At about the week's end from his return to Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over, and he was so far pronounced safe as to make his mother perfectly easy; for being now used to the sight of him in his suffering, helpless state, and hearing only the best, and never thinking beyond what she heard, with no disposition for alarm and no aptitude at a hint, Lady Bertram was the happiest subject in the world for a little medical imposition. The fever was subdued; the fever had been his complaint; of course he would soon be well again. Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her aunt's security, till she received a few lines from Edmund, written purposely to give her a clearer idea of his brother's situation, and acquaint her with the apprehensions which he and his father had imbibed from the physician with respect to some strong hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the frame on the departure of the fever. They judged it best that Lady Bertram should not be harassed by alarms which, it was to be hoped, would prove unfounded; but there was no reason why Fanny should not know the truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs.

A very few lines from Edmund showed her the patient and the sickroom in a juster and stronger light than all Lady Bertram's sheets of paper could do. There was hardly anyone in the house who might not have described, from personal observation, better than herself; not one who was not more useful at times to her son. She could do nothing but glide in quietly and look at him; but when able to talk or be talked to, or read to, Edmund was the companion he preferred. His aunt worried him by her cares, and Sir Thomas knew not how to bring down his conversation or his voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. Edmund was all in all. Fanny would certainly believe him so at least, and must find that her estimation of him was higher than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother. There was not only the debility of recent illness to assist; there was also, as she now learnt, nerves much affected, spirits much depressed to calm and raise, and her own imagination added that there must be a mind to be properly guided.

The family were not consumptive, and she was more inclined to hope than fear for her cousin—except when she thought of Miss Crawford—but Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being the child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity it would be good luck to have Edmund the only son.

Even in the sick chamber the fortunate Mary was not forgotten. Edmund's letter had this postscript. “On the subject of my last, I had actually begun a letter when called away by Tom's illness, but I have now changed my mind, and fear to trust the influence of friends. When Tom is better, I shall go.”

Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, with scarcely any change, till Easter. A line occasionally added by Edmund to his mother's letter was enough for Fanny's information. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow.

Easter came—particularly late this year, as Fanny had most sorrowfully considered, on first learning that she had no chance of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she had yet heard nothing of her return—nothing even of the going to London, which was to precede her return. Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, but there was no notice, no message from the uncle on whom all depended. She supposed he could not yet leave his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her. The end of April was coming on; it would soon be almost three months, instead of two, that she had been absent from them all, and that her days had been passing in a state of penance, which she loved them too well to hope they would thoroughly understand; and who could yet say when there might be leisure to think of or fetch her?

Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them, were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's Tirocinium forever before her. “With what intense desire she wants her home,” was continually on her tongue, as the truest description of a yearning which she could not suppose any schoolboy's bosom to feel more keenly.

When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going home; the word had been very dear to her, and so it still was, but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home. They had been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations, and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt using the same language. “I cannot but say I much regret your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to my spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home so long again,” were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however, it was her private regale. Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray such a preference of her uncle's house. It was always, “When I go back into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do so and so.” For a great while it was so, but at last the longing grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking of what she should do when she went home before she was aware. She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to wish herself there as to be there.

It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not known before what pleasures she had to lose in passing March and April in a town. She had not known before how much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and mind, she had derived from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties from the earliest flowers in the warmest divisions of her aunt's garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations, and the glory of his woods. To be losing such pleasures was no trifle; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of closeness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely worse; but even these incitements to regret were feeble, compared with what arose from the conviction of being missed by her best friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were wanting her!

Could she have been at home, she might have been of service to every creature in the house. She felt that she must have been of use to all. To all she must have saved some trouble of head or hand; and were it only in supporting the spirits of her aunt Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude, or the still greater evil of a restless, officious companion, too apt to be heightening danger in order to enhance her own importance, her being there would have been a general good. She loved to fancy how she could have read to her aunt, how she could have talked to her, and tried at once to make her feel the blessing of what was, and prepare her mind for what might be; and how many walks up and downstairs she might have saved her, and how many messages she might have carried.

It astonished her that Tom's sisters could be satisfied with remaining in London at such a time—through an illness which had now, under different degrees of danger, lasted several weeks. They might return to Mansfield when they chose; travelling could be no difficulty to them, and she could not comprehend how both could still keep away. If Mrs. Rushworth could imagine any interfering obligations, Julia was certainly able to quit London whenever she chose. It appeared from one of her aunt's letters that Julia had offered to return if wanted—but this was all. It was evident that she would rather remain where she was.

Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the proof of it in Miss Crawford, as well as in her cousins; her attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the most respectable part of her character; her friendship for herself had at least been blameless. Where was either sentiment now? It was so long since Fanny had had any letter from her, that she had some reason to think lightly of the friendship which had been so dwelt on. It was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Crawford or of her other connections in town, except through Mansfield, and she was beginning to suppose that she might never know whether Mr. Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or not till they met, and might never hear from his sister any more this spring, when the following letter was received to revive old and create some new sensations—

Forgive me, my dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for my long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly. This is my modest request and expectation, for you are so good, that I depend upon being treated better than I deserve—and I write now to beg an immediate answer. I want to know the state of things at Mansfield Park, and you, no doubt, are perfectly able to give it. One should be a brute not to feel for the distress they are in—and from what I hear, poor Mr. Bertram has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of his illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person to be made a fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any trifling disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had to nurse him; but now it is confidently asserted that he is really in a decline, that the symptoms are most alarming, and that part of the family, at least, are aware of it. If it be so, I am sure you must be included in that part, that discerning part, and therefore entreat you to let me know how far I have been rightly informed. I need not say how rejoiced I shall be to hear there has been any mistake, but the report is so prevalent that I confess I cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young man cut off in the flower of his days is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile and look cunning, but, upon my honour, I never bribed a physician in my life. Poor young man! If he is to die, there will be two poor young men less in the world; and with a fearless face and bold voice would I say to anyone, that wealth and consequence could fall into no hands more deserving of them. It was a foolish precipitation last Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted out in part. Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It will be but the loss of the Esquire after his name. With real affection, Fanny, like mine, more might be overlooked. Write to me by return of post, judge of my anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real truth, as you have it from the fountainhead. And now, do not trouble yourself to be ashamed of either my feelings or your own. Believe me, they are not only natural, they are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it to your conscience, whether ‘Sir Edmund’ would not do more good with all the Bertram property than any other possible ‘Sir.’ Had the Grants been at home I would not have troubled you, but you are now the only one I can apply to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach. Mrs. R. has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers at Twickenham (as to be sure you know), and is not yet returned; and Julia is with the cousins who live near Bedford Square; but I forget their name and street. Could I immediately apply to either, however, I should still prefer you, because it strikes me that they have all along been so unwilling to have their own amusements cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I suppose Mrs. R.'s Easter holidays will not last much longer; no doubt they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers are pleasant people; and her husband away, she can have nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit for promoting his going dutifully down to Bath, to fetch his mother; but how will she and the dowager agree in one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund would have been in town again long ago, but for this illness?

Yours ever,

Mary.

I had actually begun folding my letter when Henry walked in, but he brings no intelligence to prevent my sending it. Mrs. R. knows a decline is apprehended; he saw her this morning, she returns to Wimpole Street today; the old lady is come. Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies because he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He does it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody but you. At this very moment he is wild to see you, and occupied only in contriving the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure conduce to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, what he said at Portsmouth about our conveying you home, and I join him in it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly, and tell us to come. It will do us all good. He and I can go to the Parsonage, you know, and be no trouble to our friends at Mansfield Park. It would really be gratifying to see them all again, and a little addition of society might be of infinite use to them; and as to yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted there, that you cannot in conscience (conscientious as you are) keep away, when you have the means of returning. I have not time or patience to give half Henry's messages; be satisfied that the spirit of each and every one is unalterable affection.

