 
 too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their 
 proper name; but when lie talked of her having such a steadi- 
 ness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and 
 such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the 
 fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what 
 was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and 
 religious. 
 
 " I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he, 
 " a .d that is what I want." 
 
 Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opi- 
 nion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in 
 her prospects.
 
 206 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " The more I think of it," she cried, " the more am I con- 
 vinced that you are doing quite right ; and though I should 
 never have selected Fanny Price as the girl most likely to attach 
 you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you 
 happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever 
 thought indued. You will both find your good in it." 
 
 " It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature ; but I 
 did not know her then. And she shall have no reason to lament 
 the hour that first put it into my head. I will make her very 
 happy, Mary, happier than she has ever yet been herself, or ever 
 seen anybody else. I will not take her from Northamptonshire. 
 I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood ; 
 perhaps Stanwix lodge. I shall let a seven years' lease of 
 Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word. 
 I could name three people now, who would give me my own 
 terms and thank me." 
 
 "Ha! cried Mary; "settle in Northamptonshire! That is 
 pleasant! Then we shall be all together," 
 
 When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it 
 unsaid ; but there was no need of confusion ; for her brother saw , 
 her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and re- 
 plied but to invite her in the kindest manner to his own house, 
 and to claim the best right in her. 
 
 " You must give us more than half your time," said he. " I 
 cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny 
 and myself, for we shall both have a right in you. Fanny will 
 be so truly your sister !" 
 
 Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances ; 
 but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither 
 brother nor sister many months longer. 
 
 " You will divide your year between London and Northamp- 
 tonshire?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's right; and in London, of course, a house of your 
 own ; no longer with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the ad- 
 vantage to you of getting aM 7 ay from the Admiral before your 
 manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have con- 
 tracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your 
 dinner, as if it were the best blessing of life ! You are not 
 sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you ; 
 but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving 
 of you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or 
 deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart." 
 
 " Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The Admiral 
 has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more 
 than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my 
 own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against 
 him. I must have them love one another."
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 207 
 
 Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could 
 not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners 
 were less accordant : time would discover it to him ; but she 
 could not help this reflection on the Admiral. " Henry, I think so 
 highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Craw- 
 ford would have half the reason which my poor ill used aunt had to 
 abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible ; 
 but I know you ; I know that a wife you loved would be the 
 happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she 
 would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to 
 make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, 
 was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer. 
 
 " Had you seen her this morning, Mary," he continued, " at- 
 tending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the 
 demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her, and for her, 
 her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over the work, 
 then returning to her seat to finish a note which she was pre- 
 viously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and 
 all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if it were 
 a matter of course that she was not to have a moment at her own 
 command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one 
 little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then 
 shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at inter- 
 vals to me, or listening, and as if she liked to listen to what I 
 said. Had you seen her so, Man', you would not have implied 
 the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing." 
 
 " My dearest Henry," cried Mary, stopping short, and smiling 
 in his face, " how glad I am to see you so much in love ! It 
 quite delights me. But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia 
 say?" 
 
 " I care neither what they say nor what they feel. They will 
 now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can 
 attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them any 
 good. And they wall now see their cousin treated as she ought 
 to be, and I wish they may be. heartily ashamed of their own 
 abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," he 
 added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone, " Mrs. 
 Kushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to her ; that 
 is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments' ill flavour, 
 and then be swallowed and forgotten ; for I am not such a cox- 
 comb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's, 
 though /was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will 
 feel a difference indeed, a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour 
 of every being who approaches her ; and it will be the com- 
 pletion of my happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that
 
 208 MANSFIELD PAIIK. 
 
 I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due. Now 
 she is dependent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten." 
 
 " Nay, Henry, not by all ; not forgotten by all ; not friendless 
 or forgotten. Her cousin Kdmund never forgets her." 
 
 " Edmund True, I believe he is (generally speaking) kind to 
 her ; and so is Sir Thomas in his way, but it is the way of a ( 
 rich, superior, longworded, arbitrary uncle. What can Sir 
 Thomas and Edmund together do, what do they do for her happi- 
 ness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world to what I shall 
 do?" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 .ENRY CRAWFORD was at Mansfield Park 
 again the next morning, and at an earlier 
 hour than common visiting warrants. The 
 two ladies were together in the breakfast- 
 room, and fortunately for him Lady Ber- 
 ' tram was on the very point of quitting it as 
 ^> he entered. She was almost at the door, and 
 not choosing by any means to take so much 
 trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short 
 sentence about being waited for, and a " Let Sir Thomas know," 
 to the sen-ant. 
 
 Henry, overjoyed to have her go. bowed and watched her off, 
 and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, 
 and, taking out some letters, said, with a most animated look, 
 " I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature 
 who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone : I have 
 been wishing it more than you can have any idea. Knowing as I 
 do what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne 
 that any one in the house should share with you in the first know- 
 ledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother is 
 a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating 
 you on your brother's promotion. Here are the letters which 
 announce it, this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, like 
 to see them." 
 
 Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To 
 see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, 
 the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity 
 was enough. She took the letters as he gave them. The first 
 was from the Admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words, of 
 his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the pro- 
 motion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the 
 Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 209 
 
 Kefc to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself, 
 by which it appeared that his Lordship had the very great hap- 
 piness of at I ''in ling to the recommendation of Sir Charles; that 
 Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity 
 of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the cir- 
 cumstance of Mr. William Price's commission as Second Lieu- 
 tenant of II. M. Sloop Thrush being made out was spreading 
 general joy through a wide circle of great people. 
 
 \Yhi'c !n r hand was trembling under these letters, her eye 
 running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emo- 
 tion, Crawford thus continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to ex- 
 press his interest in the event : 
 
 " I Avill not talk of my own happiness," said he, " great as it 
 is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you, who has a 
 right to be happy ? I have almost grudged myself my own 
 prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the 
 world. I have not lost a moment, however. The post was late 
 this morning, but there has not been since a moment's delay. 
 How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the sub- 
 ject, I will not attempt to describe ; how severely mortified, how 
 cruelly disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in 
 London ! I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it, 
 for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have 
 detained me half the time from Mansfield. But though my 
 uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, 
 and exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from 
 the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which 
 at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and knowing in 
 what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday, 
 trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be fol- 
 lowed by such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very 
 best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, 
 after seeing your brother. He was delighted with him. I would 
 not allow myself, yesterday, to say how delighted, or to repeat 
 half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all till 
 his praise should be proved the praise of a friend, as this 
 day does prove it. Now I may say that even 7 could not re- 
 quire William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed 
 by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most 
 voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they passed 
 together." 
 
 "Has this been all your doing, then?" cried Fanny. "Good 
 Heaven ! how very, very kind ! Have you really was it by your 
 desire ? I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral 
 Crawford apply? how was it? I am stupefied." 
 
 Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by begin- 
 ning at "an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what 
 (1) o
 
 210 MANSFIELD PAEK. 
 
 he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken 
 with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill 
 Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest 
 he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. 
 He had communicated it to no creature ; he had not breathed a 
 syllable of it even to Mary ; while uncertain of the issue, he 
 could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this ' 
 had been his business ; and he spoke with such a glow of what 
 his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was 
 so abounding in the deepest interest, in twofold motives, in views 
 and wishes more than could be told, that Fanny could not have 
 remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend ; but 
 her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she 
 could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, 
 and saying only when he pauseJ, " How kind ! how very kind ! 
 Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you. Dearest, 
 dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in haste towards 
 the door, crying out, " I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought 
 to know it as soon as possible." lint this could not be suffered. 
 The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He 
 was after her immediately. " She must not go, she must allow 
 him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back 
 to her seat, and was in the middle of his further explanation, 
 before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she 
 did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe 
 that she had created sensations which his heart had never known 
 before, and that every tiling he had done for William was to ! 
 placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment 
 to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for so me moments unable 
 to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and 
 gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour ; she could 
 not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, 
 and in such a way as she had not deserved ; but it was like him- 
 self, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before ; and 
 she would not allow herself to show half the displeasure she felt, 
 because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of 
 delicacy on his part could make a trills to her. While her heart 
 was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, 
 she could not bi severely resentful of anything that injured 
 only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and 
 twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and 
 said only, with much agitation, " Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray 
 don't. I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking 
 wliieh is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot 
 boar it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection, 
 soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as lo bear but 
 pne meaning even to !'.ri; ofiering hansel'', hand, for*unc, every-
 
 MANSFIELD PAHK. 2i\ 
 
 thing to her acceptance. It was so ; he had said il. Her astonish- 
 ment and confusion increased ; and though still not knowing 
 how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed 
 for an answer. 
 
 "No, no, no," she cried, hiding her faee. " This is all non- 
 sense. Do not distress me. I can hear no more of this. Your 
 kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words 
 can express ; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen 
 to such No, no, don't think of me. But you are not thinking 
 of me. I know it is all nothing." 
 
 She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas 
 was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room 
 they were in. It was no time for further assurances or entreaty, 
 though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone 
 seemed to his sanguine and preassured mind to stand in the way 
 of the happiness he sought was a cruel necessity. She rushed 
 out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, 
 and was walking up and down the east room in the utmost con- 
 fusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politeness or 
 apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joy- 
 ful intelligence which his visiter came to communicate. 
 
 She was feeling, thinking, trembling, about everything ; agi- 
 tated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It 
 was all beyond belief ! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible ! 
 But such were his habits, that he could do nothing without a 
 mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of 
 human beings, and now he had insulted she knew not what to 
 say how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have 
 him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words 
 and oilers, if they meant but to trille? 
 
 But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a 
 doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever 
 and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never 
 address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was 
 to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him 
 for his friendship to William ! 
 
 She would not stir farther from the east room than the head 
 of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Craw- 
 ford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being 
 gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have 
 all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit 
 of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be 
 William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyful as she coidd 
 desire, and very kind and communicative ; and she had so com- 
 fortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if 
 nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards the 
 close, that Mr, Crawford was engaged to return and dine there
 
 212 MANSFIELD 1 J AKK. 
 
 that very day. This was a most unwelcome hearing, lor though 
 he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite 
 distressing to her to see him again so soon. 
 
 She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner 
 hour approached, to feel and appear as visual; but it was quite 
 impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when 
 their visitor entered the room She could not have supposed it 
 in the power of any concurrence of circumstances to give her so 
 many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's 
 promotion. 
 
 Mr. Crawford was not only in the room he was soon close to 
 her. HQ had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not 
 look at him, but there was no consciousness of past folly in his 
 voice. She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything 
 to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgettings of 
 her aunt Norris, who was aLo to dine there, screened her a little 
 from view. 
 
 " MY- DKAII FAXNY, for so I may now always call you, to 
 the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at Miss 
 Price for at least the last six weeks, I cannot let my brother 
 go without sending you a few lines of general congratulation, 
 and giving niy most joyful consent and approval. Go on, my 
 dear Fanny, and without fear; there can be no difficulties 'worth 
 naming. I choose to suppose that the assurance of my consent 
 will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest 
 .smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than 
 he goes, 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " M. C." 
 
 These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though 
 she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest 
 judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she 
 meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even 
 to appear to believe it serious. Shs did not know what to do, 
 or what to think. Them was wretchedness in the idea of its 
 1) 'ing serious; there was perplexity and agitation every way. 
 She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and ho 
 spoke to her much too often ; and she was afraid there was a some- 
 thing in his voice and manner in addressing her very different 
 from what they were when he talked to the others. Her com- 
 fort in that day's dinner was quite destroyed: she could hardly 
 eat anything ; and when Sir Thomas good humouredly observed, 
 that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with 
 shame, from the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation ; for 
 though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the 
 right hand, where he sat, she felt that his were immediately di- 
 rected towards her
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 213 
 
 She was more silent tlian ever. She would hardly join even 
 when William vras the subject, for his commission came all from 
 the right hand too, and there was pain in the connection. 
 
 She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began 
 to be in despair of ever getting away; but at last they went 
 in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would, 
 while her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in 
 their own style. 
 
 Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it 
 would lie to Sir Thomas as with any part of it. " Now William 
 would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference 
 to his uncle, for it was known how much he had cost his 
 uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in hi r 
 presents, too. She was very glad that she had given William 
 what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in 
 h'T i tower, without material inconvenience, just at that time to 
 give him something rather considerable ; that is, for her, with 
 her limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to 
 lit ii]) his cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he 
 would have many things to buy, though to be sure his father 
 and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting every- 
 thing very cheap but she was very glad she had contributed 
 her mite towards it." 
 
 " I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady 
 Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, " for / gave him 
 only 10." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. " Upon my word, 
 he must have gone off with his pockets well lined ! and at no 
 expense for his journey to London either !'' 
 
 " Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough." 
 
 Mrs. Xonis being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, 
 began to take the matter in another point. 
 
 " It is jiuijixii.g, 1 ' said she, " how much young people cost their 
 friends, what with bringing tiirm up and putting them out in tl>e 
 world ! They little think how much it comes to, or what their 
 parents, or their uncles nnd aunts, pay for them in th> course <:' 
 the year. Now, here are my sister Price's children; take th; 1:1 
 altogether, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum thi-y 
 cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for 
 them." 
 
 " Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things ! they can- 
 not help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir 
 Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl, if he goes 
 to the East Indies; arid I shall give him a commission for any 
 thing else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the Ka.-t 
 Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two 
 shawls, Fanny."
 
 214 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, 
 was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss 
 Crawford were at. There was everything in the world against 
 their being serious, but his words and manner. Everything 
 natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and 
 ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. How could she 
 have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, 
 and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely 
 her superiors who seemed so little open to serious impressions, 
 even where pains had been taken to please him who thought 
 so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points who 
 was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential 
 to Mm ? And further, how could it .be supposed that his sister, 
 with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be 
 forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter ? 
 Nothing could be more unnatural in either. Fanny was ashamed 
 of her own doubts. Everything might be possible rather than 
 serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her. 
 She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and 
 Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining 
 the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the 
 room ; for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she 
 did not know how to class among the common meaning ; in any 
 other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something 
 very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried to believe it no 
 more than what he might often have expressed towards her 
 cousins and fifty other women. 
 
 She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the 
 rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at 
 intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all 
 engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him evcrj r 
 opportunity. 
 
 At lastit seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, though 
 not remarkably late he began to talk of going away ; but the 
 comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next 
 moment, and saying, " Have you nothing to send to Mary ? 
 No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives 
 nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line." 
 
 " Oh yes, certainly," cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of 
 embarrassment and of wanting to get away, " I will write 
 directly." 
 
 She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit 
 of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without 
 knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Craw- 
 ford's note only once: and how to reply to anything so imper- 
 fectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpractised in 
 such sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 2 1 5 
 
 fears as to style she would have felt them in abundance : but 
 something must be instantly written ; and with only one decided 
 feeling, [that of wishing not to appear to think anything really 
 intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and 
 hand : 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, 
 for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest 
 William. The rest of your note I know means nothing ; but I 
 am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will ex- 
 cuse my begging you to take no further notice. I have seen too 
 much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners ; if lie 
 understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently. 
 I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of 
 you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the 
 honour of your note, 
 
 " I remain, dear Miss Crawford, 
 
 " &c. fcc," 
 
 The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, 
 for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the 
 note, was coming towards her. 
 
 " You cannot think I mean to hurry you," said he, in an un- 
 der voice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which she 
 made up the note; "you cannot think I have any such object. 
 Do not hurry yourself, I entreat." 
 
 " Oh, I thank you, I have quite done, just done it will be 
 ready in a moment I am very much obliged to you if you 
 will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford." 
 
 The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she in- 
 stantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, 
 where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to go in good 
 earnest. 
 
 Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agita- 
 tion, both of pain and pleasure; but happily, the pleasure was 
 not of a sort to die with the day for every day would restore 
 the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she 
 hoped, would return no more. She had no doubt that her note 
 must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would 
 disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement ; 
 but at least it would assure them both of her being neither im- 
 posed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions. 
 
 END OF THK SKCON'D VOLUME,
 
 21G 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 VOLUME THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 i ANXY had by no means forgotten ?..>. 
 Crawford when she awoke the next morning ; 
 
 jbut she remembered the purport of her note, 
 
 Dand was not less sanguine, as to its effects, 
 |?than she had been the night before. If Mr. 
 
 'Crawford would but go away! That was 
 what she most earnestly desired; go and 
 
 'take his sister with him, as he was to do, 
 and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it 
 was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford 
 certainly wanted no delay. Fanny had hoped, in the course of 
 his yesterday's visit, to hear the day named; but he had only 
 spokeii of their journey as what would take place ere long. 
 
 Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note would 
 convev, she could not but be astonished to see Mr. Crawford, as 
 she accidentally did, coming up to the house again, and at an hour 
 as early as the day before. His coming might have nothing to 
 do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible; and 
 being then in her way up stairs, she resolved there to remain, 
 during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for; and as 
 Mrs. Norris was still i.i the house, there seemed little danger of 
 her being wanted. 
 
 She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, 
 t rumbling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no 
 footsteps approached the east room, she grew gradually composed, 
 could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope 
 that Mr. Crawford had come, and would go without her being 
 obliged to know anything of the matter. 
 
 Xearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very 
 comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular 
 approach was heard a heavy step, an unusual stop in that part 
 of the house ; it was her uncle's ; she knew it as well as his voice ;
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 217 
 
 she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at 
 the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be 
 the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas, who opened the door 
 and asked if she were there, and if lie might come in. The 
 terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all 
 renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again 
 in French and English. 
 
 She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him, 
 and trying to appear honoured; and in her agitation, had quite 
 overlooked the deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping 
 short is he entered, said, with much surprise, " Why have you 
 no fire to-day?" 
 
 There was .snow on the ground, and she was sitting iu a shawl. 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " I am not cold, sir I never sit here long at this time of 
 year." 
 
 " But you have a fire in general?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Haw comes this about; here must be some mistake. I 
 understood that you had the use of this room by way of making 
 you perfectly comfortable. In your bedchamber I know you 
 cannot have a fire. Here is some great misapprehension which 
 must be rectified. It is highly unfit for you to sit. be it only 
 half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. You 
 are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this." 
 
 Fanny would rather have been silent; but being obliged to 
 speak, she could not forbear, in justice to the aunt she loved best, 
 from saying something in which the words " my aunt Norria " 
 were distinguishable. 
 
 " I understand," cried her uncle, recollecting himself, and not 
 wanting to hear more " I understand. Your aunt Norris has 
 always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people's 
 being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there 
 should be moderation in everything. She is also vory hardy 
 herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the 
 wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly 
 comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. 
 The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I 
 bc-lieve has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that 
 there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; 
 but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever 
 harbour resentment on that account. You have an under- 
 standing which wiil prevent you from receiving things only in 
 part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the 
 whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and proba- 
 bilities, an<l you will feel that they were not least your friends 
 who were educating find preparing you fur that mediocrity of
 
 2 18 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution 
 may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant ; and of 
 this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will 
 be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have 
 been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of 
 you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the 
 respect and attention that are due to her. But enough of this. 
 Sit down, my dear. I must speak to you for a few minutes, 
 but I will not detain you long." 
 
 Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After 
 a moment's pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went 
 on. 
 
 " You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor this 
 morning. I had not been long in my own room, after breakfast, 
 when Mr. Crawford was shown in. His errand you may pro- 
 bably conjecture." 
 
 Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle, per- 
 ceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree that made either 
 speaking or looking up quite impossible, turned away his own 
 eyes, and without any farther pause proceeded in his account of 
 Mr. Crawford's visit. 
 
 Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himself the lover 
 of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and entreat the sanction 
 of the uncle, who seemed to stand in the place of her parents ; 
 and he had done it all so well, so openly, so liberally, so properly, 
 that Sir Thomas, feeling, moreover, his own replies, and his own 
 remarks to have been very much to the purpose, was exceedingly 
 happy to give the particulars of their conversation, and little 
 aware of what was passing in his niece's mind, conceived that by 
 such details he must be gratifying her far more than himself. He 
 talked, therefore, for several minutes without Fanny's daring to 
 interrupt him. She had hardly even attained the wish to do it. 
 Jler mind was in too much confusion. She had changed her 
 position; and, with her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, 
 was listening to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay. 
 For a moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious of 
 it, when, rising from his chair, he said, "And now, Fanny, 
 having performed one part of my commission, and shown you 
 everything placed on a basis the most assured and satisfactory, 
 I may execute th remainder by prevailing on you to accompany 
 me down stairs, where, though I cannot but presume on having 
 been no unacceptable companion myself, I must submit to your 
 finding one still better worth listening to. Mr. Crawford, as 
 you have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in my 
 room, and hoping to see you there." 
 
 There was a look, a start, an exclamation, on hearing this, 
 which astonished Sir Thomas; but what was his increase of
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 219 
 
 astonishment on hearing her exclaim: "Oh no, sir, I cannot, 
 indeed I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford ought to know 
 he must know that I told him enough yesterday to convince 
 him he spoke to me on this subject yesterday and I told him 
 without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite 
 out of my power to return his good opinion." 
 
 " I do not catch your meaning," said Sir Thomas, sitting down 
 again. "Out of your power to return his good opinion! what 
 is all this? I know lie spoke to you yesterday, and (as far as I 
 understand) received as much encouragement to proceed as a 
 well-judging young woman could permit herself to give. I was 
 very much pleased with what I collected to have been your 
 behaviour on the occasion ; it showed 4 discretion highly to be 
 commended. But now, when he has made his overtures so 
 properly, and honourably what are your scruples now ?" 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir," cried Fanny, forced by the anxiety 
 of the moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong, " you 
 are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such n thing? 
 I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I 
 told him I cannot recollect my exact words but I am sure I 
 told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very un- 
 pleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to 
 talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I said as much as 
 that and more ; and I should have said still more, if I had been 
 quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not 
 like to be I could not bear to be imputing more than might 
 be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with him." 
 
 She could say no more ; her breath was almost gone. 
 
 "Am I to understand," said Sir Thomas, after a few moments' 
 silence, " that you mean to refuse Mr. Crawford?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Refuse him?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what 
 reason?" 
 
 " I I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him." 
 
 " This is very strange!" said Sir Thomas, in a voice of calm 
 displeasure. " There is something in this which my comprehen- 
 sion does not reach. Here is a young man wishing to pay his 
 addresses to you, with everything to recommend him; not merely 
 situation in life, fortune, and character, but with more than 
 common agreeableness, with address and conversation pleasing 
 to everybody. And he is not an acquaintance of to-day, you 
 have now known him some time. His sister, moreover, is your 
 intimate friend, and he has been doing that for your brother, 
 which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient 
 recommendation to you, had there been no other. It is very
 
 220 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 uncertain when my interest might have got William on. He 
 has done it already." 
 
 "Yes," said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down with 
 fresh shame; and she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after 
 such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. 
 Crawford. 
 
 " You must have been aware," continued Sir Thomas pre- 
 sently, " you must have been some time aware of a particularity 
 in Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have taken you 
 by surprise. You must have observed his attentions; and 
 though you always received them very properly (I have no ac- 
 cusation to make on that head), I never perceived them to be 
 unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that 
 you do not quite know your own feelings." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, indeed I do. His attentions were always 
 what I did not like." 
 
 Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. " This is 
 beyond me," said he. " This requires explanation. Young as 
 you are, and having seen scarcely any one, it is hardly possible 
 that your affections " 
 
 He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into 
 a no, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like 
 scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl might be very com- 
 patible with innocence ; and choosing at least to appear satisiied, 
 he quickly added, "No, no, I know that is quite out of the ques- 
 tion quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said." 
 
 And for a few minutes he did say nothing. Pie was deep in 
 thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to 
 harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. She 
 would rather die than own the truth ; and she hoped by a little 
 reflection to fortify herself beyond betraying it. 
 
 " Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford's choice 
 seemed to justify," said Sir Thomas, beginning again, and very 
 composedly, " his wishing to marry at all so early is recommend- 
 atory to me. I am an advocate for early marriages, where tlu-re 
 are means in proportion, and would have every young man, with 
 a sufficient income, settle as soon after four-and-twenty us he 
 can. This is so much my opinion, that I am sorry to think 
 how little likely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr. Bertram, 
 is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, matri- 
 mony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I wish he wore 
 more likely to fix." Here was a glance at Fanny. " Edmund 
 I consider from his dispositions and habits as much more likely 
 to marry early than his brother. He, indeed, I have lati-ly 
 thought has seen the woman lie could love, which, I am con- 
 vinced, my eldest son has not. Am I right '? Do you agree 
 with nit', my dear?"
 
 MANbllELD 1'AUK. 221 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was 
 (Msy on th ._ score of the cousins. 15ut the removal of his alarm 
 ilid I'.is in'.'re no service: as her unaccountableness was confirmed 
 his di.spK-asure increased; and getting up and walking about the 
 room, with a frown, which Fanny could picture to herself, though 
 si-.;' dared not lift up her eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a 
 voice of authority, said, "Have you any reason, child, to think 
 ill of Mr. Crawford's temper ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 She longed to add, " but of his principles I have ;" but her 
 heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, explana- 
 tion, and probably non-conviction. Her ill opinion of him was 
 founded chiefly on observations, which, for her cousins' sake, she 
 could scarcely dare mention to their father. Maria and Julia, 
 and especially Maria, were so closely implicated in Mr. Craw- 
 lord's misconduct, that she could not give his character, such as 
 she believed it, without betraying them. She had hoped that to a 
 man like her uncle, so discerning, so honourable, so good, the 
 simple acknowledgment of settled dislike on her side, would 
 have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not. 
 
 Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in tremb- 
 ling wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold sternness, said, 
 " It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put 
 an en I to this most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must 
 nut bo kept longer waiting. I will, therefore, only add, as 
 thinking it my duty to mark my opinion of your conduct, that 
 you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and 
 proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had 
 supposed. For I had, Fanny, as I think ray behaviour must 
 have shown, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the 
 period of my return to England. I had thought you peculiarly 
 free from wilfulness of temper, self-conceit, and every tendency 
 to that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern 
 days, even in young women, and which in young women is 
 offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. But you 
 have now shown me that you can be wilful and perverse, tliat 
 you can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration 
 or deference for those who have surely some right to guide you 
 without even asking their advice. You have shown yourself 
 very, very different from anything that I had imagined; The 
 advantage or disadvantage of your family of your parents 
 your brothers and sisters never seems to have had a moment's 
 share in your thoughts on this occasion. How they might be 
 benefitted, how they must rejoice in such an establishment for 
 you, is nothing to you. You think only of yourself; and be- 
 cause you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young,
 
 222 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve 
 to refuse him at once, without wishing even for a little time to 
 consider of it, a little more time for cool consideration, and for 
 really examining your own inclinations, and are, in a wild lit 
 of folly, throwing away from you such an opportunity of being 
 settled in life, eligibly, honourably, nobly settled, as will, pro- 
 bably, never occur to you again. Here is a young man of sense, 
 of character, of temper, of manners, and of fortune, exceedingly 
 attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most handsome 
 and disinterested way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you 
 may live eighteen years longer in the world, without being ad- 
 dressed by a man of half Mr. Crawford's estate or a tenth part 
 of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own 
 daughters on him. Maria is nobly married ; but had Mr. Craw- 
 ford sought Julia's hand, I should have given it to him with 
 superior and more heartfelt satisfaction than I gave Maria's to 
 Mr. Rush worth." After half a moment's pause "And I should 
 have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on 
 receiving a proposal of marriage at any time which might carry 
 with it only half the eligibility of this, immediately and peremp- 
 torily, and without paying my opinion or my regard the com- 
 pliment of any consultation, put a decided negative on it. I 
 should have been much surprised and much hurt, by such a 
 proceeding. I should have thought it a gross violation of duty 
 and respect. You are not to be judged by the same rule. You 
 do not owe me the duty of a child, lint, Fanny, if your heart 
 can acquit you of ingratitude " 
 
 He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly, that, 
 angry as he was, he would not press that article farther. Her 
 heart was almost broken by such a picture of what she appeared 
 to him ; by such accusations, so heavy, so multiplied, so rising 
 in dreadful gradation ! Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and un- 
 grateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his 
 expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to 
 become of her ? 
 
 " I am very sorry," said she, inarticulately, through her tears, 
 "I am very sorry, indeed." 
 
 " Sorry ! yes, I hope you are sorry ; and you will probably 
 have reason to be long sorry for this day's transactions." 
 
 "If it were possible for me 'to do otherwise," said she, with 
 another strong effort, " but I am so perfectly convinced that I 
 could never make him happy, and that I should be miserable 
 myself." 
 
 Another burst of tears ; but in spite of that burst, and in spite 
 of that great black word miserable, which served to introduce it, 
 Sir Thomas began to think a little relenting, a little change of 
 inclination, might have something to do with it ; and to augur
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 223 
 
 favourably from the personal entreaty of the young man him- 
 self. He knew her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous ; 
 and thought it not improbable that her mind might be in such a 
 state as a little time, a little pressing, a little patience, and a 
 little impatience, a judicious mixture of all on the lover's side, 
 might work their usual effect on. If the gentleman would but 
 persevere if he had but love enough to persevere Sir Thomas 
 began to have hopes ; and these reflections having passed across 
 his mind and cheered it, " Well," said he, in a tone of becoming 
 gravity, but of less anger, " well, child, dry up your tears. 
 There is no use iu the.se tear.;; they can do no good. You must 
 now come down stairs with me. Mr. Crawford has been kept 
 waiting too long already. You must give him your own answer: 
 we cannot expect him to be satisfied with less ; and you only can 
 explain to him the grounds of that misconception of your senti- 
 ments, which, unfortunately for himself, he certainly has imbibed. 
 I am totally unequal to it." 
 
 But Fanny showed such reluctance, such misery, at the idea 
 of going down to him, that Sir Thomas, after a little considera- 
 tion, judged it better to indulge her. His hopes from both gentle- 
 man and lady suffered a small depression in consequence ; but 
 when he looked at his niece, and saw the state of feature 
 and complexion which her crying had brought her into, he 
 thought there might be as much lost as gained by an immediate 
 interview. With a few words, therefore, of no particular mean- 
 ing, he walked oft' by himself, leaving his poor niece to sit and 
 cry over what had passed with very wretched feelings. 
 
