October 26, 2025 • 16 mins
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter forty five, At about the week's sent from his
return to Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over, and he
was so far pronounced safe as to make his mother
perfectly easy for being now used to the side of
him in his suffering, helpless state, and hearing only the best,
and never thinking beyond what she heard, with no disposition
(00:21):
for alarm and no aptitude at a hint, Lady Bertram
was the happiest subject in the world. For a little
medical imposition, the fever was subdued. The fever had been
his complaint. Of course, he would soon be well again.
Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her
aunt's security till she received a few lines from Edmund,
(00:41):
written purposely to give her a clearer idea of his
brother's situation, and acquainted with the apprehensions which he and
his father had imbibed from the physician with respect to
some strong hectic symptoms which seemed to seize the frame
on the departure of the fever. They judged it best
that Lady Bertram should not be harassed by alarms, which
it was hoped would prove unfounded. But there was no
(01:04):
reason why Fanny should not know the truth. They were
apprehensive for his lungs. A very few lines from Edmund
showed her the patient and the sickroom in a juster
and stronger light than all Lady Bertram sheets of paper
could do. There was hardly any one in the house
who might not have described from personal observation better than herself,
(01:24):
not one who was not more useful. At times to
her son. She could do nothing but gliding quietly and
look at him. But when able to talk, or be
talked to or read to, Edmund was the companion he preferred.
His aunt worried him by her cares, and Sir Thomas
knew not how to bring down his conversation or his
voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. Edmund was.
(01:47):
All in all, Fanny would certainly believe him so at least,
and must find that her estimation of him was higher
than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer
of a suffering brother. It was not only the ability
of recent illness to assist. There was also, as she
now learned, nerves, much affected, spirits, much depressed to calm
(02:08):
and raise, and her own imagination added that there must
be a mind to be properly guided. The family were
not consumptive, and she was more inclined to hope than
fear for her cousin, except when she thought of Miss Crawford.
But Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being the
child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity,
(02:28):
it would be good luck to have Edmund the only son.
Even in the sick chamber. The fortunate Mary was not forgotten.
Edmund's letter had this PostScript on the subject of my
last I had actually begun a letter when called away
by Tom's illness, But I have now changed my mind
and feared to trust the influence of friends. When Tom
(02:49):
is better, I shall go. Such was the state of Mansfield,
and so it continued, with scarcely any change till Easter.
A line occasionally added by Edmond to his mother's letter
was enough for Fanny's information. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow.
Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most
(03:10):
sorrowfully considered on first learning that she had no chance
of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she
had yet heard nothing of her return, nothing even of
the going to London, which was to precede her return.
Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, but there
was no notice, no message from the uncle on whom
all depended. She supposed he could not yet leave his son,
(03:33):
but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her.
The end of April was coming on. It would soon
be almost three months instead of two that she had
been absent from them all, and that her days had
been passing in a state of penance, which she loved
them too well to hope they would thoroughly understand. And
who could yet say when there might be leisure to
(03:53):
think of or fetch her Her eagerness, her impatience. Her
longings to be with them were such as to bring
a line or two of Cowper's Tyracinium forever before her,
with what intense desire she wants. Her home was continually
on her tongue as the truest description of a yearning
which she could not suppose any schoolboy's bosom to feel
(04:13):
more keenly. When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she
had loved to call it her home, had been fond
of saying that she was going home. The word had
been very dear to her, and so it still was,
but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now
the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth, Mansfield was home. There had
(04:34):
been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations,
and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find
her aunt using the same language. I cannot but say,
I much regret your being from home at this distressing time,
so very trying to my spirits. I trust and hope
and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home.
