"Good heavens!" cried Elinor, "could it be--could Willoughby!"--"The first news that reached me of her," he continued, "came in a letter from herself, last October.
It was forwarded to me from Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party to Whitwell;and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly, which I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body, and which I believe gave offence to some.
Little did Mr.Willoughby imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but HAD he known it, what would it have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles of your sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who CAN feel for another would do.He had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her.""This is beyond every thing!" exclaimed Elinor.
"His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than both.Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what I must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on being assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt for all your sakes.When I came to you last week and found you alone, I came determined to know the truth;though irresolute what to do when it WAS known.
My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then;but now you will comprehend it.To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see your sister--but what could I do?
I had no hope of interfering with success; and sometimes I thought your sister's influence might yet reclaim him.
But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what were his designs on her.Whatever they may have been, however, she may now, and hereafter doubtless WILLturn with gratitude towards her own condition, when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she considers the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and pictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, still as strong as her own, and with a mind tormented by self-reproach, which must attend her through life.
Surely this comparison must have its use with her.
She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing.They proceed from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace.
On the contrary, every friend must be made still more her friend by them.Concern for her unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, must strengthen every attachment.Use your own discretion, however, in communicating to her what I have told you.You must know best what will be its effect; but had I not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of service, might lessen her regrets, I would not have suffered myself to trouble you with this account of my family afflictions, with a recital which may seem to have been intended to raise myself at the expense of others."Elinor's thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to Marianne, from the communication of what had passed.
"I have been more pained," said she, "by her endeavors to acquit him than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do.Now, though at first she will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier.
Have you," she continued, after a short silence, "ever seen Mr.Willoughby since you left him at Barton?""Yes," he replied gravely, "once I have.
One meeting was unavoidable."
Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying, "What? have you met him to--""I could meet him no other way.Eliza had confessed to me, though most reluctantly, the name of her lover;and when he returned to town, which was within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to defend, I to punish his conduct.We returned unwounded, and the meeting, therefore, never got abroad."Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this;but to a man and a soldier she presumed not to censure it.
"Such," said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, "has been the unhappy resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter! and so imperfectly have I discharged my trust!""Is she still in town?"
"No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I found her near her delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there she remains."Recollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion and esteem for him.