 Her mind was all disorder. The past, present, future, every- 
 thing was terrible. But her uncle's anger gave her the severest 
 pain of all. Selfish and ungrateful ! to have appeared so to him! 
 She. was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to 
 counsel, or speak for her. Her o:;ly friend was absent. He 
 might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think 
 her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the re- 
 proach again and again ; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to 
 exist for ever in every connection about her. She could not but 
 feel some resentment against Mr. Crawford; yet, if he really 
 loved her, and were unhappy too ! it was all wretchedness 
 together. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour lier uncle returned ; she was 
 almost ready to faint at the sight of him. He spoke calmly, 
 however, without austerity, without reproach, and she revived a 
 little. There was comfort, too, in his words, as well as his manner, 
 for he began with, " Mr. Crawford is gone ; he has just left me. 
 I need not repeat what has passed. I do not want to add to any- 
 thing you may now be feeling, by an account of what he has felt. 
 Suflice it, tjiat he has behaved in the most gentlemanlike and
 
 224 MANSFIELD PAUK. 
 
 generous manner ; and has confirmed me in a most favourable 
 (.pinion of his understanding, heart, and temper. Upon my re- 
 presentation of what you were suffering, he immediately, and 
 with the greatest delicacy, ceased to urge to see you for the 
 present." 
 
 Here Fanny, who had looked up, looked down again. 
 
 " Of course," continued her uncle, "it cannot be supposed but 
 that he should request to speak with you alone, be it only for 
 live minutes; a request too natural, a claim too just to be denied. 
 But there is no time fixed, perhaps to-morrow, or whenever your 
 spirits are composed enough. For the present you have only to 
 tranquillise yourself. Check these tears; they do but exhaust 
 you. If, as I am willing to suppose, you wish to show me any 
 observance, you will not give way to these emotions, but 
 endeavour to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I 
 advise you to go out, the air will do you good; go out for an 
 hour on the gravel, you will have the shrubbery to yourself, and 
 will be the better for air and exercise. And, Fanny (turning 
 back again for a moment), I shall make no mention below of 
 what has passed; I shall not even tell your aunt Bertram, 
 There is no occasion for spreading the disappointment; say 
 nothing about it yourself." 
 
 This was an order to be most joyfully obeyed; this was an 
 act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. To be spared 
 from her aunt Morris's interminable reproaches! he left her in 
 a glow of gratitude. Anything might be bearable rather than 
 such reproache;. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less 
 overpowering. 
 
 She Avalked out directly, as her uncle recommended, and 
 followed his advice throughout, as far as she could ; did check 
 her tear?, did earnestly try to compose her spirits, and strengthen 
 her mind. She wished to prove to him that she did desire his 
 comfort, and sought to regain his favour; and he had given her 
 another strong motive for exertion, in keeping the whole affair 
 from the knowledge of her aunts. Not to excite suspicion by 
 her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she 
 felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her 
 aunt Norris. 
 
 She was. struck, quite struck, when, on returning from her 
 walk, and going into the east room again, the first thing which 
 caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning. A fire ! it seemed 
 too much; just at that time to be giving her such an indulgence, 
 was exciting even painful gratitude. She wondered that Sir 
 Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again; but 
 she soon found, from the voluntary information of the housemaid, 
 who came in to attend it, that so it was to be every day. Sir 
 Thomas had given orders for it.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 225 
 
 " I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!' 1 
 said she, in soliloquy. " Heaven defend me from being un- 
 grateful!" 
 
 She saw nothing more of her unele, nor of her aunt Norns, 
 till they met at dinner. Her uncle's behaviour to her was then 
 as nearly as possible what it had been before; she was sure he 
 did not mean there should be any change, and that it was only 
 her own conscience that could fancy any : but her aunt was soon 
 quarrelling with her; and when she found how much and how 
 unpleasantly her having only walked out without her aunt's 
 knowledge could be dwelt on, she felt all the reason she had to 
 bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of 
 reproach, exerted her on a more momentous subject. 
 
 " If I had known you were going out, I should have got you 
 just to go as far as my house with some orders for Nanny," said 
 she, "which I have since, to my very great inconvenience, been 
 obliged to go and carry myself. I could very ill spare the time, 
 and you might have saved me the trouble, if you would only 
 have been so good as to let us know you were going out. It 
 would have made no difference to you, I suppose, whether you 
 had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house." 
 
 " I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place," 
 said Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Norris, with a moment's check, " that was 
 very kind of you, Sir Thomas ; but you do not know how dry 
 the path is to my house. Fanny would have had quite as good 
 a walk there, I assure you ; with the advantage of being of some 
 use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her fault. If she would but 
 have let us know she was going out but there is a something 
 about Fanny, I have often observed it before she likes to go her 
 own way to work; she docs not like to be dictated to; she takes 
 her own independent walk, whenever she can: she certainly has 
 a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about 
 her, which I would advise her to get the better of." 
 
 As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing 
 could be more unjust, though he had been so lately expressing 
 the same sentiments himself, and he tried to turn the conversa- 
 tion; tried repeatedly before he could succeed; for Mrs. Norris 
 had not discernment enough to perceive, either now, or at any 
 other time, to what degree he thought well of his niece, or how 
 very far lie was from wishing to have his own children's merits 
 set oft' by the depreciation of hers. She was talking at Fanny, 
 and resenting this private walk half through the dinner. 
 
 It was over, however, at last; and the evening set in with 
 
 more composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness of spirits than 
 
 she could have hoped for after so stormy a morning: but she 
 
 trusted, in the first place, that she had done right, that her 
 
 (1)
 
 226 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 judgment had not misled her; for the purity of her intentions 
 she could answer; and she was willing to hope, secondly, that 
 her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as 
 he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a 
 good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how 
 hopeless, and how wicked it was, to marry without affection. 
 
 When the meeting with which she was threatened for the 
 morrow was past, she could not but flatter herttelf that the sub- 
 ject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone 
 from Mansfield, that everything would soon be as if no such 
 subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr. 
 Crawford's affection for her could distress him long ; his mind 
 was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In 
 London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be 
 thankful for the right reason in her, which had saved him from 
 its evil consequences. 
 
 While Fanny's mind was engaged in this sort of hopes, her 
 uncle was soon after tea called out of the room ; an occurrence 
 too common to strike her, and she thought nothing of it till the 
 butler reappeared ten minutes afterwards, and advancing decidedly 
 towards herself, said, " Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you, 
 ma'am, in his own room." Then it occurred to her what might 
 be going on ; a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the 
 colour from her cheeks ; but instantly rising, she was preparing 
 to obey, when Mrs. Norris called out, " Stay, stay, Fanny! what 
 are you about? where are you going? don't be in such a hurry. 
 Depend upon it, it is not you that are wanted; depend upon it, 
 it is me (looking at the butler) ; but you are so very eager to 
 put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? 
 It is me, Baddeley, you mean; I am coming this moment. You 
 mean me, Baddeley, I am sure ; Sir Thomas wants me, not Miss 
 Price." 
 
 But Baddeley was stout. " No, ma'am, it is Miss Price : I 
 am certain of its being Miss Price." And there was a half smile 
 with the words which meant, " I do not think you would answer 
 the purpose at all." 
 
 Mrs. Norris, much discontented, was obliged to compose her- 
 self to work again; and Fanny, walking oft" in agitating con- 
 sciousness, found herself, as she anticipated, in another minute 
 alone with Mr. Crawford.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 conference was neither so short, nor so 
 3 conclusive, as the lady had designed. The 
 P gentleman was not so easily satisfied. He 
 i had all the disposition to persevere that Sir 
 'Thomas could wish him. He had vanity, 
 [ which strongly inclined him, in the first place, 
 'to think she did love him, though she might 
 not know it herself; and which, secondly, 
 when constrained at last to admit that she did know her owu 
 present feelings, convinced him that he should be able in time to 
 make those feelings what he wished. 
 
 He was in love, very much in love; and it was a love which, 
 operating on an active, sanguine spirit, of more warmth than 
 delicacy, made her affection appear of greater consequence, because 
 it was withheld, and determined him to have the glory, as well 
 as the felicity, of forcing her to love him. 
 
 He would not despair: he would not desist. He had every 
 well-grounded reason for solid attachment; he knew her to ha\v 
 all the worth that could justify the warmest hopes of lasting 
 happiness with her: her conduct at this very time, by speaking 
 the disinterestedness and delicacy of her character (quail !!<;> 
 which lie believed most rare indeed), was of a sort to heighten 
 all his wishes, and confirm all his resolutions. He knew not 
 that he had a pre-engaged heart to attack. Of that he had no 
 suspicion. He considered her rather as one who had never 
 thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had he; n 
 guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of person ; whose 
 modesty had prevented her from understanding his attentions, 
 and who was still overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so 
 wholly unexpected, and the novelty of a situation which her 
 fancy had never taken into account. 
 
 Must it not follow of course, that, when he was understood, ha 
 should succeed? he believed it fully. Love such as Ids, in a 
 man like himself, must with perseverance secure a return, and at 
 no great distance ; and he had so much delight in the idea of 
 obliging her to love him in a very short time, that her not loving 
 him now was scarcely regretted. A little difficulty to l>e over- 
 come was no evil to Henry Crawford. He rather derived spirits 
 from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too easily. His situa- 
 tion was new and animating. 
 
 To Fanny, however, who had known too much opposition all 
 her life to find any charm in it, all tlus was unintelligible. She 
 found that he did mean to persevere; but how he could, after 
 such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was
 
 228 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 not to be understood. She told him that she did not love him, 
 could not love him, was sure she never should love him : that 
 such a change was quite impossible ; that the subject was most 
 painful to her ; that she must entreat him never to mention it 
 again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered 
 as concluded for ever. And when farther pressed, had added, 
 that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar, as 
 to make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were un- 
 fitted for each other by nature, education, and habit. All this 
 she had said, and with the earnestness of sincerity ; yet this was 
 not enough, for he immediately denied there being anything un- 
 congenial in their characters, or anything unfriendly in their 
 situations ; and positively declared, that he would still love, and 
 still hope! 
 
 Fanny knew her own meaning, but was no judge of her own 
 manner. Her manner was incurably gentle ; and she was not 
 aware how much it concealed the sternness of her purpose. Her 
 diffidence, gratitude, and softness, made every expression of in- 
 difference seem almost an effort of self-denial ; seem, at least, to 
 give nearly as much pain to herself as to him. Mr. Crawford 
 was no longer the Mr. Crawford who, as the clandestine, insi- 
 dious, treacherous admirer of Maria Bertram, had been her ab- 
 horrence, whom she had hated to see or to speak to, in whom 
 she could believe no good quality to exist, and whose power, 
 even of being agreeable, she had barely acknowledged. He was 
 now the Mr. Crawford who was addressing herself with ardent, 
 disinterested love; whose feelings were apparently become all 
 that was honourable and upright, whose views of happiness were 
 all fixed on a marriage of attachment ; who was pouring out his 
 sense of her merits, describing and describing again his affection, 
 proving, as far as words could prove it, and in the language, 
 tone, and spirit of a man of talent, too, that he sought her for 
 her gentleness and her goodness ; and to complete the whole, 
 he was now the Mr. Crawford who had procured William's pro- 
 motion ! 
 
 Here was a change, and here were claims which could not but 
 operate! She might have disdained him in all the dignity of 
 angry virtue, in the grounds of Sotherton, or the theatre at 
 Mansfield Park; but he approached her now with rights that 
 demanded different treatment. She must be courteous, and she 
 must be compassionate. She must have a sensation of being 
 honoured, and whether thinking of herself or her brother, she 
 must have a strong feeling of gratitude. The effect of the 
 whole was a manner so pitying and agitated, and words inter- 
 mingled with her refusal so expressive of obligation and con- 
 cern, that to a temper of vanity and hope like Crawford's, the 
 truth, or at least the strength of her indifference, might well be
 
 MAXS11ELD 1'AUK. '22<J 
 
 questionable : and be was not so irrational as Fanny considered 
 him, in the professions of persevering, assiduous, and not de- 
 sponding attachment which closed the interview. 
 
 It was with reluctance that he suffered her to go ; but there 
 was no look of despair in parting to belie his words, or give her 
 hopes of his being less unreasonable than he professed himself. 
 
 Now she was angry. Some resentment did arise at a perse- 
 verance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of 
 delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and 
 disgusted her. Here was again a something of the same Mr. 
 Crawford whom she had so reprobated before. How evidently 
 was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own 
 pleasure was concerned ; and alas ! how always known no prin- 
 ciple to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in. Had 
 her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have 
 been he never could have engaged them. 
 
 So thought Fanny in good truth and sober sadness, as she sat 
 musing over that too great indulgence and luxury of a fire up- 
 stairs wondering at the past and present, wondering at what 
 was yet to come, and in a nervous agitation which made nothing 
 clear to her but the persuasion of her being never under any 
 circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford, and the felicity of 
 having a fire to sit over and think of it. 
 
 Sir Thomas was obliged or obliged himself to wait till the 
 morrow for a knowledge of what had passed between the young 
 people. He then saw Mr. Crawford, and received his account. 
 The first feeh'ng was disappointment : he had hoped better 
 things ; he had thought that an hour's entreaty from a young 
 man like Crawford could not have worked so little change on a 
 gentle-tempered girl like Fanny ; but there was speedy comfort 
 in the determined views and sanguine perseverance of the lover; 
 and when seeing such confidence of success in the principal, Sir 
 Thomas Avas soon able to depend on himself. 
 
 Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, or 
 kindness, that might assist the plan. Mr. Crawford's steadiness 
 was honoured, and Fanny was praised, and the connexion was 
 still the more desirable in the world. At Mansfield Park, Mr. 
 Crawford would always be welcome ; he had only to consult his 
 own judgment and feelings as to the frequency of his visits, at 
 present or in future. In all the niece's family and friends, there 
 could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject ; the influence 
 of all who loved her must incline one way. 
 
 Everything was said that could encourage, every encourage- 
 ment received with grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the 
 best of friends. 
 
 Satisfied that the cause was now on a footing the most proper 
 and hopeful, Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all farther
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 importunity with his niece, and to show no open interference. 
 Upon her disposition he believed kindness might be the best way 
 of working. Entreaty shoidd be from one quarter only. The 
 forbearance of her family on a point, respecting which she could 
 be in no doubt of their wishes, might be their surest means o for- 
 warding it. Accordingly, on this principle Sir Thomas took the 
 lirst opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity, intended to 
 be overcoming, " Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. Crawford again, 
 ;;nd learn from him exactly how matters stand between you. 
 He is a most extraordinary young man, and whatever be the 
 event, you must feel that you have created an attachment of no 
 common character; though, young as you are, and little ac- 
 quainted with the transient, varying, unsteady nature of love, 
 as it generally exists, you cannot bo struck as I am with all 
 that is wonderful in a perseverance of this sort against discou- 
 ragement. With him, it is entirely a matter of feeling: he 
 claims no merit in it, perhaps is entitled to none. Yet, having 
 chosen so well, his constancy has a respectable stamp. Had his 
 choice been less unexceptionable, I should have condemned his 
 persevering." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Fanny, " I am very sorry that Mr. Craw- 
 f.ird should continue to I know that it is paying me a very 
 ; :reat compliment, and I feel most undeservedly honoured, but I 
 ;iiii so perfectly convinced, and I have told him so, that it never 
 v/ill be in my power " 
 
 " My dear," interrupted Sir Thomas, " there is no occasion for 
 tiiis. Your feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and 
 ivgrets must be to you. There is nothing more to be said or 
 i lone. From this hour, the subject is never to be revived 
 lutwcen us. You will have nothing to fear, or to be agitated 
 ;:bout. You cannot suppose me capable of trying to persuade 
 you to marry against your inclinations. Your happiness and 
 advantage are all that I have in view, and nothing is required 
 of you but to bear with Mr. Crawford's endeavours to convince 
 you that they may not he incompatible with his. He proceeds 
 at his own risk. You are on safe ground. I have engaged for 
 your seeing him whenever he calls, as you might have done had 
 nothing of this sort occurred. You will see him with the rest of 
 us, in the same manner, and, as much as you can, dismissing the 
 recollection of everything unpleasant. He leaves Northampton- 
 shire so soon, that even this slight sacrifice cannot be often de- 
 manded. The future must be very uncertain. And now, my 
 dear Fanny, this subject is closed between us." 
 
 The promised departure was all that Fanny could think of 
 with much satisfaction. Her uncle's kind expressions, however, 
 and forbearing manner, were sensibly felt ; and when she con- 
 sidered how much of the truth was unknown to him, she be-
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 23 1 
 
 lioved she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he 
 pursued. He who had married a daughter to Mr. Rush-worth. 
 Romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him. 
 She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty 
 easier than it now was. 
 
 She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr. Crawford's 
 attachment would hold out for ever ; she could not but imagine 
 that steady, unceasing discouragement from herself would put an 
 end to it in time. How much time she might, in her own 
 fancy, allot fur its dominion, is another concern. It would not 
 be fair to inquire into a young lady's exact estimate of her own 
 perfections. 
 
 In spite of his intended silence, Sir Thomas found himself once 
 more obliged to mention the subject to his niece, to prepare her 
 briefly for its being imparted to her aunts ; a measure which he 
 vrotild still have avoided, if possible, but which became neces- 
 sary from the totally opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford, as to 
 any secrecy of proceeding. He had no idea of concealment. It 
 was all known at the Parsonage, where he loved to talk over the 
 future with both his sisters : and it would be rather gratifying to 
 him to have enlightened witnesses of the progress of his success. 
 When Sir Thomas understood this, he felt the necessity of 
 making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the 
 business without delay; though, on Fanny's account, he almost 
 dreaded the effect of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much 
 as Fanny herself. He deprecated her mistaken, but well-mean- 
 ing zeal. Sir Thomas, indeed, was, by this time, not very far 
 from classing Mrs. Xorris as one of those well-meaning people 
 who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable things. 
 
 Mrs. Xorris, however, relieved him. He pressed for the 
 strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece ; she not only 
 promised, but did observe it. She only looked her increased 
 ill-will. Angry she was bitterly angry; but she was more 
 angry with Fanny for having received such an offer, than for 
 refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought 
 to have been Mr. Crawford's choice; and, independently of that, 
 she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she 
 would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had 
 been always trying to depress. 
 
 Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion 
 than she deserved ; and Fanny could have blessed her for allow- 
 ing her only to see her displeasure, and not to hear it. 
 
 Lady Bertram took it differently. She had been a beauty, 
 and a prosperous beauty, all her life; and beauty and wealth 
 were all that excited her respect. To know Fanny to be sought, 
 in marriage by a man of fortune, raised her, therefore, very 
 much in her opinion. By convincing her that Fanny was very
 
 232 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 pretty, which she had been doubting about before, and that she 
 would be advantageously married, it made her feel a sort of 
 credit in calling her niece. 
 
 " "Well, Fanny," said she, as soon as they were alone together 
 afterwards, and she really had known something like impatience 
 to be alone with her, and her countenance, as she spoke, had ex- 
 traordinary animation, ""Well, Fanny, I have had a very 
 agreeable surprise this morning. I must just speak of it once, 
 I told Sir Thomas I must once, and then I shall have done. I 
 give you joy, my dear niece." And looking at her complacently, 
 she added, " Humph we certainly are a handsome family." 
 
 Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; when 
 hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side, she presently an- 
 swered, 
 
 " My dear aunt, you cannot wish me to do differently from 
 what I have done, I am sure. You cannot wish me to marry ; 
 for you would miss me, should not you? Yes, I am sure you 
 would miss me too much for that." 
 
 " No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when such 
 an offer as this comes in your way. I could do very well with- 
 out you, if you were married to a man of such good estate as Mr. 
 Crawford. And you must be aware, Fanny, that it is every 
 young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable offer 
 as this." 
 
 This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of 
 advice, which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the 
 course of eight years and a half. It silenced her. She felt how 
 unprofitable contention would be. If her aunt's feelings were 
 against her, nothing could be hoped from attacking her under- 
 standing. Lady Bertram was quite talkative. 
 
 " I will tell you what, Fanny," said she, "I am sure he fell 
 in love with you at the ball ; I am sure the miscliief was done 
 that evening. You did look remarkably well. Everybody said 
 so. Sir Thomas said so. And you know you had Chapman to 
 help you dress. I am very glad I sent Chapman to you. I shall 
 tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that evening." And 
 still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts, she soon afterwards 
 added, " And I will tell you what, Fanny which is more than 
 I did for Maria the next time pug has a litter you shall have a 
 puppy."
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AJiK. 233 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DMUND had great tilings to hear on his re- 
 'turn. Many surprises were awaiting him. 
 The first that occurred was not least in in- 
 terest, the appearance of Henry Crawford 
 and his sister walking together through the 
 , village as he rode into it. He had concluded 
 > he had meant them to be far distant. His 
 absence had been extended beyond a fortnight 
 purposely to avoid Miss Crawford, He was returning to Mans- 
 field with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and 
 tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning 
 on her brother's arm ; and ho found himself receiving a welcome, 
 unquestionably friendly from the woman whom, two moments 
 before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as far- 
 ther, much farther from him in inclination than any distance 
 could express. 
 
 Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have 
 hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from 
 such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have 
 expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words 
 of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in 
 a glow, and to bring him home in the most proper state for feeling 
 the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand. 
 
 William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon 
 master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within 
 his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of 
 most gratifying sensation, and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner-- 
 time. 
 
 After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had 
 Fanny's history ; and then all the great events of the last fort- 
 night, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were 
 known to him. 
 
 Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much 
 longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they 
 must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away, 
 and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully 
 guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and 
 pressed it kindly ; and at that moment she thought that, but for 
 the occupation and the scene which the tea-things afforded, she 
 must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess. 
 
 He was not intending, however, by such action, to be con* 
 veying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement 
 which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express
 
 234 MANSFIELD PAUK. 
 
 his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he 
 had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He 
 was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His 
 surprise was not so great as his father's, at her refusing Craw- 
 ford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with 
 anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be 
 rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly 
 unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connection as 
 more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to 
 him ; and while honouring her for what she had done under the 
 influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rathei 
 stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most 
 earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a 
 match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would 
 appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them 
 Messed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to con- 
 sider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not 
 given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong 
 end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition 
 as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy 
 conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrass- 
 ment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a 
 second time, by any word, or look, or movement. 
 
 Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's 
 return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to 
 stay dinner ; it was really a necessary compliment. He stayed 
 of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing 
 how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate en- 
 couragement for him might be extracted from her manners ; and 
 it was so little, so very, very little, (every chance, every possi- 
 bility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was 
 not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else), that 
 he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. 
 Fanny was worth it all ; be held her to be worth every effort of 
 patience, every exertion of mind but he did not think he could 
 have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without some- 
 thing more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in 
 hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer ; 
 and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that 
 lie could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, 
 and after dinner. 
 
 In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought 
 more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the draw- 
 ing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and 
 silently at work as if thTe were nothing else to care for. 
 Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tran- 
 quillity,
 
 MAJS'SFIKLD 1'AUK. 235 
 
 " We have not been so silent all the time," replied hi.s mother. 
 ' Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down 
 upon hearing you coming." And sure enough there was a book 
 <>n the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a 
 volume of Shakspeare. " She often reads to me out of those 
 books ; and she was in the middle of a very line speech of that 
 man's what's his name, Fanny? when we heard your footsteps." 
 
 Cnuvford took the volume. "Let me have the pleasure of 
 finishing that speech to your Ladyship," said he. " I shall find 
 it immediately." And by carefully giving way to the inclina- 
 tion of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite 
 near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon 
 as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got 
 the very speech. Not a look, or an offer of help had Fanny 
 given ; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for 
 her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing 
 else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract 
 her mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; his reading was 
 capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good 
 reading, however, she had been long used; her uncle read well 
 her cousins all Edmund very well ; but in Mr. Crawford's 
 rc'iding there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had 
 ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, 
 Cromwell, all were given in turn ; for with the happiest knack, 
 the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he coidd always 
 light, at will, on the best scene, or the best speeches of each ; 
 and whether it were dignity or pride, or tenderness or remorse, 
 or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal 
 bjauty. It was truly dramatic. His acting had first taught 
 Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought 
 all his lieting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoy- 
 ment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback 
 as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with 
 .Mi.-.s Fieri ram. 
 
 F.dmund watched the progress of her attention, and was 
 amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened- in 
 the needlework, which, at the beginning, seemed to occupy her 
 totally ; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over 
 it and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously 
 to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on 
 Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till 
 the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was 
 closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking 
 again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; 
 but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his 
 friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing 
 Fanny's secret feelings too.
 
 236 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 "That play must be a i'avourite with you," said he; "you 
 read as if you knew it well." 
 
 " It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied 
 Crawford: " but I do not think I have had a volume of Shak- 
 speare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry 
 the Eighth acted, or I have heard of it from somebody who 
 did I am not certain which. But Shakspeare one gets ac- 
 quainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an English- 
 man's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread 
 abroad that one touches them every where; one is intimate with 
 him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part 
 of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning 
 immediately." 
 
 " No doubt one is familiar with Shakspeare in a degree," said 
 Edmund, "from cne's earliest years. His celebrated passages 
 are quoted by everybody : they are in half the books we open, 
 and we all talk Shakspeare, use his similies, and describe with 
 his descriptions ; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense 
 as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common 
 enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is perhaps, not un- 
 common ; but to read him well aloud is no every -day talent." 
 
 " Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bow 
 of mock gravity. 
 
 Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of 
 accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet botli feeling 
 that it could not be. Her praise had been given in her attention ; 
 that must content them. 
 
 Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too. 
 " It was really like being at a play," said she. " I wish Sir 
 Thomas had been here." 
 
 Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with 
 with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the 
 inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, 
 must feel, was elevating. 
 
 " You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford," 
 said her Ladyship soon afterwards " and I will tell you what, I 
 think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house 
 in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do, indeed. 
 I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk." 
 
 " Do you, ma'am?" cried he, with quickness. " No, no, that 
 will never be. Your Ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre 
 at Everingham ! Oh, no." And he looked at Fanny with an 
 expressive smile, which evidently meant, " that lady will never 
 allow a theatre at Everingham." 
 
 Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see 
 it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the 
 full meaning of the protestation ; and such a quick consciousness
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 237 
 
 of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, 
 was rather favourable than not. 
 
 The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two 
 young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, 
 talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total 
 inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the 
 consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural, 
 degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well- 
 informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading 
 aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of 
 blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of 
 management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of 
 foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause, want 
 of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again 
 with great entertainment. 
 
 " Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile, " how 
 little the art of reading has been studied! how little a clear 
 manner, and good delivery, have been attended to! I speak 
 rather of the past, however, than the present There is now a 
 spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were 
 ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to 
 judge by their performance, must have thought reading was 
 reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. 
 The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness 
 and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid 
 truths; and, besides, there is more general observation and taste, 
 a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congre- 
 gation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the 
 matter, and who can judge and criticise." 
 
 Edmund had already gone through the service once since his 
 ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of 
 questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success ; questions 
 which being made though with the vivacity of friendly interest 
 and quick taste without any touch of that spirit of banter or 
 air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny, 
 he had true pleasure in satisfying ; and when Crawford proceeded 
 to ask his opinion and give his own as to the most proper manner 
 in which particular passages in the r.ervice should be delivered, 
 showing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and 
 thought with j udgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. 
 This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be 
 won by all that gallantry and wit, and good-nature together, 
 could do ; or at least, she would not be won by them nearly so 
 soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and 
 seriousness on serious subjects. 
 
 " Our liturgy," observed Crawford, " has beauties, which not 
 even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy ; but it has
 
 238 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not 
 to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always 
 so attentive as I ought to be (here was a glance at Fanny); that 
 nineteen times out of twenty, I am tliinking how such a prayer 
 ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself. Djd 
 you speak?" stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in 
 a softened voice; and upon her saying, "No," he added, "Are 
 you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied 
 you might be going to tell me I might to be more attentive, and 
 not allow my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell 
 me so?" 
 
 " No, indeed, you know your duty too well for ine to even 
 supposing ' 
 
 She stopped, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be 
 prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes 
 of supplication and waiting. lie then returned to his fornv. r 
 station, and went on as if there had been no such tender inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than 
 prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. 
 It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is, 
 the rules and trick of composition are oftcner an object of study. 
 A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, isaci.pilal 
 gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest 
 admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders 
 and preach myself. There is something in the eloquence of the 
 pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest 
 praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such 
 a heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long 
 worn thread-bare in all common hands; who can say anything 
 new or striking, anything that rouses the attention, without 
 offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, 
 is a man whom one could not (in his public capacity) honour 
 enough. I should like to be such a man." 
 
 Edmund laughed. 
 
 " I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher 
 in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a 
 London audience. I could not preach, but to the educated ; to 
 those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I 
 do not know that I should be fond of preaching often ; now and 
 then, perhaps, once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously 
 expected for half-a-dozen Sundays together; but not for a con- 
 stancy; it would not do for a constancy." 
 
 Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her 
 head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, enlreatiiu; 
 to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his d raw in;;' 
 in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 239 
 
 thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, 
 lie sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and 
 took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little 
 Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of 
 the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly 
 trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in 
 murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of "A most 
 desirable Estate in South Wales" " To Parents and Guardians" 
 and a " Capital season'd Hunter." 
 
 Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as 
 motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to .sec- 
 Edmund's arrangements, was trying, by everything in the powt-r 
 of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid 
 both his looks and inquiries ; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting 
 in both. 
 
 " What did that shake of the head mean ?" said lie. "What 
 was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what? 
 What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think mo 
 speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject? 
 Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong. I want 
 to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put 
 down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?" 
 
 In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't pray, Mr. Crawford" 
 repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away. In 
 the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he 
 went on, re-urging the same questions as before. She grew more 
 agitated and displeased. 
 
 " How can you, sir? You quite astonish me I wonder ho\v 
 you can 
 
 " Do 1 astonish you?" said he. " Do you wonder? Is there 
 anything in my present intreaty that you do not understand ? 
 I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in 
 this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and 
 do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to 
 wonder long." 
 
 In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she 
 said nothing. 
 
 " You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should 
 not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a 
 constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy. I am not afraid 
 of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody. 
 I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought?" 
 
 " Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking 
 " perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know 
 yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment." 
 
 Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was de- 
 termined to keep it up ; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence
 
 240 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mis- 
 taken, and that it was only a change from one object of curi- 
 osity and one set of words to another. He had always some- 
 thing to entreat the explanation of. The opportunity was too 
 fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's 
 room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield. 
 Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a 
 trifle, for she might always be considered as only half awake, 
 and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility. 
 
 " Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and 
 reluctant answers " I am happier than I was, because I now 
 understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me 
 unsteady easily swayed by the whim of the moment easily 
 tempted easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder 
 
 that But we shall see. It is not by protestations that I 
 
 shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged, it is not by tell- 
 ing you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak 
 for me absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall 
 prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do de- 
 serve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit ; all that I 
 know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to 
 exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some 
 touches of the angel in you beyond what not merely beyond 
 what one sees, because one never sees anything like it ; but be- 
 yond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. 
 It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is 
 out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit 
 the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best 
 right to a return. There I build my confidence. By that right 
 I do and will deserve you ; and when once convinced that my 
 attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to en- 
 tertain the warmest hopes Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny 
 Nay (seeing her draw back displeased) forgive me. Perhaps 
 I have as yet no right but by what other name can I call you ? 
 Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under 
 any other ? No, it is ' Fanny' that I think of all day, and 
 dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of 
 sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you." 
 
 Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have 
 refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too 
 public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound 
 of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long 
 watching for. and long thinking strangely delayed. 
 
 The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, 
 urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her 
 from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford 
 was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she 
 was protected.
 
 MANSFIELD i'Afcit. 241 
 
 Edmund was not rorry to be admitted again among the miin- 
 licr of those who might speak and hear. Hut though the con- 
 ference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at 
 Fanny he saw rather a Hush of vexation, he inclined to hope 
 that so much could not have been s;\M and listened to, without 
 some profit to the speaker. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 -j, DMUND had determined that it belonged 
 : ^f entirely to Fanny to choose whether her situ- 
 "ift, ation with regard to Crawford should be 
 mentioned between them or not ; and that if 
 she did not lead the way, it should never be 
 touched on by him ; but after a day or two 
 of mutual reserve, he was induced by Ins 
 father to change his mind, and try what his 
 influence might do for kis friend. 
 
 A daj-, and a very early day, was actually fixed for the 
 Crawfords' departure ; and Sir Thomas thought it might be as 
 well to make one more effort for the young man before he left 
 Mansfield, that all his professions and vows of unshaken attach- 
 ment might have as much hope to sustain them as possible. 
 
 Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection of 
 Mr. Crawford's character in that point. He wished him to be 
 a model of constancy ; and fancied the best means of effecting 
 it would be by not trying him too long. 
 
 Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage in the 
 business ; he wanted to know Fanny's feelings. She had been 
 used to consult him in every difficulty, and he loved her too well 
 to bear to be denied her confidence now; he hoped to he of ser- 
 vice to her, he thought he must be of service to her whom else 
 had she to open her" heart to ? If she did not need counsel, she 
 must need the comfort of communication. Fanny estranged 
 from him, silent, and reserved, was an unnatural state of things ; 
 a state which he must break through, and which he could easily 
 learn to think she was wanting him to break through. 
 
 " I will speak to her, sir ; I will take the first opportunity of 
 speading to her alone," was the result of such thoughts as these ; 
 find upon Sir Thomas's information of her being at that very 
 time walking alone in the shrubbery, he instantly joined her. ^ 
 
 " I am come to walk with you, Fanny," said he. " Shall I ?" 
 (drawing her arm within his,) " it is a long while since we 
 have had a comfortable walk together." 
 
 She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her Fpirits 
 were low. CJ
 
 242 MANSFIELD 
 
 " But, Fanny," he presently added, " in order to have a coiri- 
 fortable walk, something more is necessary than merely pacing 
 this gravel together. You must talk to me. I know you have 
 something on your mind. I know what you are thinking of. 
 You cannot suppose me uninformed. Am I to hear of it from 
 everybody but Fanny herself?" 
 
 Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, " If you hear 
 of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to 
 tell." 
 
 " Not of facts, perhaps ; but of feelings, Fanny. No one but 
 you can tell me them. I do not mean to press you, however. 
 If it is not what you wish yourself, I have done. I had thought 
 it might be a relief." 
 
 " I am afraid we think 'too differently, for me to find any re- 
 lief in talking of what I feel." 
 
 " Do you suppose that we think differently ? I have no idea of 
 it. I dare say, that on a comparison of our opinions, they would 
 be found as much alike as they have been used to be : to the 
 point I consider Crawford's proposals as most advantageous and 
 desirable, if you could return his affection. I consider it as most 
 natural that all your family should wish you could return it ; 
 but that as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in 
 refusing him. Can there be any disagreement between us 
 here ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you 
 were against me. This is such a comfort !" 
 
 " This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had you 
 sought, it. But how could you possibly suppose me against you ? 
 How could you imagine me an advocate for marriage without 
 love ? Were I even careless in general on such matters, how 
 could you imagine me so where your happiness was at stake ?" 
 
 " My uncle thought me wrong and I knew he had been talk- 
 ing to you." 
 
 " As far as yon have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. 
 I may be sorry, I may be surprised though hardly that, for 
 vou had not had time to attach yourself: but I think you per- 
 fectly right. Can it admit of a question ? It is disgraceful to 
 vt if it docs. You did not love him nothing could have justi- 
 fi d your accepting him." 
 
 Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days. 
 
 " So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quite 
 mistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the matter does 
 not end here. Crawford's is no common attachment ; he perse- 
 veres, with the hope of creating that regard which had not been 
 created before. This, we know, must be a work of time. But 
 (with an affectionate smile), let him succeed at last, Fanny, let 
 him succeed at last. You have proved yourself upright and
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 243 
 
 disinterested, prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted ; and 
 then you will be the perfect model of a woman, rrl.ich I have 
 always believed you born for." 
 
 "Oh! never, never, never; he never will succeed with me." 
 And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund, 
 and when she blushed at the recollection of herself, when she 
 saw his look, and heard him reply, "Never! Fanny: so very 
 determined and positive ! This is not like yourself, your ra- 
 tional self." 
 
 " I mean," she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself, " that I 
 think I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for 
 I think I never shall return his regard." 
 
 " I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than 
 Crawford can be, that the man who means to make you love 
 him (you have due notice of his intentions), must have very up- 
 hill work, for there are all your early attachments and habits in 
 battle array ; and before he can get your heart for his own use 
 he has to unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and 
 inanimate, which so many years' growth have confirmed, and 
 which are considerably tightened for the moment by the very 
 idea of separation. I know that the apprehension of being 
 forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming you against 
 him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell you what he was 
 trying for. I wish he had known you as well as I do, Fanny. 
 Between us, I think we should have won you. My theoretical 
 and his practical knowledge together, could not have failed. He 
 should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, 
 that time proving him (as I firmly believe it will), to deserve 
 you by his steady affection will give him his reward. I cannot 
 suppose that you have not the wish to love him the natural 
 wish of gratitude. You must have some feeling of that sort. 
 You must be sorry for your own indifference.* 
 
 " We are so totally unlike," said Fanny, avoiding a direct 
 answer, " we are so very, very different in all our inclinations 
 and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we should ever 
 be tolerably happy together, even if I could like him. There 
 never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste 
 hi common. We should be miserable." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so 
 strong. You are quite enough alike. You have tastes in com- 
 mon. You have moral and literary tastes in common. You 
 have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings; and, Fanny, 
 who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakspeare the 
 other night, will think you unfitted as companions? You for- 
 get yourself: there is a decided difference in your tempers, I al- 
 low, lie is lively, you are serious ; but so much the better; his 
 spirits will support yours. It is your disposition to be easily de-
 
 244 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 j'.'cted and to fancy difficulties greater than they are. His cheer- 
 fulness will counteract this. He sees difficulties nowhere ; and 
 his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support to you. 
 Your being so far unlike, Fanny, does not in the smallest degree 
 make against the probability of your happiness together do not 
 imagine it. I am myself convinced that it is rather a favourable 
 circumstance. I am perfectly persuaded that the tempers had 
 bolter be unlike I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the 
 manners, in the inclination for much or little company, in the 
 propensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. Some 
 opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, friendly to ma- 
 trimonial happiness. I exclude extremes, of course ; and a very 
 close resemblance in all those points would be the likeliest way 
 to produce an extreme. A counteraction, gentle and continual, 
 is the best safeguard of manners and conduct." 
 
 Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were now. 
 Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speak- 
 ing of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His 
 avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Parson- 
 age only the preceding day. 
 
 After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minute;?, 
 Fanny feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr. Crawford, and 
 stsid, " It is not merely in temper that I consider him as totally 
 unsuited to myself though, in that respect, I think the difference 
 Ixitween us too great, infinitely too great ; his spirits often oppress 
 mo but there is something in him which I object to still more. 
 I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character. I have 
 not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw 
 him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very improperly and un- 
 !'. rliugly I may speak of it now because it is all over so im- 
 properly by poor Sir. Rushwo-th, not seeming to care how he 
 exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, 
 wliich in short, at the time of the play, I received an impres- 
 sion which will never be got over." 
 
 " My dear Fanny," replied Edmund, scarcely hearing her to 
 the end, " let us not, any of us, be judged by what we appeared 
 at that period of general folly. The time of the play is a time 
 which I hate to recollect. Maria was wrong, Crawford was 
 wrong, we were all wrong together ; but none so wrong as my- 
 self. Compared with me, all the rest were blameless. I was 
 playing the fool with my eyes open." 
 
 " As a by-stander," said Fanny, " perhaps I saw more than 
 you did ; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very 
 jealous." 
 
 " Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more im- 
 proper than the whole business. I am shocked whenever I think 
 that Maria could be capable of it; but, if she could undertake 
 the part, we must not be surprised at the rest,"
 
 MANSFIELD PAUK. 245 
 
 " Before the play, I am much mistaken, if Julia did not think 
 lie was paying her attentions." 
 
 "Julia! I have heard before from some one of his being in 
 love with Julia ; but I could never see anything of it. And, 
 Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my sisters' good qualities, I 
 think it very possible that they might, one or both, be more de- 
 sirous of being admired by Crawford, and might shew that de- 
 sire rather more unguardedly than was perfectly prudent. I can 
 remember that they were evidently fond of his society ; and with 
 such encouragement, a man like Crawford, lively, and it may be 
 a little unthinking, might be led on to there could be nothing 
 very striking, because it is clear that he had no pretensions : his 
 heart was reserved for you. And I must say, that its being 
 for you has raised him inconceivably in my opinion. It does 
 him the highest honour ; it shows his proper estimation of 
 the blessing of domestic happiness and pure attachment. It 
 proves him unspoiled by his uncle. It proves him, in short, 
 everything that I had been used to wish to believe him. and feared 
 he was not." 
 
 " I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on se- 
 rious subjects." 
 
 " Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious sub- 
 jects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it 
 be otherwise, with such an education and adviser? Under the 
 disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, is it not wonderful 
 that they should be what they are ? Crawford's feelings, I am 
 ready to acknowledge, have hitherto been too much his guides. 
 Happily, those feelings have been generally good. You will sup- 
 ply the rest ; and a most fortunate man he is to attach himself 
 to such a creature to a woman, who firm as a rock in her own 
 principles, has a gentleness of character so well adapted to re- 
 commend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare 
 felicity. He will make yon happy, Fanny, I know he will make 
 you happy ; but you will make him everything." 
 
 " I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in a 
 shrinking accent "in such an office of high responsibility!" 
 
 " As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything ! fancying 
 everything too much for you ! Well, though I may not be able 
 to persuade you into different feelings, you will be persuaded into 
 them, I trust. I confess myself sincerely anxious that you may. 
 I have no common interest in Crawford's well-doing. Next to 
 your happiness, Fanny, his has the first claim on me. You arc 
 aware of my having no common interest in Crawford." 
 
 Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say ; 
 and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutual silence 
 and abstraction. Edmund first began again : 
 
 " I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it 
 yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not depended upon
 
 246 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 her seeing everything in so just a light. I knew she was very 
 fond of you; but yet I was afraid of her not estimating your 
 worth to her brother quite as it deserved, and of her regretting 
 that he had not rather fixed on some woman of distinction or 
 fortune. I was afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims, 
 which she has been too much used to hear. But it was very dif- 
 ferent. She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She de- 
 sires the connexion as Avarmly as your uncle or myself. We had 
 a long talk about it. I should not have mentioned the subject, 
 though very anxious to know her sentiments ; but I had not 
 been in the room live minutes, before she began introducing it 
 with all that openness of heart, and sweet peculiarity of manner, 
 that spirit and ingenuousness which are so much a part of her- 
 self. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity." 
 
 " Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then ?" 
 
 " Yes, when I reached the house, I found the two sisters toge- 
 ther by themselves; and when once we had begun, we had not 
 done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in." 
 
 " It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford." 
 
 " Yes, she laments it ; yet owns it may have been best. You 
 will see her, however, before she goes. She is very angry with 
 you, Fanny ; you must be prepared for that. She calls herself very 
 angry, but you can imagine her anger. It is the regret and dis- 
 appointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to 
 everything he may wish for, at the first moment. She is hurt, 
 as you would be for William ; but she loves and esteems you 
 with all her heart." 
 
 " I knew she would be very angry with me." 
 
 " My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer 
 to him, " do not let the idea of her anger distress you. It is 
 anger to be talked of rather than felt. Her heart is made for 
 love and kindness, not for resentment. I wish you could have 
 overheard her tribute of praise ; I wish you could have seen her 
 countenance, when she said that you should be Henry's wife. 
 And I observed, that she always spoke of you as ' Fanny,' which 
 she was never used to do ; and it had a sound of most sisterly 
 cordiality." 
 
 " And Mrs. Grant, did she say did she speak was she there 
 all the time?" 
 
 " Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The surprise 
 of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded. That you 
 could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford, seems more than 
 they can understand. I said what I could for you ; but in good 
 truth, as they stated the case you must prove yourself to be in 
 your senses as soon as you can, by a different conduct ; nothing 
 else will satisfy them. But this is teasing you. I have done. 
 Do not turn away from me."
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 247 
 
 u I should have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recol- 
 lection and exertion, " that every woman must have felt the pos- 
 sibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some 
 one of her sex, at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. 
 Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought 
 not to be set down as certain, that a man must be acceptable to 
 every woman he may happen to like himself. But, even sup- 
 posing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims 
 which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet 
 him with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me 
 wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to 
 me before had any meaning ; and surely I was not to be teach- 
 ing myself to like him only because he was taking what seemed 
 very idle notice of me. In my situation, it would have been the 
 extreme of vanity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford. 
 I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought 
 it so, supposing lie had meant nothing. How, then, was I to 
 be to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me ? 
 How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it 
 was asked for? His sisters should consider me as well as him. 
 The higher his deserts, the more improper for me ever to have 
 thought of him. And, and we think very differently of the 
 nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon 
 capable of returning an affection, as this seems to imply." 
 
 " My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this 
 to be the truth ; and most worthy of you are such feelings. I 
 had attributed them to you before. I thought I could under- 
 stand you. You have now given exactly the explanation which 
 I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant, and 
 they were both better satisfied, though your warm-hearted friend 
 was still run away with a little, by the enthusiasm of her fond- 
 ness for Henry. I told them, that you were of all human 
 creatures the one over whom habit had most power and novelty 
 least; and that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford's 
 addresses was against him. Their being so new and so recent 
 was all in their disfavour ; that you could tolerate nothing that 
 you were not used to ; and a great deal more to the same purpose, 
 to give them a knowledge of your character. Miss Crawford 
 made us laugh by her plans of encouragement for her brother. 
 She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in 
 time, and of having his addresses most kindly received at the 
 end of about ten years' happy marriage." 
 
 Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here 
 asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt. She feared she had 
 been doing wrong, saying too much, overacting the caution 
 which she had been fancying necessary, in guarding against one 
 evil laying herself open to another; and to have Miss Crawford's
 
 248 
 
 MANSFIELD 
 
 liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a sub- 
 ject, was a bitter aggravation. 
 
 Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and imme- 
 diately resolved to forbear all farther discussion ; and not even 
 to mention the name of Crawford again, except as it might be 
 connected with what must be agreeable to her. On this prin- 
 ciple, lie soon afterwards observed, 
 
 " They go on Monday. You are sure, therefore, of seeing 
 your friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They really go on 
 Monday ; and I was within a trifle of being persuaded to stay at 
 Lessingby till that very day ! I had almost promised it. What 
 a difference it might have made! Those five or six days more 
 at Lessingby might have been felt all my life!" 
 
 " You were near staying there?" 
 
 " Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented. 
 I Tad I received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you 
 wore all going on, I believe I should certainly have stayed ; but 
 I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight, and felt 
 that I had been away long enough." 
 
 " You spent your time pleasantly there?" 
 
 "Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not. 
 They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so. I 
 took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting rid of it till I 
 was in Mansfield again." 
 
 " The Miss Owens you liked them, did not you?" 
 
 " Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls. 
 But I am spoiled, Fanny, for common female society. Good- 
 humoured, unaffected girls, will not do for a man who has beon 
 used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being. 
 You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice." 
 
 Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it 
 in her looks, it could not be talked away ; and attempting it no 
 more, he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged 
 guardian, into the house.
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 249 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DMUND now believed himself perfectly 
 ' acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, or 
 could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments, 
 and he was satisfied. It had been, as he 
 before presumed, too hasty a measure on 
 Crawford's side, and time must be given to 
 make the idea first familiar, and then agree- 
 able to her. She must be used to the con- 
 m deration of his being in love with her, and then a return of 
 all'tviion might not be very distant. 
 
 lie gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his 
 fatlii'r; and recommended there being nothing more said to her, 
 no farther attempts to influence or persuade; but that everything 
 should be left to Crawford's assiduities, and the natural workings 
 of her own mind. 
 
 Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's account 
 of Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just; he supposed 
 she had all those feelings, but he must consider it as very unfor- 
 tunate that she had; for, less willing than his son to trust to 
 the future, he could not help fearing that if such very long 
 allowances of time and habit were necessary for her, she might 
 not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses properly, 
 before the young man's inclination for paying them were over. 
 There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly 
 and hope the best. 
 
 The promised visit from "her friend," as Edmund called Miss 
 Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in 
 continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and 
 so little scrupulous of what she said, and in another light so 
 triumphant and secure, she was in every way an object of painful 
 alarm. Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness, 
 were all fearful to encounter; and the dependence of having 
 others present when they met, was Fanny's only support in 
 looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible 
 from Lady Bertram, kept away from the east room, and took no 
 solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any 
 sudden attack. 
 
 She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast room, with her 
 aunt, when Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over, 
 and Miss Crawford looking and speaking with much less parti- 
 cularity of expression than she had anticipated, Fanny began to 
 hope there would be nothing worse to be endured than a half 
 hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much ; 
 (O R
 
 250 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 Miss Crawford was not the slave of opportunity. She was 
 determined to see Fauuy alone, and therefore said to her tolerably 
 soon, in a low voice, " I must speak to you for a few minutes 
 somewhere;" words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her 
 pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits 
 of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly 
 rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched 
 feelings, but it was inevitable. 
 
 They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of counte- 
 nance was over on Miss Crawford's side. She immediately 
 shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, 
 and taking her hand, seemed hardly able to help beginning 
 directly. She said nothing, however, but, " Sad, sad girl ! I do 
 not know when I shall have done scolding you," and had 
 discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of 
 having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned up 
 stairs, and took her guest to the apartment which was now 
 always fit for comfortable use; opening the door, however, with 
 a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a more distressing 
 scene before her than ever that spot had yet witnessed. But the 
 evil ready to burst on her, was at least delayed by the sudden 
 change in Miss Crawford's ideas ; by the strong effect on her 
 mind which the finding herself in the east room again produced. 
 "Ha!" she cried, with instant animation, "am I here again? 
 The east room. Once only was I in this room before," and after 
 stopping to look about her, and seemingly to retrace all that had 
 then passed, she added, " once only before. Do you remember 
 it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a 
 rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful 
 rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in this 
 part of the room ; here was your cousin, here was I, here were 
 the chairs. Oh, why will such things ever pass away?'' 
 
 Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her 
 mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet 
 remembrances. 
 
 " The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable ! The 
 subject of it so very very what shall I say? He was to be 
 describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see 
 him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, 
 through the two long speeches. ' When two sympathetic hearts 
 meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy 
 life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have 
 of his looks and voice, as he said those words. It was curious, 
 very curious, that we should have such a scene to play ! If I 
 had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it 
 should be that week, that acting week. Say what you would, 
 Fanny, it should be that; for I never knew such exquisite
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 25 1 
 
 happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did ! 
 Oh, it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening 
 destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwel- 
 come uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you ? Yet, 
 .Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of 
 Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. 
 No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a 
 family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe 1 now love 
 you all." And having said so, with a degree of tenderness and 
 consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and 
 now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a moment 
 to recover herself. " I have had a little lit since I came into 
 this room, as you may perceive," said she presently, with a 
 playful smile, " but it is over now ; so let us sit down and be 
 comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully 
 intending to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the 
 point." And embracing her very affectionately, " Good, gentle 
 Fanny ! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you 
 for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do any- 
 thing but love you." 
 
 Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, 
 and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence 
 of the word " last." She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford 
 more than she possibly could; and Miss Crawford, yet farther 
 softened by the sight of such emotion, hung about her with fond- 
 ness, and said, " I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so 
 amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? 
 I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and 
 those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny." 
 
 Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, " But 
 you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are 
 going to a very particular friend." 
 
 " Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend 
 for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her. 
 I can think only of the friends I am leaving; my excellent 
 sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so 
 much more heart among you than one finds in the world at 
 large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and con- 
 fide in you ; which, in common intercourse, one knows nothing 
 of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till 
 after Easter, a much better time for the visit but now I cannot 
 put her off. And when I have done with her, I must go to her 
 sister, Lady Stornaway, because she was rather my most par- 
 ticular friend of the two; but I have not cared much for her 
 these three years." 
 
 After this speech, the two girls sat many minutes silent, each 
 thoughtful ; Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friend -
 
 252 JIANSl'lELD PAKK. 
 
 ship in the world, Mary on something of less philosophic ten- 
 dency. She first spoke again. 
 
 " How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you up 
 stairs ; and setting off to find my way to the east room, without 
 having an idea whereabouts it was! How well I remember 
 what I was thinking of as I came along; and my looking in and 
 seeing you here, sitting at this table at work; and then your 
 cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me 
 here ! To be sure, your uncle's returning that very evening! 
 There never was anything quite like it." 
 
 Another short fit of abstraction followed; when, shaking it 
 off, she thus attacked her companion. 
 
 - " Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie! Thinking, 
 I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh! that I could 
 transport you for a short time into our circle in town, that you 
 might understand how your power over Henry is thought of 
 there! Oh, the envyings and heartburnings of dozens and 
 dozens ! the wonder, the incredulity that will be felt at hearing 
 what you have done ! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the 
 hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should 
 come to London to know how to estimate your conquest. If 
 you were to seo how he is courted, and how I am courted for his 
 sake ! Now, I am well aware that I shall not be half so wel- 
 come to Mrs. Frascr in consequence of his situation with you. 
 When she comes to know the truth, she will, very likely, wish 
 me in Northamptonshire again ; for there is a daughter of Mr. 
 Fraser, by a first wife, whom she is wild to get married, and 
 wants Henry to take. Oh, she has been trying for him to such 
 a degree! Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have 
 an idea of the sensation that you will be occasioning, of the 
 curiosity there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall 
 have to answer ! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever 
 about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do your hair, and 
 who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my 
 poor friend's sake, for I look upon the Frasers to be about as 
 unhappy as most other married people. And yet it was a most 
 desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all delighted. 
 She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, 
 and she had nothing; but lie turns out ill-tempered and exigeant; 
 and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five- 
 and twenty, to be as steady as himself. And my friend does not 
 manage him well: she does not seem to know how to make the 
 best of it. There is a spirit of irritation which, to say nothing 
 worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In their house I shall call to 
 mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield parsonage with respect. 
 Even Dr. Grant does not show a thorough confidence in my sister, 
 and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes one
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 253 
 
 feel there is attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with the 
 Erasers. I shall be at Mansfield, for ever, Fanny. My own 
 sister as a wife, Sir Thomas Bertram as a husband, are my stan- 
 dards of perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in; and 
 yet there was nothing improper on her side ; she did not run 
 into the match inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight. 
 She took three days to consider of his proposals ; and during 
 those three days asked the advice of everybody connected with 
 her, whose opinion was worth having; and especially applied to 
 my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world made her 
 judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the 
 young people of her acquaintance; and she was decidedly in 
 favour of Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a security 
 for matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to say for my 
 friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues, for 
 the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much 
 sense, Fanny, as Mr. IJushworth, but much worse looking, and 
 with a blackguard character. I had my doubts at the time 
 about her being right, for he has not even the air of a gentleman, 
 and now I am sure she was wrong. By the bye, Flora Ross was 
 dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to 
 attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be 
 in love with him, I should never have done. It is you only, 
 you, insensible Fanny, who can think of him with anj- thing like 
 indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess yourself? 
 No, no, I see you are not." 
 
 There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that 
 moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed 
 mind. 
 
 "Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything 
 shall take its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that 
 you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question 
 asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that you 
 must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as 
 to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to 
 please you, by every attention in his power. Was not he de- 
 voted to you at the ball? And then before the ball, the neck- 
 lace! Oh, you received it just as it was meant. You were as 
 conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly." 
 
 " Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace 
 beforehand? Oh, Miss Crawford, that was not fair." 
 
 " Knew of it! it was his own doing entirely, his own thought. 
 I am ashamed to say, that it had never entered my head ; but I 
 was delighted to act on his proposal for both your sakes." 
 
 " I will not say," replied Fanny, " that I was not half afraid 
 at the time of its being so ; for there was something in your look 
 that frightened me but not at first I was as unsuspicious of it
 
 254 MASSFIELD PARK. 
 
 at first ; indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. 
 And had I had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to 
 accept the necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly 
 I was sensible of a particularity; I had been sensible of it some 
 little time, perhaps two or three weeks ; but then I considered it 
 as meaning nothing; I put it down as simply being his way, and 
 was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have any 
 serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an in- 
 attentive observer of what was passing between him and some 
 part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but 
 I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford 
 allowed himself in gallantries which (.lid mean nothing." 
 
 "Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad 
 flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might bj making 
 in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, hut 
 it is his only fault ; and there is this to be said, that very few 
 young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then, 
 I'anny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so 
 many; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's 
 sex ! Oh ! I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such 
 a triumph." 
 
 Fanny shook her head. " I cannot think well of a man who 
 sports with any woman's feelings ; and there may often be a 
 great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of." 
 
 " I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy; 
 and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how 
 much you lecture him. But this I will say, that liis fault, the 
 liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so 
 dangerous to a wife's happiness, as a tendency to fall in love him- 
 self, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously 
 and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he 
 never was to any woman before: that he loves you with all his 
 heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any 
 man ever loved a woman for ever,I think Henry will do as much 
 for you." 
 
 Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say. 
 
 " I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," con- 
 tinued Mary, presently, " than when he had succeeded in getting 
 your brother's commission." 
 
 She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here. 
 . " Oh, yes. How very, very kind of him !" 
 
 " I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know 
 the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and 
 scorns asking favours ; and there are so many young men's 
 claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and 
 energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy 
 creature William must be! I wish we could see him." 
 
 Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 255 
 
 all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for 
 William was always the most powerful disturber of every deci- 
 sion against Mr. Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till 
 Mary, who had been at first watching her complacently, and 
 then musing on something else, suddenly called her attention by 
 saying, " I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but 
 we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear, 
 my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though .we shall nomi- 
 nally part in the breakfast parlour, I must take leave of 
 you here. And I do take leave, longing for a happy re- 
 union, and trusting that when we meet again, it will be under 
 circumstances which may open our hearts to each other, without 
 any remnant or shadow of reserve." 
 
 A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, 
 accompanied these words. 
 
 " I shall see your cousin in town soon : he talks of being there 
 tolerably soon ; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the 
 spring ; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia, 
 1 am sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have 
 two fSvours to ask, Fanny one is your correspondence. You 
 must write to me. And the other, that you Avill often call on 
 Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for my being gone." 
 
 The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not 
 have been asked ; but it was impossible for her to refuse the 
 correspondence ; it was impossible for her even not to accede to 
 it more readily than her own judgment authorised. There was 
 no resisting so much apparent affection. Her disposition was 
 peculiarly calculated to value a fond treatment, and from having 
 hitherto known so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss 
 Crawford's. Besides, there was gratitude towards her, for 
 having made their tete-h-tete so much less painful than her fears 
 had predicted. 
 
 It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and with- 
 out detection. Her secret was still her own ; and while that was the 
 case, she thought she could resign herself to almost everything. 
 
 In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford 
 came and sat some time with them; and her spirits not being 
 previously in the strongest state, her heart was softened for a 
 little while towards him because he really seemed to feel. Quite 
 unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evi- 
 dently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping 
 she might never see him again, till he were the husband of some 
 other woman. 
 
 When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her 
 hand, he would not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or 
 nothing that she heard, and when he had k-ft the room, she was 
 better pleased that such a token of friendship had passed. 
 On the morrow the Crawfords were gone.
 
 256 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 R. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object 
 was, that he should be missed; and he enter- 
 tained great hope that his niece would find a 
 blank in the loss of those attentions which at 
 the time she had felt, or fancied an evil. She 
 had tasted of consequence in its most flattering 
 form ; and he did hope that the loss of it, the 
 sinking again into nothing, would aM'aken 
 very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her with this 
 idea but he could hardly tell with what success. He hardly 
 knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. She 
 was always so gentle and retiring, that her emotions were beyond 
 his discrimination. He did not imderstand her: he felt that he did 
 not ; and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she, stood 
 affected on the present occasion, and whether she were more or 
 less happy than she had been. 
 
 Edmund did not disceni any symptom of regret, and thought 
 hia father a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four 
 days could produce any. 
 
 What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sister, 
 the friend and companion, who had been so much to her, should 
 not be more visibly regretted. He wondered that Fanny spoke 
 60 seldom of her, and had so little voluntarily to say of her con- 
 cern at this separation. 
 
 Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was 
 now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have be- 
 lieved Mary's future fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she 
 was determined the brother's should be, if she could have hoped 
 her return thither to be as distant as she was much inclined to 
 think his, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the 
 more she recollected and observed, the more deeply was she con- 
 vinced that everything was now in a fairer train for Miss Craw- 
 ford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. On his 
 side the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. His 
 objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away 
 nobody could tell how ; and the doubts and hesitations of her 
 ambition were equally got over and equally without apparent 
 reason. It could only be imputed to increasing attachment. His 
 good and her bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must 
 rnite them. He was to go to town, as soon as some business 
 elative to Thornton Lacey was completed perhaps, within a 
 ortnight he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 257 
 
 once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her ac- 
 ceptance must be as certain, as his offer ; and yet there were 
 bad feelings still remaining which made the prospect of it most 
 sorrowful to her, independently, she believed, independently of 
 self. 
 