Fanny's disgust at the greater part of this letter, with her extreme reluctance to bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund together, would have made her (as she felt) incapable of judging impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or not. To herself, individually, it was most tempting. To be finding herself, perhaps within three days, transported to Mansfield, was an image of the greatest felicity—but it would have been a material drawback to be owing such felicity to persons in whose feelings and conduct, at the present moment, she saw so much to condemn; the sister's feelings—the brother's conduct—her cold-hearted ambition—his thoughtless vanity. To have him still the acquaintance, the flirt perhaps, of Mrs. Rushworth! She was mortified. She had thought better of him. Happily, however, she was not left to weigh and decide between opposite inclinations and doubtful notions of right; there was no occasion to determine whether she ought to keep Edmund and Mary asunder or not. She had a rule to apply to, which settled everything. Her awe of her uncle, and her dread of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to her what she had to do. She must absolutely decline the proposal. If he wanted, he would send for her; and even to offer an early return was a presumption which hardly anything would have seemed to justify. She thanked Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. “Her uncle, she understood, meant to fetch her; and as her cousin's illness had continued so many weeks without her being thought at all necessary, she must suppose her return would be unwelcome at present, and that she should be felt an encumbrance.”

Her representation of her cousin's state at this time was exactly according to her own belief of it, and such as she supposed would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent the hope of everything she was wishing for. Edmund would be forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain conditions of wealth; and this, she suspected, was all the conquest of prejudice which he was so ready to congratulate himself upon. She had only learnt to think nothing of consequence but money.

汤姆被接回曼斯菲尔德后，大约过了一个星期，死亡的危险过去了，大夫说他平安无事了，他母亲也就完全放心了。伯特伦夫人已经看惯了儿子那痛苦不堪、卧床不起的样子，听到的完全是吉祥话，从不往人家的话外去想，加上生性不会惊慌，不会领会弦外之音，因而医生稍微一哄，她就成了世界上最快活的人。烧退了。他的病本来就是发烧引起的，自然要不了多久就会康复。伯特伦夫人觉得没事了，范妮也跟姨妈一样乐观。后来，她收到了埃德蒙的一封信，信里只有寥寥几行，是专门向她说明他哥哥的病情的，说汤姆烧退之后出现了一些明显的痨病症状，并把他和父亲从医生那里听来的看法告诉了她。他们认为医生的疑虑也许没有根据，最好不要让伯特伦夫人受此虚惊。但是，没有理由不让范妮知道真情。他们在担心汤姆的肺。

埃德蒙只用寥寥几行，就向她说明了病人及病室的情况，比伯特伦夫人满满几页纸写得还要清楚，还要准确。在曼斯菲尔德大宅里，谁都能根据自己的观察把情况说得比她更清楚，谁都能比她对她的儿子更有用。她什么都干不了，只会悄悄地进去看看他。不过，当他能说话，能听人说话，或者能让人给他读书的时候，他都愿意让埃德蒙陪他。大姨妈问长问短使他心烦，托马斯爵士说起话来也不会低声细语的，不能让心情烦躁、身体虚弱的人好受一些。埃德蒙成了他最需要的人。范妮对此当然是确信不疑的，又见他那样关照、服侍、安慰病中的哥哥，肯定会对他更加敬重。他哥哥不仅身体虚弱需要照料，她现在才知道他的神经也受到很大刺激，情绪非常低落，需要抚慰和鼓励；而且她还想象得到，他的思想需要适当的引导。

这一家人没有肺病的家史。范妮虽然也为表哥担心，但总觉得他会好的——只是想到克劳福德小姐的时候，心里就不那么踏实了。范妮觉得克劳福德小姐是个幸运的宠儿，上天为了满足她的自私和虚荣，会让埃德蒙成为独子。

即使待在病榻前，埃德蒙也没有忘掉幸运的玛丽，他在信的附言中写道：“对于我上封信里谈到的那个问题，我其实已动笔写信了，但是汤姆一生病，我就搁笔去看他了。不过，我现在又改变了主意。我担心朋友们的影响。等汤姆好转后，我还要去一趟。”