(04:55):
So long Again were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however,
it was her private regale delicacy to her parents made
her careful not to betray such a preference of her
uncle's house. It was always when I go back into Northamptonshire,
or when I returned to Mansfield, I shall do so,
and so for a great while it was so. But
(05:17):
at last the longing grew stronger. It overthrew caution, and
she found herself talking of what she should do when
she went home. Before she was aware, she reproached herself,
colored and looked fearfully towards her father and mother. She
need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of
displeasure or even of hearing her, They were perfectly free
from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to
(05:39):
wish herself there as to be there. It was sad
to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She
had not known before, what pleasure she had to lose
in passing March and April in a town she had
not known before, how much the beginnings and progress of
vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and
mind she had derived for watching the advance of that season,
(06:01):
which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and
seeing its increasing beauties, from the earliest flowers in the
warmest divisions of her aunt's garden, to the opening of
leaves of her uncle's plantations, and the glory of his woods.
To be losing such pleasures was no trifle. To be
losing them because she was in the midst of closeness
(06:22):
and noise. To have confinement, bad air, bad smells substituted
for liberty, freshness, fragrance and verdure was infinitely worse. But
even these incitements to regret were feeble compared with what
arose from the conviction of being missed by her best friends,
and the longing to be useful to those who were
wanting her. Could she have been at home, she might
(06:44):
have been of service to every creature in the house.
She felt that she must have been of use to all,
to all, she must have saved some trouble of head
or hand. And were it only in supporting the spirits
of her Aunt Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude,
or the still gris later evil of a restless, officious
companion too apt to be heightening danger in order to
(07:05):
enhance her own importance, her being there would have been
a general good. She loved to fancy how she could
have read to her aunt, how she could have talked
to her and tried at once to make her feel
the blessing of what was and prepare her mind for
what might be. And how many walks up and down
stairs she might have saved her, and how many messages
she might have carried. It astonished her that Tom's sisters
(07:27):
could be satisfied with remaining in London at such a
time through an illness which had now under different degrees
of danger, lasted several weeks. They might return to Mansfield
when they chose, traveling could be no difficulty to them,
and she could not comprehend how both could still keep away.
If missus Rushworth could imagine any interfering obligations. Julia was
(07:49):
certainly able to quit London whenever she chose. It appeared
from one of her aunt's letters that Julia had offered
to return if wanted, But this was all It was
evident that she would write the remain where she was.
Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very
much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the
proof of it in Miss Crawford as well as in
(08:11):
her cousins. Her attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the
most respectable part of her character. Her friendship for herself
had at least been blameless. Where was either sentiment? Now?
It was so long since Fanny had had any letter
from her that she had some reason to think lightly
of the friendship which had been so dwelt on. It
was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Crawford
(08:33):
or of her other connections in town, except through Mansfield,
and she was beginning to suppose that she might never
know whether mister Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or
not till they met, and might never hear from his
sister any more. This spring, when the following letter was received,
to revive old and create some new sensations. Forgive me,
(08:53):
my dear Fanny, as soon as you can for my
long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly.
This is my modest request and expectation, for you are
so good that I depend upon being treated better than
I deserve, and I write now to beg an immediate answer.
I want to know the state of things at Mansfield Park,
and you, no doubt are perfectly able to give it.
(09:17):
One should be a brute not to feel for the
distress they are in, and from what I hear, poor
mister Bertram has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I
thought little of his illness At first. I looked upon
him as the sort of person to be made a
fuss with, and to make a fuss himself and any
trifling disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had
to nurse him. But now it is confidently asserted that
(09:40):
he is really in a decline, that the symptoms are
most alarming, and that part of the family at least
are aware of it. If it be so, I am
sure you must be included in that part, that discerning part,
and therefore entreat you to let me know how far
I have been rightly informed. I need not say how
rejoiced I shall be to him there has been any mistake.
(10:01):
But the report is so prevalent that I confess I
cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young man
cut off in the flower of his days is most melancholy.
Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am
quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you
smile and look cunning, But upon my honor, I never
(10:22):
bribed a physician in my life. Poor young man, if
he is to die, there will be two poor young
men less in the world. And with a fearless face
and bold voice would I say to any one that
wealth and consequence could fall into no hands more deserving
of them. It was a foolish precipitation last Christmas. But
the evil of a few days may be blotted out
(10:45):
in part. Varnish and gilding may hide many stains. It
will be but the loss of the esquire after his
name with real affection fanny like mine more might be overlooked.
