CHAPTER IX

The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to

themselves. The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding

them, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had

given to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far

greater enjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss

of their father. Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for

the first fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much

occupation at home, could not conceal his amazement on finding them

always employed.

Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in

spite of Sir John's urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the

neighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at

their service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood's spirit overcame the

wish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to

visit any family beyond the distance of a walk. There were but few who

could be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable.

About a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding

valley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton, as formerly

described, the girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered

an ancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding them a

little of Norland, interested their imagination and made them wish to

be better acquainted with it. But they learnt, on enquiry, that its

possessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately

too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home.

The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high

downs which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to

seek the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy

alternative when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their

superior beauties; and towards one of these hills did Marianne and

Margaret one memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the

partial sunshine of a showery sky, and unable longer to bear the

confinement which the settled rain of the two preceding days had

occasioned. The weather was not tempting enough to draw the two others

from their pencil and their book, in spite of Marianne's declaration

that the day would be lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud

would be drawn off from their hills; and the two girls set off

together.

They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at

every glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the

animating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears

which had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such

delightful sensations.

"Is there a felicity in the world," said Marianne, "superior to

this?--Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours."

Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind,

resisting it with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer,

when suddenly the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain

set full in their face. Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged,

though unwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their

own house. One consolation however remained for them, to which the

exigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety,--it was that of

running with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which

led immediately to their garden gate.

They set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step

brought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop

herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached

the bottom in safety.

A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was

passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her

accident happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She

had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in

her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered

his services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her

situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther

delay, and carried her down the hill. Then passing through the garden,

the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly

into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his

hold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.

Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and

while the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a

secret admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he

apologized for his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so

frank and so graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome,

received additional charms from his voice and expression. Had he been

even old, ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs.

Dashwood would have been secured by any act of attention to her child;

but the influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to

the action which came home to her feelings.

She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address

which always attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he

declined, as he was dirty and wet. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know

to whom she was obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his

present home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him

the honour of calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The

honour was readily granted, and he then departed, to make himself

still more interesting, in the midst of a heavy rain.

His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the

theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised

against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior

attractions. Marianne herself had seen less of his person than the

rest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting

her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their

entering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in all the

admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her

praise. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn

for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the

house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of

thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every

circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his

residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that

of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her

imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a

sprained ankle was disregarded.

Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather

that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne's accident

being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any

gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.

"Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is _he_ in the country? That is

good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on

Thursday."

"You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.

"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year."

"And what sort of a young man is he?"

"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent

shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England."

"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne, indignantly.

"But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his

pursuits, his talents, and genius?"

Sir John was rather puzzled.

"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him as to all

_that._ But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the

nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with

him today?"

But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.

Willoughby's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his

mind.

"But who is he?" said Elinor. "Where does he come from? Has he a house

at Allenham?"

On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he

told them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the

country; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady

at Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he

was to inherit; adding, "Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I

can tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of his own

in Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up

to my younger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills. Miss

Marianne must not expect to have all the men to herself. Brandon will

be jealous, if she does not take care."

"I do not believe," said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile,

"that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of

_my_ daughters towards what you call _catching him._ It is not an

employment to which they have been brought up. Men are very safe with

us, let them be ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what

you say, that he is a respectable young man, and one whose

acquaintance will not be ineligible."

"He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived," repeated

Sir John. "I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he

danced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down."

"Did he indeed?" cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, "and with

elegance, with spirit?"

"Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert."

"That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever

be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and

leave him no sense of fatigue."

"Aye, aye, I see how it will be," said Sir John, "I see how it will

be. You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor

Brandon."

"That is an expression, Sir John," said Marianne, warmly, "which I

particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit

is intended; and 'setting one's cap at a man,' or 'making a conquest,'

are the most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and

if their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago

destroyed all its ingenuity."

Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as

heartily as if he did, and then replied--

"Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other.

Poor Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth

setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling

about and spraining of ankles."