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--ought he not to have suspended his belief?
ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of clearing myself?
'The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,) which you so obligingly bestowed on me'-- That is unpardonable.
Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words?
Oh, barbarously insolent!--Elinor, can he be justified ?" "No, Marianne, in no possible way." "And yet this woman--who knows what her art may have been ?--how long it may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!--Who is she ?--Who can she be ?--Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and attractive among his female acquaintance ?--Oh! no one, no one--he talked to me only of myself." Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus.
"Elinor, I must go home.

I must go and comfort mama.

Can not we be gone to-morrow ?" "To-morrow, Marianne!" "Yes, why should I stay here?
I came only for Willoughby's sake--and now who cares for me?
Who regards me ?" "It would be impossible to go to-morrow.