's
wishes and the mother's confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor's
arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in
the lane before the house.

The sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in
an exercise hitherto untried since her illness required;--and they had
advanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the
hill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned
towards it, Marianne calmly said--

"There, exactly there,"--pointing with one hand, "on that projecting
mound,--there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby."

Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,

"I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the
spot! shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?" hesitatingly it was
said. "Or will it be wrong? I can talk of it now, I hope, as I ought
to do."

Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.

"As for regret," said Marianne, "I have done with that, as far as _he_
is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have
been for him, but what they are _now._ At present, if I could be
satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not
_always_ acting a part, not _always_ deceiving me; but above all, if I
could be assured that he never was so _very_ wicked as my fears have
sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl--"

She stopped. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered--

"If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy."

"Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it
horrible to suspect a person, who has been what _he_ has been to _me_,
of such designs, but what must it make me appear to myself? What in a
situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could
expose me to--"

"How then," asked her sister, "would you account for his behaviour?"

"I would suppose him--Oh, how gladly would I suppose him!--only
fickle, very, very fickle."

Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the
eligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till
Marianne were in stronger health; and they crept on for a few minutes
in silence.

"I am not wishing him too much good," said Marianne at last with a
sigh, "when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant
than my own. He will suffer enough in them."

"Do you compare your conduct with his?"

"No. I