Chapter: Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be
missed; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank
in the loss of those attentions which at the time she had felt, or
fancied, an evil. She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering
form; and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again into
nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her
with this idea; but he could hardly tell with what success. He hardly
knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. She
was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond his
discrimination. He did not understand her: he felt that he did not; and
therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she stood affected on the
present occasion, and whether she were more or less happy than she had
been.

Edmund did not discern any symptoms of regret, and thought his father
a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four days could
produce any.

What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sister, the friend
and companion who had been so much to her, should not be more visibly
regretted. He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of _her_, and had so
little voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation.

Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was now the
chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have believed Mary's future
fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she was determined the brother's
should be, if she could have hoped her return thither to be as distant
as she was much inclined to think his, she would have been light of
heart indeed; but the more she recollected and observed, the more deeply
was she convinced that everything was now in a fairer train for Miss
Crawford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. On his side the
inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. His objections, the
scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away, nobody could tell
how; and the doubts and hesitations of her ambition were equally got
over--and equally without apparent reason. It could only be imputed to
increasing attachment. His good and her bad feelings yielded to love,
and such love must unite them. He was to go to town as soon as some
business relative to Thornton Lacey were completed--perhaps within a
fortnight; he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when once
with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her acceptance must be
as certain as his offer; and yet there were bad feelings still remaining
which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, independently, she
believed, independently of self.

In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some amiable
sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been Miss Crawford;
still shewn a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion
of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might love, but
she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there
was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; and she may be
forgiven by older sages for looking on the chance of Miss Crawford's
future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that if Edmund's
influence in this season of love had already done so little in clearing
her judgment, and regulating her notions, his worth would be finally
wasted on her even in years of matrimony.

Experience might have hoped more for any young people so circumstanced,
and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford's nature that
participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to
adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected as her own. But
as such were Fanny's persuasions, she suffered very much from them, and
could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain.

Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes and his own
observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of human
nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power and consequence
on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of the lover producing a
craving for their return; and he was soon afterwards able to account for
his not yet completely and indubitably seeing all this, by the prospect
of another visitor, whose approach he could allow to be quite enough to
support the spirits he was watching. William had obtained a ten days'
leave of absence, to be given to Northamptonshire, and was coming, the
happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to shew his happiness
and describe his uniform.

He came; and he would have been delighted to shew his uniform there too,
had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty. So the
uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny
had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness and all the freshness
of its wearer's feelings must be worn away. It would be sunk into a
badge of disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless,
than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant a year or
two, and sees others made commanders before him? So reasoned Edmund,
till his father made him the confidant of a scheme which placed Fanny's
chance of seeing the second lieutenant of H.M.S. Thrush in all his glory
in another light.

This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to
Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family. It had occurred
to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a right and desirable
measure; but before he absolutely made up his mind, he consulted his
son. Edmund considered it every way, and saw nothing but what was right.
The thing was good in itself, and could not be done at a better time;
and he had no doubt of it being highly agreeable to Fanny. This was
enough to determine Sir Thomas; and a decisive "then so it shall be"
closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring from it with some
feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what he had
communicated to his son; for his prime motive in sending her away had
very little to do with the propriety of her seeing her parents again,
and nothing at all with any idea of making her happy. He certainly
wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly wished her to be
heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and that a little
abstinence from the elegancies and luxuries of Mansfield Park would
bring her mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster estimate
of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of
which she had the offer.

It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, which he must
consider as at present diseased. A residence of eight or nine years in
the abode of wealth and plenty had a little disordered her powers of
comparing and judging. Her father's house would, in all probability,
teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that she would be
the wiser and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had
devised.

Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong
attack of them when she first understood what was intended, when her
uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, and brothers,
and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of
returning for a couple of months to the scenes of her infancy, with
William for the protector and companion of her journey, and the
certainty of continuing to see William to the last hour of his remaining
on land. Had she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been
then, for she was delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep,
heart-swelling sort; and though never a great talker, she was always
more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the moment she
could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when familiarised with the
visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more largely
to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were emotions
of tenderness that could not be clothed in words. The remembrance of all
her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from
them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be
at home again would heal every pain that had since grown out of the
separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many,
and more loved by all than she had ever been before; to feel affection
without fear or restraint; to feel herself the equal of those who
surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the Crawfords, safe
from every look which could be fancied a reproach on their account. This
was a prospect to be dwelt on with a fondness that could be but half
acknowledged.

Edmund, too--to be two months from _him_ (and perhaps she might be
allowed to make her absence three) must do her good. At a distance,
unassailed by his looks or his kindness, and safe from the perpetual
irritation of knowing his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence,
she should be able to reason herself into a properer state; she should
be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there,
without wretchedness. What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was
to become a slight evil at Portsmouth.

The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's being comfortable
without her. She was of use to no one else; but _there_ she might be
missed to a degree that she did not like to think of; and that part of
the arrangement was, indeed, the hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish,
and what only _he_ could have accomplished at all.

But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really resolved on
any measure, he could always carry it through; and now by dint of long
talking on the subject, explaining and dwelling on the duty of Fanny's
sometimes seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go;
obtaining it rather from submission, however, than conviction, for Lady
Bertram was convinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas thought
Fanny ought to go, and therefore that she must. In the calmness of
her own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own meditations,
unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could not acknowledge any
necessity for Fanny's ever going near a father and mother who had done
without her so long, while she was so useful to herself. And as to the
not missing her, which under Mrs. Norris's discussion was the point
attempted to be proved, she set herself very steadily against admitting
any such thing.

Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity. He
called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and self-command
as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her that Fanny could be very
well spared--_she_ being ready to give up all her own time to her as
requested--and, in short, could not really be wanted or missed.

"That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. "I dare say you are
very right; but I am sure I shall miss her very much."

The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny wrote to offer
herself; and her mother's answer, though short, was so kind--a few
simple lines expressed so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect
of seeing her child again, as to confirm all the daughter's views of
happiness in being with her--convincing her that she should now find a
warm and affectionate friend in the "mama" who had certainly shewn no
remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this she could easily suppose
to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated
love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been
unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could
deserve. Now, when she knew better how to be useful, and how to forbear,
and when her mother could be no longer occupied by the incessant
demands of a house full of little children, there would be leisure and
inclination for every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and
daughter ought to be to each other.

William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It would be the
greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the last moment before he
sailed, and perhaps find her there still when he came in from his first
cruise. And besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush before
she went out of harbour--the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in
the service--and there were several improvements in the dockyard, too,
which he quite longed to shew her.

He did not scruple to add that her being at home for a while would be a
great advantage to everybody.

"I do not know how it is," said he; "but we seem to want some of
your nice ways and orderliness at my father's. The house is always in
confusion. You will set things going in a better way, I am sure. You
will tell my mother how it all ought to be, and you will be so useful to
Susan, and you will teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you.
How right and comfortable it will all be!"

By the time Mrs. Price's answer arrived, there remained but a very few
days more to be spent at Mansfield; and for part of one of those days
the young travellers were in a good deal of alarm on the subject of
their journey, for when the mode of it came to be talked of, and Mrs.
Norris found that all her anxiety to save her brother-in-law's money
was vain, and that in spite of her wishes and hints for a less expensive
conveyance of Fanny, they were to travel post; when she saw Sir Thomas
actually give William notes for the purpose, she was struck with the
idea of there being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly
seized with a strong inclination to go with them, to go and see her poor
dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must say that she
had more than half a mind to go with the young people; it would be such
an indulgence to her; she had not seen her poor dear sister Price for
more than twenty years; and it would be a help to the young people in
their journey to have her older head to manage for them; and she could
not help thinking her poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind
of her not to come by such an opportunity.

William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea.