 In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some 
 amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been 
 Miss Crawford, still shown a mind led astray and bewildered, 
 and without any suspicion of being so ; darkened, yet fancying 
 itself light. She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund 
 by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there was scarcely a 
 second feeling in common between them ; and she may be for- 
 given by older sages, for looking on the chance of Miss Craw- 
 ford's future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that 
 if Edmund's influence in this season of love had already done so 
 little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his 
 worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matri- 
 mony. 
 
 Experience might have hoped more for any young people, so 
 circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss 
 Crawford's nature that participation of the general nature of 
 women wliich would lead her to adopt the opinions of the man she 
 loved and respected as her own. But as such were Fanny's per- 
 suasions, she suffered very much from them, and could never 
 speak of Miss Crawford without pain. 
 
 Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes, and his 
 own observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of 
 human nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power 
 and consequence, on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of 
 the lover producing a craving for their return ; and he was soon 
 afterwards able to account for his not yet completely and indu- 
 bitably seeing all this, by the prospect of another visiter, whose 
 approach he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits 
 he was watching. William had obtained a ten days' leave of 
 absence to be given to Northamptonshire, and was coming, the 
 happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to show his 
 happiness and describe his uniform. 
 
 He came ; and he would have been delighted to show his 
 uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appear- 
 ance except on duty. So the uniform remained at Portsmouth, 
 and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny had any chance of 
 seeing it, all its own freshness, and all the freshness of its wearer's 
 feelings must be worn away. It would be sunk into a badge of 
 disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless, 
 than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant 
 a year or two, and sees others made commanders before him ? 
 So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 scheme which placed Fanny's chance of seeing the 2d lieutenant 
 of H. M. S. Thrush in all his glory in another light. 
 
 This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back 
 to Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family. It 
 had occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a 
 right and desirable measure ; but before he absolutely made up 
 his mind, he consulted his son. Edmund considered it every way, 
 and saw nothing but what was right. The thing was good in 
 itself, and could not be done at a better time ; and he had no 
 doubt of its being highly agreeable to Fanny. This was enough 
 to determine Sir Thomas ; and a decisive " then so it shall be " 
 closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring from it with 
 some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what 
 he had communicated to his son; for his prime motive in sending 
 her away had very little to do with the propriety of her seeing 
 her parents again, and nothing at all with any idea of making 
 her happy. He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as 
 certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit 
 ended; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies and 
 luxuries of Mansfield Park would bring her mind into a sober 
 state, and incline her to a juster estimate of the value of that 
 home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of which she had 
 the offer. 
 
 It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, 
 which he must consider as at present diseased. A residence of 
 eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little 
 disordered her powers of comparing and judging. Her father's 
 house would, in all probability, teach her the value of a 
 good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser 
 and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had 
 devised. 
 
 Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have 
 had a strong attack of them, when she first understood what was 
 intended, when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the 
 parents, and brothers and sisters, from whom she had been 
 divided, almost half her life; of returning for a couple of months 
 to the scenes of her infancy, with William for the protector and 
 companion of her journey ; and the certainty of continuing to see 
 William to the last hour of his remaining on land. Had she 
 ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been then, for 
 she was delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart- 
 swelling sort, and though never a great talker, she was always 
 more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the 
 moment she could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when 
 familiarised with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, 
 she could speak more largely to William and Edmund of what 
 she felt; but still there were emotions of tenderness that could
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 259 
 
 not be clothed in words. The remembrance of all her earliest 
 pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, 
 came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be 
 at home again would heal every pain that had since grown out 
 of separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so 
 many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before; to 
 feel affection without fear or restraint ; to feel herself the equal 
 of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of 
 the Crawford.*, safe from every look which could be fancied a 
 reproach on their account. This was a prospect to be dwelt on 
 with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged. 
 
 Edmund, -too to be two months from him (and perhaps she 
 might be allowed to make her absence three) must do her good 
 At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, anil sal',' 
 from the perpetual irritation of knowing his heart, and striving 
 to avoid his confidence, she should be able to reason herself into a 
 more proper state; she should be able to think of him as in London, 
 and arranging everything there, without wretchedness. What 
 might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a 
 slight evil at Portsmouth. 
 
 The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's 
 being comfortable without her. She was of use to no one else ; 
 but there she might be missed to a degree that she did not like 
 to think of; and that part of the arrangement was, indeed, the 
 hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish, and what only he could 
 have accomplished at all. 
 
 But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really 
 icsolved on any measure, he could always carry it through ; and 
 now by dint of long talking on the subject, explaining and 
 dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes seeing her family, he 
 did induce his wife to let her go ; obtaining it rather from sub- 
 mission, however, than conviction, for Lady Bertram was con- 
 vinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas thought Fanny 
 ought to go, and therefore that she must. In the calmness of 
 her own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own medita- 
 tions, unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could not 
 acknowledge any necessity for Fanny's ever going near a father 
 and mother who had done without her so long, while she was 
 so usefid to herself. And as to the not missing her, which under 
 Mrs. Xorris's discussion was the point attempted to be proved, 
 she set herself very steadily against admitting any such thing. 
 
 Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity. 
 He called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and 
 self-command as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her 
 that Fanny could be very well spared (she being ready to give 
 up all her own time to her as requested), and, in short, could 
 not really be wanted or missed.
 
 260 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. " I 
 dare say you are very right ; but I am sure I shall miss her very 
 much." 
 
 The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny 
 wrote to offer herself; and her mother's answer, though short, 
 was so kind a few simple lines expressed so natural and mo- 
 therly a joy in the prospect of seeing her child again, as to con- 
 firm all the daughter's views of happiness in being with her 
 convincing her that she should now find a warm and affectionate 
 friend in the " mamma" who had certainly shown no remarkable 
 fondness for her formerly ; but this she could easily suppose to 
 have been her own fault, or her own fancy. She had probably 
 alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful 
 temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than 
 any one among so many could deserve. Now, when she knew 
 better how to be useful, and how to forbear, and when her mother 
 could be no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a house 
 full of little children, there would be leisure and inclination for 
 every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and daugh- 
 ter ought to be to each other. 
 
 William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It 
 would be the greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the 
 last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her there still 
 when he came in from his first cruise. And, besides, he wanted 
 her so very much to see the Thrush before she went out of 
 harbour (the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in the ser- 
 vice). And there were several improvements in the dock-yard, 
 too, which he quite longed to show her. 
 
 He did not scruple to add, that her being at home for a while 
 would be a great advantage to everybody. 
 
 " I do not know how it is," said he ; " but we seem to want 
 some of your nice ways and orderliness at my father's. The 
 house is always in confusion. You will set things going in a 
 better way, I am sure. You will tell my mother how it all 
 ought to be, and you will be so useful to Susan, and you will 
 teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you. How 
 right and comfortable it will all be!" 
 
 By the time Mrs. Price's answer arrived, there remained but 
 a very few days more to be spent at Mansfield ; and for part of 
 one of those days, the young travellers were in a good deal of 
 alarm on the subject of their journey, for when the mode of it 
 came to be talked of, and Mrs. Norris found that all her anxiety 
 to save her brother-in-law's money was vain, and that in spite 
 of her wishes and hints for a less expensive conveyance of Fanny, 
 they were to travel post, when she saw Sir Thomas actually give 
 William notes for the purpose, she was struck with the idea of 
 there being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized
 
 MANSFIELD 1'AUK. "26 I 
 
 with a strong inclination to go with them to go and see her 
 poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must 
 say that she had more than half a mind to go with the young 
 people ; it would be such an indulgence to her; she had not seen 
 her poor dear sister Price for more than twenty years; and it 
 would be a help to the young people in their journey, to have 
 her older head to manage for them ; and she could not help 
 thinking her poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of 
 her not to come by such an opportunity. 
 
 William and Fanny were horrorstruck at the idea. 
 
 All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be de- 
 stroyed at once. With woeful countenances they looked at each 
 other. Their suspense lasted an hour or two. No one inter- 
 fered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs. Norris was left to settle 
 the matter by herself; and it ended, to the infinite joy of her ne 
 phew and niece, in the recollection that she could not possibly be 
 spared from Mansfield Park at present ; that she waa a great 
 deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram for her to 
 be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a week, 
 and, therefore, must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to 
 that of being useful to them. 
 
 It had, in fact, occurred to her, that, though taken to Ports- 
 mouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid 
 paying her own expenses back again. So her poor dear sister 
 Price was left to all the disappointment of her missing such an 
 opportunity ; and another twenty years' absence, perhaps, begun. 
 
 Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey, 
 this absence of Fanny's. He, too, had a sacrifice to make to 
 Mansfield Park, as well as his aunt. He had intended, about 
 this time, to be going to London ; but he could not leave his 
 father and mother just when everybody else of most importance 
 to their comfort was leaving them : and with an effort, felt but 
 not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey 
 which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his 
 happiness for ever. 
 
 He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she 
 must know everything. It made the substance of one other 
 confidential discourse about Miss Crawford ; and Fanny was the 
 more affected from feeling it to be the last time in which Miss 
 Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with 
 any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was alluded to by 
 him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece, in the evening, 
 to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good cor- 
 respondent herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, then 
 added, in a whisper, "And /shall write to you, Fanny, when I have 
 anything worth writing about, anything to say that I think you 
 will like to hear, and that you will not hear so soon from any
 
 262 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 other quarter." Had she doubted his meaning while she lis- 
 tened, the glow in his face, when she looked up at him, would 
 have been decisive. 
 
 For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter 
 from Edmund should be a subject of terror! She began to feel 
 that she had not yet gone through all the changes of opinion and 
 sentiment which the progress of time and variation of circum- 
 stances occasion in this world of changes. The vicissitudes of 
 the human mind had not yet been exhausted by her. 
 
 Poor Fanny ! though going, as she did, willingly and eagerly, 
 the last evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness. 
 Her heart was completely sad at parting. She had tears for 
 every room in the house, much more for every beloved inhabi- 
 tant. She clung to her aunt, because she would miss her; she 
 kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling sobs, because she 
 had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could neither 
 speak, nor look, nor think, when the last moment came with 
 him ; and it was not till it was over .that she knew he was giving 
 her the affectionate farewell of a brother. 
 
 All this passed over night, for the journey was to begin very 
 early in the morning ; and when the small, diminished party-met 
 at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked of as already 
 advanced one stage. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ^ HE novelty of travelling, and the happiness 
 being with William, soon produced their 
 v natural effect on Fanny's spirits, when JMans- 
 r| field Park was fairly left behind ; and by the 
 ! time their first stage was ended, and they 
 ' were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was 
 ' able to take leave of the old coachman, and 
 send back proper messages, witli cheerful 
 looks. 
 
 Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister, there was no 
 end. Everything supplied an amusement to the high glee of 
 William's mind, and he was full of frolic and joke in the intervals 
 of their higher-toned subjects, all of which ended, if they did not 
 begin, in praise of the Thrush, conjectures how she would be 
 employed, schemes for an action with son^ superior force, which 
 (supposing the first lieutenant out of the way and William 
 was not very merciful to the first lieutenant) was to give himself 
 the next step as soon as possible, or speculations upon prize- 
 money, which was to be generously distributed at home, with
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 263 
 
 only the reservation of enough to make the little cottage com- 
 fortable', in which he and Fanny were to pass all their middle 
 and latter life together. 
 
 Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involved Mr. 
 Crawford, made no part of their conversation. William knew 
 what hud passi-d, and from his heart lamented that his sister's 
 feelings should be so cold towards a man whom he must consider 
 as the first of human characters; but he was of an age to be all 
 for love, and therefore unable to blame; and knowing her wish 
 on the subject, he would not distress her by the slightest allusion. 
 
 She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by }Ir. 
 Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the 
 three weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and 
 in each letter there had been a few lines from himself, warm and 
 determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence which 
 Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss 
 Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself an 
 evil, independent of what she was thus forced into reading from 
 the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she had read 
 the chief of the letter to him ; and then she had to listen to his 
 admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments. 
 There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of 
 recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny 
 could not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to tind her- 
 self forced into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a corres- 
 pondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she 
 did not love, and obliging her to administer to the adverse passion 
 of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her 
 present removal promised advantage. When no longer under 
 the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford 
 would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome 
 the trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would 
 dwindle into nothing. 
 
 With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others, 
 Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as 
 expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the dirty month of 
 February. They entered Oxford, but she could take only a 
 hasty glimpse of Edmund's college as they passed along, and 
 made no stop anywhere, till they reached Newbury, where a 
 comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the 
 enjoyments and fatigues of the day. 
 
 The next morning saw them off again at an early hour; and 
 with no events, and no delays, they regularly advanced, and 
 were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was yet daylight 
 for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at the new buildings. 
 They passed the Drawbridge, and entered the town; and the 
 light was only beginning to fail, as, guided by William's powerful
 
 264 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 voice, they were rattled into a narrow street, leading from the 
 High Street, and drawn up before the door of a small house now 
 inhabited by Mr. Price. 
 
 Funny was all agitation and flutter all hope and apprehen- 
 sion. The moment they stopped, a trollopy-looking maid- 
 servant, seemingly in waiting for them at the door, stepped 
 forward, and more intent on telling the news than giving them 
 any help, immediately began with " The Thrush is gone out of 
 
 harbour, please sir, and one of the officers has been here to " 
 
 She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, 
 rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while 
 William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, " You 
 are just in time. We have been looking for you this half hour. 
 The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. I saw her. It 
 was a beautiful sight. And they think she will have her orders 
 in a day or two. And Mr. Campbell was here at four o'clock to 
 ask for you : he has got one of the Thrush's boats, and is going 
 off to her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to go with 
 him." 
 
 A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the 
 carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed ; 
 but he made no objection to her kissing him, though still entirely 
 engaged in detailing farther particulars of the Thrush's going 
 out of harbour, in which he had a strong right of interest, being 
 to commence liis career of seamanship in her at this very time. 
 
 Another moment, and Fanny was in the narrow entrance- 
 passage of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met her 
 there with looks of true kindness, and with features which Fanny 
 loved the more, because they brought her aunt Bertram's before 
 her; and there were her two sisters, Susan, a well-grown fine 
 girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of the family, about 
 five both glad to see her in their way, though with no advan- 
 tage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did not 
 want. Would they but love her, she should be satisfied. 
 
 She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first 
 conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something 
 better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on ; 
 but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were 
 signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts, 
 reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected. 
 Her mother, however, could not stay long enough to suspect 
 anything. She was gone again to the street-door, to welcome 
 William. " Oh, my dear William, how glad I am to see you. 
 But have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of 
 harbour already, three days before we had any thought of it; 
 and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things, they 
 will never be ready in time ; for she may have her orders to-
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 2fM 
 
 morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. Ami now you 
 must be oft' for Spithead too. Campbell has been here, quite in 
 a worry about you; and now what shall we do? I thought to 
 have had such a comfortable evening with you, and here every- 
 thing comes upon me at once." 
 
 Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everything was 
 always for the best; and making light of his own inconvenience, 
 in being obliged to hurry away so soon. 
 
 " To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour, 
 that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort; but as 
 there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is 
 no lialp for it. Whereabouts does the Thrush lie at Spithead V 
 Xear the Canopus? Hut no matter here's Fanny in the parlour, 
 and why should we stay in the passage? Come, mother, you 
 have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet." 
 
 In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her 
 daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, began 
 with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants 
 as travellers. 
 
 " Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now, what will 
 you have? I began to think you would never come. Betsey 
 and I have been watching for you this half hour. And when 
 did you get anything to eat? And what would you like to have 
 now? I could not tell whether you would be for some meat, or 
 only a dish of tea after your journey, or else I woidd have got 
 something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here, 
 before there is time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at 
 hand. It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. 
 We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like 
 some tea, as soon as it can be got." 
 
 They both declared they should prefer it to anything. " Then, 
 Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen, and see if Rebecca has 
 put the water on ; and tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon 
 as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended but Betsey 
 is a very handy little messenger." 
 
 Betsey went with alacrity, proud to show her abilities before 
 her fine new sister. 
 
 " Dear me!" continued the anxious mother, " what a sad fire 
 we have got, and I dare say you are botli starved with cold. 
 Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca 
 has been about. I am sure I told her to bring some coals half 
 an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken care of the fire." 
 
 " I was up stairs, mamma, moving my things," said Susan, 
 in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. " You 
 know you had but just settled that my sister Fanny and I should 
 have the other room ; and I could not get Rebecca to give me 
 any help." 
 
 (1) s
 
 266 MANSFIELD PAKK. 
 
 Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles; first, the 
 driver came to be paid then there was a squabble between Sam 
 and Rebecca, about the manner of carrying xip his sister's trunk, 
 which he would manage all his own way ; and, lastly, in walked 
 Mr. Price himself, his own loud voice preceding him, as with 
 something of the oath kind he kicked away his son's portmanteau, 
 and his daughter's band-box in the passage, and called out for a 
 candle; no candle was brought, however, and he walked into 
 the room. 
 
 Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him, but sank 
 down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and 
 unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son's hand, and an 
 eager voice, he instantly began " Ha! welcome back, my boy. 
 Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went 
 out of harbour this morning. Sharp is the word, you see. By 
 G , you are just in time. The doctor has been here inquiring 
 for you: he lias got one of the boats, and is to be off for Spit- 
 head by six, so you had better go with him. I have been to 
 Turner's about your mess; it is all in a way to be done. I 
 should not wonder if you had your orders to-morrow: but you 
 cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruise to the westward ; 
 and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruise to 
 the westward, with the Elephant. By G , I wish you may. 
 But old Scholey was saying, just now, that he thought you 
 would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready, 
 whatever happens. But by G , you lost a fine sight by not 
 being here in the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour. 
 I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds. 
 Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, to say she had slipped her 
 moorings and was coming out, I jumped up, and made but two 
 steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, 
 she is one; and there she lies at Spithead, and anybody in England 
 would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the plat- 
 form two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lies close to 
 the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the east- 
 ward of the sheer hulk." 
 
 " Ha !" cried William, " that's just where I should have put 
 her myself. It's the best birth at Spithead. But here is my 
 sister, sir, here is Fanny," turning and leading her forward; "it 
 is so dark you do not see her." 
 
 With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgotten her, Mr. 
 Price now received his daughter ; and having given her a cordial 
 hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he 
 supposed would be wanting a husband soon, seemed very much 
 inclined to forget her again. 
 
 Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by 
 his language and his smell of spirits ; and he talked on only to his
 
 son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warmly interested, 
 as he was, in that subject, more than once tried to make his 
 father think of Fanny, and her long absence and long journey. 
 
 After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained ; but, 
 as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey's re- 
 ports from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable 
 period, William determined to go and change his dress, and 
 make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly 
 that he might have his tea in comfort aftenvan's. 
 
 As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, 
 about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just released from 
 school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the 
 Thrush was gone out of harbour ; Tom and Charles : Charles 
 had been born since Fanny's going away, but Tom she had often 
 helped to nurse, and now felt a particular pleasure in seeing 
 again. Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to 
 keep by her, to try to trace the features of the baby she had 
 loved, and talked to, of his infant preference of herself. Tom, 
 however, had no mind for such treatment : he came home, not 
 to stand and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise ; 
 and both boys had soon burst away from her, aud slammed the 
 parlour door till her temples ached. 
 
 She had now seen all that were at home ; there remained only 
 two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a 
 clerk in a public office in London, and the other midshipman on 
 board an Indiaman. But though she had seen all the members 
 of the family, she had not yet heard all the noise they could 
 make. Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal 
 more. William was soon calling out, from the landing-place of 
 the second story, for his mother and for Rebecca, He was in 
 distress for something that he had left there, and did not find 
 again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his 
 new hat, and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform 
 waistcoat, which he had been promised to have done for him, 
 entirely neglected. 
 
 Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey, all went up to defend them- 
 selves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job 
 was to be done, as well as it could, in a great hurry ; William 
 trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep her from be- 
 ing troublesome where she was ; the whole of which, as almost 
 every door in the house was open, could be plainly distinguished 
 in the parlour, except when drowned at intervals by the supe- 
 rior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each other up and 
 down stair?, and tumbling about and hallooing. 
 
 Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house and 
 thinness of the walls brought everything so close to her, that, 
 added to the fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation,
 
 268 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 she hardly knew how to bear it. Within the room all was tran- 
 quil enough, for Susan having disappeared with the others, there 
 were soon only her father and herself remaining ; and he taking 
 out a newspaper, the accustomary loan of a neighbour, applied 
 himself to studying it, without seeming to recollect her existence. 
 The solitary candle was held between himself and the paper, 
 without any reference to her possible convenience ; but she had 
 nothing to do, and was glad to have the light screened from her 
 aching head, as she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful con- 
 templation. 
 
 She was at home. But, alas ! it was not such a home, she 
 had not such a welcome, as she checked herself ; she was un- 
 reasonable. What right had she to be of importance to her 
 family ? She could have none, so long lost sight of ! William's 
 concerns must be dearest they always had been and he had 
 every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about herself 
 to have scarcely an inquiry made after Mansfield ! It did pain 
 her to have Mansfield forgotten ; the friends who had done so 
 much the dear, dear friends ! But here, one subject swallowed 
 up all the rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the 
 Thrush must be now pre-eminently interesting. A day or two 
 might show the difference. She only was to blame. Yet she 
 thought it would not have been so at Mansfield. No, in her 
 uncle's house there would have been a consideration of times and 
 seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, an attention towards 
 everybody which there was not here. 
 
 The only interruption which thoughts like these received for 
 nearly half an hour was from a sudden burst of her father's, not 
 at all calculated to compose them. At a more than ordinary pitch 
 of thumping and hallooing in the passage, he exclaimed, " Devil 
 take those young dogs ! How they are singing out ! Ay, Sam's 
 voice louder than all the rest ! That boy is fit for a boatswain. 
 Holloa you there Sam stop your confounded pipe, or I shall 
 be after you." 
 
 This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though within 
 five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into the room 
 together and sat down, Fanny could not consider it as a proof of 
 anything more than their being for the time thoroughly fagged, 
 which their hot faces and panting breaths seemed to prove 
 especially as they were still kicking each other's shins, and hal- 
 looing out at sudden starts immediately under their father's 
 eye. 
 
 The next opening of the door brought something more wel- 
 come ; it was for the tea-things, which she had begun almost to 
 despair of seeing that evening. Susan and an attendant girl, 
 whose inferior appearance informed Fanny, to her great surprise, 
 that she had previously seen the upper servant, brought in
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 269 
 
 everything necessary for the meal ; Susan looking as she put the 
 kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, as if divided between 
 the agreeable triumph of showing her activity and usefulness, 
 and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an 
 ortice. " She had been into the kitchen," she said, " to hurry 
 Sally and help to make the toast, and spread the bread and 
 butter or she did not know when they should have got tea 
 and she was sure her sister must want something after her 
 journey." 
 
 Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that she 
 should be very glad of a little tea, and Susan immediately set 
 about making it, as if pleased to have the employment all to 
 herself; and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few 
 injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than 
 she could, acquitted herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as 
 much refreshed as her body; her head and heart were soon the 
 better for such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, sensible 
 countenance; she was like William and Fanny hoped to find 
 her like him in disposition and good will towards herself. 
 
 In this more placid state of things William re-entered, fol- 
 lowed not far behind by his mother and Betsy. He, complete in 
 his lieutenant's uniform, looking and moving all the taller, 
 firmer, and more graceful for it, and with the happiest smile 
 over his face, walked up directly to Fanny, who, rising from her 
 seat, looked at him for a moment in speechless admiration, and 
 then threw her arms round his neck to sob out her various emo- 
 tions of pain and pleasure. 
 
 Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered herself; 
 and wiping away her tears was able to notice and admire all 
 the striking parts of his dress listening with reviving spirits to 
 his cheerful hopes of being on shore some part of every day before 
 they sailed, and even of getting her to Spithead to see the 
 sloop. 
 
 The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeon of the 
 Thrush, a very well behaved young man, who came to call for 
 his friend, and for whom there was with some contrivance found a 
 chair, and with some hasty washing of the young tea-maker's, 
 a cup and saucer; and after another quarter of an hour of 
 earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise, and 
 bustle upon bustle, men and boys at last all in motion together, 
 the moment came for setting off; everything was ready, William 
 took leave, and all of them were gone for the three boys, hi 
 spite of their mother's entreaty, determined to see their brother 
 and Mr. Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr. Price walked off at 
 the same time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper. 
 
 Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for; and ac- 
 cordingly, when Kebecca had been prevailed on to carry away
 
 270 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the tea-things, and Mrs. Price had walked about the room some 
 time looking for a shirt sleeve, which Betsey at last hunted out 
 from a drawer in the kitchen, the small party of females were 
 pretty well composed, and the mother having lamented again 
 over the impossibility of getting Sam ready in time, was at 
 leisure to think of her eldest daughter and the friends she had 
 come from. 
 
 A few inquiries began: but one of the earliest "How did 
 her sister Bertram manage about her servants? Was she as 
 much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?" soon led 
 her mind away from Northamptonshire, and fixed it on her own 
 domestic grievances; and the shocking character of all the 
 Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were 
 the very worst, engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were 
 all forgotten in detailing the faults of Rebecca, against whom 
 Susan had also much to depose, and little Betsey a great deal 
 more, and who did seem so thoroughly without a single recom- 
 mendation, that Fanny could not help modestly presuming that 
 her mother meant to part with her when her year was up. 
 
 " Her year!" cried Mrs. Price; " I am sure I hope I shall be 
 rid of her before she has stayed a year, for that will not be up 
 till November. Servants are come to such a pass, my dear, in 
 Portsmouth, that it is quite a miracle if one keeps them more 
 than half a year. I have no hope of ever being settled ; and if 
 I was to part with Rebecca, I should only get something worse. 
 And yet I do not think I am a very difficult mistress to please ; 
 and I am sure the place is easy enough, for there is always a 
 girl under her, and I often do half the work myself." 
 
 Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that there 
 might not be a remedy found for some of these evils. As she 
 now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but think particularly 
 of another sister, a very pretty little girl, whom she had left 
 there not much younger when she went into Northamptonshire, 
 who had died a few years afterwards. There had been some- 
 thing remarkably amiable about her. Fanny, in those earl}' 
 days, had preferred her to Susan ; and when the news of her 
 death had at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been 
 quite afflicted. The sight of Betsey brought the image of little 
 Mary back again, but she would not have pained her mother by 
 alluding to her for the world. While considering her with these 
 ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, was holding out something to 
 catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time from 
 Susan's. 
 
 "What have you got there, my love?" said Fanny, "come 
 and show it to me." 
 
 It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her 
 own, and trying to get it away ; but the child ran to her
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 271 
 
 mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, which she 
 did very warmly, and evidently hoping to interest Fanny on her 
 side. " It was very hard that she was not to have her otvn 
 knife; it was her own knife; little sister Mary had left it to her 
 upon her death-bed, and she ought to have had it to keep her- 
 self long ago. But mamma kept it from her, and was always 
 letting Betsey get hold of it ; and the end of it would be that 
 Betsey would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mamma 
 had promised her that Betsey should not have it in her own 
 hands." 
 
 Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour, 
 and tenderness was wounded by her sister's speech and her 
 mother's reply. 
 
 " Now, Susan," cried Mrs. Price in a complaining voice, "now, 
 how can you be so cross? You are always quarrelling about 
 that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor 
 little Betsey; how cross Susan is to you! But you should not 
 have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you to the drawer. 
 You know I told you not to touch it, because Susan is so cross 
 about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary 
 little thought it would be such a bone of contention when she gave 
 it me to keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul! 
 she could but just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, 
 ' Let sister Susan have my knife, mamma, when I am dead and 
 buried.' Poor little dear! she was so fond of it, Fanny, that 
 she would have it lie by her in bed, all through her illness. It 
 was the gift of her good godmother, old Mrs. Admiral Maxwell, 
 only six weeks before she was taken for death. Poor little sweet 
 creature ! Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My 
 own Betsey (fondling her), you have not the luck of such a 
 good godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such 
 little people as you." 
 
 Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, but a 
 message to say she hoped her god-daughter was a good girl, and 
 learned her book, There had been at one moment a slight 
 murmur in the drawing-room at Mansfield Park, about sending 
 her a prayer-book ; but no second sound had been heard of such 
 a purpose. Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home and taken 
 down two old prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but, 
 upon examination, the ardor of generosity went off. One was 
 found to have too small a print for a child's eyes, and the other 
 to be too cumbersome for her to carry about, 
 
 Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to accept the 
 first invitation of going to bed ; and before Betsey had finished 
 her cry at being allowed to sit up only one hour extraordinary 
 in honour of sister, she was off, leaving all below in confusion 
 and noise again, the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father
 
 272 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 calling out for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she 
 ought to be. 
 
 There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confined and 
 scantily-furnished chamber that she was to share with Susan. 
 The smallness of the rooms above and below, indeed, and the 
 narrowness of the passage and staircase, struck her beyond her 
 imagination. She soon learned to think with respect of her own 
 little attic at Mansfield Park, in that house reckoned too small 
 for anybody's comfort. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OULD Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's 
 feelings, when she wrote her first letter to her 
 aunt, he would not have despaired; for though 
 a good night's rest, a pleasant morning, the 
 hope of soon seeing William again, and the 
 comparatively quiet state of the house, from 
 Tom and Charles being gone-to school, Sam 
 on some project of his own, and her father on 
 his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on 
 the subject of home, there were still, to her own perfect consci- 
 ousness, many drawbacks suppressed. Could he have seen only 
 half that she felt before the end Of a week, he would have thought 
 Mr. Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own 
 sagacity. 
 
 Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first 
 place, William was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the 
 wind had changed, and he was sailed within four days from their 
 reaching Portsmouth; and during those days she had seen him 
 only twice, in a short and hurried way, when he had come 
 ashore on duty. There had been no free conversation, no walk 
 on the ramparts, no visit to the dock-yard, no acquaintance witli 
 the Thrush nothing of all that they had planned and depended 
 on. Everything in that quarter failed her, except William's 
 affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He 
 stepped back again to the door to say, " Take care of Fanny, 
 mother. She is tender, and not used to rough it like the rest 
 of us. I charge you, take care of Fanny." 
 
 William was gone ; and the home he had left her in wa^ 
 Fanny could not conceal it from her herself in almost cveiy 
 respect the very reverse of what she could have wished. It was 
 the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in 
 their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be. She could
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 273 
 
 not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her father, her 
 confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of 
 his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than 
 she had been prepared for. He did not want abilities; but he 
 had no curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he 
 read only the newspaper and the navy list ; he talked only of 
 the dock-yard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbaiik; lie 
 swore a!iil he drank, he was dirty and gross. She had never 
 been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his 
 former treatment of herself. There had remained only a general 
 impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely ever 
 noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke. 
 
