o--nor many weeks."

Mrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor
pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of
confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions.

One morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was
prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of
wandering away by herself. Hitherto she had carefully avoided every
companion in her rambles. If her sisters intended to walk on the
downs, she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of
the valley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never
be found when the others set off. But at length she was secured by the
exertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion.
They walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence,
for Marianne's _mind_ could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied
with gaining one point, would not then attempt more. Beyond the
entrance of the valley, where the country, though still rich, was less
wild and more open, a long stretch of the road which they had
travelled on first coming to Barton, lay before them; and on reaching
that point, they stopped to look around them, and examine a prospect
which formed the distance of their view from the cottage, from a spot
which they had never happened to reach in any of their walks before.

Amongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated
one; it was a man on horseback riding towards them. In a few minutes
they could distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment
afterwards Marianne rapturously exclaimed--

"It is he; it is indeed--I know it is!" and was hastening to meet him,
when Elinor cried out--

"Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby. The
person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air."

"He has, he has," cried Marianne, "I am sure he has. His air, his
coat, his horse. I knew how soon he would come."

She walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne
from particularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being
Willoughby, quickened her pace and kept up with her. They were soon
within thirty yards of the gentleman. Marianne looked again; her heart
sunk within her; and abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back,
when the voices of both her sisters were raised to detain her; a
third, almost as well known as Willoughby's, joined them in begging
her to stop, and she turned