Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart. His displeasure against herself, she trusted, reasoning differently from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. She should be justified. Mr. Crawford would have fully acquitted her conduct in refusing him. But this—though most material to herself—would be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle’s displeasure was terrible to her; but what could her justification or her gratitude and attachment do for him? His stay must be on Edmund alone.

She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave his father no present pain. It was much less poignant than what the others excited. But Sir Thomas was considering his happiness as very deeply involved in the offence of his sister and friend. Cut off by it, as he must be, from the woman whom he had been pursuing with undoubted attachment and strong probability of success—a woman, who, in everything but this despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connexion!

He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf, in addition to all the rest, when they were in town. He had seen or conjectured his feelings. And, having reason to think that one interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Edmund derived only increased distress, had been as anxious on that account as on others to get him out of town.

Thus, Sir Thomas engaged him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the secret of her uncle’s feelings, Sir Thomas not in the secret of Miss Crawford’s character. Had he been privy to her conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty.

That Edmund must be forever divided from Miss Crawford, Fanny did not doubt. And yet, till she knew that he felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient. She thought he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too much for her before, it would be most consoling.

But that she found was not to be. She seldom saw him. He probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be inferred? That his judgment submitted to his own peculiar and bitter share of this family affliction—this Curse indeed!—but it was too keenly felt to be communicated.

This must be his state. He yielded, but it was with agonies which did not admit of speech. Long would it be ere Miss Crawford’s name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal of such confidential intercourse[32] as had been.