Write to me by return of post judge of my anxiety,
and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real
truth as you have it from the fountain head, and
(11:07):
now do not trouble yourself to be ashamed of either
my feelings or your own. Believe me, they are not
only natural, they are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it
to your conscious whether Sir Edmund would not do more
good with all the Bertram property than any other possible Sir.
Had the grants been at home, I would not have
(11:28):
troubled you. But you are now the only one I
can apply to for the truth. His sisters not being
within my reach. Missus R. Has been spending the easter
with the Aylmers at twicknam As, to be sure you know,
and is not yet returned. And Julia is with the
cousins who live near Bedford Square, but I forgot their
name and street. Could I immediately apply to either? However,
(11:51):
I should still prefer you, because it strikes me that
they have all along been so unwilling to have their
own amusements cut up as to shut their eyes to
the truth. I suppose Missus R's Easter holidays will not
last much longer. No doubt they are thorough holidays. To her.
The Aylmers are pleasant people, and her husband away, she
(12:11):
can have nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit for
promoting his going dutifully down to Bath to fetch his mother,
But how will she and the dower to agree in
one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have
nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund
would have been in town again long ago but for
the sillness yours? Ever, Mary, I had actually begun folding
(12:36):
my letter when Henry walked in. But he brings no
intelligence to prevent my sending it. Missus R. Knows a
decline is apprehended. He saw her this morning. She returns
to Wimpole Street to day. The old lady is come. Now.
Do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies. Because
he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He
(12:56):
does it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody
but you. At this very moment, he is wild to
see you, and occupied only in contriving the means for
doing so, and making his pleasure conduced to yours. In proof,
he repeats and more eagerly what he said at Portsmouth
about our conveying you home, and I join him in
(13:17):
it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly and
tell us to come. It will do us all good.
He and I can go to the parson it, you know,
and be no trouble to our friends at Mansfield Park.
It would really be gratifying to see them all again,
and a little addition of society might be of infinite
use to them. And as to yourself, you must feel
(13:38):
yourself to be so wanted there that you cannot, in conscience,
conscientious as you are, keep away when you have the
means of returning. I have not time or patience to
give half Henry's messages. Be satisfied that the spirit of
each and every one is unalterable affection. Fanny's disgust at
the greater part of this letter, with extreme reluctance to
(14:01):
bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund together,
would have made her, as she felt incapable of judging
impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or not.
To herself individually, it was most tempting to be finding
herself perhaps within three days transported to Mansfield was an
image of the greatest felicity. But it would have been
(14:23):
a material drawback to be owing such felicity to persons
in whose feelings and conduct. At the present moment she
saw so much to condemn the sister's feelings, the brother's conduct,
her cold hearted ambition, his thoughtless vanity to have him still,
the acquaintance, the flirt perhaps of missus Rushworth. She was
(14:43):
mortified she had thought better of him. Happily, however, she
was not left to weigh and decide between opposite inclinations
and doubtful notions of right. There was no occasion to
determine whether she ought to keep Edmund and Mary asunder
or not. She had a rule to apply to which
settle everything. Her awe of her uncle and her dread
of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain
(15:06):
to her what she had to do. She must absolutely
decline the proposal. If he wanted, he would send for her,
and even to offer an early return was a presumption
which hardly anything would have seemed to justify. She thanked
Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. Her uncle, she understood,
meant to fetch her, and as her cousin's illness had
(15:26):
continued so many weeks without her being thought at all necessary,
she must suppose her return would be unwelcome at present,
and that she should be felt an incumbrance. Her representation
of her cousin's state at this time was exactly according
to her own belief of it, and such as she
supposed would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent,
the hope of everything she was wishing for Edmund would
(15:48):
be forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain
conditions of wealth, and this she suspected was all the
conquest of prejudice which she was so ready to congratulate
himself upon. She had only learned to think nothing of
consequence but money. End of Chapter forty five.
