She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was

too full, her breath too much oppressed.

"You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on her

arm, quite affectionately. "There is no quarrelling with you. And

when I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied."

Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs Croft was taking

leave.

"Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe," said she. "I am

going home, and you have an engagement with your friend. To-night we

may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party," (turning to

Anne.) "We had your sister's card yesterday, and I understood

Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it; and you are

disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?"

Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either

could not or would not answer fully.

"Yes," said he, "very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall

soon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a

minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your

service in half a minute."

Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter

with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated

air, which shewed impatience to be gone. Anne knew not how to

understand it. She had the kindest "Good morning, God bless you!" from

Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look! He had passed

out of the room without a look!

She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had

been writing, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, it

was himself. He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves,

and instantly crossing the room to the writing table, he drew out a

letter from under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with eyes

of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a time, and hastily collecting his

gloves, was again out of the room, almost before Mrs Musgrove was aware

of his being in it: the work of an instant!

The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyond

expression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to "Miss A.

E.--," was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily.

While supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also

addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which this

world could do for her. Anything was possible, anything might be

defied rather than suspense. Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements of

her own at her own table; to their protection she must trust, and

sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very

spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following

words:




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