Henry Crawford had made up his mind by the next morning to give another fortnight to Mansfield. Having sent for his hunters, he looked round at his sister, and said, with a smile, "How do you think I mean to amuse myself, Mary, on the days that I do not hunt?"
"To walk and ride with me, to be sure."
"Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but that would be all recreation, without the wholesome alloy of labour, and I do not like to eat the bread of idleness. No, my plan is to make Fanny Price in love with me."
"Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be satisfied with her two cousins."
"But I cannot be satisfied without making a small hole in Fanny Price's heart. You do not seem properly aware of the wonderful improvement that has taken place in her looks. You see her every day, and therefore do not notice it; but I assure you she is quite a different creature from what she was in the autumn. She was then merely a quiet, modest girl, but she is now absolutely pretty. I used to think she had neither complexion nor countenance; but in that soft skin of hers, there is decided beauty; and I do not despair of her eyes being capable of expression when she has anything to express. And then, her air is so indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches since October."
"Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall women to compare her with, and because she has got a new gown, and you never saw her so well dressed before. She is just what she was in October, believe me. The truth is, that she was the only girl in company for you to notice, and you must have a somebody. I have always thought her pretty enough; but as for this wonderful improvement, it may all be resolved into a better style of dress, and your having nobody else to look at. If you do set about a flirtation with her, it will proceed from nothing but your own idleness and folly."
Her brother only smiled, and said, "I do not quite know what to make of Miss Fanny. Is she solemn? Is she prudish? Why did she look so grave at me? I could hardly get her to speak. I never met with a girl who looked so grave on me! I must try to get the better of this. Her looks say, 'I will not like you, I am determined not to like you'; and I say she shall."
"Foolish fellow! So this is her attraction! It is her not caring about you, which produces all these charms! You must not make her really unhappy; a little love, perhaps, may animate her, but I will not have you plunge her deep, for she is a good little creature, and has a great deal of feeling."
"It can be but for a fortnight," said Henry; "and if a fortnight can kill her, she must have a constitution which nothing could save. No, I will not do her any harm, dear little soul! I only want her to look kindly on me, to give me smiles, to keep a chair for me wherever we are, and be all animation when I take it; to think as I think, be interested in all my pleasures, and feel when I go away that she shall be never happy again. I want nothing more."
"Moderation itself!" said Mary. "I can have no scruples now."
And without any farther remonstrance, she left Fanny to her fate, a fate which, had not Fanny's heart been guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss Crawford, might have been a little harder than she deserved; for although there doubtless are such unconquerable young ladies of eighteen as can never be persuaded into love by talent, attention, and flattery, I have no inclination to believe Fanny one of them, or to think that she could have escaped heart-whole from the courtship of such a man as Crawford, if her affection had not been engaged elsewhere. His continued attentions, adapted to the gentleness of her character, obliged her soon to dislike him less than formerly. She had not forgotten the past, and she thought as ill of him as ever; but she felt his powers: he was entertaining; and his manners were so improved that it was impossible not to be civil to him in return.
A few days were enough to effect this; and then happy circumstances arose which disposed her to be pleased with everybody. William, the long absent and dearly loved brother, was in England. She had a letter from him, written as the ship came up the Channel; and when Crawford walked up with the newspaper in his hand, which he had hoped would bring the first tidings, he found her trembling with joy over this letter, and listening with a glowing countenance to the kind invitation to her brother which her uncle was dictating.
It was but the day before that Crawford had become aware of her having such a brother, or his being in such a ship; but he had hunted for information as to the probable date of the ship’s return; and had found it in the newspaper the next morning. He proved, however, to be too late. All those fine first feelings, of which he hoped to be the exciter, were already given. But the kindness of his intention was thankfully acknowledged: for she was elevated beyond her usual timidity by her love for William.
This dear William would soon be amongst them. His reply came, fixing an early day for his arrival; and scarcely ten days later, Fanny found herself watching in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs, for the first sound of the carriage which was to bring her a brother.
