is manner, had you heard his
voice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being
together at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When he told me
that it might be many weeks before we met again--his distress--can I
ever forget his distress?"

For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had
passed away, she added, in a firmer tone--

"Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby."

"Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been
instigated?"

"By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather
believe every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me
in his opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This
woman of whom he writes--whoever she be--or any one, in short, but
your own dear self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to
bely me. Beyond you three, is there a creature in the world whom I
would not rather suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know
so well?"

Elinor would not contend, and only replied, "Whoever may have been so
detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph,
my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own
innocence and good intentions supports your spirits. It is a
reasonable and laudable pride which resists such malevolence."

"No, no," cried Marianne, "misery such as mine has no pride. I care
not who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be
open to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be
proud and independent as they like--may resist insult, or return
mortification--but I cannot. I must feel--I must be wretched--and they
are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can."

"But for my mother's sake and mine--"

"I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so
miserable--oh! who can require it?"

Again they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking
thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire,
without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning
objects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the
bed, with her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up
Willoughby's letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence,
exclaimed--

"It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!
Cruel, cruel--nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he
might have heard against me, ought