 Her disappointment in her mother was greater; there she had 
 hoped much, and found almost nothing. Every flattering 
 scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to the ground. 
 Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her 
 affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her 
 daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the 
 first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satis- 
 fied, and Mrs. Price's attachment had no other source. Her 
 heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither 
 leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never 
 had been much to her. She was fond of her sons, especially of 
 William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had 
 ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indul- 
 gent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, 
 Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles, occupied all the rest of her 
 maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. 
 These shared her heart ; her time was given chiefly to her house 
 and her servants. Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle ; 
 all was busy without getting on, always behind hand and 
 lamenting it, without altering her ways; wishing to be an 
 economist, without contrivance or regularity; dissatisfied with 
 her servants, without skill to make them better, and whether 
 helping, or reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power 
 of engaging their respect. 
 
 Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled 
 Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by 
 necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it, or any 
 of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent, 
 like Lady Bertram's ; and a situation of similar affluence and 
 do-nothing-ness would have been much more suited to her 
 capacity than the exertions and self-denials of the one which her 
 imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made 
 just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. 
 Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine 
 children on a small income.
 
 274 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of. She 
 might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did 
 feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, 
 a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose 
 house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from 
 beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no 
 affection towards herself ; no curiosity to know her better, no 
 desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that 
 could lessen her sense of such feelings. 
 
 Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above 
 her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her 
 foreign education, from contributing her help to its comforts, and 
 therefore set about working for Sam immediately, and by working 
 early and late, with perseverance and great despatch, did so 
 much, that the boy was shipped off at last, with more than 
 half his linen ready. She had great pleasure in feeling her 
 usefulness, but could not conceive how they would have managed 
 without her. 
 
 Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted 
 when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be 
 employed in any errand in the town; and though spurning the 
 remonstrances of Susan, given as they were though very rea- 
 sonable in themselves with ill-timed and powerless warmth, 
 was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's services, and gentle 
 persuasions; and she found that the best of the three younger 
 ones was gone in him ; Tom and Charles being at least as many 
 years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling 
 and reason, which might suggest the expediency of making 
 friends, and of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister 
 soon despaired of making the smallest impression on them ; they 
 were quite untameable by any means of address which she had 
 spirits or time to attempt. Every afternoon brought a return 
 of their riotous games all over the house; and she very early 
 learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half 
 holiday. 
 
 Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet 
 her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasure, 
 and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost 
 as ready to despair of being able to love or assist ; and of Susan's 
 temper she had many doubts. Her continual disagreements 
 with her mother, her rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and 
 petulance with Betsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny, 
 that though admitting they were by no means without provo - 
 cation, she feared the disposition that could push them to such 
 length must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose 
 to herself. 
 
 Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 275 
 
 head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund with mode- 
 rated feelings. On the contrary, she could think of nothing but 
 Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Everything 
 where she now was was in full contrast to it. The elegance, 
 propriety, regularity, harmony, and perhaps, above all, the 
 peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remem- 
 brance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of everything 
 opposite to them here. 
 
 The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper 
 delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no superadded 
 elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. It was the 
 greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds of contention, 
 no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence was ever 
 heard ; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness ; 
 everybody had their due importance ; everybody's feelings were 
 consulted. If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good 
 sense and good breeding supplied its place ; and as to the little 
 irritations, sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they were 
 t riding, they were as a drop of water to the ocean, compared 
 with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here, everybody 
 was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, 
 which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn 
 into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and 
 the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The 
 doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, 
 nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody 
 could command attention when they spoke. 
 
 In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before 
 the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. 
 Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, 
 and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, 
 Portsmouth could have no pleasures.
 
 276 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 i ANNY was right enough in not expecting to 
 hear from Miss Crawford now, at the rapid 
 f rate in which their correspondence had begun ; 
 ) Mary's next letter was after a decidedly 
 ! longer interval than the last, but she was not 
 'right in supposing that such an interval 
 1 would be felt a great relief to herself. Here 
 'was another strange revolution of mind! 
 She was really glad to receive the letter when it did come. 
 In her present exile from good society, and distance from 
 everything that had been wont to interest her, a letter from one 
 belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection, 
 and some degree of elegance, was thoroughly acceptable. The 
 usual plea of increasing engagements was made in excuse for not 
 having written to her earlier; "and now that I have begun," 
 she continued, " my letter will not be worth your reading, for 
 there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four 
 lines passionnees from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for 
 Henry is in Norfolk ; business called him to Everingham ten 
 days ago, or perhaps he only pretended the call, for the sake of 
 being travelling at the same time that you were. But there he 
 is, and, by the bye, his absence may sufficiently account for any 
 remissness of his sister's in writing, for there has been no 
 ' Well, Mary, when do yon write to Fanny? Is not it time 
 for you to write to Fanny?' to spur me on. At last, after 
 various attempts at meeting, I have Seen your cousins, ' dear 
 Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth;' they found me at home 
 yesterday, and we were glad to see each other again. We seemed 
 very glad to see each other, and I do really think we were a 
 little. We had a vast deal to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs. 
 Rushworth looked when your name was mentioned? I did not 
 use to think her wanting in self-possession, but she had not 
 quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the whole 
 Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were 
 spoken of. There was no recovering the complexion from the 
 moment that I spoke of ' Fanny,' and spoke of her as a sister 
 should. But Mrs. Rushworth's day of good looks will come ; 
 we have cards for her first party on the 28th. Then she will be 
 in beauty, for she will open one of the best houses in Wimpole 
 Street. I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascelles's, 
 and prefer it to almost any I know in London, and certainly she 
 will then feel to use a vulgar phrase that she has got her 
 pennyworth for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her
 
 MANSFIELD PA11K. 277 
 
 such a house. I hope she will recollect it, and he satisfied, aa 
 well as she may, with moving the queen of a palace, though the 
 king may appear best in the background; and as I have no 
 desire to tease her, I shall never force your name upon her again. 
 She will grow sober by degrees. From all that I hear and 
 guess, Baron Witdenhaim's attentions to Julia continue, but I do 
 not know that he has any serious encouragement. She ought to 
 do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine 
 any liking in the case, for, take away his rants, and the poor 
 Baron has nothing. What a difference a vowel makes! if his 
 rents were but equal to his rants! Your cousin Edmund moves 
 slowly; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There may be 
 some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be converted. I am 
 unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a young one. Adieu, iny 
 dear sweet Fanny, this is a long letter from London : write me 
 a pretty one in reply to gladden Henry's eyes, when he comes 
 back, and send me an account of all the dashing young captains 
 whom you disdain for his sake." 
 
 There was great food for meditation in this letter, and chiefly 
 for unpleasant meditation ; and yet, with all the uneasiness it 
 supplied, it connected her with the absent, it told her of people 
 and things about whom she had never felt so much curiosity as 
 now, and she would have been glad to have been sure of such a 
 letter every week. Her correspondence with her aunt Bertram 
 was her only concern of higher interest. 
 
 As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make 
 amends for deficiencies at home, there were none within the cir- 
 cle of her father's and mother's acquaintance to afford her the 
 smallest satisfaction: she saw nobody in whose favour she could 
 wish to overcome her own shyness and reserve. The men ap- 
 peared to her all coarse, the women all pert, everybody under- 
 bred; and she gave as little contentment as she received from 
 introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young 
 ladies who approached her at first with some respect, in consi- 
 deration of her coming from a baronet's family, were soon of- 
 fended by what they termed " airs ;" for, as she neither played 
 on the pianoforte, nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther 
 observation, admit no right of superiority. 
 
 The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils 
 of home, the first which her judgment could entirely approve, 
 and which gave any promise of durability, was in a better know- 
 ledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her. Susan 
 had always behaved pleasantly to herself, but the determined 
 character of her general manners had astonished and alarmed 
 her, and it was at least a fortnight before she began to undci-- 
 stand a disposition so totally different from her own. Susan saw 
 that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That
 
 278 MANSFIELD 1'ARK. 
 
 a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason, 
 should err iii the method of reform was not wonderful; and 
 Fanny soon became more disposed to admire the natural light of 
 the mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to censure 
 severely the faults of conduct to which it led. Susan was only 
 acting on the same truths, and pursuing the saifle system, which 
 her own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine 
 and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan 
 tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and 
 cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive; that things, 
 bad as they were, would have been worse but for such interposi- 
 tion, and that both her mother and Betsey were restrained from 
 some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity. 
 
 Iii every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of 
 reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal tender- 
 ness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was for ever 
 producing evil around her she had never known. There was no 
 gratitude for affection past or present to make her better bear 
 with its excesses to the others. 
 
 All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed Susan 
 before her sister as an object of mingled compassion and respect. 
 That her manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her 
 measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and lan- 
 guage very often indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel ; but 
 she began to hope they might be rectified. Susan, she found, 
 looked up to her and wished for her good opinion ; and new as 
 anything like an office of authority was to Fanny, new as it was 
 to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing any one, she 
 did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, and endeavour to 
 exercise for her advantage the juster notions of what was due to 
 everybody, and what would be wisest for herself, which her own 
 more favoured education had fixed in her. 
 
 Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, ori- 
 ginated in an act of kindness by Susan, which, after many hesi- 
 tations of delicacy, she at last worked herself up to. It had 
 very early occurred to her that a small sum of money might, 
 perhaps, restore peace for ever on the sore subject of the silver 
 knife, canvassed as it now was continually, and the riches which 
 lie was in possession of herself, her uncle having given her 
 lQ at parting, made her as able as she was willing to be gene- 
 in. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, except 
 n; he very poor, so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing 
 kindnesses among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to 
 elevate herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time 
 to determine that it would not be unbecoming in her to make 
 such a present. It was made, however, at last ; a silver knife 
 was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great delight, its new-
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 279 
 
 ness giving it every advantage over the other that could be 
 desired ; Susan was established in the full possession of her own, 
 Betsey handsomely declaring that now she had got one so much 
 prettier herself, she should never want that again and no re- 
 proach seemed conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which 
 Fanny had almost feared to be impossible. The deed thoroughly 
 answered; a source of domestic altercation was entirely done 
 away, and it was the means of opening Susan's heart to her, and 
 giving her something more to love and be interested in. Susan 
 showed that she had delicacy: pleased as she was to be mistress 
 of property which she had been struggling for at least two years, 
 she yet feared that her sister's judgment had been against her, 
 and that a reproof was designed her for having so struggled as 
 to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house. 
 
 Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, blamed 
 herself for having contended so warmly; and from that hour 
 Fanny, understanding the worth of her disposition, and perceiv- 
 ing how fully she was inclined to seek her good opinion and re- 
 fer to her judgment, began to feel again the blessing of affection, 
 and to entertain the hope of being useful to a mind so much in 
 need of help, and so much deserving it. She gave advice ad- 
 vice too sound to be resisted by a good understanding, and given 
 so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect tem- 
 per; and she had the happiness of observing its good effects not 
 unf requently ; more was not expected by one, who, while seeing 
 all the obligation and expediency of submission and forbearance, 
 saw also with sympathetic acuteness of feeling all that must be 
 hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder on the 
 subject soon became not that Susan should have been provoked 
 into disrespect and impatience against her better knowledge 
 but that so much better knowledge, so many good notions should 
 have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of 
 negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opi- 
 nions of what ought to be she, who had had no cousin Edmund 
 to direct her thoughts or fix her principles. 
 
 The intimacy thus begun between them was a material ad- 
 vantage to each. By sitting together up stairs, they avoided a 
 great deal of the disturbance of the house; Fanny had peace, 
 and Susan learned to think it no misfortune to be quietly em- 
 ployed. They sat without a fire; but that was a privation fami- 
 liar even to Fanny, and she suffered the less because reminded by 
 it of the east room. It was the only point of resemblance. In 
 space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in 
 the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the remem- 
 brance of all her books and boxes, and various comforts there. 
 By degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the morning up 
 stairs, at first only in working and talking ; but after a few days,
 
 280 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 the remembrance of the said books grew so potent and stimula- 
 tive, that Fanny found it impossible not to try for books again. 
 There were none in her father's house ; but wealth is luxurious 
 and daring; and* some of hers found its way to a circulating 
 library. She became a subscriber; amazed at being anything 
 inpropria persona, amazed at her own doings in every way; to 
 be a renter, a chooser of books ! And to be having any one's 
 improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. Susan had 
 read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own 
 first pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry 
 which she delighted in herself. 
 
 In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of the 
 recollections of Mansfield, which were too apt to seize her mind if 
 her fingers only were busy; and, especially at this time, hoped 
 it might be useful in diverting her thoughts from pursuing Ed- 
 mund to London, whither, on the authority of her aunt's last 
 letter, she knew he was gone. She had no doubt of what would 
 ensue. The promised notification was hanging over her head. The 
 postman's knock within the neighbourhood was beginning to 
 bring its daily terrors, and if reading could banish the idea for 
 even half an hour, it was something gained. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "WEEK was gone since Edmund might be 
 supposed in town, and Fanny heard nothing 
 of him. There were three different conclu- 
 sions to be drawn from his silence, between 
 which her mind was in fluctuation ; each of 
 them at times being held the most probable. 
 Either his going had been again delayed, or 
 he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing 
 Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter- writing ! 
 
 One morning, about this time, Fanny having now been nearly 
 four weeks from Mansfield a point which she never failed 
 to think over and calculate every day as she and Susan were 
 preparing to remove, as usual, up stairs, they were stopped by 
 the knock of a visiter, whom they felt they could not avoid, from 
 Rebecca's alertness in going to the door, a duty which always 
 interested her beyond any other. 
 
 It was a gentleman's voice ; it was a voice that Fanny was 
 just turning pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the 
 room, 
 
 Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon ; 
 and she found that she had been able to name him to her mother.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 281 
 
 and recall her remembrance of the name, as that of " William's 
 friend," though she could not previously have believed herself 
 capable of uttering a syllable at such a moment. The consci- 
 ousness of his being known there only as William's friend was 
 some support. Having introduced him, however, and being all 
 reseated, the terrors that occurred of what this visit might lead 
 to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of 
 fainting away. 
 
 While trying to keep herself alive, their visiter, who had at 
 first approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was 
 wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time 
 to recover, while he devoted himself entirely to her mother, 
 addressing her, and attending to her with the utmost politeness 
 and propriety, at the same time with a degree of friendliness, of 
 interest at least, which was making his manner perfect. 
 
 Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by 
 the sight of such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish 
 of appearing to advantage before him, she was overflowing with 
 gratitude, artless, maternal gratitude, which could not be un- 
 pleasing. Mr. Price was out, which she regretted very much. 
 Fanny was just recovered enough to feel that she could not 
 regret it ; for to her many other sources of uneasiness was added 
 the severe one of shame for the home in which he found her. 
 She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no 
 scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been 
 yet more ashamed of her father than all the rest. 
 
 They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could 
 never tire ; and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation 
 as even her heart could wish. She felt that she had never seen 
 so agreeable a man in her life; and was only astonished to find, 
 that so great and so agreeable as he was, he should be come 
 down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to the Port-admiral, nor 
 the Commissioner, nor yet with the intention of going over to 
 the island, nor of seeing the dock-yard. Nothing of all that she 
 had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the 
 employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He 
 had reached it late the night before, was come for a day or two, 
 was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy 
 officer or two of his acquaintance since his arrival, but had no 
 olijoi-t of that kind in coming. 
 
 By the time he had given all this information, it was not un- 
 reasonable to suppose, that Fanny might be looked at and spoken 
 to ; and she was tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he 
 had spent half an hour with his sister, the evening before his 
 leaving London; that she had sent her best and kindest love, but 
 had had no time for writing; that he thought himself lucky in 
 seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcelv twenty- 
 '(1)
 
 282 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 four hours in London, after his return from Xorfolk, before he set 
 off again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in 
 town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him him- 
 self, but that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, 
 and was to dine, as yesterday, with the Erasers. 
 
 Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circum- 
 stance; nay, it seemed a relief to her wo'rn mind to be at any cer- 
 tainty; and the words, " then by this time it is all settled," passed 
 internally, without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush. 
 
 After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which 
 her interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the 
 expediency of an early walk. " It was a lovely morning, and 
 at that season of the year a fine morning so often turned off, 
 that it was wisest for everybody n'ot to delay their exercise;" 
 and such hints producing nothing, he soon proceeded to a positive 
 recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters, to take their 
 walk without loss of time. Now they came to an understanding. 
 Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred Out of doors, except 
 on a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large family, 
 find time for a walk. " Would she not, then, persuade her 
 daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the 
 pleasure of attending them?" Mrs. Price was greatly obliged 
 and very complying. " Her daughters were very much confined 
 Portsmouth was a sad place they did not often get out and 
 she knew they had Some errands in the town, which they would 
 be very glad to do." And the consequence was, that Fanny, 
 strange as it was strange, awkward, and distressing found 
 herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the 
 High Street, with Mr. Crawford. 
 
 It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; for 
 they were hardly in the High Street, before they met her father, 
 whose appearance was not the better from its being Saturday. 
 He stopped; and, ungentlemanlike as he looked, Fanny was 
 obliged to introduce him to Mr. Crawford. She could not have 
 a doubt of the manner in which Mr. Crawford must be struck. 
 He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must soon 
 give her up, and cease to have the smallest' inclination for the 
 match; and yet, though she had been so much wanting his 
 affection to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost 
 as bad as the complaint; and I believe there is scarcely a young 
 lady in the United Kingdoms who would not rather put up with 
 the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than 
 have him driven away by the vulgarity of her nearest relations. 
 Mr. Crawford, probably could not regard his future father-in- 
 law with any idea of taking him for a model in dress; but (as 
 Fanny instantly, and to her great relief,' discerned,) her father 
 was a very different man, a very different Mr. Price in his
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 283 
 
 behavkmr to this most highly respected stranger, from what he 
 was in his own family at home. His manners now, though not 
 polished, were more than passable ; they were grateful, animated, 
 manly; his expressions were those of an attached father, and a 
 sensible man ; his loud tones 'did very well in the open air, and 
 there was not a single oatli to be heard. Such was his instinctive 
 compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford ; and be the 
 consequence what it might, Fanny's immediate feelings were 
 infinitely soothed. 
 
 The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an offer 
 of Mr. Price's to take Mr. Crawford into the duck-yard, which 
 Mr. Crawford, desirous of accepting as a favour what was in- 
 tended as such, though he had seen the dock-yard pgam and 
 again, and hoping to be so much the longer with Fanny, was 
 very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if the Miss Prices 
 were not afraid of the fatigue; and as it was somehow or other 
 ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were 
 not at all afraid, to the dock-yard they were all to go ; and, but 
 for Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, 
 without the smallest consideration for his daughter's errands in 
 the High Street. He took care, however, that they should be 
 allowed to go to the shops they came out expressly to visit; and 
 it did not delay them long, for Fanny could so little bear to 
 excite impatience, or be waited for, that before the gentlemen, 
 as they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon the 
 last naval regulations, or settle the number of three-deckers now 
 in commission, their companions were ready to proceed. 
 
 They were then to set forward for the dock-yard at once, and 
 the walk would have been conducted (according to Mr. Craw- 
 ford's opinion) in a singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed 
 the entire regulation of it, as the two girls, he found, would have 
 been left to follow, and keep up with them, or not, as they could, 
 while they walked on together at their own hasty pace. He was 
 able to introduce some improvement occasionally, though by no 
 means to the extent he wished; he absolutely would not walk 
 away from them; and, at any crossing, or any crowd, when Mr. 
 Price was only calling out, " Come, girls come, Fan come, 
 Sue take care of yourselves keep a sharp look-out," he would 
 give them his particular attendance. 
 
 Once fairly in the dock-yard, he began to reckon upon some 
 happy intercourse with Fanny) as they were very soon joined by 
 a brother lounger of Mr. Price's, who was come to take his daily 
 survey of how things went on, and who must prove a far 
 more worthy companion than himself; and after a time the two 
 officers seemed very well satisfied in going about together and 
 discussing matters of equal and never-failing interest, while the 
 young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard, or found
 
 284 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to 
 look at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Craw- 
 ford could not have wished her more fatigued or more ready to 
 sit down ; but he could have wished her sister away. A quick 
 looking girl of Susan's age was the very worst third in the 
 world totally different from Lady Bertram all eyes and ears; 
 and there was no introducing the main point before her. He 
 must content himself with being only generally agreeable, and 
 letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with the indul- 
 gence, now and then, of a look or hint for the better informed 
 and conscious Fanny. Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk 
 of: there he had been some time, and everything there was 
 rising in importance from his present schemes. Such a man 
 could come from no place, no society, without importing some- 
 thing to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintance were all of 
 use, and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to her. For 
 Fanny, somewhat more was related than the accidental agree- 
 ableness of the parties he had been in. For her approbation, 
 the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this 
 unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, 
 relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large 
 and (he believed) industrious family was at stake. He had 
 suspected his agent of some underhand dealing of meaning to 
 bias him against the deserving and he had determined to go 
 himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. lie 
 had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had 
 been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and 
 was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel, that 
 in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for 
 his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants, 
 whom he had never seen before ; he had begun making acquain- 
 tance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own 
 estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, 
 and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak 
 so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be 
 the friend of the poor and oppressed ! Nothing could be more 
 grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an 
 approving look when it was all frightened off, by his adding a 
 something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, 
 a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Evering- 
 ham, a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it 
 a dearer object than it had ever been yet. 
 
 She turned away, and wished he would not say such tilings. 
 She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than 
 she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility 
 of his turning out well at last ; but he was and must ever be 
 completely nnsnited to her, and ought not to think of her.
 
 MANSF1KLJD PAUK. 285 . 
 
 He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and 
 that it would be as well to talk of something else, and turned to 
 Mansfield. He could not have chosen better; that was a topic 
 to bring back her attention and her looks almost instantly. It 
 was a real indulgence to her to hear or to speak of Mansfield. 
 Now so long divided from everybody who knew the place, she 
 felt it quite the voice of a friend when he mentioned it, and led 
 the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties and 
 comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed 
 her to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking 
 of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as 
 having the sweetest of all sweet tempers. 
 
 He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so; he 
 looked forward with the hope of spending much, very much, of his 
 time there ; always there, or in the neighbourhood. He particularly 
 built upon a very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt 
 that it would be so ; he depended upon it ; a summer and autumn 
 infinitely superior to the last. As animated, as diversified, as 
 social but with circumstances of superiority indescribable. 
 
 " Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued, " what 
 a society will be comprised in those houses ! And at Michaelmas, 
 perhaps, a fourth may be added, some small hunting-box in the 
 vicinity of everything so dear ; for as to any partnership in 
 Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram once good-humouredly 
 proposed, I hope I foresee two objections, two fair, excellent, 
 irresistible objections to that plan." 
 
 Fanny was doubly silenced here ; though when the moment 
 was passed, could regret that she had not forced herself into the 
 acknowledged comprehension of one half of his meaning, and en- 
 couraged him to say something more of his sister and Edmund. 
 It was a subject which she must learn to speak of, and the weak- 
 ness that shrunk from it would soon be quite unpardonable. 
 
 When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished, 
 or had time for, the others were ready to return ; and in the 
 course of their walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's 
 privacy for telling Fanny that his only business in Portsmouth 
 was to see her, that he was come down for a couple of days on her 
 account and hers only, and because he could not endure a longer 
 total separation. She was sorry, really sorry; and yet, in spite 
 of this and the two or three other things which she wished he had 
 not said, she thought him altogether improved since she had seen 
 him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to other 
 people's feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield ; she had 
 never seen him so agreeable so near being agreeable ; his be- 
 haviour to her father could not offend, and there was something 
 particularly kind and proper in the notice he took of Susan. He 
 was decidedly improved. She wished the next day over, she
 
 286 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 wished he had come only for one day ; but it was not so very 
 bad as she. would ,have expected, the pleasure of talking of 
 Mansfield was so very great ! 
 
 Before they parted, she had to thank him for another pleasure, 
 and. one of no trivial kind. Her father asked him to do them the 
 honour of taking his mutton with them, and fanny, had time for 
 only one thrill of horror, before he declared himself prevented by 
 a prior engagement. He was engaged to dinner already both, for 
 that day and the next ; he had met with some acquaintance at the 
 Crown who would not be denied.; he should have the honour, 
 however, of waiting on them again on the morrow, &c. and so 
 they parted Fanny in a state of actual felicity from escaping so 
 horrible, an evil ! 
 
 To have, had him join their family dinner-party, and see all 
 their deficiencies, would have been dreadful ! Rebecca's cookery 
 and Rebecca's waiting) and Betsey's gating at table without 
 restraint, and pulling everything about as she chose, were what 
 Fanny herself was not yet enough inured to, for her often to 
 make a tolerable meal. She was nice only from natural delicacy, 
 but he had been brought up in a school of luxury and epicurism. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^ HE Prices were just setting oft' for church the 
 " next day wh(jn Mr. Crawford appeared again. 
 He came not to stop but to join them ; he 
 was asked to go with them to the Garrison 
 chapel, which was exactly what he intended, 
 'and they all walked thither together, 
 ^ssytqgj' The family were BOW seen to advantage. 
 '"^^"^ Nature had given them .no inconsiderable 
 share of beauty, a#d every Sunday dressed them in their cleanest 
 skins and best attire. Sunday always brought this comfort to 
 Fanny, and on this Sunday she felt it more than ever. Her poor 
 mother now did not look .so very unworthy, of being Lady : Ber- 
 tram's sister as she was but too apt to look. It often .grieved 
 her to the heart, to think of the contrast between them to think 
 that where nature had made so little difference circumstances 
 should have made so much, and that her mother, as handspme as 
 Lady Bertram, and some years .her junior, should have an appear- 
 ance so much more worn and faded, so comfortless, so slatternly, so 
 shabby. But Sunday made her a very creditable and tolerably 
 cheerful-looking Mrs. Price, coming abroad with a fine family of 
 children, feeling a little respite of her weekly cares, and only dis-
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 287 
 
 composed if she saw her boys run into danger, or Kebecca pass 
 by with a flower in her hat. 
 
 In chapel they were obliged to divide, but Mr. Crawford took 
 care not to be divided from the female branch ; and after chapel 
 he still continued with them, and made one in the family party 
 on the ramparts. 
 
 Mrs. Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every fine 
 Sunday throughout the year, always going directly after morning 
 service and staying till dinner-time. It was her public place : 
 there she met -her acquaintance, heard a little news, talked over 
 the badness of the Portsmouth servants, and wound up her spirits 
 for the six days ensuing. 
 
 Thither they now went ; Mr. Crawford most happy to con: 
 sider the Miss Prices as his peculiar charge ; and before they had 
 been there long somehow or other there was no saying how 
 Fanny could not have believed it but he was walking between 
 them with an arm of each under his, and she did not know how 
 to prevent or put an end to it. It made her uncomfortable for a 
 time but yet there were enjoyments in the day and in the view 
 which would be felt. 
 
 The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March ; but 
 it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, oc- 
 casionally clouded for a minute ; and everything looked so 
 beautiful under the influence of such a sky, the effects of the 
 shadows pursuing each other, on the ships at Spithead and the 
 island beyond, with the ever- varying hues of the sea now at high 
 water, dancing in its glee and dashing against the ramparts with 
 so tine a sound, produced altogether such a combination of charms 
 for Fanny, as made her gradually almost careless of the circum- 
 stances under which she felt them. Nay. had she been without 
 his arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, for she 
 wanted strength for a two hours' saunter of this kind, coming, as 
 it generally did, upon a week's previous inactivity. Fanny was 
 beginning to feel the effect of being debarred from her usual, 
 regular exercise : she had lost ground as to health since her 
 being in Portsmouth ; and but for Mr. Crawford and the beauty 
 of the weather, would soon have been knocked up now. 
 
 The loveliness of the day, and of the view, he felt like herself. 
 They often stopped with the same sentiment and taste, leaning 
 against the wall, some minutes, to look and admire ; and coiisi- 
 sidering he was not Edmund, Fanny could not but allow that he 
 was sufficiently open to the charms of nature, and very well able 
 to express his admiration. She had a few tender reveries now 
 and then, which he could sometimes take advantage of, to look in 
 her face without detection ; and the result of these looks was, 
 that, though as bewitching as ever, her face was less blooming 
 than it ought to be. She said she was very well, and did not like
 
 288 MANSFIELD PAliK. 
 
 to be supposed otherwise ; but take it all in all, he was convinced 
 that her present residence could not be comfortable, and, there- 
 fore could not be salutary for her, and he was growing anxious 
 for her being again at Mansfield, where her own happiness, and 
 his in seeing her, must be so much greater. 
 
 " You have been here a month, I think ?" said he. 
 
 "Xo ; not quite a month. It is only four weeks to-morrow 
 since I left Mansfield." 
 
 " You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call 
 that a month." 
 
 " I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening." 
 
 " And it is to be a two months' visit, is it not ?" 
 
 " Yes. My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it will not 
 be less." 
 
 "And how are you to be conveyed back again ? Who comes 
 for you ?" 
 
 " I do not know- I have heard nothing about it yet from my 
 aunt Perhaps I may be to stay longer. It may not be con- 
 venient for me to be fetched exactly at the two months' end." 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Mr. Crawford replied, " I know 
 Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I 
 know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your 
 comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single 
 being in the family. I am aware that ypu may be left here week 
 after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything for coming 
 himself, or sending your aunt's maid for you, without involving 
 the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have 
 laid down for the next quarter of a year. This will not do. 
 Two months is an ample allowance, I should think six weeks 
 quite enough I am considering your sister's health," said he, 
 addressing himself to Susan, " which I think the confeiement of 
 Portsmouth unfavourable to. She requires constant air and 
 exercise. When you know her as well as I do, I am sure you 
 will agree that she does, and that she ought never to JKJ long 
 banished from the free air and liberty of the country. If, there- 
 fore, (turning again to Fanny,) you find yourself growing un- 
 well, and any difficulties arise about your returning to Mansfield 
 without waiting for the two months to be ended that must 
 not be regarded as of any consequence, if you feel yourself at all 
 less strong or comfortable than usual, and will only let my sister 
 know it, give her only the slightest hint, she and I will imme- 
 diately come down, and take you back to Mansfield. You know 
 the ease and the pleasure with which tiiis would be done. You 
 know all that would be felt on the occasion." 
 
 Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off. 
 
 " I am perfectly serious," he replied, " as you perfectly 
 know. And I hope you will not be cruelly concealing any ten-
 
 MANSFIELD PAKK. 289 
 
 clency to indisposition. Indeed, you shall not it shall not be in 
 your power ; for so long only as you positively say, in every 
 letter to Mary, ' I am well' and I know you cannot speak or 
 write a falsehood so long only shall you be considered as well." 
 
