cumstances of his release might
appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and
to what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily
pre-determined by all;--for after experiencing the blessings of _one_
imprudent engagement, contracted without his mother's consent, as he
had already done for more than four years, nothing less could be
expected of him in the failure of _that_, than the immediate
contraction of another.

His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask
Elinor to marry him;--and considering that he was not altogether
inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should
feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in
need of encouragement and fresh air.

How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however,
how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he
expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly
told. This only need be said;--that when they all sat down to table at
four o'clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his
lady, engaged her mother's consent, and was not only in the rapturous
profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one
of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly
joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to
swell his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any
reproach to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his
misery, from a woman whom he had long ceased to love; and elevated at
once to that security with another, which he must have thought of
almost with despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with
desire. He was brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to
happiness; and the change was openly spoken in such a genuine,
flowing, grateful cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in
him before.

His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors
confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all
the philosophic dignity of twenty-four.

"It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side," said he, "the
consequence of ignorance of the world and want of employment. Had my
brother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen
from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think, nay, I am sure, it would never
have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at
the