her than to find her
aunt using the same language: "I cannot but say I much regret your being
from home at this distressing time, so very trying to my spirits. I
trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home so
long again," were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however, it
was her private regale. Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to
betray such a preference of her uncle's house. It was always: "When I go
back into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do
so and so." For a great while it was so, but at last the longing grew
stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking of what
she should do when she went home before she was aware. She reproached
herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards her father and mother.
She need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of displeasure, or even
of hearing her. They were perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield.
She was as welcome to wish herself there as to be there.
It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not
known before what pleasures she _had_ to lose in passing March and April
in a town. She had not known before how much the beginnings and progress
of vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and mind,
she had derived from watching the advance of that season which cannot,
in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing
beauties from the earliest flowers in the warmest divisions of her
aunt's garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations, and
the glory of his woods. To be losing such pleasures was no trifle; to
be losing them, because she was in the midst of closeness and noise,
to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substituted for liberty,
freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely worse: but even these
incitements to regret were feeble, compared with what arose from the
conviction of being missed by her best friends, and the longing to be
useful to those who were wanting her!
Could she have been at home, she might have been of service to every
creature in the house. She felt that she must have been of use to all.
To all she must have saved some trouble of head or hand; and were it
only in supporting the spirits of her aunt Bertram, keeping her from
the evil of solitude, or the still greater evil of a restless, officious
companion, too apt to be heightening danger in order to enhance her own
importance
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