”

“I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so miserable — Oh! who can require it?”

Again they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire, without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning objects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed, with her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up Willoughby's letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence, exclaimed —

“It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!

Cruel, cruel — nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he might have heard against me —