the utmost by the conversation of Mrs. Jennings,
who scrupled not to attribute the severity and danger of this attack
to the many weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne's
disappointment had brought on. Elinor felt all the reasonableness of
the idea, and it gave fresh misery to her reflections.

About noon, however, she began--but with a caution--a dread of
disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her
friend--to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her
sister's pulse; she waited, watched, and examined it again and again;
and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under exterior
calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to communicate her
hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to acknowledge a
temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from indulging a
thought of its continuance; and Elinor, conning over every injunction
of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late.
Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious flutter, she
bent over her sister to watch--she hardly knew for what. Half an hour
passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her. Others even
arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all flattered
Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes on her
with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now oppressed
her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity till the
arrival of Mr. Harris at four o'clock; when his assurances, his
felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his
expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.

Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her
entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the
partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their
late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted,
with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the
probability of an entire recovery.

Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led
to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health,
friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with
sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent
gratitude;--but it lead to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words,
no smiles. All within Elinor's breast was satisfaction, silent and
strong.

She contin