CHAPTER XLIII

Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry

replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by

engaging in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting

shivering over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable

to read, or in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much

in favour of her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed,

more and more indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her

sister's composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole

day, against Marianne's inclination, and forcing proper medicines on

her at night, trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of

sleep, and felt no real alarm.

A very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the

expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising,

confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her

bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings's advice, of sending

for the Palmers' apothecary.

He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to

expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet,

by pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing

the word "infection" to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs.

Palmer, on her baby's account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined

from the first to think Marianne's complaint more serious than Elinor,

now looked very grave on Mr. Harris's report, and confirming

Charlotte's fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate

removal with her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their

apprehensions as idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife

too great to be withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and

within an hour after Mr. Harris's arrival, she set off, with her

little boy and his nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr.

Palmer's, who lived a few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her

husband promised, at her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or

two; and whither she was almost equally urgent with her mother to

accompany her. Mrs. Jennings, however, with a kindness of heart which

made Elinor really love her, declared her resolution of not stirring

from Cleveland as long as Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring,

by her own attentive care, to supply to her the place of the mother

she had taken her from; and Elinor found her on every occasion a most

willing and active helpmate, desirous to share in all her fatigues,

and often by her better experience in nursing, of material use.

Poor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and

feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow

would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have

produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for

on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended

the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their

mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was

all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to

raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she _then_ really believed

herself, that it would be a very short one.

The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the

patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no

amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced;

for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity

and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away

by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his

promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel

Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going

likewise. Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most

acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much

uneasiness on her sister's account, would be to deprive them both, she

thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his

stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him

to play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with

her sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was

gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not

long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings's entreaty was

warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself,

in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss

Dashwood in any emergence.

Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements.

She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of

Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It

gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it

gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.

Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer's departure, and her

situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who

attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and

Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others

was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early

in the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel

Brandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings's

forebodings, was not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He

tried to reason himself out of fears, which the different judgment of

the apothecary seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day

in which he was left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the

admission of every melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his

mind the persuasion that he should see Marianne no more.

On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of

both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared

his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every

symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed

in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her

letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than

her friend's, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed

them at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would

be able to travel.

But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began. Towards the

evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and

uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was

willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of

having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the

cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a

slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her

sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a

considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself,

she resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings,

knowing nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to

bed; her maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating

herself in the housekeeper's room, and Elinor remained alone with

Marianne.

The repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her

sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change

of posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of

complaint which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from

so painful a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some

accidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish

wildness, cried out,--

"Is mama coming?--"

"Not yet," cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting

Marianne to lie down again, "but she will be here, I hope, before it

is long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton."

"But she must not go round by London," cried Marianne, in the same

hurried manner. "I shall never see her, if she goes by London."

Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while

attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and

quicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her

alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly

for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother.

To consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the

latter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its

performance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by

her sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he

was generally to be found at a much later hour than the present.

It was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were

immediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to

attempt the removal of; he listened to them in silent despondence; but

her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that

seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his

mind, he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs.

Dashwood. Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She

thanked him with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to

hurry off his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for

post-horses directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.

The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon--or

such a companion for her mother,--how gratefully was it felt!--a

companion whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve,

and whose friendship might soothe her!--as far as the shock of such a

summons _could_ be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his

assistance, would lessen it.

_He_, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness

of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost

despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might

look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The

horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon

only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words

spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was

then about twelve o'clock, and she returned to her sister's apartment

to wait for the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the

rest of the night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both.

Hour after hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on

Marianne's side, and in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor's, before Mr.

Harris appeared. Her apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess

for all her former security; and the servant who sat up with her, for

she would not allow Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her

more, by hints of what her mistress had always thought.

Marianne's ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her

mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the

heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with

so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief,

fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had

been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother

arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.

She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if _he_ could

not come, for some other advice, when the former--but not till after

five o'clock--arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends

for his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and

unpleasant alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to

be material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment

must procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was

communicated to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of

three or four hours, and left both the patient and her anxious

attendant more composed than he had found them.

With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to

their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed.

Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her

no doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor,

her conviction of her sister's danger would not allow her to offer the

comfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the

early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have

struck a less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings's

compassion she had other claims. She had been for three months her

companion, was still under her care, and she was known to have been

greatly injured, and long unhappy. The distress of her sister too,

particularly a favourite, was before her;--and as for their mother,

when Mrs. Jennings considered that Marianne might probably be to _her_

what Charlotte was to herself, her sympathy in _her_ sufferings was

very sincere.

Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit; but he came to be

disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His

medicines had failed; the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more

quiet--not more herself--remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching

all, and more than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in

further advice. But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something

more to try, some more fresh application, of whose success he was as

confident as the last, and his visit concluded with encouraging

assurances which reached the ear, but could not enter the heart of

Miss Dashwood. She was calm, except when she thought of her mother;

but she was almost hopeless; and in this state she continued till

noon, scarcely stirring from her sister's bed, her thoughts wandering

from one image of grief, one suffering friend to another, and her

spirits oppressed to the utmost by the conversation of Mrs. Jennings,

who scrupled not to attribute the severity and danger of this attack

to the many weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne's

disappointment had brought on. Elinor felt all the reasonableness of

the idea, and it gave fresh misery to her reflections.

About noon, however, she began--but with a caution--a dread of

disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her

friend--to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her

sister's pulse; she waited, watched, and examined it again and again;

and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under exterior

calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to communicate her

hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to acknowledge a

temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from indulging a

thought of its continuance; and Elinor, conning over every injunction

of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late.

Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious flutter, she

bent over her sister to watch--she hardly knew for what. Half an hour

passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her. Others even

arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all flattered

Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes on her

with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now oppressed

her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity till the

arrival of Mr. Harris at four o'clock; when his assurances, his

felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his

expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.

Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her

entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the

partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their

late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted,

with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the

probability of an entire recovery.

Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led

to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health,

friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with

sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent

gratitude;--but it lead to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words,

no smiles. All within Elinor's breast was satisfaction, silent and

strong.

She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the

whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her

enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every

look and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course,

in some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was; but when she

saw, on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of

recovery continued, and saw Marianne at six o'clock sink into a quiet,

steady, and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every

doubt.

The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected

back. At ten o'clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her

mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must

now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!--perhaps scarcely

less an object of pity! Oh! how slow was the progress of time which

yet kept them in ignorance!

At seven o'clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined

Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been

kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating

much; and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of

content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings

would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before

her mother's arrival, and allow _her_ to take her place by Marianne;

but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that

moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an

unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs

into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right,

left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to

her own room to write letters and sleep.

The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and

the rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within,

regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the

travellers, they had a rich reward in store, for every present

inconvenience.

The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been

convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the

house; and so strong was the persuasion that she _did_, in spite of

the _almost_ impossibility of their being already come, that she moved

into the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be

satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not

deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in

view. By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be

drawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor

mother's alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.

Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at

that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the

carriage stopped the door,--of her doubt--her dread,--perhaps her

despair!--and of what _she_ had to tell! with such knowledge it was

impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy;

and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings's maid

with her sister, she hurried down stairs.

The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby,

assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the

drawing-room,--she entered it,--and saw only Willoughby.

[Illustration: _Opened a window-shutter._]