Chapter 45 Eleanor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the sound

of his carriage, had died away. Remained too much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely

differing in themselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to think even of her

sister. Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago,

she had abored as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults,

excited a degree of commissaration for the sufferings produced by them, which made her think of

him as now separated forever from her family, with a tenderness, a regret rather in proportion,

as she soon acknowledged within herself, to his wishes than to his merits.

She felt that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought

not in reason to have wait. By that person of uncommon attraction, that open affectionate

and lively manner, which it was no merit to possess, and by that still ardent love for

Maryanne, which it was not even innocent to indulge.

But she felt that it was so long, long before she could feel as influenceless.

And at last she returned to the unconscious Maryanne. She found her just awake, refreshed

by so long and sweet asleep to the extent of her hopes. Eleanor's heart was full. The

past, the present, the future, Willoughby's visit, Maryanne's safety, and her mother's

expected arrival, through her altogether into an agitation of spirits, which kept off every

indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to her sister.

Sure was the time, however, in which that fear could affect her. For within half an hour

after Willoughby's leaving the house, she was again called downstairs by the sound of

another carriage. Eager, to save her mother from every unnecessary moment's horrible suspense,

she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive,

...