CHAPTER L.

After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent

and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always

seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward

was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son.

Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of

her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward

a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of

Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the

resuscitation of Edward, she had one again.

In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not

feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his

present engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he

feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off

as rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was

revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars

at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss

Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told him, that in Miss Morton

he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;—and enforced

the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a

nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the

daughter of a private gentleman with no more than _three;_ but when she

found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation,

he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest,

from the experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after such an

ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to

prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of consent

to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.

What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to

be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now

her only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was

inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest

objection was made against Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two

hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for

the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had

been given with Fanny.

It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by

Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses,

seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.

With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them,

they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the

living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with

an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making

considerable improvements; and after waiting some time for their

completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments

and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor,

as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying

till every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton

church early in the autumn.

The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the

Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the

Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;—could

chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s

prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for

she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by

Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really

believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact

nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne,

and rather better pasturage for their cows.

They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations

and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was

almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the

expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.

“I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,” said John, as

they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford

House, “_that_ would be saying too much, for certainly you have been

one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I

confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon

brother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in

such respectable and excellent condition! And his woods,—I have not

seen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in

Delaford Hanger! And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the

person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for

you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel

Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen;

for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody

else,—and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage,

and so forth. In short, you may as well give her a chance: you

understand me.”

But though Mrs. Ferrars _did_ come to see them, and always treated them

with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by

her real favour and preference. _That_ was due to the folly of Robert,

and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many

months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had

at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of

his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous

attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was

given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and

re-established him completely in her favour.

The whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which

crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance

of what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however

its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every

advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and

conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately

visited her in Bartlett’s Buildings, it was only with the view imputed

to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the

engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection

of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle

the matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred; for though

Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in

_time_, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to

produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when

they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour’s

discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and

the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came

gradually to talk only of Robert,—a subject on which he had always more

to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest

even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to

both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his

conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying

privately without his mother’s consent. What immediately followed is

known. They passed some months in great happiness at Dawlish; for she

had many relations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several

plans for magnificent cottages;—and from thence returning to town,

procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of

asking it, which, at Lucy’s instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness,

at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and

Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have

transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But

perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation

for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated

with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its

graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest

state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs.

Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never

cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor,

though superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an

intruder, _she_ was in every thing considered, and always openly

acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town, received

very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms

imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and

ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which their

husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent domestic

disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed

the harmony in which they all lived together.

What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have

puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to

it, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however,

justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever

appeared in Robert’s style of living or of talking to give a suspicion

of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his

brother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if Edward might

be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every particular,

from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the

regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less

contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.

Elinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family as could well

be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless,

for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with

her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure

in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing

Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though

rather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her

darling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she

desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her

valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was

equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and

their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the

reward of all.

With such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge so intimate of his

goodness—with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at

last, though long after it was observable to everybody else—burst on

her—what could she do?

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to

discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her

conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an

affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment

superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give

her hand to another!—and _that_ other, a man who had suffered no less

than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years

before, she had considered too old to be married,—and who still sought

the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible

passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with

expecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and

finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in

her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found

herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new

duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the

patroness of a village.

Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him,

believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne he was consoled for every past

affliction;—her regard and her society restored his mind to animation,

and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own

happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of

each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her

whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had

once been to Willoughby.

Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his

punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of

Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as

the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he

behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy

and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own

punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought

of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he

was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an

habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be

depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to

enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home

always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in

sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic

felicity.

For Marianne, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her

loss, he always retained that decided regard which interested him in

every thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of

perfection in woman; and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him

in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.

Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without

attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs.

Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an

age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being

supposed to have a lover.

Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication

which strong family affection would naturally dictate; and among the

merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked

as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost

within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement

between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.

THE END