 Fanny thanked him again, but was affected and distressed to 
 a degree that made it impossible for her to say much, or even to 
 be certain of what she ought to say. This was towards the 
 close of their walk. He attended them to the last, and left them 
 only at the door of their own house, when he knew them to be 
 going to dinner, and therefore pretended to be waited for else- 
 where. 
 
 " I wish you were not so tired," said he, still detaining Fanny 
 after all the others were in the house " I wish I left you in 
 stronger health. Is there anything I can do for you in town ? 
 I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am 
 not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose 
 on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, 
 which I design for somebody else. I must come to an under- 
 standing with him. I must make him know that I will not be 
 tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the 
 north that I will be master of my own property. I was not 
 explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does 
 on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare 
 of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back 
 into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a foot- 
 ing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever 
 fellow ; I do not wish to displace him provided he does not try 
 to displace me ; but it would be simple to be duped by a man 
 who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple 
 to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, 
 instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise 
 already. Would it not be worse than simple ? Shall I go ? Do 
 you advise it?" 
 
 " I advise ! you know very well what is right" 
 
 " Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what 
 is right. Your judgment is my rule of right." 
 
 " Oh, no ! do not say so. We have all a better guide in our- 
 selves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be. 
 Good-bye ; I wish you a pleasant journey to-morrow." 
 
 " Is there nothing I can do for you in town?" 
 
 " Nothing, I am much obliged to you." 
 
 " Have you no message for anybody?" 
 
 " My love to your sister, if you please ; and when you see my 
 cousin my cousin Edmund I wish you would be so good as to 
 say that I suppose I shall soon hear from him." 
 
 " Certainly ; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write his 
 excuses myself "
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 
 
 He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer, detained. 
 He pressed her hand,, looked at her, and was gone. He went to 
 while away the next three hours as he could, with his .other 
 acquaintance, till the. best dinner that a capital inn afforded was 
 ready for their enjoyment, and she turned in to her more simple 
 one immediately. 
 
 Their general fare bore, a very different character ; and could 
 he have suspected how many privations, besides that of exercise, 
 she endured in her father's house, lie would have wondered that 
 her looks were not much more affected than he found them. She 
 was so little .equal to Rebecca's puddings and. Rebecca's hashes, 
 brought to table, as they all were, with such accompaniments of 
 half-cleaned plates, and not half-cleaned knives and forks, ttyat 
 she was very often constrained to defer her heartiest meal till 
 she could send her brothers in the evening for biscuits and bunn.^ 
 After being nursed up at Mansfield, it was too late in the day to 
 be hardened at Portsmouth ; and though Sir Thomas, had he 
 known all, might haye thought his niece in the most promising 
 way of being starved, both mind and body, into a much juster 
 value for Mr. Crawford's good company and good fortune, be 
 woidd probably have feared to push his experiment farther, lest 
 she might die under the cure. 
 
 Fanny was out of spirits all the rest of the .day. Though to- 
 lerably secure of not seeing Mr. Crawford again, she could not 
 help being low. It was parting with somebody of the nature of 
 a Mend ; and though, in one light, glad to have him gone, it 
 seemed as if s)ie was now deserted by everybody ; it was a sort 
 of renewed separation from Mansfield ; and she could not think 
 of his returning to town, and being frequently with Mary and 
 Edmund, without feelings so near akin to envy as made her hate 
 herself for having them. 
 
 Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing around 
 her ; a friend or two of her father's, as always happened if he 
 was not with them, spent the long, long evening there; and, from 
 six o'clock till half-past nine, there was little intermission of nois,e 
 or grog. She was very. low. The wonderful improvement which 
 she still fancied in Mr. Crawford was the nearest to administering 
 comfort of anything within the current of her thoughts. ISpt 
 considering in how different a circle she had been just seeing him, 
 nor how much might be owing to contrast, she was quite per- 
 suaded of his being astonishingly more gentle and regardful of 
 others than formerly. And, if in little things, must it not be so 
 in great? So anxious for her health and comfort, so very feeling 
 as he now expressed himself, and really seemed, might not it be 
 fairly supposed that he would not much longer persevere in a 
 suit so distressing to her?
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 T was presumed that Mr. Crawford was tra- 
 velling back to London, on the morrow, for 
 nothing more was seen of him at Mr Price's ; 
 and, two days afterwards, it was a fact ascer- 
 jg tained to Fanny by the following letter from 
 his sister, opened and read by her, on another 
 account, with the most anxious curiosity : 
 " I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny, 
 that Henry has been down to Portsmouth to see you ; that he 
 had a delightful with you to the dock-yard, last Saturday, and 
 one still more to be dwelt on the next day, on the ramparts ; 
 when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet looks and 
 conversation were altogether in the most delicious harmony, and 
 afforded sensations which are to raise ecstasy even in retrospect. 
 Tliis, as well as I understand, is to be the substance of my infor- 
 mation. He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to 
 be communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and these 
 two said walks, and his introduction to your family, especially 
 to a fair sister of yours, a fine girl of fifteen, who was of the 
 party on the ramparts, taking her first lesson, I presume, in love. 
 I have not time for writing much, but it would be out of place 
 if I had, for this is to be a mere letter of business, penned for the 
 purpose of conveying necessary information, which could not be 
 delayed without risk of evil.. Mydear, dear Fanny, if I had you 
 here, how I would talk to you! You should listen to me till you 
 were tired, and advise me till you were still tired more; but it 
 is impossible to put. a hundredth part of my great mind on paper, 
 so I will abstain altogether, -and leave you to guess what you 
 like. I have no news for you. You have politics, of course ; 
 and it would be too bad to plague you with the names of people and 
 parties that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you an ac r 
 count of your cousin's first party, but I was lazy, and now it is 
 too long ago ; suffice it, that everything was just as it ought to 
 be, in a style that any of her connexions must have been grati- 
 fied to witness, and that her own dress and manners did her the 
 greatest credit. My friend, Mrs. Fraser, is mad for such a house, 
 and it would not make me miserable. I go to Lady Stornaway 
 after Easter : she seems in high spirits, and very happy. I fancy 
 Lord S. is very good-humoured and pleasant in his own family, 
 and I do not think him so very ill-looking as I did at least, 
 one sees many worse. He will not do by the side of your cousin 
 Edmund. Of the last-mentioned hero, what shall I say? If I 
 avoided his name entirely, it would look suspicious. I will say,
 
 292 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 then, that we have seen him two or three times, and that my 
 friends here are very much struck with his gentlemanlike ap- 
 pearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad judge) declares she knows but 
 three men in town who have so good a person, height, and 
 air ; and I must confess, when he dined here the other day, there 
 were none to compare with him, and we were a party of sixteen. 
 Luckily there is no distinction of dress now-a-days to tell tales 
 butbut but 
 
 " Yours, affectionately. 
 
 " I had almost forgot (it was Edmund's fault, he gets into uiy 
 head more than does me good) one very material thing I had to 
 say from Henry and myself I mean about our taking you back 
 into Northamptonshire. My dear little creature, do not stay at 
 Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks. Those vile sea-breezes 
 are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt always felt 
 affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral of 
 course never believed, but I know it was so. I am at your ser- 
 vice and Henry's, at an hour's notice. I should like the scheme, 
 and we would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham 
 in our way, and perhaps you would not mind passing through 
 London, and seeing the inside of St. George's, Hanover-square. 
 Only keep your cousin Edmund from me at such a time I 
 should not l ? ke to be tempted. What a long letter ! one word 
 more. He^ry, I find, has some idea of going into Norfolk again 
 upon some business that you approve ; but this cannot possibly 
 be permitted before the middle of next week that is, he cannot 
 any how be spared till after the 14th, for we have a party that 
 evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion, 
 is what you can have no conception of ; so you must take it upon 
 my word to be inestimable. He will see the Eushworths, which 
 I own I am not sorry for having a little curiosity, and so I 
 think has he though he will not acknowledge it." 
 
 This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read deli- 
 berately, to supply matter for much reflection, and to leave every- 
 thing in greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be 
 drawn from it was, that nothing decisive had yet taken place. 
 Edmund had not yet spoken. How Miss Crawford really felt 
 how she meant to act, or might act without or against her 
 meaning whether his importance to her were quite what it 
 I?:K! been before the last separation whether, if lessened, it were 
 likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were subjects for end- 
 less conjecture, and to be thought of on that day and many days 
 to come, without producing any conclusion. The idea that re- 
 turned the oftenest was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself 
 cooled and staggered by a return to London habits, would yet 
 prove herself in the end too much attached to him, to give him 
 up. She would try to be more ambitious than her heart would
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 293 
 
 allow. She would hesitate, she -would teaze, she would condi- 
 tion, she would require ;i great deal, but she would finally accept. 
 
 This was Fanny's most frequent expectations. A house in 
 town ! that she thought must be impossible. Yet there was no 
 saying what Miss Crawford might not ask. The prospect for 
 her cousin grew worse and worse. The woman who could speak 
 of him, and speak only of his appearance ! What an unworthy 
 attachment! To be deriving support from the commendations of 
 Mrs. Fraser! She who had known him intimately half a year! 
 Fanny was ashamed of her. Those parts of the letter which re- 
 lated only to Mr. Crawford and herself touched her, in compa- 
 rison, slightly. Whether Mr. Crawford went into Norfolk before 
 or after the 14th was certainly no concern of hers, though, every- 
 thing considered, she thought lie would go without delay. That 
 Miss Crawford should endeavour to secure a meeting between 
 him and Mrs. Ilushworth, was all in her worst line of conduct, 
 and grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped he would not 
 be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He acknowledged 
 no such inducement, and his sister ought to have given him credit 
 for better feelings than her own. 
 
 She was yet more impatient for another letter from town after 
 receiving this than she had been before ; and for a few days was 
 so unsettled by it altogether, by what had come, and what 
 might come, that her usual readings and conversations with 
 Susan were much suspended. She could not command her at- 
 tention as she wished. If Mr. Crawford remembered her mes- 
 sage to her cousin, she thought it very likely, mo:t likely, that 
 he would write to her at all events; it would be most consistent 
 with his usual kindness; and till she got rid of this idea, till it 
 gradually wore off, by no letters appearing in the course of three 
 or four days more, she was in a most restless, anxious state. 
 
 At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense 
 must be submitted to, and must not be allowed to wear her out, 
 and make her useless. Time did something, her own exertions 
 something more, and she resumed her attentions to Susan, and 
 again awakened the same interest in them. 
 
 Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without any 
 of the early delight in books, which had been so strong in Fanny, 
 with a disposition much less inclined to sedentaiy pursuits, or to 
 information for information's sake, she had so strong a desire of 
 not appearing ignorant, as, with a good clear understanding, 
 made her a most attentive, profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny 
 was her oracle. Fanny's explanations and n'ir.arks were a most 
 important addition to every essay, or every chapter of history. 
 What Fanny told her of former times dwelt more on her mind 
 than the pages of Goldsmith ; and she paid her sister the com- 
 pliment of preferring her style to that of any printed author. 
 The early habit of reading was wanting.
 
 294 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects so 
 high as history or morals. Others had their hour; and of lesser 
 matters, none returned so often, or remained so long between 
 them, as Mjansfield Park, a description of the people, the man- 
 ners, the amusements, the ways of Mansfield Papk. Susan, who 
 had an innate taste for the genteel and well-appointed, was eager 
 to hear, and Fanny could not but indulge herself in dwelling on 
 go beloved a theme. She hoped it was not wrong ; though, after 
 a time, Susan's very great admiration of everything said or done 
 in her uncle's house, and earnest longing to go into Northamp- 
 tonshire, seemed almost to blame her for exciting feelings which 
 could not be gratified. 
 
 Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than her 
 elder sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand this, 
 she b-'gan to feel that when her own release from Portsmouth 
 came, her happiness would have a material drawback in leaving 
 Susan behind. That a girl so capable of being made everything 
 good should be left in such hands, distressed her more and more. 
 Were she likely to have a home to invite her to, what a blessing 
 it would be ! And had it been possible for her to return Mr. 
 Crawford's regard, the probability of his being very far from 
 objecting to such a measure would have been the greatest 
 increase of all her own comforts. She thought he was really 
 good-tempered, and could fancy his entering into a plan of that 
 sort most pleasantly. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 EVEN weeks of the two months were 
 very nearly gone, when the ona letter, the 
 letter from Edmund so long expected, was 
 put into Fanny's hands. As she opened and 
 saw its length, she prepared herself for a 
 minute detail of happiness and a profusion of 
 love and praise towards the fortunate crea- 
 ture, who was now mistress of his fate. 
 These were the contents. 
 
 " Mansfield Park. 
 " My dear Fanny, 
 
 " Excuse me that I have not written before. Crawford told 
 me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I found it im- 
 possible to write from London, and persuaded myself that you 
 would understand my silence. Could I have sent a few happy 
 lines, they should not have been wanting, but nothing of that 
 nature was ever in my power. I am returned to Mansfield in a 
 less assured state than when I left it. My hopes are much
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 295 
 
 weaker You are probably aware of this already. So very fond 
 of you as Miss Crawford is, it is most natural that she should 
 tell you enough of her own feelings, to furnish a tolerable guess 
 
 at mine -I will not be prevented, however, from making my 
 
 own communication. Our confidences in you need not clash. 
 I ask no questions. There is something soothing in the idea 
 that we have the same friend, and that whatever unhappy differ- 
 ences of opinion may exist between us, we are united in our love 
 of you. It will be a comfort to me to tell you how things 
 now are, and what are my present plans, if plans I can be said 
 to have. I have been returned since Saturday. I was three 
 weeks in London, and saw her (for London) very often. I had 
 every attention from the Frasers that could be reasonably ex- 
 pected. ' I dare say I was not reasonable in carrying with me 
 Impcs of an intercourse at all like that of Mansfield. It was her 
 manner, however, rather than any unfrequency of meeting. 
 Had she been different when I did see her, I should have made 
 Ho complaint, but from the very first she was altered; my first 
 reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I had almost 
 resolved on leaving London again directly. I need not particu- 
 larize. You know the weak side of her character, and may 
 imagine the sentiments and expressions which were torturing 
 me. She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who 
 were giving all the support of their own bad sense to her too 
 lively mind. I do not like Mrs. Eraser. She is a cold-hearted, 
 vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, and 
 though evidently unhappy in her marriage, places her disap- 
 pointment not to faults of judgment or temper, or disproportion 
 of age, but to her being, after all, less affluent than many of 
 her acquaintance, especially than her sister, Lady Stornaway, 
 and is the determined supporter of everything mercenary and 
 ambitious, provided it be only mercenary and ambitious enough. 
 1 look upon her intimacy with those two sisters as the greatest 
 misfortune of her life and mine. They have been leading her 
 astray for years. Could she be detached" from them! and some- 
 times I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me prin- 
 cipally on their side. They are very fond of her; but I am 
 sure she does not love them a3 she loves you. When I think of 
 her great attachment to you, indeed, and the whole of her judi- 
 cious, upright conduct as a sister, she appears a very different 
 creature, capable of everything noble, and I am ready to blame 
 myself for a' too harsh construction of a playful mariner. I 
 cannot give her up, Fanny. She is the only woman in the 
 world whom I could e\ r er think of as a wife. If I did not be- 
 lieve that she had some regard for me, of course I should not say 
 this but I do believe it. I am convinced, that she is not with- 
 out a decided preference. I have no jealousy of any individual.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 It is the influence of the fashionable world altogether that I am 
 jealous of. It is the habits of wealth that I fear. Her ideas 
 are not higher than her own fortune may warrant, but they are 
 beyond what our incomes united could authorise. There is comfort, 
 however, even here. I could better bear to lose her, because not 
 rich enough, than because . of my profession. That would 
 only prove her affection not equal to sacrifices, which, in fact, I 
 am scarcely justified in asking; and, if I am refused, that, I 
 think, will be the honest motive. Her prejudices, I trust, are 
 not so strong as they were. You have my thoughts exactly as 
 they arise, my dear Fanny; perhaps they are sometimes contra- 
 dictory, but it will not be a less faithful picture of my mind. 
 Having once begun, it is a pleasvire to me to tell you all I feel. 
 I cannot give her up. Connected, as we already are, and, I 
 hope, are to be, to give up Mary Crawford would be to give up 
 the society of some of those most dear to me to banish myself 
 from the very houses and friends whom, under any other distress, 
 I should turn to for consolation. The loss of Mary' I must con- 
 sider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and of Fanny. 
 Were it a decided thing, an actual refusal, I hope I should know 
 how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weake i her hold on my 
 heart and, in the course of a few years but I am writing 
 nonsense were I refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can 
 never cease to try for her. This is the truth. The only question 
 is how? What may be the likeliest means? I have sometimes 
 thought of going to London again after Easter, and sometimes 
 resolved on doing nothing till she returns to Mansfield. Even 
 now, she speaks with pleasure of being in Mansfield in June; 
 but June is at a great distance, and I believe I shall write to her. 
 I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter. To be 
 at an early certainty is a material object. My present state is 
 miserably irksome. Considering everything, I think a letter will 
 be decidedly the best method of explanation. I shall be able to 
 write much that I could not say, and shall be giving her time for 
 reflection before she resolves on her answer, and I am less afraid 
 of the result of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I 
 think I am. My greatest danger would lie in her consulting 
 Mrs. Fraser, and I at a distance, unable to help my own cause. 
 A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation, and where the 
 mind is anything short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an 
 unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret. 
 I must think this matter over a little. This long letter, full of 
 my own concerns .alone, will be enough to tire even the friend- 
 ship of a Fanny. The last time I saw Crawford was at Mrs. 
 Fraser's party. I am more and more satisfied with all that I see 
 and hear of him. There is not a shadow of wavering. -He 
 thoroughly knows his own mind, and acts up to his resolution? .
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 297 
 
 au inestimable quality. I could not see him and my eldest sister 
 in the same room, without recollecting what you once told me, 
 and I acknowledge that they did not meet as friends. There was 
 marked coolness on her side. They scarcely spoke. I saw him 
 draw back surprised, and I was sorry that Mrs. Rushworth 
 should resent any former supposed slight to Miss Bertram. You 
 will wish to hear my opinion of Maria's degree of comfort as a 
 wife. There is no appearance of unhappiness. I hope they get 
 on pretty well together. I dined twice in Wimpole Street, and 
 might have been there oftener, but it is mortifying to be witli 
 Rushworth as a brother. Julia seems to enjoy London exceed- 
 ingly. I had little enjoyment there but have less here. We 
 are not a lively party. You are very much wanted. I miss 
 you more than I can express. My mother desires her best love, 
 and hopes to hear from you soon. She talks of you almost 
 every hour, and I am sorry to find how many weeks more she 
 is likely to be without you. My father means to fetch you 
 himself, but it will not be till after Easter, when he has business 
 in town. You are happy at Portsmouth, I hope, but this must 
 not be a yearly visit. I want you at home, that I may have 
 your opinion about Thornton Lacey. I have little heart for 
 extensive improvements till I know that it will ever have a 
 mistress. I think I shall certainly write. It is quite settled 
 that the Grants go to Bath; they leave Mansfield on Monday. 
 I am glad of it. I am not comfortable enough to be fit for any- 
 body; but your aunt seems to feel out of luck that such an 
 article of Mansfield news should fall to my pen instead of hers. 
 " Yours ever, my dearest Fanny." 
 
 " I never will no, I certainly never will wish for a letter 
 again," was Fanny's secret declaration, as she finished this. 
 " What do they bring but disappointment and sorrow? Not till 
 after Easter ! How shall I bear it? And my poor aunt talking 
 of me every hour !" 
 
 Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well as she 
 could, but she was within half a minute of starting the idea, 
 that Sir Thomas was quite unkind, both to her aunt and to her- 
 self. As for the main subject of the letter there was nothing 
 in that to soothe irritation. She was almost vexed into dis- 
 pleasure and anger against Edmund. " There is no good in this 
 delay," said she. "Why is not it settled? He is blinded, and 
 nothing will open his eyes nothing can, after having had truths 
 before him so long in vain He will marry her, and be poor and 
 miserable. God grant that her influence do not make him cease 
 to be respectable !" She looked over the letter again. "'So 
 very fond of me !' 'tis nonsense all. She loves nobody but her- 
 self and her brother. ' Her friends leading her astray for years ! ' 
 She is quite as likely to have led them astray. They have all, 
 (1) V
 
 298 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 perhaps, besn coirupting one another; but if they are so much 
 fonder of her than she is of them, she is the less likely to have 
 been hurt, except by their flattery. ' The only woman in the 
 world whom he could ever think of as a wife.' I firmly believe 
 it. It is an attachment to govern his whole life. Accepted or 
 refused, his heart is wedded to her for ever. ' The loss of Mary 
 I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and 
 Fanny.' Edmund, you do not know me. The families would 
 never be connected, if you did not connect them ! Oh ! write, 
 write. Finish it at once. Let there be an end of this suspense. 
 Fix, commit, condemn yourself." 
 
 Such sensations, however, were too near akin to resentment to 
 be long guiding Fanny's soliloquies. She was soon more softened 
 and sorrowful His warm regard, his kind expressions, his con- 
 fidential treatment, touched her strongly. He was only too good 
 to everybody It was a letter, in short, which she would not but 
 have had for the world, and which could never be valued enough. 
 This was the end of it. 
 
 Everybody at all addicted to letter-writing, without having 
 much to say which will include a large proportion of the female 
 world at least must feel with Lady Bertram, that she was out 
 of luck in having such a capital piece of Mansfield news, as the 
 certainty of the Grants going to Bath, occur at a time when she 
 could make no advantage of it, and will admit that it must hive 
 been very mortifying to her to see it fall to the share of her 
 thankless son, and treated as concisely as possible at the end of a 
 long letter, instead of having it to spread over the largest part of a 
 page of her own. For though Lady Bertram rather shone in the 
 epistolary line, having early in her marriage, from the want of 
 other employment, and the circumstance of Sir Thomas's being 
 in Parliament, got into the way of making and keeping corres- 
 pondents, and formed for herself a very creditable, commonplace, 
 amplifying style, so that a very little matter was enough for her, 
 she could not do entirely without any ; she must have something 
 to write about, even to her niece ; and being so soon to lose all the 
 benefit of Dr. Grant's gouty symptoms and Mrs. Grant's morning 
 calls, it was very hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last 
 epistolary uses she could put them to. 
 
 There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her. Lady 
 Bertram's hour of good luck came. Within a few days from the 
 receipt of Edmund's letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, begin- 
 ning thus : 
 
 " My dear Fanny, 
 
 " I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming intel- 
 ligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern." 
 
 This was a great deal better than to have to take up the pen 
 to acquaint her with all the particulars of the Grants' intended
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 299 
 
 journey, for the present intelligence was of a nature to promise 
 occupation for the pen for many days to come, being no less than 
 the dangerous illness of her eldest son, of which they had received 
 notice by express, a few hours before. 
 
 Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to 
 Newmarket, where a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking 
 had brought on a fever: and when the party broke up, being 
 unable to move, had been left by himself at the house of one of 
 these young men, to the comforts of sickness and solitude, and 
 the attendance only of servants. Instead of being soon well 
 enough to follow his friends, as he had then hoped, his disorder 
 increased considerably, and it was not long before he thought so 
 ill of himself, as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter 
 despatched to Mansfield. 
 
 " This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," observed 
 her Ladyship, after giving the substance of it, "has agitated us 
 exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly 
 alarmed and apprehensive for the poor invalid, whose state Sir 
 Thomas fears may be very critical ; and Edmund kindly pro- 
 poses attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add, 
 that Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion, 
 as it would be too trying for me. We shall greatly miss 
 Edmund in our small circle ; but I trust and hope he will find 
 the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be appre- 
 hended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield 
 shortly, which Sir Thomas proposes should be done, and thinks 
 best on every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will 
 soon be able to bear the removal without material inconvenience 
 or injury. As I have little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear 
 Fanny, under these distressing circumstances, I will write again 
 very soon." 
 
 Fanny's feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably 
 more warm and genuine than her aunt's style, of writing. She 
 felt truly for them all. Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to 
 attend him, and the sadly small party remaining at Mansfield, 
 were cares to shut out every other care, or almost every other. 
 She could just find selfishness enough to wonder whether Edmund 
 had written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, but 710 
 sentiment dwelt long with her, that was not purely affectionate 
 and disinterestedly anxious. Her aunt did not neglect her ; she 
 wrote again and again ; they were receiving frequent accounts 
 from Edmund, and these accounts were as regularly transmitted 
 to Fanny, in the same diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts, 
 hopes, and fears, all following and producing each other at hap- 
 hazard. It was a sort of playing at being frightened. The suf- 
 ferings which Lady Bertram did not see had little power over her 
 fancy ; and she wrote very comfortably about agitation, and anxiety,
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 and poor invalids, till Tom was actually conveyed to Mansfield, 
 and her own eyes had beheld his altered appearance. Then, a 
 letter which she had been previously preparing for Fanny, was 
 finished in a different style, in the language of real feeling and 
 alarm ; then, she wrote as she might have spoken. " He is 
 just come, my dear Fanny, and is taken up stairs ; and I am 
 so shocked to see him, that I do not know what to do. I am 
 sure he has been very ill. Poor Tom; I am quite grieved for 
 him, and very much frightened, and so is Sir Thomas; and 
 how glad I should be, if you were here to comfort me. But 
 Sir Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and says we must 
 consider his journey." 
 
 The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal bosom was 
 not soon over. Tom's extreme impatience to be removed to Mans- 
 field, and experience those comforts of home and family which 
 had been little thought of in uninterrupted health, had probably 
 induced his being conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever 
 came on, and for a week he was in a more alarming state than 
 ever. They were all very seriously frightened. Lady Bertram 
 wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be said to live 
 upon letters, and pass all her time between suffering from that of 
 to-day, and looking forward to to-morrow's. Without any par- 
 ticular affection for her eldest cousin, her tenderness of heart 
 made her feel that she could not spare him ; and the purity of 
 her principles added yet a keener solicitude, and when she con- 
 sidered how little useful, how little self-denying his life had 
 (apparently) been. 
 
 Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as on more 
 common occasions. Susan was always ready to hear and to sym- 
 pathise. Nobody else could be interested in so remote an evil 
 as illness, in a family above a hundred miles off not even Mrs. 
 Price, beyond a brief question or two, if she saw her daughter 
 with a letter in her hand, and now and then the quiet observa- 
 tion of "My poor sister Bertram must be in a great deal of 
 trouble." 
 
 So long divided, and so differently situated, the ties of blood 
 were little more than nothing. An attachment, originally as 
 tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere name. Mrs. 
 Price did quite as much for Lady Bertram, as Lady Bertram 
 would have done for Mrs. Price. Three or four Prices might 
 have been swept away, any or all, except Fanny and William, 
 and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or perhaps 
 might have caught from Mrs. Norris's lips the cant of its being a 
 very happy thing, and a great blessing to their poor dear sister 
 Price to have them so well provided for.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 T about the week's end from his return to 
 Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over, 
 and he was so far pronounced safe, as to make 
 his mother perfectly easy ; for being now used 
 to the sight of him in his suffering, helpless 
 state, and hearing only the best, and never 
 __ thinking beyond what she heard, -with no 
 *** disposition for alarm, and no aptitude at a 
 hint, Lady Bertram was the happiest subject in the world for 
 a little medical imposition. The fever was subdued ; the fever 
 had been his complaint, of course he would soon be well again ; 
 Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her 
 aunt's security, till she received a few lines from Edmund, written 
 purposely to give her a clearer idea of his brother's situation, 
 and acquaint her with the apprehensions which he and Lis father 
 had imbibed from the physician, with respect to some strong 
 hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the frame on the depar- 
 ture of the fever. They judged it best that Lady Bertram should 
 not be harassed by alarms which, it was to be hoped, would 
 prove unfounded; but there was no reason why Fanny should 
 not know the truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs. 
 
 A very few lines from Edmund showed her the patient and 
 the sick room in a juster and stronger light than all Lady 
 Bertram's sheets of paper could do. There was hardly any one 
 in the house who might not have described, from personal obser- 
 vation, better than her.-elf ; not one who was not more useful at 
 times to her son. She could do nothing but glide in quietly and 
 look at him ; but, when able to talk or to be talked to, or read to, 
 Edmund was the companion he preferred. His aunt worried him 
 by her cares, and Sir Thomas knew not how to bring down his 
 conversation or his voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. 
 Edmund was all in all. Fanny would certainly believe hjm so 
 at least, and must find that her estimation of him was higher 
 than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer 
 of a suffering brother. There was not only the debility of recent 
 illness to assist ; there was also, as she now learned, nerves much 
 affected, spirits much depressed to calm and raise; and her own 
 imagination added that there must be a mind to be properly 
 guided. . . 
 
 The family were not consumptive, and she was more inclined 
 to hope than fear for her cousin except when she thought of 
 Miss Crawford but Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being 
 the child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity it would 
 be good luck to have Edmund the only son.
 
 302 MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 
 
 Even in the sick chamber the fortunate Mary was not forgot- 
 teii. Edmund's letter had this postscript. " On the subject of 
 my last, I had actually begun a letter when called away by 
 Tom's illness, but I have now changed my mind, and fear to 
 trust the influence of friends. When Tom is better, I shall go." 
 
 Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, with 
 scarcely any change till Easter. A line occasionally added by 
 Edmund to his mother's letter was enough for Fanny's informa- 
 tion. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow. 
 
 Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most 
 sorrowfully considered, on first learning that she had no chance 
 of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she had yet 
 heard nothing of her return nothing even of the going to 
 London, which was to precede her return. Her aunt often 
 expressed a wish for her, but there was no notice, no message 
 from the uncle on whom all depended. She supposed he could 
 not yet leave his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her. 
 The end of April was coming on ; it would soon be almost three 
 months, instead of two, that she had been absent from them all, 
 and that her days had been passing in a state of penance, which 
 she loved them too well to hope they would thoroughly under- 
 stand; and who could yet say when there might be leisure to 
 think of, or fetch her? 
 
 Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them, 
 were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's Tirocinium for 
 ever before her. "With what intense desire she wants her 
 home," was continually on her tongue, as the truest description 
 of a yearning which she could not suppose any school-boy's bosom 
 to feel more keenly. 
 
 When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to 
 call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going 
 home; the word had been very dear to her; and so it still was, 
 but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now the home. 
 Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home. They had 
 been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations ; 
 and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt 
 
 using the same language "I cannot but say, I much regret 
 
 your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to 
 my spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never 
 be absent from home so long again," were most delightful 
 
 sentences to her. Still, however, it was her private regale 
 
 Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray such a 
 preference of her uncle's house : it was always, " when I go back 
 into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do 
 so and so." For a great while it was so; but at last the longing 
 grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking 
 of what she should do when she went home, before she was aware. 
 She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards
 
 MANSFIELD PAHK. 303 
 
 her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There 
 was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were 
 perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as 
 welcome to wish herself there, as to be there. 
 