It came; and their meeting, and first minutes of exquisite feeling, had no interruption and no witnesses. This was exactly what Sir Thomas and Edmund had been conniving at, and why they both advised Mrs. Norris's staying where she was, instead of rushing out into the hall as soon as the noises of arrival reached them.
William and Fanny soon showed themselves; and Sir Thomas had the pleasure of receiving, in his protégé, a young man of an open, pleasant countenance, and frank, unstudied, but respectful manners.
It was long before Fanny could recover from the agitating happiness of such an hour; it was some time even before her happiness could be said to make her happy, and she could talk to him as her heart had been yearning to do through many a past year. That time, however, did come, aided by an affection on his side as warm as her own, and much less encumbered by self-distrust. She was the first object of his love, a love which his bolder temper made it natural for him to express. On the morrow they were walking about together with true enjoyment, and every succeeding morrow renewed a tête-à-tête which Sir Thomas observed with complacency.
Except for the moments of delight caused by any instance of Edmund's consideration of her, Fanny had never known so much joy, as in this unchecked, equal, fearless intercourse with the brother and friend who was opening all his heart to her, telling her all his hopes, fears and plans respecting his promotion; who could give her information of the family of whom she very seldom heard; who was interested in all the comforts and little hardships of her home at Mansfield; ready to think of every member of that home as she directed, or differing only by more noisy abuse of their aunt Norris, and with whom (perhaps the dearest indulgence of all) all their earliest years could be gone over again, and every former pain and pleasure fondly recollected. It must be by a long and unnatural estrangement, if such precious memories shared by members of a family are outlived. Too often, alas! it is so. Fraternal love is at times worse than nothing. But with William and Fanny Price it was still in its prime and freshness.
Henry Crawford was much struck with their mutual affection. He honoured the warm-hearted, blunt fondness of the young sailor, which led him to say, with his hands stretched towards Fanny's head, "Do you know, I begin to like that queer fashion, though when the women at the Commissioner's at Gibraltar appeared in the same trim, I thought they were mad; but Fanny can reconcile me to anything". He saw, with admiration, the glow of Fanny's cheek, the brightness of her eye, the absorbed attention, while her brother was describing the hazards of his life at sea.
It was a picture which Henry Crawford had moral taste enough to value. Fanny's attractions increased twofold; for he no longer doubted the capabilities of her heart. She had feeling, genuine feeling. It would be something to be loved by such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her unsophisticated mind! She interested him more than he had foreseen. A fortnight was not enough. His stay became indefinite.
William was often called on by his uncle to be the talker. His recitals were amusing to Sir Thomas, but the chief object in seeking them was to understand the reciter, to know the young man; and he liste
ned to his clear, simple, spirited details with satisfaction, seeing in them the proof of good principles, professional knowledge, energy, courage, and cheerfulness. Young as he was, William had already seen a great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean and the West Indies; had been often taken on shore by the favour of his captain, and in seven years had known every danger which sea and war could offer.
Though Mrs. Norris could fidget about the room, and disturb everybody in quest of thread or a shirt button in the midst of her nephew's account of a shipwreck, everybody else was attentive; and even Lady Bertram could not hear of such horrors without sometimes lifting her eyes from her work to say, "How disagreeable! I wonder anybody can ever go to sea."
To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have seen and done as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such hardships. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, instead of what he was!
The wish was not lasting. He was roused from his regret by some inquiry from Edmund as to the next day's hunting; and he found it was as well to be a man of fortune with horses and grooms at his command. In one respect it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness to William, who expressed a wish to hunt. Crawford could mount him without inconvenience to himself, and with only some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She feared for William; by no means convinced by all that he could relate of his own horsemanship in various rough countries, that he was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase. Till he returned safe and well, she could not feel any gratitude to Mr. Crawford for lending the horse.
When it was proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could reward the owner with a smile. With the greatest cordiality, Mr Crawford gave William the horse for his use so long as he remained in Northamptonshire.
CHAPTER 25