sense and sensibility(理智与情感)-第71章
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between Mrs。 Smith and myself—and I resolved therefore on
calling at the cottage； in my way to Honiton。 The sight of your dear
sister； however； was really dreadful； and； to heighten the matter； I
found her alone。 You were all gone I do not know where。 I had left
her only the evening before； so fully； so firmly resolved within my
self on doing right！ A few hours were to have engaged her to me
for ever； and I remember how happy； how gay were my spirits； as I
walked from the cottage to Allenham； satisfied with myself；
delighted with every body！ But in this； our last interview of
friendship； I approached her with a sense of guilt that almost took
from me the power of dissembling。 Her sorrow； her
disappointment； her deep regret； when I told her that I was
obliged to leave Devonshire so immediately—I never shall forget
it—united too with such reliance； such confidence in me！—Oh；
God！—what a hard…hearted rascal I was！”
They were both silent for a few moments。 Elinor first spoke。
“Did you tell her that you should soon return？”
“I do not know what I told her；” he replied； impatiently； “less
than was due to the past； beyond a doubt； and in all likelihood
much more than was justified by the future。 I cannot think of it。—
It won’t do。—Then came your dear mother to torture me farther；
with all her kindness and confidence。 Thank Heaven！ it did torture
me。 I was miserable。 Miss Dashwood； you cannot have an idea of
the comfort it gives me to look back on my own misery。 I owe such
a grudge to myself for the stupid； rascally folly of my own heart；
that all my past sufferings under it are only triumph and
exultation to me now。 Well； I went； left all that I loved； and went to
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those to whom； at best； I was only indifferent。 My journey to
town—travelling with my own horses； and therefore so tediously—
no creature to speak to—my own reflections so cheerful—when I
looked forward every thing so inviting！—when I looked back at
Barton； the picture so soothing！—oh； it was a blessed journey！”
He stopped。
“Well； sir；” said Elinor； who； though pitying him； grew
impatient for his departure； “and this is all？”
“Ah！—no；—have you forgot what passed in town？—That
infamous letter—Did she shew it you？”
“Yes； I saw every note that passed。”
“When the first of hers reached me （as it immediately did； for I
was in town the whole time；） what I felt is—in the common phrase；
not to be expressed； in a more simple one—perhaps too simple to
raise any emotion—my feelings were very； very painful。—Every
line； every word was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their
dear writer； were she here； would forbid—a dagger to my heart。
To know that Marianne was in town was—in the same language—
a thunderbolt。—Thunderbolts and daggers！—what a reproof
would she have given me！—her taste； her opinions—I believe they
are better known to me than my own；—and I am sure they are
dearer。”
Elinor’s heart； which had undergone many changes in the
course of this extraordinary conversation； was now softened
again；—yet she felt it her duty to check such ideas in her
companion as the last。
“This is not right； Mr。 Willoughby。—Remember that you are
married。 Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary
for me to hear。”
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“Marianne’s note； by assuring me that I was still as dear to her
as in former days； that in spite of the many； many weeks we had
been separated； she was as constant in her own feelings； and as
full of faith in the constancy of mine as ever； awakened all my
remorse。 I say awakened； because time and London； business and
dissipation； had in some measure quieted it； and I had been
growing a fine hardened villain； fancying myself indifferent to her；
and chusing to fancy that she too must have become indifferent to
me； talking to myself of our past attachment as a mere idle； trifling
business； shrugging up my shoulders in proof of its being so； and
silencing every reproach； overcoming every scruple； by secretly
saying now and then； ‘I shall be heartily glad to hear she is well
married。’—But this note made me know myself better。 I felt that
she was infinitely dearer to me than any other woman in the
world； and that I was using her infamously。 But every thing was
then just settled between Miss Grey and me。 To retreat was
impossible。 All that I had to do； was to avoid you both。 I sent no
answer to Marianne； intending by that to preserve myself from her
farther notice； and for some time I was even determined not to call
in Berkeley…street；—but at last； judging it wiser to affect the air of
a cool； common acquaintance than anything else； I watched you all
safely out of the house one morning； and left my name。”
“Watched us out of the house！”
“Even so。 You would be surprised to hear how often I watched
you； how often I was on the point of falling in with you。 I have
entered many a shop to avoid your sight； as the carriage drove by。
Lodging as I did in Bond…street； there was hardly a day in which I
did not catch a glimpse of one or other of you； and nothing but the
most constant watchfulness on my side； a most invariably
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prevailing desire to keep out of your sight； could have separated us
so long。 I avoided the Middletons as much as possible； as well as
everybody else who was likely to prove an acquaintance in
common。 Not aware of their being in town； however； I blundered
on Sir John； I believe； the first day of his coming； and the day after
I had called at Mrs。 Jennings’s。 He asked me to a party； a dance at
his house in the evening。—Had he not told me as an inducement
that you and your sister were to be there； I should have felt it too
certain a thing； to trust myself near him。 The next morning
brought another short note from Marianne—still affectionate；
open； artless； confiding—everything that could make my conduct
most hateful。 I could not answer it。 I tried—but could not frame a
sentence。 But I thought of her； I believe； every moment of the day。
If you can pity me； Miss Dashwood； pity my situation as it was
then。 With my head and heart full of your sister； I was forced to
play the happy lover to another woman！—Those three or four
weeks were worse than all。 Well； at last； as I need not tell you； you
were forced on me； and what a sweet figure I cut！—what an
evening of agony it was！—Marianne； beautiful as an angel on one
side； calling me Willoughby in such a tone！—Oh； God！—holding
out her hand to me； asking me for an explanation； with those
bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking solicitude on my face！—
and Sophia； jealous as the devil on the other hand； looking all that
was—Well； it does not signify； it is over now。— Such an evening！—
I ran away from you all as soon as I could； but not before I had
seen Marianne’s sweet face as white as death。—That was the last；
last look I ever had of her；—the last manner in which she
appeared to me。 It was a horrid sight！—yet when I thought of her
to…day as really dying； it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine
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that I knew exactly how she would appear to those； who saw her
last in this world。 She was before me； constantly before me； as I
travelled； in the same look and hue。”
A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded。 Willoughby
first rousing himself； broke it thus：
“Well； let me make haste and be gone。 Your sister is certainly
better； certainly out of danger？”
“We are assured of it。”
“Your poor mother； too！—doting on Marianne。”
“But the letter； Mr。 Willoughby； your own letter； have you any
thing to say about that？”
“Yes； yes； that in particular。 Your sister wrote to me again； you
know； the very next morning。 You saw what she said。 I was
breakfasting at the Ellisons；—and her letter； with some others；
was brought to me there from my lodgings。 It happened to catch
Sophia’s eye before it caught mine—and its size； the elegance of
the paper； the hand…writing altogether； immediately gave her a
suspicion。 Some vague report had reached her before of my
attachment to some young lady in Devonshire； and what had
passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked
who the young lady was； and made her more jealous than ever。
Affecting that air of playfulness； therefore； which is delightful in a
woman one loves； she opened the letter directly； and read its
contents。 She was well paid for her impudence。 She read what
made her wretched。 Her wretchedness I could have borne； but her
passion—her malice—At all events it must be appeased。 And； in
short—what do you think of my wife’s style of letter…writing？—
delicate—tender—truly feminine—was