 It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She 
 had not known before, what pleasures she had to lose in passing 
 March and April in a town. She had not known before, how 
 much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted 
 her. What animation, both of body and mind, she had derived 
 from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of 
 its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties 
 from the earliest flowers, in the warmest divisions of her aunt's 
 garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations and 
 
 the glory of his woods To be losing such pleasures was no 
 
 trille; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of close- 
 ness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substi- 
 tuted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely 
 worse; but even these incitements to regret were feeble, com- 
 pared with what arose from the conviction of being missed by 
 her best friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were 
 wanting her! 
 
 Could she have been at home, she might have been of service 
 to every creature in the house. She felt that she must have been 
 of use to all. To all she must have saved some trouble of head 
 or hand; and were it only in supporting the spirits of her aunt 
 Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude, or the still greater 
 evil of a restless, officious companion, too apt to be heightening 
 danger in order to enhance her own importance, her being there 
 would have been a general good. She loved to fancy how she 
 could have read to her aunt, how she could have talked to her, 
 and tried at once to make her feel the blessing of what was, and 
 prepare her mind for what might be; and how many walks up 
 and down stairs she might have saved her, and how many 
 messages she might have carried. 
 
 It astonished her that Tom's sisters could be satisfied with 
 remaining in London at such a time through an illness, which 
 had now, under different degrees of danger, lasted several weeks. 
 They might return to Mansfield when they chose; travelling 
 could be no difficulty to them, and she could not comprehend how 
 both could still keep away. If Mrs. Rush worth could imagine any 
 interfering obligations, Julia was certainly able to quit London 
 whenever she chose. It appeared from one of her aunt's letters, 
 that Julia had offered to return if wanted but this was all. It 
 was evident that she would rather remain where she was. 
 
 Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very 
 much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the 
 proof of it in Miss Crawford, as well as in her cousins; her
 
 304 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the most respectable 
 part of her character, her friendship for herself, had at least been 
 blameless. Where was either sentiment now? It was so long 
 since Fanny had had any letter from her, that she had some 
 reason to think lightly of the friendship which had been so dwelt 
 on. It was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Craw- 
 ford or of her other connexions in town, except through Mans- 
 field, and she was beginning to suppose that she might never 
 know whether Mr. Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or not 
 till they met, and might never hear from his sister any more this 
 spring, when the following letter was received to revive old, and 
 create some new sensations. 
 
 " Forgive me, iny dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for my 
 long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly. 
 This is my modest request and expectation, for you are so good, 
 that I depend upon being treated better than I deserve and I 
 write now to beg an immediate answer. I want to know the 
 state of things at Mansfield Park, and you, no doubt, are per- 
 fectly able to give it. One should be a brute not to feel for the 
 distress they are in and from what I hear, poor Mr. Bertram 
 has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of his 
 illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person to 
 be made a fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any trifling 
 disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had to nurse 
 him ; but now it is confidently asserted that he is really in a de- 
 cline, that the symptons are most alarming, and that part of the 
 family, at least, are aware of it. If it be so, I am sure you 
 must be included in that part, that discerning part, and therefore 
 entreat you to let me know how far I have been rightly informed. 
 I need not say how rejoiced I shall be to hear there has been any 
 mistake, but the report is so prevalent, that I confess I cannot 
 help trembling. To have such a fine young man cut off in the 
 flower of his days, is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will 
 feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. 
 Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile and look cunning, but upon my 
 honour I never bribed a physician in my life. Poor young 
 man! If he is to die, there will be two poor young men less in 
 the world ; and with a fearless face and bold voice would I say 
 to any one, that wealth and consequence could fall into no hands 
 more deserving of them. It was a foolish precipitation last 
 Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted out in part. 
 Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It will be but the loss 
 of the Esquire after his name. With real affection, Fanny, like 
 mine, more might be overlooked. Write to me by return of post, 
 judge of my anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real 
 truth, as you have it from the fountain-head. And now do not 
 trouble yourself to be ashamed of either my feelings or your
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 305 
 
 owu. Believe me, they are not only natural, they are philan- 
 thropic and virtuous. I put it to your conscience, whether ' Sir 
 Edmund' would not do more good with all the Bertram property 
 than other possible 'Sir.' Had the Grants been at home, I 
 would not have troubled you, but yon are now the only one I 
 can apply to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach. 
 Mrs. 11. has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers at 
 Twickenham (as to be sure you know), and is not yet returned ; 
 and Julia is with the cousins, who live near Bedford Square; 
 but I forget their name and street. Could I immediately apply 
 to either, however, I should still prefer you, because it strikes me 
 that they have all along been so unwilling to have their own 
 amusements cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I sup- 
 pose, Mrs. R.'s Easter holidays will not last much longer ; no 
 doubt they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers are plea- 
 sant people; and her husband away, she can have nothing but 
 enjoyment. I give her credit for promoting his going dutifully 
 down to Bath, to fetch his mother; but how will she and the 
 dowager agree in one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have 
 nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund would 
 have been in town again long ago, but for this illness? Yours 
 ever, Mary." 
 
 ' 1 had actually begun folding my letter, when Henry walked 
 in ; but he brings no intelligence to prevent my sending it. Mrs. 
 R. knows a decline is apprehended; he saw her this morning; 
 she returns to Wimpole Street to-day; the old lady is come. 
 Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies, be- 
 cause he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He does 
 it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody but you. At 
 this very moment he is wild to see you, and occupied only in 
 contriving the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure 
 conduce to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, what 
 he said at Portsmouth, about our conveying you home, and I 
 join him in it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly, and 
 tell us to come. It will do jis all good. He and I can go to the 
 Parsonage, you know, and be no trouble to our friends at Mans- 
 field Park. It would really be gratifying to see them all again, 
 and a little addition of society might be of infinite use to them ; 
 and, as to yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted there, 
 that you cannot in conscience (conscientious as you are), keep 
 away, whea you have the means of returning. I have not time 
 or patience to give half Henry's messages ; be satisfied that the 
 spirit of each and every one is unalterable affection." 
 
 Fanny's disgust at the greater part of this letter, with her ex- 
 treme reluctance to bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund 
 together, would have made her (as she felt) incapable of judging 
 impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or
 
 306 MANSHEJLi> PARK. 
 
 not. To herself, individually, it was most tempting. To be 
 finding herself, perhaps, within three days, transported to Mans- 
 field, was an image of the greatest felicity but it would have 
 been a material drawback, to be owing such felicity to persons 
 in whose feelings and conduct, at the present moment, she saw 
 so much to condemn; the sister's feelings the brother's conduct 
 her cold-hearted ambition his thoughtless vanity. To have 
 him still the acquaintance, the flirt, perhaps, of Mrs. Rushworth! 
 She was mortified. She had thought better of him. Hap- 
 pily, however, she was not left to weigh and decide between op- 
 posite inclinations and doubtful notions of right; there was no 
 occasion to determine, whether she ought to keep Edmund and 
 Mary asunder or not. She had a rule to apply to, which set- 
 tled everything. Her awe of her uncle, and her dread of taking 
 a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to her, what she had 
 to do. She must absolutely decline the proposal. If he wanted, 
 lie would send for her ; and even to offer an early return was a 
 presumption which hardly anything would have seemed to jus- 
 tify. She thanked Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. 
 "Her uncle, she understood, meant to fetch her; and as her 
 cousin's illness had continued so many weeks without her being 
 thought at all necessary, she must suppose her return would be 
 unwelcome at present, and that she should be felt an incuin- 
 brance." 
 
 Her representation of her cousin's state at this time was ex- 
 actly according to her own belief of it, and such as she supposed 
 would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent the 
 hope of everything she was wishing for. Edmund would be 
 forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain condi- 
 tions of wealth ; and this, she suspected, was all the conquest of 
 prejudice which he was so ready to congratulate himself upon. 
 She had only learned to think nothing of consequence but 
 money. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 S Fanny could not doubt that her answer was 
 conveying a real disappointment, she was ra- 
 >ther in expectation, from her knowledge of 
 Miss Crawford's temper, of being urged again; 
 and though no second letter arrived for the 
 I space of a week, she had still the same feel- 
 ing when it did come. 
 
 On receiving it, she could instantly decide 
 on its containing little writing, and was persuaded of its having 
 the air of a letter of haste and business. Its object was uq
 
 MANSFIELD PAIiK. 307 
 
 questionable ; and two moments were enough to start the pro- 
 bability of its being merely to give her notice that they should 
 be in Portsmouth that very day, and to throw her into all the 
 agitation of doubting what she ought to do in such a case. If 
 two moments, however, can surround with difficulties, a third 
 can disperse them ; and before she had opened the letter, the 
 possibility of Mr. and Miss Crawford's having applied to her 
 uncle and obtained his permission, was giving her ease. This 
 was the letter. 
 
 "A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached me, 
 and I write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving the least 
 credit to it, should it spread into the country. Depend upon it 
 there is some mistake, and that a day or two will clear it up 
 at any rate, that Henry is blameless, and in spite of a moment's 
 etourderie thinks of nobody but you. Say not a word of it 
 hear nothing, surmise nothing, whisper nothing till I write again. 
 I am sure it will be all hushed up, and nothing proved butRush- 
 worth's folly. If they are gone, I would lay my life they are 
 only gone to Mansfield Park, and Julia with them. But why 
 would not you let us come for you? I wish you may not re- 
 pent it. 
 
 " Yours, &c." 
 
 Fanny stood aghast. As no scandalous, ill-natured rumoiu 
 had reached her, it was impossible for her to understand much 
 of tliis strange letter. She could only perceive that it must re- 
 late to Wimpole Street and Mr. Crawford, and only conjecture 
 that something very imprudent had just occurred in that quarter 
 to draw the notice of the world, and to excite her jealousy, in 
 Miss Crawford's apprehension, if she heard it. Miss Crawford 
 need not be alarmed for her. She was only sorry for the parties 
 concerned and for Mansfield, if the report should spread so far; 
 but she hoped it might not. If the Rushworths were gone them- 
 selves to Mansfield, as was to be inferred from what Miss Craw- 
 ford said, it was not likely that anything unpleasant should have 
 preceded them, or at least should make any impression. 
 
 As to Mr. Crawford, she hoped it might give him a know- 
 ledge of his own disposition, convince him that he was not 
 capable of being steadily attached to any one woman in the world, 
 and shame him from persisting any longer in addressing herself. 
 
 It was very strange ! She had begun to think he really loved 
 her, and to fancy his affection for her something more than com- 
 mon and his sister still said that he cared for nobody else. 
 Yet there must have been some marked display of attentions to 
 her cousin, there must have been some strong indiscretion, since 
 her correspondent was not of a sort to regard a slight one. 
 
 Very uncomfortable she was, and must continue, till she heard 
 from Miss Crawford again. It was impossible to banish the
 
 308 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 letter from her thoughts, and she could not relieve herself by 
 speaking of it to any human being. Miss Crawford need not 
 have urged secrecy with so much warmth she might have 
 trusted to her sense of what was due to her cousin. 
 
 The next day came and brought no second letter. Fanny was 
 disappointed. She could still think of little else all the morn- 
 ing ; but, when her father came back in the afternoon with the 
 daily newspaper as usual, she Was so far from expecting any elu- 
 cidation through such a channel, that the subject was for a mo- 
 ment out of her head. 
 
 She was deep in other musing. The remembrance of her first 
 evening in that room, of her father and his newspaper, came 
 across her. No candle was now wanted. The sun was yet an 
 hour and a half above the horizon. She felt that she had, in- 
 deed, been three months there ; and the sun's rays falling strongly 
 into the parlour, instead of cheering, made her still more melan- 
 choly, for sunshine appeared to her a totally different thing in a 
 town and in the country. Here, its power was only a glare a 
 stifling, sickly glare, serving but to bring forward stains and dirt 
 that might otherwise have slept. There was neither health nor 
 gaiety in sunshine in a town. She sat in a blaze of oppressive 
 heat, in a cloud of moving dust ; and her eyes could only wander 
 from the walls, marked by her father's head, to the table cut and 
 notched by her brothers, where stood the tea-board never tho- 
 roughly cleaned, the cups and saucers wiped in streaks, the milk 
 a mixture of motes floating in thin blue, and the bread and butter 
 growing every minute more greasy than even Rebecca's hands 
 had first produced it. Her father read his newspaper, and her 
 mother lamented over the ragged carpet as usual, while the tea 
 was in preparation and wished Rebecca would mend it ; and 
 Fanny was first roused by his calling out to her, after humphing 
 and considering over a particular paragraph " What's the name 
 of your great cousins in town, Fan?" 
 
 A moment's recollection enabled her to say, " Rushworth, 
 sir." 
 
 "And don't they live in'Wimpole-street?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then, there's the devil to pay among them, that's all. There 
 (holding out the paper to her) much good may such fine rela- 
 tions do you. I don't know what Sir Thomas may think of such 
 matters ; he may be too much of the courtier and fine gentleman 
 to like his daughter the less. But by G if she belonged to 
 me, I'd give her the rope's end as long as I could stand over her. 
 A little flogging for man and woman, too, would be the best way 
 of preventing such things." 
 
 Fanny read to herself that " it was with infinite concern the 
 newspaper had to announce to the world a matrimonial fracas in
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 309 
 
 the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole-street ; the beautiful Mrs. II. 
 whose name had not long been enrolled in the lists of Hymen, and 
 who had promised to become so brilliant a leader in the fashiona- 
 ble world, having quitted her husband's roof in company with 
 the well-known and captivating Mr. C. the intimate friend and 
 uxociate of Mr. R. and it was not known, even to the editor of 
 the newspaper, whither they were gone." 
 
 " It is a mistake, sir," said Fanny, instantly ; " it must be a 
 mistake it cannot be true it must mean some other people.'' 
 
 She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame she 
 spoke with a resolution whicli sprung from despair, for she spoke 
 what she did not, could not believe herself. It had been the 
 shock of conviction as she read. The truth rushed on her ; and 
 how she could have spoken at all, how she could even have 
 breathed, was afterwards matter of wonder to herself. 
 
 Mr. Price cared too little about the report to make her much 
 answer. " It might be all a lie," he acknowledged ; " but so 
 many line ladies were going to the devil now-a-days that way, 
 that there was no answering for anybody." 
 
 " Indeed. I hope it is not true," said Mrs. Price, plaintively ; 
 " it would be so very shocking ! If I have spoken once to Re- 
 becca about that carpet, I am sure I have spoken at least a dozen 
 times ; have not I, Betsey? And it would not be ten minutes' 
 work." 
 
 The horror of a mind like Fanny's, as it received the convic- 
 tion of such guilt, and began to take in some part of the misery that 
 must ensue, can hardly be described. At first, it was a sort of 
 stupefaction ; but every moment was quickening her perception 
 of the horrible evil. She could not doubt she dared not indulge 
 a hope of the paragraph being false. Miss Crawford's letter, 
 which she had read so often as to make every line her own, was 
 in frightful conformity with it. Her eager defence of her brother, 
 her hope of its being hushed up, her evident agitation, were all 
 of a piece with something very bad ; and if there was a woman 
 of character in existence, who could treat as a trifle this sin of 
 tha first magnitude, who would try to gloss it over, and desire 
 to have it unpunished, she could believe Miss Crawford to be the 
 woman! Now she coulcl see her own mistake as to who were 
 gone or said to be gone. It was not Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth 
 it was Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford. 
 
 Fanny seemed to herself never to have been shocked before. 
 There was no possibility of rest. The evening passed without 
 a pause of misery, the night was totally sleepless. She passed 
 only from feelings of sickness to shudderings of horror ; and 
 from hot fits of fever to cold. The event was so shocking, that 
 there were moments even when her heart revolted from it as im- 
 possible when she thought it could not be. A woman married
 
 310 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 only six months ago a man professing himself devoid, even 
 engaged to another that other her near relation the whole 
 family, both families connected as they were by tie upon tie all 
 friends, all intimate together ! it was too horrible a confusion 
 of guilt, too gross a complication of evil, for human nature, not 
 in a state of utter barbarism, to be capable of! yet her judg- 
 ment told her it was so. His unsettled affections, wavering with 
 his vanity, Marias decided attachment, and no sufficient prin- 
 ciple on either side, gave it possibility Miss Crawford's letter 
 stamped it a fact, 
 
 What would be the consequence? Whom would it not injure? 
 Whose views might it not effect? Whose peace would it not 
 cut up for ever? Miss Crawford herself Edmund ; but it was 
 dangerous, perhaps, to tread such ground. She confined herself, 
 or tried to confine herself, to the simple, indubitable family misery 
 which must envelop all, if it were indeed a matter of certified 
 guilt and public exposure. The mother's sufferings, the father's 
 there she paused. Julia's, Tom's, Edmund's there a yet 
 longer pause. They were the two on whom it would fall the 
 most horribly. Sir Thomas's parental solicitude and high sense 
 of honour and decorum, Edmund's upright principles, unsuspi- 
 cious temper, and genuine strength of feeling, noade her think it 
 scarcely possible for them to support life and reason under such 
 disgrace; and it appeared to her, that, as far as this world alone 
 was concerned, the greatest blessing to every one of kindred with 
 Mrs. Rushworth would be instant annihilation. 
 
 Nothing happened the next day, or the next, to weaken her 
 terrors. Two posts came in, and brought no refutation, public 
 or private. There was no second letter to explain away the first 
 from Miss Crawford ; there was no intelligence from Mansfield, 
 though it was now full time for her to hear again from her aunt. 
 This was an evil omen. She had, indeed, scarcely the shadow 
 of a hope to soothe her mind, and was reduced to so low and wan 
 and trembling condition as no mother not unkind, except Mrs. 
 Price, could have overlooked, when the third day did bring the 
 sickening knock, and a letter was again put into her hands. It 
 bore the London postmark, and came from Edmund. 
 
 " Dear Fanny, You know our present wretchedness. May 
 God support you under your share ! We have been here two 
 days, but there is nothing to be done. They cannot be traced. 
 Youmaynot have heard of thelast blow Julia's elopement; she is 
 gone to Scotland with Yates. She left London a few hours be- 
 fore we entered it. At any other time, this would have been 
 felt dreadfully. Now it seems nothing ; yet it is a heavy ag- 
 gravation. My father is not overpowered. More cannot be 
 hoped. He is still able to think and act ; and I write, by his 
 desire, to propose your returning home. He is anxious to get
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 1 
 
 you there for my mother's sake. I shall be at Portsmouth the 
 morning after you receive this, and hope to find you ready to set 
 oft' for Mansfield. My father wishes you to invite Susan to go 
 with you, for a feAV months. Settle it as you like ; say what is 
 proper ; I am sure you will foel such an instance of his kindness 
 at such a moment! Do justice to his meaning, however I may 
 confuse it. You may imagine something of my present state. 
 There is no end of the evil let loose upon us. You will see me 
 early by the mail. Yours, &e." 
 
 Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had she felt 
 such a one as this letter contained. To-morrow ! to leave Ports- 
 mouth to-morrow ! She was, she felt she was, in the greatest 
 danger of being exquisitely happy, while so many were miserable. 
 The evil which brought such good to her! She dreaded lest she 
 should learn to be insensible of it. To be going so soon, sent for 
 so kindly, sent for as a comfort, and with leave to take Susan, 
 was altogether such a combination of blessings as set her heart 
 in a glow, and for a time seemed to distance every pain, and 
 make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress even of those 
 whose distress she thought of most. Julia's elopement could 
 affect her comparatively but little ; she was amazed and shocked ; 
 but it could not occupy her, could not dwell on her mind. She 
 was obliged to call herself to think of it, and acknowledge it to 
 be terrible and grievous, or it was escaping her, in the midst of 
 all the agitating, pressing, joyful cares attending this summons 
 to herself. 
 
 There is nothing like employment, active indispensable em- 
 ployment, for relieving sorrow. Employment, even melancholy, 
 may dispel melancholy, and her occupations were hopeful. She 
 had so much to do, that not even the horrible story of Mrs. 
 Kushworth (now fixed to the last point of certainty) could affect 
 her as it had done before. She had not time to be miserable. 
 Within twenty-four hours she was hoping to be gone; her 
 father and mother must be spoken to, Susan prepared, everything 
 got ready. Business followed business; the day was hardly 
 long enough. The happiness she was imparting, too, happiness 
 very little alloyed by the black communication which must 
 briefly precede it the joyful consent of her father and mother to 
 Susan's going witli her the general satisfaction with which the 
 going of both seemed regarded and the ecstasy of Susan herself, 
 was all serving to support her spirits. 
 
 The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the family. 
 Mrs. Price talked of her poor sister for a few minutes but how 
 to find anything to hold Susan's clothes, because Rebecca took 
 awav all the boxes and spoiled them, was much more in her 
 thoughts; and as for Susan, now unexpectedly gratified in the 
 first wish of her heart, and knowing nothing personally of those
 
 312 MANSFIELD PAKE. 
 
 who had sinned, or of those who were sorrowing if she could 
 help rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as much as ought 
 to be expected from human virtue at fourteen. 
 
 As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs. Price, or 
 the good offices of Rebecca, everything was rationally and duly 
 accomplished, and the girls were ready for the morrow. The 
 advantage of much sleep to prepare them for their journey was 
 impossible. The cousin who was travelling towards them could 
 hardly have less than visited their agitated spirits, one all happi- 
 ness, the other all varying and indescribable perturbation. 
 
 By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The 
 girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The 
 idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he 
 must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He 
 so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink, as she 
 entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and 
 she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, 
 just articulate, " My Fanny my only sister my only comfort 
 now." She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he 
 say more. 
 
 He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again, 
 though his voice still faltered, his manner showed the wish of 
 self-command, and the resolution of avoiding any farther allusion. 
 "Have you breakfasted? When shall you be ready? Does 
 Susan go?" were questions following each other rapidly. His 
 great object was to be off as soon as possible. When Mansfield 
 was considered, time was precious ; and the state of his own mind 
 made him find relief only in motion. It was settled that he 
 should order the carriage to the door in half an hour. Fanny 
 answered for their having breakfasted and being quite ready in 
 half an hour. He had already eaten, and declined staying for their 
 meal. He would walk round the ramparts, and join them with 
 the carriage. He was gone again, glad to get away even from 
 Fanny. 
 
 He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent emotions, 
 which he was determined to suppress. She knew it must be so, 
 but it was terrible to her. 
 
 The carriage came; and he entered the house again at the 
 same moment, just in time to spend a few minutes with the 
 family, and be a witness but that he saw nothing of the tran- 
 quil manner in which the daughters were parted with, and just in 
 time to prevent their sitting down to the breakfast table, which 
 by dint of much unusual activity, was quite and completely 
 ready as the carriage drove from the door. Fanny's last meal 
 in her father's house was in character with her first; she was 
 dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been welcomed. 
 
 How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as_she passed
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 313 
 
 the barriers of Portsmouth, and how Susan's face wore its 
 broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting forwards, 
 however, and screened by her bonnet, those smiles were unseen. 
 
 The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund's deep 
 sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his 
 heart must have opened in spite of every resolution ; but Susan's 
 presence drove him quite into himself, and his attempts to talk 
 on indifferent subjects could never be long supported. 
 
 Fanny watched him with never-failing solicitude, and some- 
 times catching his eye, revived an affectionate smile, which com- 
 forted her; but the first day's journey passed without her hearing 
 a word from him on the subjects that were weighing him down. 
 The next morning produced a little more. Just before their 
 setting out from Oxford, while Susan was stationed at a window, 
 in eager observation of the departure of a large family from the 
 inn, the other two were standing by the fire; and Edmund, 
 particularly struck by the alteration in Fanny's looks, and from 
 his ignorance of the daily evils of her father's house, attributing 
 an undue share of the change, attributing all, to the recent event, 
 took her hand, and said in a low, but very expressive tone, "No 
 wonder you must feel it you must suffer. How a man who 
 had once loved, could desert you ! But yours your regard was 
 new compared with Fanny, think of me!" 
 
 The first division of their journey occupied a long day, and 
 brought them, almost knocked up, to Oxford; but the second 
 was over at a much earlier hour. They were in the environs of 
 Mansfield long before the usual dinner-time, and as they 
 approached the beloved place, the hearts of both sisters sank a 
 little. Fanny began to dread the meeting with her aunts and 
 Tom, under so dreadful a humiliation ; and Susan to feel with 
 some anxiety, that all her best manners, all her lately acquired 
 knowledge of what was practised here, was on the point of being 
 called into action. Visions of good and ill breeding, of old 
 vulgarisms and new gentilities were before her; and she was 
 meditating much upon silver forks, napkins, and finger glasses. 
 Fanny had been everywhere awake to the difference of the 
 country since February; but, when they entered the Park, her 
 perceptions and her pleasures were of the keenest sort. It was 
 three months, full three months, since her quitting it; and the 
 change was from winter to summer. Her eye fell everywhere 
 on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, 
 though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state, when 
 farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much 
 is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagina- 
 tion. Her enjoyment, however, was for herself alone. Edmund 
 ould not share it She looked at him, but he was leaning back, 
 sunk in a deeper gloom than ever, and with eyes closed as if the 
 (1) *
 
 314 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the lovely scenes of home 
 must be shut out. 
 
 It made her melancholy again ; and the knowledge of what 
 must be enduring there, invested even the house, modem, airy, 
 and well situated as it was, with a melancholy aspect. 
 
 By one of the suffering party within, they were expected with 
 such impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had 
 scarcely passed the solemn-looking servants, when Lady Bertram 
 came from the drawing-room to meet her ; came with no indolent 
 step; and, falling on her neck, said, u Dear Fanny! now I shall 
 be comfortable." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T had been a miserable party, each of the 
 
 three believing themselves most miserable. 
 .Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to 
 l Maria, was really the greatest sufferer. Maria 
 
 was her first favourite, the dearest of all ; the 
 I match had been her own contriving, as she 
 \ had been wont with such pride of heart to 
 feel and say, and this conclusion of it almost 
 overpowered her. 
 
 She was an altered creature, quieted, stupified, indifferent U> 
 everything that passed. The being left with her sister and 
 nephew, and all the house under her care, had been an advan- 
 tage entirely thrown away; she had been unable to direct or 
 dictate, or even fancy herself useful. When really touched by 
 affliction, her active powers had been all benumbed ; and neither 
 Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her the smallest sup- 
 port or attempt at support. She had done no more for them, 
 than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary, 
 helpless, and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others 
 only established her superiority in wretchedness. Her compa- 
 nions were relieved, but there was no good for her, Edmund 
 was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt ; 
 but Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but 
 the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in tho 
 blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the demon of 
 the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford, this could not 
 have happened. 
 
 Susan, too, was a grievance. She had not spirits to notice her 
 in more than a few repulsive looks, but she felt her as a spy, and 
 an intruder, and an indigent niece, and everything most odious. 
 By her other aunt, Susan was received with quiet kindness.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 315 
 
 Lady Bertram could not give her much time, or many words, 
 but she felt her, as Fanny's sister, to have a claim at Mansfield, 
 and was ready to kiss and like her; and Susan was more than 
 satisfied, for she came perfectly aware that nothing but ill-hu- 
 mour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided 
 with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings, an escape 
 from many certain evils, that she could have stood against a 
 great deal more indifference than she met with from the others. 
 
 She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted with 
 the house and grounds as she could, and spent her days very 
 happily in so doing, while those who might otherwise have 
 attended to her were shut up, or wholly occupied each with the 
 person quite dependent on them, at this time, for everything like 
 comfort ; Edmund trying to bury his own feelings in exertions 
 for the relief of his brother's, and Fanny devoted to her aunt 
 Bertram, returning to every former office with more than former 
 zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who seemed 
 so much to want her. 
 
 To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and 
 lament, was all Lady Bertram's consolation. To be listened to 
 and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sympathy in 
 return, was everything that could be done for her. To be other- 
 wise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of 
 no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided 
 by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and 
 she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and 
 neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to 
 think little of guilt and infamy. 
 
 Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious. 
 After a time, Fanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts 
 to other subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupa- 
 tion ; but whenever Lady Bertram was fixed on the event, she 
 could see it only in one light, as comprehending the loss of a 
 daughter, and a disgrace never to be wiped off. 
 
 Fanny learned from her all the particulars which had yet 
 transpired. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator; but 
 with the help of some letters to and from Sir Thomas, and what 
 she already knew herself, and could reasonably combine, she was 
 soon able to understand quite as much as she wished of the cir- 
 cumstances attending the story. 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twicken- 
 ham, with a family whom she had just grown intimate with 
 a family of lively, agreeable manners, and probably of morals 
 and discretion to suit for to their house Mr. Crawford had con- 
 stant access at all times. His having been in the same neigh- 
 bourhood Fanny already knew. Mr. Rushworth 'had been 
 gone, at this time, to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother,
 
 3 1 6 MAKSFIELD PARK. 
 
 and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends 
 without any restraint, without even Julia ; for Julia had re- 
 moved from Wimpole Street two or three weeks before, on a 
 visit to some relations of Sir Thomas; a removal which her 
 father and mother were now disposed to attribute to some view 
 of convenience on Mr. Yates's account. Very soon after the 
 Rushworths' return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had re- 
 ceived a letter from an old and most particular friend in London, 
 who, hearing and witnessing a good deal to alarm him hi that 
 quarter, wrote to recommend Sir Thomas's coming to London 
 himself, and using his influence with his daughter to put an end 
 to the intimacy which was already exposing her to unpleasant 
 remarks, and evidently making Mr. Rushworth uneasy. 
 
 Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without 
 communicating its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when 
 it was followed by another, sent express from the same friend, to 
 break to him the almost desperate situation in which affairs then 
 stood with the young people. Mrs. Rushworth had left her hus- 
 band's house ; Mr. Rushworth had been in great anger and dis- 
 tress to him (Mr. Harding) for his advice ; Mr. Harding feared 
 there had been at least very flagrant indiscretion. The maid- 
 servant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He 
 was doing all in his power to quiet everything, with the hope of 
 Mrs. Rushworth' s return, but was so much counteracted in Wim- 
 pole Street by the influence of Mr. Rushworth's mother, that the 
 vorst consequences might be apprehended. 
 
 This dreadful communication could not be kept from the rest 
 of the family. Sir Thomas set off; Edmund would go with him ; 
 and the others had been left in a state of wretchedness, inferior 
 only to what followed the receipt of the next letters from Lon- 
 don. Everything was by that time public beyond a hope. The 
 servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the mother, had exposure in her 
 power ; and, supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced. 
 The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, 
 bad disagreed ; and the bitterness of the, elder against her daugh- 
 ter-in-law might, perhaps, arise almost as much from the per- 
 sonal disrespect with which she had herself been treated, as from 
 sensibility for her son. 
 
