eceived my
dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of
exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you."

"To London!--and are you going this morning?"

"Almost this moment."

[Illustration: _Apparently in violent affliction._]

"This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged, and her
business will not detain you from us long I hope."

He coloured as he replied, "You are very kind, but I have no idea of
returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are
never repeated within the twelvemonth."

"And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the
neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can
you wait for an invitation here?"

His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only
replied, "You are too good."

Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal
amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first
spoke.

"I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you
will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here
immediately, because you only can judge how far _that_ might be
pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed
to question your judgment than to doubt your inclination."

"My engagements at present," replied Willoughby, confusedly, "are of
such a nature--that--I dare not flatter myself--"

He stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and
another pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with
a faint smile, "It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not
torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it
is impossible for me now to enjoy."

He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him
step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.

Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the
parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this
sudden departure occasioned.

Elinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's. She thought of
what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby's behaviour
in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of
cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother's
invitation--a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike
himself--greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious
design had ever been formed