曼斯菲尔德就是处于这样一种状况。直到复活节，这种状况一直没有什么变化。母亲写信时埃德蒙附上一句，就足以让范妮了解那里的状况。汤姆的好转慢得惊人。

复活节来到了——范妮最初听说她要过了复活节才有可能离开朴次茅斯，因而极其可悲地感到，今年的复活节来得特别迟。不过这一天总算到了，可她仍然没有听到要她回去的消息——甚至也没听到姨父要去伦敦的消息，而姨父的伦敦之行是接她回去的前提。姨妈常常表示盼她回去，但是起决定作用的是姨父，他可没有发话，也没有来信。范妮估计他离不开他的大儿子，可这样耽搁下去，对她来说却是残酷的、可怕的。四月就要结束了，她离开他们大家，到这里来过这清苦的生活，差不多快三个月了，而不是原来说的两个月。她只是因为爱他们，才不想让他们完全了解她的状况。谁能说得上他们什么时候才能顾得上考虑她，顾得上来接她呢？

她迫不及待地想要回到他们身边，心里无时无刻不在想着考珀《学童》里的诗句，嘴里总是念叨着“她多么渴望回到自己的家”。这句诗充分表达了她的思家之情，她觉得哪个小学生也不会像她这样归心似箭。

她动身前来朴次茅斯的时候，还乐意把这里称作她的家，喜欢说她是在回自己的家。当时，“家”这个字眼对她来说是非常亲切的。现在，这个字眼依然是亲切的，但它指的却是曼斯菲尔德。现在，那里才是她的家。朴次茅斯只是朴次茅斯，曼斯菲尔德才是家。她在沉思默想中早就抱定了这样的观念。见姨妈在信里也采用了同样的说法，她心里感到莫大的欣慰。“我不能不告诉你，在这令人焦心的时刻你不在家，我感到非常遗憾，精神上很难忍受。我相信而且希望，真诚地希望你再也不要离家这么久了。”这是她最爱读的语句。不过，她对曼斯菲尔德的眷恋只能藏在心里。她出于对父母的体谅，总是小心翼翼，免得流露出对姨父家的偏爱。她总这样说：“等我回到北安普敦，或者回到曼斯菲尔德，我会如何如何。”她如此提防了很长时间，但是思归之心越演越烈，终于失去了警惕，不知不觉地谈起了回到家里该怎么办。她感到内疚，满面羞愧，忐忑不安地看着父母。她用不着担心，因为父母丝毫没有不高兴的迹象，甚至像是压根儿没听见她的话。他们对曼斯菲尔德丝毫也不嫉妒。她想去那里也好，回到那里也好，一概由她。

对于范妮来说，不能领略春天的乐趣是颇为遗憾的。以前她不知道在城里度过三月和四月势必会失去什么样的乐趣。以前她还不知道草木吐绿生翠给她带来多大的喜悦。乡下的春季虽然也变幻莫测，但景色总是十分宜人。观察它行进的脚步，欣赏它与日俱增的美姿，从姨妈花园多阳地区早绽的花朵，到姨父种植场及树林里的枝繁叶茂，这一切曾使她身心为之振奋。失去这样的乐趣本来就是不小的损失，而她又生活在狭窄、喧闹的环境中，感受的不是自由自在的生活、新鲜的空气、百花的芬芳、草木的青翠，而是囚禁似的日子、污浊的空气、难闻的气息，这就越发糟糕透顶。但是，比起惦记最好的朋友对自己的思念，以及渴望为需要自己的人做些有益的事来，就连这些憾事也微不足道了！

她若是待在家里的话，就会对家里的每个人都有所帮助。她觉得人人都会用得着她。她肯定会给每个人分担一点忧愁，或者出上一份力气。单就给伯特伦姨妈带来精神鼓舞来说，有她在场也大有好处；她可以帮姨妈消除寂寞，更重要的是，可以使姨妈摆脱一个焦躁不安、好管闲事、为了突出自己而喜欢夸大危险的伙伴。她喜欢设想自己怎样给姨妈读书，怎样陪姨妈说话；既要使姨妈感到现实生活的快乐，又要使姨妈对可能的事情做好精神准备；她可以让姨妈少上楼下楼多少次，可以上上下下送多少次信。

