One day only has passed since Anne’s conversation with Mrs. Smith,
but a keener interest has intervened; she must still defer her visit
to Lady Russell. She cannot keep her appointment punctually, however;
she is detained by rain. When she reaches the “White Hart” she finds
herself neither quite in time, nor the first to arrive.
“The party before her were Mrs. Musgrove talking to Mrs. Croft, and
Captain Harville to Captain Wentworth; and she immediately heard that
Mary and Henrietta, too impatient to wait, had gone out the moment
it had cleared, but would be back again soon, and that the strictest
injunctions had been left with Mrs. Musgrove to keep her there till
they returned. She had only to submit, and feel herself plunged at
once in all the agitation of which she had merely laid her account
of tasting a little before the morning closed. There was no delay, no
waste of time. She was deep in the happiness of such misery, or the
misery of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes after her entering the
room, Captain Wentworth said, ‘We will write the letter we were talking
of, Harville, now, if you will give me materials.’
“Materials were all at hand on a separate table; he went to it, and
merely turning his back on them all, was engrossed with writing.
“Mrs. Musgrove was giving Mrs. Croft the history of her eldest
daughter’s engagement, and just in that inconvenient tone of voice
which was perfectly audible, while it pretended to be in a whisper.”
The mother finishes with the assertion, “At any rate,” said I, “it will
be better than a long engagement.”
Mrs. Croft chimes in heartily. She would rather have young people
settle on a small income at once, and struggle with a few difficulties
together, than be involved in a long engagement.
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Croft,” cried Mrs. Musgrove, unable to let her finish
her speech, “there is nothing I so abominate as a long engagement. It
is what I always protested against for my children,” with more strong
objections to the same effect from both ladies.
Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt it in its application
to herself--felt it in a nervous thrill all over her; and at the same
moment that her eyes instinctively glanced towards the distant table,
Captain Wentworth’s pen ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing,
listening, and he turned round the next instant to give a look--one
quick, conscious look--at her.
Captain Harville, who has been hearing nothing, invites Anne to join
him. “The window at which he stood was at the other end of the room
from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain
Wentworth’s table, not very near. ‘Look here,’ said he, unfolding a
parcel in his hand, and displaying a small miniature painting; ‘do you
know who that is?’
“‘Certainly: Captain Benwick.’”
He tells her he has been commissioned to get the miniature, which
was painted for his sister, re-set for Louisa Musgrove. Anne, while
entering into his feelings, so far vindicates Captain Benwick, by
asserting the superior fidelity of women. “Oh!” cried Captain Harville,
in a tone of strong feeling, “if I could but make you comprehend what
a man suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children, and
watches the boat that he has sent them off in as long as it is in
sight, and then turns away and says, ‘God knows whether we shall ever
meet again!’ And then, if I could convey to you the glow of his soul
when he does see them again; when, coming back after a twelve-month’s
absence, perhaps, and obliged to put into another port, he calculates
how soon it may be possible to get them there, pretending to deceive
himself, and saying, ‘They cannot be here till such a day,’ but all the
while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing them arrive at
last, as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours sooner still.
“‘Oh!’ cried Anne, eagerly, ‘I hope I do justice to all that is felt by
you, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I should undervalue
the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures! I should
deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment
and constancy were known only by women. No, I believe you capable of
everything great and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to
every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long
as--if I may be allowed the expression--so long as you have an object:
I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the
privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one, you
need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when
hope is gone.’
“She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was
too full, her breath too much oppressed.
“‘You are a good soul!’ cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on her
arm quite affectionately. ‘There is no quarrelling with you. And when I
think of Benwick, my tongue is tied.’
“Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs. Croft was taking
leave.
“‘Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,’ said she. ‘I am
going home, and you have an engagement with your friend. To-night we
may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party,’ turning to
Anne. ‘We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understood Frederick
had a card, too, though I did not see it; and you are disengaged,
Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?’
“Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either
could not, or would not, answer fully.
“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘very true. Here we separate; but Harville and I shall
soon be after you, that is, Harville, if you are ready--I am, in half a
minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off.’
“Mrs. Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter
with great rapidity, was, indeed, ready, and had even a hurried,
agitated air, which showed impatience to be gone. Anne knew not how to
understand it. She had the kindest ‘Good morning! God bless you!’ from
Captain Harville, but from him not a word nor a look! He had passed out
of the room without a look!
“She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had
been writing, when footsteps were heard entering; the door opened, it
was himself. He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves;
and instantly crossing the room to the writing-table, and standing with
his back towards Mrs. Musgrove, he drew out a letter from under the
scattered papers, placed it before Anne with eyes of glowing entreaty
fixed on her, and hastily collecting his gloves, was again out of the
room, almost before Mrs. Musgrove was aware of his being in it; the
work of an instant!
“The revolution which one instant had made in Anne was almost beyond
expression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, ‘To Miss A.
E----’ was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.
While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick he had been also
addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which this
world could do for her! Anything was possible, anything might be defied
rather than suspense. Mrs. Musgrove had little arrangements of her own
at her own table; to their protection she must trust, and sinking into
the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he
had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:--
“‘I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means
as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.
Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone
for ever. I offer myself to you again, with a heart even more your own
than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say
that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death!
I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful
I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath.
For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail
to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days,
could I have read your feelings as I think you must have penetrated
mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which
overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of
that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent
creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true
attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most permanent,
most undeviating in F. W.
“‘I must go uncertain of my fate, but I shall return hither or follow
your party as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to
decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening or never.’”[82]
Such a letter is not soon to be recovered from. Anne has to plead
illness, and is forced to accept her brother-in-law’s escort home.
“They were in Union Street, when a quicker step behind, a something
of familiar sound, gave her two moments’ preparation for the sight of
Captain Wentworth. He joined them, but as if irresolute whether to
join or pass on, said nothing, only looked. Anne could command herself
enough to receive that look and not repulsively. The cheeks which
had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitated were
decided. He walked by her side. Presently, struck by a sudden thought,
Charles said--
“‘Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street, or
farther up the town?’
“‘I hardly know,’ replied Captain Wentworth, surprised.
“‘Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place?
Because if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my
place, and give Anne your arm to her father’s door. She is rather done
for this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought
to be at that fellow’s in the Market Place. He promised me the sight
of a capital gun he is just going to send off; said he would keep it
unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I do
not turn back now, I have no chance. By his description it is a good
deal like the second-sized double-barrel of mine which you shot with
one day round Winthrop.’[83]
“There could be no objection. There could only be a most proper
alacrity, a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reined
in and spirits dancing in private rapture. In half a minute Charles
was at the bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceeding
together; and soon words enough had passed between them to decide
their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel
walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a
blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the
happiest recollections of their own future life could bestow. There
they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once
before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by so
many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned
again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union
than when it had been first projected; more tender, more tried, more
fixed in a knowledge of each other’s character, truth, and attachment;
more equal to act, more justified in acting. And there, as they slowly
paced the gradual ascent, heedless of every group around them, all the
little variations of the last week were gone through, and of yesterday
and to-day there could scarcely be an end.
“At last Anne was at home again, happier than any one in that house
could have conceived.
“The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up, the company
assembled. It was but a card party; it was but a mixture of those who
had never met before, and those who had met too often; a commonplace
business, too numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Anne
had never found an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely in sensibility
and happiness, and more generally admired than she thought about or
cared for, she had cheerful or forbearing feelings for every creature
around her; with Captain Wentworth some moments of communication
constantly occurring and always the hope of more, and always the
knowledge of his being there.
“It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently occupied in
admiring a fine display of green-house plants, that she told him, with
that candour and fairness to herself and everybody which no passion,
and no submission to his influence could warp:
“‘I have been thinking over the past, and I must believe that I am
right, much as I suffered from it, in being guided by the friend who to
me was in the place of a parent. Do not mistake me, however. I am not
saying she did not err in her advice. I mean I was right in submitting
to it; and if I mistake not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of a
woman’s portion.’[84]
“He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking again at her,
replied as if in cool deliberation, ‘Not yet. But there are hopes
of her being forgiven in time. But I, too, have been thinking over
the past, and a question has suggested itself, whether there may not
have been one person more my enemy even than that lady. My own self.
Tell me, if when I returned to England in the year ’eight, with a few
thousand pounds,[85] and was posted into the _Laconia_, if I had then
written to you, would you have answered my letter? Would you, in short,
have renewed the engagement then?’
“‘Would I?’ was all her answer; but the accent was decisive.
“‘Good God!’ he cried, ‘you would! It is not that I did not think of
it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; but I
was proud, too proud to ask again. I did not understand you. Six years
of separation and suffering might have been spared. I have been used
to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that
I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just rewards.
Like other great men under reverses,’ he added, with a smile, ‘I must
learn to brook being happier than I deserve.’”
“Who can doubt what followed?” Jane Austen begins the last chapter. Sir
Walter made no objection, and Elizabeth did nothing worse than look
cold and unconcerned. Captain Wentworth, with five-and-twenty thousand
pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could place
him, was no longer a nobody.
Among other results of the marriage, Lady Russell learnt to like the
man who made Anne Elliot happy. Captain Wentworth became the cordial
and helpful friend of Mrs. Smith. Mr. Elliot, who had been playing a
deep game, withdrew from Bath, and caused Mrs. Clay to withdraw also.
She gave up Sir Walter, for the sake of his heir. It remained doubtful
whether her cunning was not more than a match for his, and whether, in
losing the chance of becoming the wife of Sir Walter, she might not
wheedle the future Sir William into raising her into the position of
Lady Elliot.
It would be impertinent to add a word of praise to a novel which--while
it is often as penetrating and unerring in discussing the motives, and
as richly humorous in dealing with the absurdities and follies of human
nature as “Pride and Prejudice” and “Northanger Abbey”--has a gentle
grace and a pathetic feeling all its own, so far as Jane Austen’s
novels are concerned. The last warm words of praise to the gallant
profession to which two of her brothers belonged, is another testimony
to her keen family sympathies, as well as to her quick, womanly
response to all that was patriotic and heroic.