Chapter forty five, At about the week's sent from his
return to Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over, and he
was so far pronounced safe as to make his mother
perfectly easy for being now used to the side of
him in his suffering, helpless state, and hearing only the best,
and never thinking beyond what she heard, with no disposition
(00:21):
for alarm and no aptitude at a hint, Lady Bertram
was the happiest subject in the world. For a little
medical imposition, the fever was subdued. The fever had been
his complaint. Of course, he would soon be well again.
Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her
aunt's security till she received a few lines from Edmund,
(00:41):
written purposely to give her a clearer idea of his
brother's situation, and acquainted with the apprehensions which he and
his father had imbibed from the physician with respect to
some strong hectic symptoms which seemed to seize the frame
on the departure of the fever. They judged it best
that Lady Bertram should not be harassed by alarms, which
it was hoped would prove unfounded. But there was no
(01:04):
reason why Fanny should not know the truth. They were
apprehensive for his lungs. A very few lines from Edmund
showed her the patient and the sickroom in a juster
and stronger light than all Lady Bertram sheets of paper
could do. There was hardly any one in the house
who might not have described from personal observation better than herself,
(01:24):
not one who was not more useful. At times to
her son. She could do nothing but gliding quietly and
look at him. But when able to talk, or be
talked to or read to, Edmund was the companion he preferred.
His aunt worried him by her cares, and Sir Thomas
knew not how to bring down his conversation or his
voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. Edmund was.
(01:47):
All in all, Fanny would certainly believe him so at least,
and must find that her estimation of him was higher
than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer
of a suffering brother. It was not only the ability
of recent illness to assist. There was also, as she
now learned, nerves, much affected, spirits, much depressed to calm
(02:08):
and raise, and her own imagination added that there must
be a mind to be properly guided. The family were
not consumptive, and she was more inclined to hope than
fear for her cousin, except when she thought of Miss Crawford.
But Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being the
child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity,
(02:28):
it would be good luck to have Edmund the only son.
Even in the sick chamber. The fortunate Mary was not forgotten.
Edmund's letter had this PostScript on the subject of my
last I had actually begun a letter when called away
by Tom's illness, But I have now changed my mind
and feared to trust the influence of friends. When Tom
(02:49):
is better, I shall go. Such was the state of Mansfield,
and so it continued, with scarcely any change till Easter.
A line occasionally added by Edmond to his mother's letter
was enough for Fanny's information. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow.
Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most
(03:10):
sorrowfully considered on first learning that she had no chance
of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she
had yet heard nothing of her return, nothing even of
the going to London, which was to precede her return.
Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, but there
was no notice, no message from the uncle on whom
all depended. She supposed he could not yet leave his son,
(03:33):
but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her.
The end of April was coming on. It would soon
be almost three months instead of two that she had
been absent from them all, and that her days had
been passing in a state of penance, which she loved
them too well to hope they would thoroughly understand. And
who could yet say when there might be leisure to
(03:53):
think of or fetch her Her eagerness, her impatience. Her
longings to be with them were such as to bring
a line or two of Cowper's Tyracinium forever before her,
with what intense desire she wants. Her home was continually
on her tongue as the truest description of a yearning
which she could not suppose any schoolboy's bosom to feel
(04:13):
more keenly. When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she
had loved to call it her home, had been fond
of saying that she was going home. The word had
been very dear to her, and so it still was,
but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now
the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth, Mansfield was home. There had
(04:34):
been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations,
and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find
her aunt using the same language. I cannot but say,
I much regret your being from home at this distressing time,
so very trying to my spirits. I trust and hope
and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home.
(04:55):
So long Again were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however,
it was her private regale delicacy to her parents made
her careful not to betray such a preference of her
uncle's house. It was always when I go back into Northamptonshire,
or when I returned to Mansfield, I shall do so,
and so for a great while it was so. But
(05:17):
at last the longing grew stronger. It overthrew caution, and
she found herself talking of what she should do when
she went home. Before she was aware, she reproached herself,
colored and looked fearfully towards her father and mother. She
need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of
displeasure or even of hearing her, They were perfectly free
from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to
(05:39):
wish herself there as to be there. It was sad
to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She
had not known before, what pleasure she had to lose
in passing March and April in a town she had
not known before, how much the beginnings and progress of
vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and
mind she had derived for watching the advance of that season,
(06:01):
which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and
seeing its increasing beauties, from the earliest flowers in the
warmest divisions of her aunt's garden, to the opening of
leaves of her uncle's plantations, and the glory of his woods.
To be losing such pleasures was no trifle. To be
losing them because she was in the midst of closeness
(06:22):
and noise. To have confinement, bad air, bad smells substituted
for liberty, freshness, fragrance and verdure was infinitely worse. But
even these incitements to regret were feeble compared with what
arose from the conviction of being missed by her best friends,
and the longing to be useful to those who were
wanting her. Could she have been at home, she might
(06:44):
have been of service to every creature in the house.
She felt that she must have been of use to all,
to all, she must have saved some trouble of head
or hand. And were it only in supporting the spirits
of her Aunt Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude,
or the still gris later evil of a restless, officious
companion too apt to be heightening danger in order to
(07:05):
enhance her own importance, her being there would have been
a general good. She loved to fancy how she could
have read to her aunt, how she could have talked
to her and tried at once to make her feel
the blessing of what was and prepare her mind for
what might be. And how many walks up and down
stairs she might have saved her, and how many messages
she might have carried. It astonished her that Tom's sisters
(07:27):
could be satisfied with remaining in London at such a
time through an illness which had now under different degrees
of danger, lasted several weeks. They might return to Mansfield
when they chose, traveling could be no difficulty to them,
and she could not comprehend how both could still keep away.
If missus Rushworth could imagine any interfering obligations. Julia was
(07:49):
certainly able to quit London whenever she chose. It appeared
from one of her aunt's letters that Julia had offered
to return if wanted, But this was all It was
evident that she would write the remain where she was.
Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very
much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the
proof of it in Miss Crawford as well as in
(08:11):
her cousins. Her attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the
most respectable part of her character. Her friendship for herself
had at least been blameless. Where was either sentiment? Now?
It was so long since Fanny had had any letter
from her that she had some reason to think lightly
of the friendship which had been so dwelt on. It
was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Crawford
(08:33):
or of her other connections in town, except through Mansfield,
and she was beginning to suppose that she might never
know whether mister Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or
not till they met, and might never hear from his
sister any more. This spring, when the following letter was received,
to revive old and create some new sensations. Forgive me,
(08:53):
my dear Fanny, as soon as you can for my
long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly.
This is my modest request and expectation, for you are
so good that I depend upon being treated better than
I deserve, and I write now to beg an immediate answer.
I want to know the state of things at Mansfield Park,
and you, no doubt are perfectly able to give it.
(09:17):
One should be a brute not to feel for the
distress they are in, and from what I hear, poor
mister Bertram has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I
thought little of his illness At first. I looked upon
him as the sort of person to be made a
fuss with, and to make a fuss himself and any
trifling disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had
to nurse him. But now it is confidently asserted that
(09:40):
he is really in a decline, that the symptoms are
most alarming, and that part of the family at least
are aware of it. If it be so, I am
sure you must be included in that part, that discerning part,
and therefore entreat you to let me know how far
I have been rightly informed. I need not say how
rejoiced I shall be to him there has been any mistake.
(10:01):
But the report is so prevalent that I confess I
cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young man
cut off in the flower of his days is most melancholy.
Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am
quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you
smile and look cunning, But upon my honor, I never
(10:22):
bribed a physician in my life. Poor young man, if
he is to die, there will be two poor young
men less in the world. And with a fearless face
and bold voice would I say to any one that
wealth and consequence could fall into no hands more deserving
of them. It was a foolish precipitation last Christmas. But
the evil of a few days may be blotted out
(10:45):
in part. Varnish and gilding may hide many stains. It
will be but the loss of the esquire after his
name with real affection fanny like mine more might be overlooked.
