Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after thesound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by acrowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadnesswas the general result, to think even of her sister.

Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the mostworthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited adegree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which madeher think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with atenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledgedwithin herself-to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that hisinfluence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought notin reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, thatopen, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess; and by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not eveninnocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long beforeshe could feel his influence less.

When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found herjust awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent ofher hopes. Elinor's heart was full. The past, the present, thefuture, Willoughby's visit, Marianne's safety, and her mother'sexpected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spiritswhich kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearfulof betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, inwhich that fear could affect her, for within half an hour afterWilloughby's leaving the house, she was again called down stairs by thesound of another carriage. -- Eager to save her mother from everyunnecessary moment's horrible suspense, she ran immediately into thehall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive and supporther as she entered it.

Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had producedalmost the conviction of Marianne's being no more, had no voice toinquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but SHE, waiting neitherfor salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; -- and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as muchovercome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. Shewas supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and herfriend; -- and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable tospeak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervalsto press Colonel Brandon's hand, with a look which spoke at once hergratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the blissof the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater thanher own.

As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was herfirst desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor's delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep; -- but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, whenthe life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed byevery nurse around her. Mrs. Dashwood WOULD sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in compliance with her mother's entreaty, went to bed. Butthe rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of themost wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits. Willoughby, "poor Willoughby," as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she wouldnot but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before. But herpromise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever behappy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself, felt that to his sufferings and his constancy far more than to his rival's, the reward of her sister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby's death.

The shock of Colonel Brandon's errand at Barton had been much softenedto Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was heruneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set outfor Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any furtherintelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival, that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away, as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness ofMrs. Dashwood's looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedlydeclared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor couldnot hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimeswondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointmentwhich Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy tothink only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to herfrom a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistakenjudgment in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, hadcontributed to place her; -- and in her recovery she had yet anothersource of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, assoon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.

Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised andnot surprised, was all silent attention.

Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, becausesatisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age, characters, or feelings, could be given; -- but her mother must always becarried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, andtherefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.

"He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It cameout quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, couldtalk of nothing but my child; -- he could not conceal his distress; I sawthat it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy-or rather, not thinking at all, I suppose-giving way to irresistible feelings, made me acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection forMarianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment ofseeing her."

"You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at yourcomposure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to myfamily, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you asthe object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the mosthappy with him of the two."

"At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all myhappiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself."

"His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughbyever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere orconstant-which ever we are to call it-has subsisted through all theknowledge of dear Marianne's unhappy prepossession for that worthlessyoung man! -- and without selfishness-without encouraging a hope! -- couldhe have seen her happy with another-Such a noble mind! -- such openness, such sincerity! -- no one can be deceived in HIM."

Here, however, Elinor perceived, -- not the language, not the professionsof Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother'sactive fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it chose.

"Colonel Brandon's character," said Elinor, "as an excellent man, iswell established."

"I know it is," -- replied her mother seriously, "or after such a warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be pleasedby it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such readyfriendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men."

"His character, however," answered Elinor, "does not rest on ONE act ofkindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of thecase, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, hehas been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect him; and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is veryconsiderable; and so highly do I value and esteem him, that if Mariannecan be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to think ourconnection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What answer didyou give him? -- Did you allow him to hope?"

"Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself. Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope orencouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressibleeffusion to a soothing friend-not an application to a parent. Yetafter a time I DID say, for at first I was quite overcome-that if shelived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie inpromoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightfulsecurity, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him everyencouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, willdo everything; -- Marianne's heart is not to be wasted for ever on such aman as Willoughby. -- His own merits must soon secure it."

"No. -- He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any changein it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart againfree, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such adifference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There, however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers asto be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed; -- andhis disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to makeyour sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in hisfavour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not sohandsome as Willoughby-but at the same time, there is something muchmore pleasing in his countenance. -- There was always a something, -- ifyou remember, -- in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like."

"To judge from the Colonel's spirits, however, you have not yet madehim equally sanguine."

Elinor could NOT remember it; -- but her mother, without waiting for herassent, continued,

"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more pleasing tome than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind I well know tobe more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuineattention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is muchmore accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness-oftenartificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself, that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has provedhimself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy withHIM, as she will be with Colonel Brandon."

"At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me," added Mrs. Dashwood, "even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability, -- for Ihear it is a large village, -- indeed there certainly MUST be some smallhouse or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as ourpresent situation."

She paused. -- Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but herdissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.

"His fortune too! -- for at my time of life you know, everybody caresabout THAT; -- and though I neither know nor desire to know, what itreally is, I am sure it must be a good one."

Poor Elinor! -- here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford! -- buther spirit was stubborn.

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, andElinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to herfriend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.