CHAPTER IX.
The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to
themselves. The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding
them, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had given
to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater
enjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss of their
father. Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first
fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at home,
could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.
Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in
spite of Sir John’s urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the
neighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at
their service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood’s spirit overcame the
wish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to visit
any family beyond the distance of a walk. There were but few who could be
so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable. About a mile and
a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding valley of Allenham,
which issued from that of Barton, as formerly described, the girls had, in
one of their earliest walks, discovered an ancient respectable looking
mansion which, by reminding them a little of Norland, interested their
imagination and made them wish to be better acquainted with it. But they
learnt, on enquiry, that its possessor, an elderly lady of very good character,
was unfortunately too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from
home.
The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high
downs which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to seek
the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy alternative
when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior beauties; and
towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one memorable
morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine of a showery
sky, and unable longer to bear the confinement which the settled rain of the
two preceding days had occasioned. The weather was not tempting enough
to draw the two others from their pencil and their book, in spite of
Marianne’s declaration that the day would be lastingly fair, and that every
threatening cloud would be drawn off from their hills; and the two girls set
off together.
They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at
every glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the
animating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears which
had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such delightful
sensations.
“Is there a felicity in the world,” said Marianne, “superior to this?—
Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.”
Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, resisting it
with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer, when suddenly the
clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in their face.
Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though unwillingly, to turn
back, for no shelter was nearer than their own house. One consolation
however remained for them, to which the exigence of the moment gave
more than usual propriety,—it was that of running with all possible speed
down the steep side of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.
They set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step brought
her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop herself to assist
her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the bottom in safety.
A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was
passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her accident
happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She had raised
herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in her fall, and she
was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his services; and
perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary,
took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill.
Then passing through the garden, the gate of which had been left open by
Margaret, he bore her directly into the house, whither Margaret was just
arrived, and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chair in the
parlour.
Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while
the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret
admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for his
intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so graceful that his
person, which was uncommonly handsome, received additional charms
from his voice and expression. Had he been even old, ugly, and vulgar, the
gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would have been secured by any
act of attention to her child; but the influence of youth, beauty, and
elegance, gave an interest to the action which came home to her feelings.
She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which
always attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he declined, as he
was dirty and wet. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was
obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present home was at
Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of
calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The honour was readily
granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the
midst of a heavy rain.
His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the
theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised
against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior attractions.
Marianne herself had seen less of his person than the rest, for the confusion
which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting her up, had robbed her of the
power of regarding him after their entering the house. But she had seen
enough of him to join in all the admiration of the others, and with an energy
which always adorned her praise. His person and air were equal to what her
fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying
her into the house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of
thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every
circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his
residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that of all
manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her imagination
was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle
was disregarded.
Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather that
morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne’s accident being
related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman of the
name of Willoughby at Allenham.
“Willoughby!” cried Sir John; “what, is he in the country? That is good
news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on
Thursday.”
“You know him then,” said Mrs. Dashwood.
“Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.”
“And what sort of a young man is he?”
“As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent shot,
and there is not a bolder rider in England.”
“And is that all you can say for him?” cried Marianne, indignantly. “But
what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his pursuits, his
talents, and genius?”
Sir John was rather puzzled.
“Upon my soul,” said he, “I do not know much about him as to all that.
But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the nicest little
black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with him today?”
But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.
Willoughby’s pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his mind.
“But who is he?” said Elinor. “Where does he come from? Has he a
house at Allenham?”
On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he told
them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the country; that he
resided there only while he was visiting the old lady at Allenham Court, to
whom he was related, and whose possessions he was to inherit; adding,
“Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I can tell you, Miss Dashwood; he
has a pretty little estate of his own in Somersetshire besides; and if I were
you, I would not give him up to my younger sister, in spite of all this
tumbling down hills. Miss Marianne must not expect to have all the men to
herself. Brandon will be jealous, if she does not take care.”
“I do not believe,” said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile,
“that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of my
daughters towards what you call catching him. It is not an employment to
which they have been brought up. Men are very safe with us, let them be
ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what you say, that he is a
respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance will not be ineligible.”
“He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived,” repeated Sir
John. “I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he danced from
eight o’clock till four, without once sitting down.”
“Did he indeed?” cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, “and with
elegance, with spirit?”
“Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.”
“That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be
his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and leave
him no sense of fatigue.”
“Aye, aye, I see how it will be,” said Sir John, “I see how it will be. You
will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor Brandon.”
“That is an expression, Sir John,” said Marianne, warmly, “which I
particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit is
intended; and ‘setting one’s cap at a man,’ or ‘making a conquest,’ are the
most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if their
construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago destroyed all
its ingenuity.”
Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as heartily
as if he did, and then replied,
“Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other. Poor
Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting your
cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and spraining of
ankles.”
