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: