comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture.
Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?"

"I did," said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was
concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt
before. She was mortified, shocked, confounded.

Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the
conversation could be continued no farther. After sitting with them a
few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was
then at liberty to think and be wretched.

CHAPTER XXIII

However small Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be,
it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the
present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of
inventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to
be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt;
supported as it was too on every side by such probabilities and
proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. Their
opportunity of acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation
for the rest, at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward's visit
near Plymouth, his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at
his own prospects, his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the
intimate knowledge of the Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family
connections, which had often surprised her, the picture, the letter,
the ring, formed altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame
every fear of condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact,
which no partiality could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself. Her
resentment of such behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe,
for a short time made her feel only for herself; but other ideas,
other considerations, soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally
deceiving her? Had he feigned a regard for her which he did not feel?
Was his engagement to Lucy an engagement of the heart? No; whatever it
might once have been, she could not believe it such at present. His
affection was all her own. She could not be deceived in that. Her
mother, sisters, Fanny, all had been conscious of his regard for her
at Norland; it was not an illusion of her own vanity. He certainly
loved her. What a softener of the heart was this persuasion! How much
could it not tempt her to forgive! He had been blamable, highly
blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first felt her influence
over hi