perceiving that she had finished the letters, observed to
her that they contained nothing but what any one would
have written in the same situation.

"I felt myself," she added, "to be as solemnly
engaged to him, as if the strictest legal covenant
had bound us to each other."

"I can believe it," said Elinor; "but unfortunately
he did not feel the same."

"He DID feel the same, Elinor--for weeks and weeks he
felt it. I know he did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and
nothing but the blackest art employed against me can have done
it), I was once as dear to him as my own soul could wish.
This lock of hair, which now he can so readily give up,
was begged of me with the most earnest supplication.
Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his voice
at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our
being together at Barton? The morning that we parted
too! When he told me that it might be many weeks before
we met again--his distress--can I ever forget his distress?"

For a moment or two she could say no more;
but when this emotion had passed away, she added,
in a firmer tone,

"Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby."

"Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he