 However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had she 
 been less obstinate, or of less weight with her son, who was 
 always guided by the last speaker, by the person who could get 
 hold of and shut him up, the case would still have been hopeless, 
 for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear again ; and there was every 
 reason to conclude her to be concealed somewhere with Mr. Craw- 
 ford, who had quitted his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the 
 very day of her absenting herself. 
 
 Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in town, in
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 7 
 
 the hope of discovering and snatching her from farther vi. , 
 thougli all was lost on the side of character. 
 
 His present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There 
 was but one of his children who was not at this time a source 
 of misery to him. Tom's complaints had been greatly heighten- 
 ed by the shock of his sister's conduct, and his recovery so much 
 thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertram had been struck by 
 the difference, and all her alarms were regularly sent off to her 
 husband; and Julia's elopement, the additional blow which had 
 met him on his arrival in London, though its force had been 
 deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She 
 saw that it was. His letters expressed how much he deplored 
 it. Under any circumstances, it would have been an unwelcome 
 alliance ; but to have it so clandestinely formed, and such a pe- 
 riod chosen for its completion, placed Julia's feelings in a most 
 unfavourable light, and severely aggravated the folly of her 
 choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the worst manner, 
 and at the worst time ; and, though Julia was yet as more par- 
 donable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but regard 
 the step she had taken as opening the worst probabilities of a 
 conclusion hereafter like her sister's. Such was his opinion of 
 the set into which she had thrown herself. 
 
 Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort 
 but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart. 
 His displeasure against herself she trusted, reasoning differently 
 from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. She should be jus- 
 tified. Mr. Crawford would have fully acquitted her conduct in. 
 refusing him; but this, though most material to herself, would 
 be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was 
 terrible to her ; but what could her justification, or her gratitude 
 and attachment do for him? His stay must be on Edmund 
 alone. 
 
 She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave 
 his father no present pain. It was of a much less poignant na- 
 ture than what the others excited; but Sir Thomas was con- 
 sidering his happiness as very deeply involved in the offence of 
 his sister and friend, cut off by it, as he must be, from the woman 
 whom he had been pursuing with undoubted attachment, and 
 strong probability of success ; and who in everything but this 
 despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connexion. He 
 was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf, 
 in addition to all the rest, when they were in town : he had seen 
 or conjectured his feelings ; and, having reason to think that one 
 interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Ed- 
 mund derived only increased distress, had been as anxious on 
 that account as on others to get him out of town, and had en- 
 gasjed him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to
 
 318 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the 
 secret of her uncle's feelings Sir Thomas not in the secret of 
 Miss Crawford's character. Had he been privy to her conver- 
 sation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to 
 him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty. 
 
 That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did 
 not admit of a doubt with Fanny ; and yet, till she knew that he 
 felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient. She thought 
 he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now 
 speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too 
 much for her before, it would be most consoling ; but that she 
 found was not to be. She seldom saw him never alone he 
 probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be in- 
 ferred ? That his judgment submitted to all his own peculiar 
 and bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too keenly 
 felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must 
 be his state. He yielded, but it was with agonies which did 
 not admit of speech. Long, long would it be ere Miss Craw- 
 ford's name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal 
 of such confidential intercourse as had been. 
 
 It was long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and it was 
 not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the 
 subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening a wet Sunday 
 evening the very time of all others when if a friend is at hand 
 the heart must be opened, and everything told no one else in 
 the room, except his mother, who, after hearing an affecting 
 sermon, had cried herself to sleep it was not impossible to speak ; 
 and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what 
 came first, and the usual declaration that if she would listen to 
 him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never 
 tax her kindness in the same way again she need not fear a 
 repetition it would be a subject prohibited entirely he entered 
 upon the luxury of relating circumstances and sensations of the 
 first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he 
 was quite convinced. 
 
 How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, what 
 pain and what delight, how the agitation of his voice was watched, 
 and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on any object but 
 himself, may be imagined. The opening was alarming. He 
 had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invited to see her. He 
 had received a note from Lady Stomaway to beg him to call ; 
 and regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview 
 of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and 
 wretchedness which Crawford's sister ought to have known, he 
 had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, 
 as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears that it 
 should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, these feara
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 9 
 
 were over. She had met him, he said, with a serious certainly 
 A serious even an agitated air; but before he had been able to 
 speak one intelligible sentence, she had introduced the subject in 
 a manner which he owned had shocked him. "'I heard you 
 were in town,' said she 'I wanted to see you. Let us talk 
 over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two re- 
 lations ?' I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke. 
 She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel ! With a graver 
 look and voice she then added ' I do not mean to defend Henry 
 at your sister's expense. 1 So she began but how she went on, 
 Fanny, is not fit is hardly fit to be repeated to you. I cannot 
 recall all her words. I would not dwell upon them if I could. 
 Their substance was great anger at the folly of each. She repro- 
 bated her brother's folly on being drawn on by a woman whom 
 he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he 
 adored ; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such 
 a situation, plunging into such difficulties, under the idea of being 
 really loved by a man who had long ago made Ms indifference 
 clear. Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom 
 no harsher name than folly given ! So voluntarily, so freely, 
 so coolly to canvass it ! No reluctance, no horror, no feminine 
 shall I say no modest loathings? This is what the world does. 
 For where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so 
 richly endowed ? spoiled, spoiled !" 
 
 After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate 
 calmness " I will tell you everything, and then have done for 
 ever. She saw it only as folly, and that folly stamped only by 
 exposure. The want of common discretion, of caution his going 
 down to Richmond for the whole time of her being at Twicken- 
 ham her putting herself in the power of a servant; it was the 
 detection, in short oh, Fanny, it was the detection, not tlie 
 offence, which she reprobated. It was the imprudence which had 
 brought things to extremity, and obliged her brother to give up 
 every dearer plan, in order to fly with her." 
 
 He stopped. "And what," said Fanny (believing herself re- 
 quired to speak), " what could you say ?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man 
 stunned. She went on, began to talk of you ; yes, then she 
 began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, the loss of 
 
 such a There she spoke very rationally. But she has 
 
 always done justice to you, ' He has thrown away,' said she, 
 ' such a woman as he will never see again. She would have fixed 
 him, she would have made him happy for ever.' My dearest 
 Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this 
 retrospect of what might have been but what never can be now. 
 You do not wish me to be silent? if you do, give me but a look, 
 3 word, and I have done."
 
 320 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 No look or word was given. 
 
 " Thank God," said he. " We were all disposed to wonder- 
 but it seems to have been the merciful appointment of Providence 
 that the heart which knew no guile should not suffer. She spoke 
 of you with high praise and warm affection ; yet, even here, there 
 was alloy, a dash of evil ; for in the midst of it she could ex- 
 claim, 'Why would not she have him? It is all her fault. 
 Simple girl ! I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him 
 as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage, 
 and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any 
 other object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with 
 Mrs. Rushworth again. It would have all ended in a regular 
 standing flirtation, in yearly meetings in Sotherton and Evering- 
 ham.' Could you have believed it possible ? But the charm is 
 broken. My eyes are opened." 
 
 "Cruel!" said Fanny "quite cruel! At such a moment to 
 give to gaiety, and to speak with lightness, and to you ! Abso- 
 lute cruelty." 
 
 " Cruelty, do you call it? We differ there. No, hers is not 
 a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my 
 feelings. The evil lies yet deeper; in her total ignorance, unsus- 
 piciousness of there being such feelings, in a perversion of mind 
 which made it natural to her to treat the subject as she did. She 
 was speaking only as she had been used to hear others speak, as 
 she imagined everybody else would speak. Hers are not faults 
 of temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain to 
 any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but think 
 that for me, for my feelings, she would Hers are faults of prin- 
 ciple, Fanny, of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, vitiated mind. 
 Perhaps it is best for me since it leaves me so little to regret. 
 Not so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased 
 pain of losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I 
 told her so." 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 " Yes, when I left her I told her so." 
 
 " How long were you together?" 
 
 " Five and twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say, that 
 what remained now to be done was to bring about a marriage 
 between them. She spoke of it, Fanny, with a steadier voice 
 than I can." He was obliged to pause more than once as he 
 continued. " 'We must persuade Henry to marry her,' " said she ; 
 ' and what with honour, and the certainty of having shut himself 
 out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must 
 give up. I do not think that even he could now hope to succeed 
 with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no in- 
 superable difficulty. My influence, which is not small, shall all 
 go that way; and, when once married, and properly supported
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 32 I 
 
 by her own family, people of respectability as they are, she may 
 recover her footing in society to a certain degree. In some circles, 
 we know, she would never be admitted, but with good dinners, 
 and large parties, there will always be those who will be glad of 
 her acquaintance ; and there is, undoubtedly, more liberality and 
 candour on those points than formerly. What I advise is, that 
 your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by 
 interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If 
 by any officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry's 
 protection, there will be much less chance of his marrying her, 
 than if she remain with him. I know how he is likely to be 
 influenced. Let Sir Thomas trust to his honour and compassion, 
 and it may all end well ; but if he get hia daughter away, it 
 will be destroying the chief hold.' " 
 
 After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected, that 
 Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender concern, was 
 almost sorry that the subject had been entered on at all. It was 
 long before he could speak again. At last, " Now, Fanny," said 
 he, " I shall soon have done. I have told you the substance of 
 all that she said. As soon as I could speak, I replied that I had 
 not supposed it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that 
 house, as I had done, that anything could occur to make me 
 suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds in 
 almost every sentence. That, though I had, in the course of our 
 acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in our opinions, 
 on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagi- 
 nation to conceive the difference could be such as she had now 
 proved it. That the manner in which she treated the dreadful 
 crime committed by her brother and my sister (with whom lay 
 the greater seduction I pretended not to say) but the manner 
 in which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach 
 but the right; considering its ill consequences only as they were 
 to be braved or overborne by a defiance of decency and impudence 
 in wrong; and, last of all, and above all, recommending to us a 
 compliance, a compromise, an acquiescence, in the continuance of 
 the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as I now 
 thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought 
 all this together most grievously convinced me that I had 
 never understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, 
 it had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Craw- 
 ford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past. 
 That, perhaps, it was best for me; I had less to regret in sacri- 
 ficing a friendship feelings hopes which must, at any rate, 
 have been torn from me now. And yet, that I must, and would 
 confess, that, could I have restored her to what she had appeared 
 to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of 
 parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness
 
 322 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 and esteem. This is what I said the purport of it but, as 
 you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I 
 have repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly asto- 
 nished more than astonished. I saw her change countenance. 
 She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many 
 feelings a great, though short struggle half a wish of yielding 
 to truths, half a sense of shame but habit, habit carried it. 
 She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as 
 she answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word. Was it 
 part of your last sermon? At this rate you will soon reform 
 everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear 
 of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great 
 society of Methodists, or as a missionary into foreign parts.' She 
 tried to speak carelessly; but she was not so careless as she 
 wanted to appear. I only said in reply, that from my heart I 
 wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn 
 to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge 
 we could any of us acquire the knowledge of ourselves and of 
 our duty to the lessons of affliction and immediately left the 
 room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door 
 open behind me. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she. I looked back. 
 ' Mr. Bertram,' said she, with a smile but it was a smile ill- 
 suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful 
 smile, seeming to invite in order to subdue me; at least it ap- 
 peared so to me. I resisted ; it was the impulse of the moment 
 to resist, and still walked on. I have since sometimes for a 
 moment regretted that I did not go back; but I know I was 
 right; and such has been the end of our acquaintance! And 
 what an acquaintance has it been! How have I been deceived! 
 Equally in brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your 
 patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we 
 will have done." 
 
 And such was Fanny's dependence on his words, that for five 
 minutes she thought they had done. Then, however, it all came 
 on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady 
 Bertram's rousing thoroughly up, could really close such a con- 
 versation. Till that happened, they continued to talk of Miss 
 Crawford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delight- 
 ful nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been, 
 had she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty 
 to speak openly, felt more than justified in adding to his know- 
 ledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his 
 brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish 
 for a complete reconciliation. This was not an agreeable inti- 
 mation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a 
 vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her 
 attachment; but bis vanity was not of a strength to fight lony
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 323 
 
 against reason. He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had 
 influenced her; only reserving for himself tliis consoling thought, 
 that considering the many counteractions of opposing habits, she 
 had certainly been more attached to him than could have been 
 expected, and for his sake been more near doing right Fanny 
 thought exactly the same ; and they were also quite agreed in 
 their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible impression, which 
 such a disappointment must make on his mind. Tjme would 
 undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a 
 sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and 
 as to his ever meeting with any woman who could it was too 
 impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny's friend- 
 ship was all that he had to cling to. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ET other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I 
 I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, 
 
 impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in 
 ' fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to 
 
 have done with all the rest. 
 
 My Fanny, indeed, at this very time I have 
 
 the satisfaction of knowing, must have been 
 
 happy in spite of everything. She must have 
 been a happy creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she 
 felt, for the distress of those around her. She had sources of 
 delight that must force their way. She was returned to Mans- 
 field Park, she was useful, she was beloved; she was safe from 
 Mr. Crawford ; and when Sir Thomas came back she had every 
 proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of spirits, 
 of his perfect approbation and increased regard; and happy as 
 all this must make her, she would still have been happy without 
 any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss Crawford. 
 It is true, that Edmund was very far from happy himself. 
 He was suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over 
 what was, and wishing for what could never be. She knew it 
 was so, and was sorry; but it was with a sorrow so founded on 
 satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so much in harmony with 
 every dearest sensation, that there are few who might not have 
 been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it. 
 
 Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of 
 errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suffer. 
 He felt that he ought not to have allowed the marriage ; that 
 his daughter's sentiments had been sufficiently known to him to 
 render him culpable in authorising it; that in so doing he had
 
 324 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 sacrificed the right to the expedient, and been governed by 
 motives of selfishness and worldly -wisdom. These were reflec- 
 tions that required some time to soften ; but time will do almost 
 everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth's 
 side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be found 
 greater than he had supposed, in his other children. Julia's 
 match became a less desperate business than he had considered it 
 at first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven ; and Mr. 
 Yates, desirous of being really received into the family, was 
 disposed to look up to him and be guided. He was not very 
 solid; but there was a hope of his becoming less trifling of his 
 being at least tolerably domestic and quiet; and, at any rate, 
 there was comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts 
 much less, than he had feared, and in being consulted and treated 
 as the friend best worth attending to. There was comfort also 
 in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without regaining 
 the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He 
 was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he 
 had learned to think two advantages that he had never known 
 before; and the self-reproach arising from the deplorable event 
 in Wimpole Street, to which he felt himself accessory by all the 
 dangerous intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impres- 
 sion on his mind which, at the age of six-and-twenty, with no 
 want of sense or good companions, was durable in its happy 
 effects. He became what he ought to be, useful to his father, 
 steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself. 
 
 Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir Thomas 
 could place dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was 
 contributing to his father's ease by improvement in the only 
 point in which he had given him pain before improvement in 
 his spirits. After wandering about and sitting under trees with 
 Fanny all the summer evenings, he had so well talked his mind 
 into submission, as to be very tolerably cheerful again. 
 
 These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradually 
 brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of 
 what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself; though 
 the anguish arising from the conviction of his own errors in the 
 education of his daughters was never to be entirely done away. 
 
 Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the character 
 of any young people must be the totally opposite treatment 
 which Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home, 
 where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had 
 been continually contrasted with his own severity. He saw how 
 ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong in 
 Mrs. Norris, by its reverse in himself; clearly saw that he had 
 but increased the evil, by teaching them to repress their spirits 
 in his presence, as to make their real disposition unknown to
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 325 
 
 him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person who 
 had been able to attach them only by the blindness of her affec- 
 tion, and the excess of her praise. 
 
 Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was, 
 he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direfnl 
 mistake in his plan of education. Something must have been 
 wanting within, or time would have worn away much of its ill 
 effect. He feared that principle, active principle had been 
 wanting; that they had never been properly taught to govern 
 their inclinations and tempers, by that sense of duty which can 
 alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their 
 religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To 
 be distinguished for elegance and accomplishments the authorised 
 object of their youth could have had no useful influence that 
 way, no moral effect on the mind. He had meant them to be 
 good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and 
 manners, not the disposition; and of the necessity of self-denial 
 and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that 
 could profit them. 
 
 Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely 
 comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that 
 with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, 
 he had brought up his daughters, without their understanding 
 their first duties, 'or his being acquainted with their character 
 and temper. 
 
 The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth, 
 especially, were made known to him only in their sad result. She 
 was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to 
 marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to 
 be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disappoint- 
 ment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her 
 temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to 
 make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce 
 n voluntary separation. 
 
 She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his 
 happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation in 
 leaving him, than that she had divided them. What can ex- 
 ceed the misery of such a mind in such a situation! 
 
 Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and 
 so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances as to 
 make any better end the effect of good luck, not to be reckoned 
 on. She had despised him, and loved another and he had been 
 very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity, 
 and" the disappointments of selfish passion, can excite little pity. 
 His punishment followed his conduct, as did a deeper punish- 
 ment the deeper guilt of his wife. He was released from the 
 engagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty
 
 326 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set 
 forward on a second, and, it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial 
 of the state if duped, to be duped at least with good humour 
 and good luck ; while she must withdraw with infinitely stronger 
 feelings to a retirement and reproach, which could allow no 
 second spring of hope or character. 
 
 Where she could be placed, became a subject of most melan- 
 choly and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attach- 
 ment seemed to augment with the demerits of her niece, would 
 have had her received at home, and countenanced by them all. 
 Sir Thomas would not hear of it ; and Mrs. Norris's anger against 
 Fanny was so much the greater, from considering her residence 
 there as the motive. She persisted in placing his scruples to her 
 account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly assured her, that had 
 there been no young woman in question, had there been no 
 young person of either sex belonging to him, to be endangered 
 by the society or hurt by the character of Mrs. llushworth, he 
 would never have oifered so great an insult to the neighbour- 
 hood, as to expect it to notice her. As a daughter he hoped a 
 penitent one she should be protected by him, and secured in 
 every comfort, and supported by every encouragement to do 
 right, which their relative situations admitted; but farther than 
 that he could not go. Maria had destroyed her own character, 
 and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never could 
 be restored, be affording his sanction to vice, or, in seeking to 
 lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing such 
 misery in another man's family as lie had known himself. 
 
 It ended in Mrs. Norris's resolving to quit Mansfield, and de- 
 vote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establishment 
 being formed for them in another country remote and private, 
 where, shut up together with little society, on one side no affec- 
 tion, on the other, no judgment, it may be reasonably supposed 
 that their tempers became their mutual punishment. Mrs. 
 Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary 
 comfort of Sir Thomas's life. His opinion of her had been sink- 
 ing from the day of his return from Antigua : in every transac- 
 tion together from that period, in. their daily intercourse, in busi- 
 ness, or in chat, she had been regularly losing ground in his 
 esteem, and convincing him that either time had done her much 
 dis-service, or that he had considerably overrated her sense, and 
 wonderfully borne with her manners before. He had felt her as 
 an hourly evil, which was so much the worse, as there seemed 
 no chance of its ceasing but with life ; she seemed a part of him- 
 self, that must be borne for ever. To be relieved from her, 
 therefore, was so great a felicity, that had she not left bitter re- 
 membrances behind her, there might have been danger of 
 his learning almost to approve the evil which produced such a. 
 good.
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 327 
 
 She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had never 
 been able to attach even those she loved best; and since Mrs. 
 Rushworth's elopement, her temper had been in a state of such 
 irritation as to make her everywhere tormenting. Not even 
 Fanny had tears for aunt Norris not even when she was gone 
 for ever. 
 
 That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some 
 measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circum- 
 stance, but in a greater degree to her having been less the darling 
 of that very aunt, less flattered, and less spoiled. Her beauty and 
 acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always 
 used to think herself a little inferior to Maria. Her temper was 
 naturally the easiest of the two; her feelings, though quick, 
 were more controllable ; and education had not given her so very 
 hurtful a degree of self-consequence. 
 
 She had submitted the best to the disappointment in Henry 
 Crawford. After the first bitterness of the conviction of being 
 slighted was over, she had been tolerably soon in a fair way of 
 not thinking of him again ; and when the acquaintance was re- 
 newed in town, and Mr. Rushworth's house became Crawford's 
 object, she had had the merit of withdrawing herself from it, and 
 of choosing that time to pay a visit to her other friends, in order 
 to secure herself from being again too much attracted. This 
 had been her motive in going to her cousins. Mr. Yates's con- 
 venience had had nothing to do with it. She had been allowing 
 his attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever accept- 
 ing him ; and had not her sister's conduct burst forth as it did, 
 and her increased dread of her father and of home, on that 
 event imagining its certain consequence to herself would be 
 greater severity and restraint made her hastily resolve on 
 avoiding such immediate horrors at all risks, it is probable that 
 Mr. Tates would never have succeeded. She had not eloped 
 with any worse feelings than those of selfish alarm. It had ap- 
 peared to her the only thing to be done. Maria's guilt had 
 induced Julia's folly. 
 
 Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad do- 
 mestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity 
 a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and 
 unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have 
 been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman's affec- 
 tions, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming 
 the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tender- 
 ness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability 
 of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done 
 something. Her influence over him had already given him some 
 influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be 
 no doubt that more would have been obtained ; especially when
 
 328 HANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the 
 assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and 
 brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, 
 and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward and a reward 
 very voluntarily bestowed within a reasonable period from Ed- 
 mund's marrying Mary. Had he done as he intended, and as 
 he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his re- 
 turn from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own 
 happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. Frazer's 
 party : his staying was made of flattering consequence, and he 
 was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanity were 
 both engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasure was too 
 strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice to right : he re- 
 solved to defer his Norfolk journey, resolved that writing should 
 answer the purpose of it, or that its purpose was unimportant 
 and stayed. He saw Mrs. Rushworth, was received by her with 
 a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, and have esta- 
 blished apparent indifference between them for ever ; but he was 
 mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman 
 whose smiles had been so wholly at his command ; he must ex- 
 ert himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment ; it was 
 anger on Fanny's account ; he must get the better of it, and 
 make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment of 
 himself. 
 
 In this spirit he began the attack ; and by animated persever- 
 ance had soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse of 
 gallantry of flirtation which bounded his views ; but in tri- 
 umphing over the discretion, which, though beginning in anger, 
 might have saved them both, he had put himself in the power of 
 feelings on her side, more strong than he had supposed. She 
 loved him : there was no withdrawing attentions, avowedly dear 
 to her. He was entangled by his own vanity, with as little ex- 
 cuse of love as possible, and without the smallest inconstancy of 
 mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and the Bertrams 
 from a knowledge of what was passing became his first object. 
 Secrecy could not have been more desirable for Mrs. Rushworth's 
 crt'tJit than he felt it for his own. When he returned from Rich- 
 mond, he would have been glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no more. 
 All that followed was the result of her imprudence ; and he went 
 oft' with her at last, because he could not help it, regretting Fan- 
 ny even at the moment, but regretting her infinitely more when 
 all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and a very few months 
 had taught him, by the force of contrast, to place a yet higher 
 value on the sweetness of her temper, the purity of her mind, 
 and the excellence of her principles. 
 
 That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should 
 in a just measure attend his share of the offence, is, we know,
 
 .MANSFIELD PAUK. 32'J 
 
 not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. Iii this 
 world, the penalty is less equal than could be wished ; but with- 
 out presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, 
 we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be 
 providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret 
 vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret 
 to wretchedness in having so requited hospitality, so injured 
 family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared 
 acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as 
 well as passionately loved. 
 
 After what had passed to wound and alienate the two families, 
 the continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in such close neigh- 
 bourhood would have been most distressing ; but the absence of 
 the latter, for some months purposely lengthened, ended very 
 fortunately in the necessity, or at least the practicability, of a, 
 permanent removal. Dr. Grant, through an interest on which 
 he had almost ceased to form hopes, succeeded to a stall in West- 
 minster, which, as affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield, 
 an excuse for residence in London, and an increase of income to 
 answer the expenses of the change, was highly acceptable to 
 those who went, and those who stayed. 
 
 Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must have 
 gone with some regret, from the scenes and people she had been 
 used to; but the same happiness of disposition must in any 
 place, and any society, secure her a great deal to enjoy, and 
 she had again a home to offer Mary; and Mary had had enough 
 of her own friends, enough of vanity, ambition, love, and dis- 
 appointment in the course of the last half year, to be in need 
 of the true kindness of her sister's heart, and the rational tran- 
 quillity of her ways. They lived together; and when Dr. Grant 
 had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institution- 
 ary dinners in one week, they still lived together; for Mary, 
 though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a 
 younger brother again, was long in finding among the dashing 
 representatives, or idle heir appareuts, who were at the com- 
 mand of her beauty, and her 20,000 anyone who could satisfy 
 the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield, whose character 
 and manners could authorise a hope of the domestic happiness 
 she had there learned to estimate, or put 'Edmund Bertram suf- 
 ficiently out of her head. 
 
 Edmund had greatly the advantage of her hi this respect. He 
 had not to wait and wish with vacant affections for an object 
 worthy to succeed her in them. Scarcely had he done regretting 
 Mary Crawford, and observing to Fanny how impossible it was 
 that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it 
 began to strike him whether a very different kind of woman 
 might not do just as well or a great deal better; whether Fanny
 
 330 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all her 
 smiles and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been ; and 
 whether it might not be a possible, a hopeful undertaking to 
 persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would 
 be foundation enough for wedded love. 
 
 I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one 
 may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of uncon- 
 querable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, 
 must vary much as to time in different people. I only entreat 
 everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quite 
 natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did 
 cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry 
 Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire. 
 
 With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a 
 regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and 
 helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing 
 worth, what could be more natural than the change ? Loving, 
 guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being 
 ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care, 
 and her comfort depending on his kindness, an object to him of 
 such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance 
 with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there now to 
 add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to spark- 
 ling dark ones. And being always with her, and always talking 
 confidentially, and his feelings exactly in that favourable state 
 which a recent disappointment gives, those soft light eyes could 
 not be very long in obtaining the pre-eminence. 
 
 Having once set out, and felt that he had done so, on this road 
 to happiness, there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop 
 him or make his progress slow ; no doubts of her deserving, no 
 fears from opposition of taste, no need of drawing new hopes of 
 happiness from dissimilarity of temper. Her mind, disposition, 
 opinions, and habits wanted no half concealment, no self-decep- 
 tion on the present, no reliance on future improvement. Even 
 in the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's 
 mental superiority. What must be his sense of it now, there- 
 fore? She was of course only too good for him; but as nobody 
 minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily 
 earnest in the pursuit Of the blessing, and it was not possible that 
 encouragement from her should be long wanting. Timid, 
 anxious, doubting as she was, it was still impossible that such 
 tenderness as hers should not, at times, hold out the strongest 
 hope of success, though it remained for a later period to tell him 
 the whole delightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in 
 knowing himself to have been so long the beloved of such a heart 
 must have been great enough to warrant any strength of lan- 
 guage in which he could clothe it to her or to himself; it must
 
 MANSFIELD PAltK. 331 
 
 have been a delightful happiness. But there was happiness else- 
 where which no description can reach. Let no one presume to 
 give the feelings of a young woman on receiving the assurance 
 of that aft'ection of which she has scarcely allowed herself to en- 
 tertain a hope. 
 
 Their own inclinations ascertained, there were no difficulties 
 behind, no drawback of poverty or parent. It was a match 
 which Sir Thomas's wishes had even forestalled. Sick of ambi- 
 tious and mercenary connections, prizing more and more the 
 sterling good of principle and temper, and chiefly anxious to bind 
 by the strongest securities all that remained to him of domestic 
 felicity, he had pondered with genuine satisfaction on the more 
 than possibility of the two young friends finding their mutual 
 consolation in each other for all that had occurred of disappoint- 
 ment to either ; and the joyful consent which met Edmund's 
 application, the high sense of having realised a great acquisition 
 in the promise of Fanny for a daughter, formed just such a con- 
 trast with his early opinion on the subject when the poor little 
 girl's cbming had been first agitated, as time is for ever produ- 
 cing between the plans and decisions of mortals, for their own 
 instruction, and their neighbours' entertainment. 
 
 Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His chari- 
 table kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself. His 
 liberality had a rich prepayment, and the general goodness of hi* 
 intentions by her deserved it. He might have made her childhood 
 happier ; but it had been an error of j udgment only which had 
 given him the appearance of harshness, and deprived him of her 
 early love; and now, on really knowing each other, their mutual 
 attachment became very strong. After settling her at Thornton 
 Lacey with every kind attention to her comfort, the object of 
 almost every day was to see her there, or to get her away from it. 
 
 Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady Bertram, she 
 could not be parted with willingly by her. No happiness of son 
 or niece could make her wish the marriage. But it was possible 
 to part with her, because Susan remained to supply her place. 
 Susan became the stationary niece delighted to be so ! and 
 equally well adapted for it by a readiness of mind, and an incli- 
 nation for usefulness, as Fanny had been by sweetness of temper, 
 and strong feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be spared. 
 First as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as 
 her substitute, she was established at Mansfield, with every ap- 
 pearance of equal permanency. Her more fearless disposition and 
 happier nerves made everything easy to her there. With quick- 
 ness in understanding the tempers of those she had to deal with, 
 and no natural timidity to restrain any consequent wishes, she 
 was soon welcome and useful to all; and after Fanny's removal 
 succeeded so naturallv to her influence over the hourlv comfort
 
 332 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 of her aunt, as gradually to become, perhaps, the most beloved of 
 the two. In her usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in William's 
 continued good conduct and rising fame, and in the general 
 well-doing and success of the other members of the family, all 
 assisting to advance each other, and doing credit to his counte- 
 nance and aid, Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated 
 reason to rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknow- 
 ledge the advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the 
 consciousness of being born to struggle and endure. 
 
 With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune 
 or friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as 
 secure as earthly happiness can be. Equally formed for domestic 
 life, and attached to country pleasures, their home was the home 
 of affection and comfort ; and to complete the picture of good, 
 the acquisition of Mansfield living by the death of Dr. Grant 
 occurred just after they had been married long enough to begin 
 to want an increase of income, and feel their distance from the 
 paternal abode an inconvenience. 
 
 On that event they removed to Mansfield ; and the parsonage 
 there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had 
 never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of 
 restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as tho- 
 roughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else within the view 
 and patronage of Mansfield Park had long ^en. 
 
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