ast I think--" He
stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust
itself, "And your sister,--how did she,--"

"Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they
may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel
affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard;
and even now, perhaps--but _I_ am almost convinced that he never was
really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some
points, there seems a hardness of heart about him."

"Ah!" said Colonel Brandon, "there is, indeed! But your sister does
not--I think you said so--she does not consider quite as you do?"

"You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still
justify him if she could."

He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the
tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was
necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure
while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss
Dashwood's communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel
Brandon's side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of
hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening
more serious and thoughtful than usual.

CHAPTER XXXI

From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the
next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had
closed her eyes.

Elinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt;
and before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject
again and again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate
counsel on Elinor's side, the same impetuous feelings and varying
opinions on Marianne's, as before. Sometimes she could believe
Willoughby to be as unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at
others, lost every consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him.
At one moment she was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all
the world, at another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and
at a third could resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she
was uniform, when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was
possible, the presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence
when obliged to endure it. Her heart was hardened against the belief
of Mrs. Jennings's entering into her sorrows with any compassion.

"No, no, no, it cannot be," she cried; "she cannot feel. Her