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that not even the horrible story of Mrs. Rushworthnow fixed to the last point of certainty could affect her as it had done before. She had not time to be miserable. Within twenty-four hours she was hoping to be gone; her father and mother must be spoken to, Susan prepared, everything got ready. Business followed business; the day was hardly long enough. The happiness she was imparting, too, happiness very little alloyed by the black communication which must briefly precede itthe joyful consent of her father and mother to Susans going with herthe general satisfaction with which the going of both seemed regarded, and the ecstasy of Susan herself, was all serving to support her spirits. The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the family. Mrs. Price talked of her poor sister for a few minutes, but how to find anything to hold Susans clothes, because Rebecca took away all the boxes and spoilt them, was much more in her thoughts: and as for Susan, now unexpectedly gratified in the first wish of her heart, and knowing nothing personally of those who had sinned, or of those who were sorrowingif she could help rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as much as ought to be expected from human virtue at fourteen. As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs. Price, or the good offices of Rebecca, everything was rationally and duly accomplished, and the girls were ready for the morrow. The advantage of much sleep to prepare them for their journey was impossible. The cousin who was travelling towards them could hardly have less than visited their agitated spiritsone all happiness, the other all varying and indescribable perturbation. By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink as she entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort now! She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say more. He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again, though his voice still faltered, his manner showed the wish of self-command, and the resolution of avoiding any farther allusion. Have you breakfasted? When shall you be ready? Does Susan go? were questions following each other rapidly. His great object was to be off as soon as possible. When Mansfield was considered, time was precious; and the state of his own mind made him find relief only in motion. It was settled that he should order the carriage to the door in half an hour. Fanny answered for their having breakfasted and being quite ready in half an hour. He had already ate, and declined staying for their meal. He would walk round the ramparts, and join them with the carriage. He was gone again; glad to get away even from Fanny. He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent emotions, which he was determined to suppress. She knew it must be so, but it was terrible to her. The carriage came; and he entered the house again at the same moment, just in time to spend a few minutes with the family, and be a witnessbut that he saw nothing of the tranquil manner in which the daughters were parted with, and just in time to prevent their sitting down to the breakfast-table, which, by dint of much unusual activity, was quite and completely ready as the carriage drove from the door. Fannys last meal in her fathers house was in character with her first: she was dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been welcomed. How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as she passed the barriers of Portsmouth, and how Susans face wore its broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting forwards, however, and screened by her bonnet, those smiles were unseen. The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmunds deep sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his heart must have opened in spite of every resolution; but Susans presence drove him quite into himself, and his attempts to talk on indifferent subjects could never be long supported. |
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