Write to me by return of post judge of my anxiety,
and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real
truth as you have it from the fountain head, and
(11:07):
now do not trouble yourself to be ashamed of either
my feelings or your own. Believe me, they are not
only natural, they are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it
to your conscious whether Sir Edmund would not do more
good with all the Bertram property than any other possible Sir.
Had the grants been at home, I would not have
(11:28):
troubled you. But you are now the only one I
can apply to for the truth. His sisters not being
within my reach. Missus R. Has been spending the easter
with the Aylmers at twicknam As, to be sure you know,
and is not yet returned. And Julia is with the
cousins who live near Bedford Square, but I forgot their
name and street. Could I immediately apply to either? However,
(11:51):
I should still prefer you, because it strikes me that
they have all along been so unwilling to have their
own amusements cut up as to shut their eyes to
the truth. I suppose Missus R's Easter holidays will not
last much longer. No doubt they are thorough holidays. To her.
The Aylmers are pleasant people, and her husband away, she
(12:11):
can have nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit for
promoting his going dutifully down to Bath to fetch his mother,
But how will she and the dower to agree in
one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have
nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund
would have been in town again long ago but for
the sillness yours? Ever, Mary, I had actually begun folding
(12:36):
my letter when Henry walked in. But he brings no
intelligence to prevent my sending it. Missus R. Knows a
decline is apprehended. He saw her this morning. She returns
to Wimpole Street to day. The old lady is come. Now.
Do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies. Because
he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He
(12:56):
does it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody
but you. At this very moment, he is wild to
see you, and occupied only in contriving the means for
doing so, and making his pleasure conduced to yours. In proof,
he repeats and more eagerly what he said at Portsmouth
about our conveying you home, and I join him in
(13:17):
it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly and
tell us to come. It will do us all good.
He and I can go to the parson it, you know,
and be no trouble to our friends at Mansfield Park.
It would really be gratifying to see them all again,
and a little addition of society might be of infinite
use to them. And as to yourself, you must feel
(13:38):
yourself to be so wanted there that you cannot, in conscience,
conscientious as you are, keep away when you have the
means of returning. I have not time or patience to
give half Henry's messages. Be satisfied that the spirit of
each and every one is unalterable affection. Fanny's disgust at
the greater part of this letter, with extreme reluctance to
(14:01):
bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund together,
would have made her, as she felt incapable of judging
impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or not.
To herself individually, it was most tempting to be finding
herself perhaps within three days transported to Mansfield was an
image of the greatest felicity. But it would have been
(14:23):
a material drawback to be owing such felicity to persons
in whose feelings and conduct. At the present moment she
saw so much to condemn the sister's feelings, the brother's conduct,
her cold hearted ambition, his thoughtless vanity to have him still,
the acquaintance, the flirt perhaps of missus Rushworth. She was
(14:43):
mortified she had thought better of him. Happily, however, she
was not left to weigh and decide between opposite inclinations
and doubtful notions of right. There was no occasion to
determine whether she ought to keep Edmund and Mary asunder
or not. She had a rule to apply to which
settle everything. Her awe of her uncle and her dread
of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain
(15:06):
to her what she had to do. She must absolutely
decline the proposal. If he wanted, he would send for her,
and even to offer an early return was a presumption
which hardly anything would have seemed to justify. She thanked
Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. Her uncle, she understood,
meant to fetch her, and as her cousin's illness had
(15:26):
continued so many weeks without her being thought at all necessary,
she must suppose her return would be unwelcome at present,
and that she should be felt an incumbrance. Her representation
of her cousin's state at this time was exactly according
to her own belief of it, and such as she
supposed would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent,
the hope of everything she was wishing for Edmund would
(15:48):
be forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain
conditions of wealth, and this she suspected was all the
conquest of prejudice which she was so ready to congratulate
himself upon. She had only learned to think nothing of
consequence but money. End of Chapter forty five.
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