Chapter XXIX

           

           Beforethehouse-maidhadlittheirfirethenextday,orthesungainedanypoweroveracold,gloomymorninginJanuary,Marianne,onlyhalfdressed,waskneelingagainstoneofthewindow-seatsforthesakeofallthelittlelightshecouldcommandfromit,andwritingasfastasacontinualflowoftearswouldpermither.Inthissituation,Elinor,rousedfromsleepbyheragitationandsobs,firstperceivedher;andafterobservingherforafewmomentswithsilentanxiety,said,inatoneofthemostconsiderategentleness,

           "Marianne,mayIask-?"

           "No,Elinor,"shereplied,"asknothing;youwillsoonknowall."

           Thesortofdesperatecalmnesswithwhichthiswassaid,lastednolongerthanwhileshespoke,andwasimmediatelyfollowedbyareturnofthesameexcessiveaffliction.Itwassomeminutesbeforeshecouldgoonwithherletter,andthefrequentburstsofgriefwhichstillobligedher,atintervals,towithholdherpen,wereproofsenoughofherfeelinghowmorethanprobableitwasthatshewaswritingforthelasttimetoWilloughby.

           Elinorpaidhereveryquietandunobtrusiveattentioninherpower;andshewouldhavetriedtosoothandtranquilizeherstillmore,hadnotMarianneentreatedher,withalltheeagernessofthemostnervousirritability,nottospeaktoherfortheworld.

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