Persuasion
ready; but Louisa recollecting immediately afterwards that she had
something to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her
into the town. They were all at her disposal.
When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a
gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew
back, and stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him; and
as they passed, Anne’s face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a
degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of. She
was looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features,
having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which
had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which
it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman, (completely a
gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked
round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it. He
gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to
say, “That man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see
something like Anne Elliot again.”
After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about a
little longer, they returned to the inn; and Anne, in passing
afterwards quickly from her own chamber to their dining-room, had
nearly run against the very same gentleman, as he came out of an
adjoining apartment. She had before conjectured him to be a stranger
like themselves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was
strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be his
servant. Both master and man being in mourning assisted the idea. It
was now proved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves; and this
second meeting, short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman’s
looks, that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and
propriety of his apologies, that he was a man of exceedingly good
manners. He seemed about thirty, and though not handsome, had an
agreeable person. Anne felt that she should like to know who he was.
They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage, (almost
the first they had heard since entering Lyme) drew half the party to
the window. It was a gentleman’s carriage, a curricle, but only coming
round from the stable-yard to the front door; somebody must be going
away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.
The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might compare
it with his own; the servant in mourning roused Anne’s curiosity, and
the whole six were collected to look, by the time the owner of the
curricle was to be seen issuing from the door amidst the bows and
civilities of the household, and taking his seat, to drive off.
“Ah!” cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance at
Anne, “it is the very man we passed.”
The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly watched him as
far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table.
The waiter came into the room soon afterwards.
“Pray,” said Captain Wentworth, immediately, “can you tell us the name
of the gentleman who is just gone away?”
“Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last
night from Sidmouth. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you
were at dinner; and going on now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and
London.”
“Elliot!” Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated the
name, before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity
of a waiter.
“Bless me!” cried Mary; “it must be our cousin; it must be our Mr
Elliot, it must, indeed! Charles, Anne, must not it? In mourning, you
see, just as our Mr Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the very
same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr Elliot? my father’s next
heir? Pray sir,” turning to the waiter, “did not you hear, did not his
servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?”
“No, ma’am, he did not mention no particular family; but he said his
master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some day.”
“There! you see!” cried Mary in an ecstasy, “just as I said! Heir to
Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out, if it was so. Depend
upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to
publish, wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary!
I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time, who
it was, that he might have been introduced to us. What a pity that we
should not have been introduced to each other! Do you think he had the
Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him, I was looking at the
horses; but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance, I
wonder the arms did not strike me! Oh! the great-coat was hanging over
the panel, and hid the arms, so it did; otherwise, I am sure, I should
have observed them, and the livery too; if the servant had not been in
mourning, one should have known him by the livery.”
“Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,” said
Captain Wentworth, “we must consider it to be the arrangement of
Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin.”
When she could command Mary’s attention, Anne quietly tried to convince
her that their father and Mr Elliot had not, for many years, been on
such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at all
desirable.
At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself to
have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch was
undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense. She would not,
upon any account, mention her having met with him the second time;
luckily Mary did not much attend to their having passed close by him in
their earlier walk, but she would have felt quite ill-used by Anne’s
having actually run against him in the passage, and received his very
polite excuses, while she had never been near him at all; no, that
cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret.
“Of course,” said Mary, “you will mention our seeing Mr Elliot, the
next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought to hear
of it; do mention all about him.”
Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which she
considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated, but as what
ought to be suppressed. The offence which had been given her father,
many years back, she knew; Elizabeth’s particular share in it she
suspected; and that Mr Elliot’s idea always produced irritation in both
was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to Bath herself; all the toil of
keeping up a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell
on Anne.
Breakfast had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain and
Mrs Harville and Captain Benwick; with whom they had appointed to take
their last walk about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for Uppercross
by one, and in the meanwhile were to be all together, and out of doors
as long as they could.
Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were all
fairly in the street. Their conversation the preceding evening did not
disincline him to seek her again; and they walked together some time,
talking as before of Mr Scott and Lord Byron, and still as unable as
before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think exactly alike
of the merits of either, till something occasioned an almost general
change amongst their party, and instead of Captain Benwick, she had
Captain Harville by her side.
“Miss Elliot,” said he, speaking rather low, “you have done a good deed
in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have such
company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is; but
what can we do? We cannot part.”
“No,” said Anne, “that I can easily believe to be impossible; but in
time, perhaps—we know what time does in every case of affliction, and
you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called
a young mourner—only last summer, I understand.”
“Ay, true enough,” (with a deep sigh) “only June.”
“And not known to him, perhaps, so soon.”
“Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape,
just made into the Grappler. I was at Plymouth dreading to hear of him;
he sent in letters, but the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth.
There the news must follow him, but who was to tell it? not I. I would
as soon have been run up to the yard-arm. Nobody could do it, but that
good fellow” (pointing to Captain Wentworth). “The Laconia had come
into Plymouth the week before; no danger of her being sent to sea
again. He stood his chance for the rest; wrote up for leave of absence,
but without waiting the return, travelled night and day till he got to
Portsmouth, rowed off to the Grappler that instant, and never left the
poor fellow for a week. That’s what he did, and nobody else could have
saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to
us!”
Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much
in reply as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed able to
bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject, and when he
spoke again, it was of something totally different.
Mrs Harville’s giving it as her opinion that her husband would have
quite walking enough by the time he reached home, determined the
direction of all the party in what was to be their last walk; they
would accompany them to their door, and then return and set off
themselves. By all their calculations there was just time for this; but
as they drew near the Cobb, there was such a general wish to walk along
it once more, all were so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so determined,
that the difference of a quarter of an hour, it was found, would be no
difference at all; so with all the kind leave-taking, and all the kind
interchange of invitations and promises which may be imagined, they
parted from Captain and Mrs Harville at their own door, and still
accompanied by Captain Benwick, who seemed to cling to them to the
last, proceeded to make the proper adieus to the Cobb.
Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron’s “dark
blue seas” could not fail of being brought forward by their present
view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention
was possible. It was soon drawn, perforce another way.
There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant
for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and
all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight,
excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In
all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation
was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet, made
him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it, however. She was
safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps to
be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too
great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, “I
am determined I will:” he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by
half a second, she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was
taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but
her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death. The
horror of the moment to all who stood around!
Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms,
looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of
silence. “She is dead! she is dead!” screamed Mary, catching hold of
her husband, and contributing with his own horror to make him
immoveable; and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under the
conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps,