A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the very walk they had been talking of. Here, standing back, well shaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha into the park, was a comfortable-sized bench, on which they all sat down.

“I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny,” said Edmund, observing her; “why would not you speak sooner? This will be a bad day’s amusement for you if you are worn out. Every sort of exercise fatigues her so soon, Miss Crawford, except riding.”

“How abominable in you, then, to let me engross her horse as I did all last week! I am ashamed of you and of myself, but it shall never happen again.”

“Your attentiveness and consideration makes me more sensible of my own neglect. Fanny’s interest seems in safer hands with you than with me.”

“I shall soon be rested,” said Fanny; “to sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.”

After sitting a little while Miss Crawford was up again. “I must move,” said she; “resting fatigues me. I have looked across the ha-ha till I am weary. I must go and look through that iron gate at the same view, without being able to see it so well.”

Edmund left the seat likewise. “Now, Miss Crawford, if you will look up the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot be half a mile long.”

“It is an immense distance,” said she; “I see that with a glance.”

He still reasoned with her, but in vain. She would not calculate, she would not compare. She would only smile and assert. At last it was agreed that they should endeavour to determine the dimensions of the wood by walking a little more about it. They would go to one end of it, and be back in a few minutes. Fanny said she was rested, but Edmund urged her to remain where she was with an earnestness she could not resist.

She was left on the bench to think with pleasure of her cousin’s care, but with great regret that she was not stronger. She watched them till they had turned the corner, and listened till all sound of them had ceased.

Chapter X

A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes passed, and Fanny was still thinking of Edmund, Miss Crawford, and herself, without interruption from any one. She began to be surprised at being left so long, and to listen with an anxious desire of hearing their steps and their voices again.

For a while there she thought she heard rather unusual sounds in the greenery, distant shufflings and peculiar creature growls, and the sound of things crashing. And just once there was a terrible sound, the thunderous, unnaturally bellowing honk of a monstrous duck. . . .