sense and sensibility(理智与情感)-第21部分
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headache； was unable to talk； and unwilling to take any
nourishment； giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters；
and forbidding all attempt at consolation from either。 Her
sensibility was potent enough！
When breakfast was over she walked out by herself； and
wandered about the village of Allenham； indulging the recollection
of past enjoyment and crying over the present reverse for the chief
of the morning。
The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling。 She
played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to
Willoughby； every air in which their voices had been oftenest
joined； and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that
he had written out for her； till her heart was so heavy that no
farther sadness could be gained； and this nourishment of grief was
every day applied。 She spent whole hours at the pianoforté
alternately singing and crying； her voice often totally suspended
by her tears。 In books too； as well as in music； she courted the
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misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain
of giving。 She read nothing but what they had been used to read
together。
Such violence of affliction indeed could not be supported for
ever； it sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy； but these
employments； to which she daily recurred； her solitary walks and
silent meditations； still produced occasional effusions of sorrow as
lively as ever。
No letter from Willoughby came； and none seemed expected by
Marianne。 Her mother was surprised； and Elinor again became
uneasy。 But Mrs。 Dashwood could find explanations whenever she
wanted them； which at least satisfied herself。
“Remember； Elinor；” said she； “how very often Sir John fetches
our letters himself from the post； and carries them to it。 We have
already agreed that secrecy may be necessary； and we must
acknowledge that it could not be maintained if their
correspondence were to pass through Sir John’s hands。”
Elinor could not deny the truth of this； and she tried to find in it
a motive sufficient for their silence。 But there was one method so
direct； so simple； and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real
state of the affair； and of instantly removing all mystery； that she
could not help suggesting it to her mother。
“Why do you not ask Marianne at once；” said she； “whether she
is or she is not engaged to Willoughby？ From you； her mother； and
so kind； so indulgent a mother； the question could not give offence。
It would be the natural result of your affection for her。 She used to
be all unreserve； and to you more especially。”
“I would not ask such a question for the world。 Supposing it
possible that they are not engaged； what distress would not such
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an inquiry inflict！ At any rate it would be most ungenerous。 I
should never deserve her confidence again； after forcing from her
a confession of what is meant at present to be unacknowledged to
any one。 I know Marianne’s heart： I know that she dearly loves
me； and that I shall not be the last to whom the affair is made
known； when circumstances make the revealment of it eligible。 I
would not attempt to force the confidence of any one； of a child
much less； because a sense of duty would prevent the denial which
her wishes might direct。”
Elinor thought this generosity overstrained； considering her
sister’s youth； and urged the matter farther； but in vain； common
sense； common care； common prudence； were all sunk in Mrs。
Dashwood’s romantic delicacy。
It was several days before Willoughby’s name was mentioned
before Marianne by any of her family； Sir John and Mrs。 Jennings；
indeed； were not so nice； their witticisms added pain to many a
painful hour；—but one evening； Mrs。 Dashwood； accidentally
taking up a volume of Shakespeare； exclaimed；
“We have never finished Hamlet； Marianne； our dear
Willoughby went away before we could get through it。 We will put
it by； that when he comes again 。 。 。 But it may be months；
perhaps； before that happens。”
“Months！” cried Marianne； with strong surprise。 “No—nor
many weeks。”
Mrs。 Dashwood was sorry for what she had said； but it gave
Elinor pleasure； as it produced a reply from Marianne so
expressive of confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his
intentions。
One morning； about a week after his leaving the country；
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Marianne was prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk；
instead of wandering away by herself。 Hitherto she had carefully
avoided every companion in her rambles。 If her sisters intended to
walk on the downs； she directly stole away towards the lanes； if
they talked of the valley； she was as speedy in climbing the hills；
and could never be found when the others set off。 But at length
she was secured by the exertions of Elinor； who greatly
disapproved such continual seclusion。 They walked along the road
through the valley； and chiefly in silence； for Marianne’s mind
could not be controlled； and Elinor； satisfied with gaining one
point； would not then attempt more。 Beyond the entrance of the
valley； where the country； though still rich； was less wild and more
open； a long stretch of the road which they had travelled on first
coming to Barton； lay before them； and on reaching that point；
they stopped to look around them； and examine a prospect which
formed the distance of their view from the cottage； from a spot
which they had never happened to reach in any of their walks
before。
Amongst the objects in the scene； they soon discovered an
animated one； it was a man on horseback riding towards them。 In
a few minutes they could distinguish him to be a gentleman； and
in a moment afterwards Marianne rapturously exclaimed；
“It is he； it is indeed；—I know it is！”—and was hastening to
meet him； when Elinor cried out；
“Indeed； Marianne； I think you are mistaken。 It is not
Willoughby。 The person is not tall enough for him； and has not his
air。”
“He has； he has；” cried Marianne； “I am sure he has。 His air； his
coat； his horse。 I knew how soon he would come。”
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She walked eagerly on as she spoke； and Elinor； to screen
Marianne from particularity； as she felt almost certain of its not
being Willoughby； quickened her pace and kept up with her。 They
were soon within thirty yards of the gentleman。 Marianne looked
again； her heart sunk within her； and abruptly turning round； she
was hurrying back； when the voices of both her sisters were raised
to detain her； a third； almost as well known as Willoughby’s； joined
them in begging her to stop； and she turned round with surprise to
see and welcome Edward Ferrars。
He was the only person in the world who could at that moment
be forgiven for not being Willoughby； the only one who could have
gained a smile from her； but she dispersed her tears to smile on
him； and in her sister’s happiness forgot for a time her own
disappointment。
He dismounted； and giving his horse to his servant； walked
back with them to Barton； whither he was purposely coming to
visit them。
He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality； but
especially by Marianne； who showed more warmth of regard in
her reception of him than even Elinor herself。 To Marianne；
indeed； the meeting between Edward and her sister was but a
continuation of that unaccountable coldness which she had often
observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour。 On Edward’s side；
more particularly； there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought
to look and say on such an occasion。 He was confused； seemed
scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them； looked neither
rapturous nor gay； said little but what was forced from him by
questions； and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection。
Marianne saw
