n today or tomorrow, or any day."

This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel
Brandon must have some information to give.

Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on
horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopped at their gate. It
was a gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear
more; and she trembled in expectation of it. But--it was _not_ Colonel
Brandon--neither his air--nor his height. Were it possible, she must
say it must be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted;--she
could not be mistaken,--it _was_ Edward. She moved away and sat down.
"He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I _will_ be calm, I
_will_ be mistress of myself."

In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the
mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look
at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have
given the world to be able to speak--and to make them understand that
she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to
him;--but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their
own discretion.

Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the
appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel
path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before
them.

His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for
Elinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if
fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.
Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of
that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be
guided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him
her hand, and wished him joy.

[Illustration: _It was Edward._]

He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor's lips
had moved with her mother's, and, when the moment of action was over,
she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too
late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again
and talked of the weather.

Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal
her distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole
of the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and
therefore took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a
strict silence.

W