她感到惊奇的是，汤姆在时轻时重的病危状态下度过了几个星期，他的两个妹妹居然能心安理得地待在伦敦不回家。她们想什么时候回曼斯菲尔德都可以，旅行对她们来说没有什么难的，她无法理解她们两人为什么还不回家。如果说拉什沃思太太还可能有事脱不开身，朱莉娅肯定可以随时离开伦敦吧。姨妈在一封来信中说过，朱莉娅曾表示如果需要她的话她可以回去，但也仅是说说而已。显然，她宁愿待在伦敦。

范妮觉得，伦敦对人的感染与美好的情愫是格格不入的。她发现，不仅两位表姐的情况证明了这一点，克劳福德小姐的情况也证明了这一点。她对埃德蒙的钟情原本是可贵的，那是她品格上最为可贵的一点，她对她自己的友情至少也无可指摘。现在她这两份感情都跑到哪里去了？范妮已经很长时间没有收到她的信了，因此有理由怀疑她过去津津乐道的友情。几个星期以来，除了从曼斯菲尔德的来信中得知一点情况外，她一直没有听到过克劳福德小姐及其亲友们的消息。她开始感到自己跟克劳福德先生除非再相见，否则永远不会知道他是否又去了诺福克。她还认为今年春天她再也不会收到他妹妹的来信了。就在这时候，她收到了如下的一封信，不仅唤起了旧情，而且激起了几分新情：

亲爱的范妮，很久没有给你写信了，恳请见谅，并望表现大度一些，能立即原谅我。这是我并不过分的要求和期待，因为你心肠好，不管我配不配，你都会对我好的——我这次写信请求你马上给个回音。我想了解曼斯菲尔德庄园的情况，你肯定能告诉我。他们如此不幸，谁要是无动于衷，那就太冷酷无情了。我听说，可怜的伯特伦先生最终很难康复。起初我没把他的病放在心上。我觉得像他这样的人，随便生个什么小病，都会引起别人的大惊小怪，他自己也会大惊小怪，所以我主要关心的是那些照料他的人。可现在人们一口断定，他的确是每况愈下，病情极为严重，家中至少有几个人意识到了这一点。如果真是如此，我想你一定是了解实情的几个人之一，因此恳请你让我知道，我得到的消息有几分是正确的。我无须说明倘若听说消息有误，我会多么的高兴，可是消息传得沸沸扬扬，我不禁为之战栗。这么仪表堂堂的一个年轻人，在风华正茂的时候撒手人世，真是万分不幸。可怜的托马斯爵士将会多么悲痛。我真为这件事深感不安。范妮，范妮，我看见你在笑，眼里闪烁着狡黠的目光，不过说实话，我这一辈子可从来没有收买过医生。可怜的年轻人啊！他要是死去的话，世界上会少掉两个可怜的年轻人[1]，我就会面无惧色、理直气壮地对任何人说，财富和门第将会落到一个最配享有的人手里。去年圣诞节他一时鲁莽做了蠢事[2]，但只不过是几天的错误，在一定程度上是可以抹掉的。虚饰和假象可以掩盖许多污点。他只会失去他名字后边的“先生”[3]。范妮，有了我这样的真情，再多的缺点我也不去计较。望你立即写信，赶原班邮车发出。请理解我焦急的心情，不要不当一回事。把你从曼斯菲尔德来信中得来的实情原原本本告诉我。现在，你用不着为我的想法或你的想法感到羞愧。请相信我，你我的想法不仅是合乎常情的，而且是仁慈的、合乎道德的。请你平心而论，“埃德蒙爵士”掌管了伯特伦家的全部财产，是否会比别人当上这个爵士做更多的好事。如果格兰特夫妇在家，我就不会麻烦你，可我现在只能向你打听实情，跟他两个妹妹又联系不上。拉什沃思太太到特威克纳姆和艾尔默一家人一起过复活节了（这你肯定知道），现在还没有回来。朱莉娅到贝德福德广场附近的亲戚家去了，可我不记得他们的姓名和他们住的街名。不过，即使我能马上向她们中的哪一个打听实情，我仍然情愿问你，因为我觉得，她们一直不愿中断她们的寻欢作乐，对实情也就闭目不见。我想，拉什沃思太太的复活节假期要不了多久就会结束，这无疑是她彻底休息的假日。艾尔默夫妇都挺讨人喜欢，丈夫不在家，妻子便尽情玩乐。她敦促他尽孝道去巴斯把他母亲接来，这事值得赞扬。但是，她和那老寡妇住在一起能和睦相处吗？亨利不在跟前，因此我不知道他要说些什么。埃德蒙若不是因为哥哥生病，早该又来到了伦敦，难道你不这样认为吗？