All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be destroyed at
once. With woeful countenances they looked at each other. Their suspense
lasted an hour or two. No one interfered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs.
Norris was left to settle the matter by herself; and it ended, to the
infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection that she could
not possibly be spared from Mansfield Park at present; that she was a
great deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram for her to
be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a week, and
therefore must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to that of being
useful to them.

It had, in fact, occurred to her, that though taken to Portsmouth for
nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid paying her own
expenses back again. So her poor dear sister Price was left to all the
disappointment of her missing such an opportunity, and another twenty
years' absence, perhaps, begun.

Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey, this absence of
Fanny's. He too had a sacrifice to make to Mansfield Park as well as his
aunt. He had intended, about this time, to be going to London; but he
could not leave his father and mother just when everybody else of most
importance to their comfort was leaving them; and with an effort, felt
but not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey which
he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his happiness for
ever.

He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she must know
everything. It made the substance of one other confidential discourse
about Miss Crawford; and Fanny was the more affected from feeling it to
be the last time in which Miss Crawford's name would ever be mentioned
between them with any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was
alluded to by him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece in the
evening to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good
correspondent herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, then added
in a whisper, "And _I_ shall write to you, Fanny, when I have anything
worth writing about, anything to say that I think you will like to hear,
and that you will not hear so soon from any other quarter." Had she
doubted his meaning while she listened, the glow in his face, when she
looked up at him, would have been decisive.

For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter from Edmund
should be a subject of terror! She began to feel that she had not yet
gone through all the changes of opinion and sentiment which the progress
of time and variation of circumstances occasion in this world of
changes. The vicissitudes of the human mind had not yet been exhausted
by her.

Poor Fanny! though going as she did willingly and eagerly, the last
evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness. Her heart was
completely sad at parting. She had tears for every room in the house,
much more for every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because
she would miss her; she kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling
sobs, because she had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could
neither speak, nor look, nor think, when the last moment came with
_him_; and it was not till it was over that she knew he was giving her
the affectionate farewell of a brother.

All this passed overnight, for the journey was to begin very early in
the morning; and when the small, diminished party met at breakfast,
William and Fanny were talked of as already advanced one stage.

 Sir Thomas is scheming. He needs a way to make Fanny miss Henry. Sir Thomas has trouble reading Fanny since she's just so gentle all the time, and isn't very forward about what she's really thinking or feeling. Edmund is also confused that Fanny doesn't really seem to miss the Crawfords all that much. He thought she and Mary were BFFs. Meanwhile, Edmund seems to have lost all his doubts about Mary and is determined to marry her now. Fanny decides that Mary has blinded Edmund to all of her faults and feels depressed about the prospect of them indeed marrying. In other news, William is coming back to Mansfield for a visit, and Fanny is thrilled to see him. Sir Thomas gets an idea: he decides that Fanny should go back to Portsmouth with William and see the rest of her real family for the first time in years. This seems random but it's really quite crafty: Sir Thomas thinks that if Fanny has to live with her dirt poor real family for a while she'll appreciate the kind of fabulous lifestyle that Henry and his money can offer her, and then she'll quickly accept Henry. Fanny is really eager to see her family again and she and William plan their trip excitedly. But Fanny is also sad to be leaving Edmund for two whole months, especially since he'll probably be engaged by the time she returns. But she decides it might be good to get some distance from Edmund, too. Sir Thomas convinces Lady Bertram to let Fanny go. Fanny has high hopes for her family reunion and expects that she and her mother will grow close. But then Mrs. Norris decides that she might like to take a road trip and wants to crash William and Fanny's party. They're horrified. But then Mrs. Norris realizes she'll have to pay her own way back to Mansfield Park and decides to stay home. Crisis averted. Edmund was planning to go to London to see Mary but he delays his trip since Fanny will be gone and he doesn't want to leave his parents completely alone. He promises to update Fanny on his engagement status and Fanny isn't happy to even think about it.