你永久的朋友玛丽

我刚开始叠信，亨利就进来了。但是他没带来什么消息，并不妨碍我发这封信。据拉什沃思太太说，伯特伦先生的状况怕是越来越糟。亨利是今天上午见到她的，她今天回到了温普尔街，因为老夫人已经来了。你不要胡乱猜疑，感觉不安，因为他在里士满住了几天。他每年春天都要去那里住几天的。你放心，除了你以外，他把谁都不放在心上。在此时刻，他望眼欲穿地就想见到你，整天忙着筹划如何跟你见面，如何使他的快乐有助于促进你的快乐。有例为证：他把他在朴次茅斯讲过的话又重复了一遍，而且讲得更加情真意切，说是要把你接回家，我也竭诚地支持他。亲爱的范妮，马上写信，让我们去接你。这对我们大家都有好处。你知道亨利和我可以住在牧师府，不会给曼斯菲尔德庄园的朋友们带来麻烦。真想再见到他们一家人。多两个人和他们来往，这对他们也会大有好处。至于你自己，你要知道那里多么需要你。在你有办法回去的时候，凭良心也不能不回（当然你是讲良心的）。亨利要我转告的话很多，我没有时间也没有耐心一一转述。请你相信：他要说的每句话的中心意思，是坚定不移的爱。

范妮对这封信的大部分内容感到厌倦，极不愿意把写信人和埃德蒙表哥扯到一起，因而也不能公正地判断信的末尾提出的建议是否可以接受。对她个人来说，这个建议很有诱惑力。她也许三天内就能回到曼斯菲尔德，这该是无比幸福的事。但是，一想到这幸福要归功于这样两个人，这两个人目前在思想和行为上有许多地方应该受到谴责，因而这幸福就要大打折扣。妹妹的思想，哥哥的行为——妹妹冷酷无情，野心勃勃；哥哥损人利己，贪慕虚荣。他也许还在跟拉什沃思太太厮混调情，再和他好，那对她岂不是耻辱！她还以为他有所转变。然而，所幸的是，她并不需要在两种相反的意愿和两种拿不准的观念之间加以权衡，做出抉择。没有必要去断定她是否应该让埃德蒙和玛丽继续人分两地。她只要诉诸一条规则，就万事大吉了。她惧怕她姨父，不敢对他随便。就凭着这两点，她当即明白她应该怎么办。她必须断然拒绝这个建议。姨父若是想让她回去，是会派人来接她的。她自己即使提出早点儿回去，那也是没有正当理由的自行其是。她向克劳福德小姐表示感谢，却坚决回绝了她：“据我所知，我姨父要来接我。我表哥病了这么多个星期家里都不需要我，我想我现在回去是不受欢迎的，大家反而会觉得我是个累赘。”

她根据自己的见解报道了大表哥的病情，估计心性乐观的克劳福德小姐读过之后，会觉得自己所追求的东西样样有了希望。看来，在钱财有望的条件下，埃德蒙当牧师一事将会得到宽恕。她怀疑，对埃德蒙的偏见就是这样消除的，而他还要因此而谢天谢地。克劳福德小姐只知道金钱，别的一概无足轻重。

* * *

[1]意指“可怜的汤姆”死去后，“可怜的埃德蒙”将成为家产和爵士称号继承人，变得不再可怜。

[2]指埃德蒙做了牧师。

[3]意指换成“爵士”头衔。