exigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety;
it was that of running with all possible speed down the steep
side of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.

They set off. Marianne had at first the advantage,
but a false step brought her suddenly to the ground;
and Margaret, unable to stop herself to assist her,
was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the bottom
in safety.

A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers
playing round him, was passing up the hill and within
a few yards of Marianne, when her accident happened.
He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She had
raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been
twisted in her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand.
The gentleman offered his services; and perceiving that her
modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary,
took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried
her down the hill. Then passing through the garden,
the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her
directly into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived,
and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chair
in the parlour.

Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at
their entrance, and while the eyes of both were fixed
on him with an evident wonder and a secret admiration
which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized
for his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner
so frank and so graceful that his person, which was
uncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voice
and expression. Had he been even old, ugly, and vulgar,
the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would
have been secured by any act of attention to her child;
but the influence of youth, beauty, and elegance,
gave an interest to the action which came home to her feelings.

She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness
of address which always attended her, invited him to
be seated. But this he declined, as he was dirty and wet.
Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was obliged.
His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present
home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would
allow him the honour of calling tomorrow to enquire
after Miss Dashwood. The honour was readily granted,
and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting,
in the midst of a heavy rain.

His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness
were instantly the theme of general admiration,
and the laugh which his gallantry raised against Marianne
received particular spirit from his exterior attractions.--
Marianne herself had seen less of his person that the rest,
for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his
lifting her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding
him after their entering the house. But she had seen
enough of him to join in all the admiration of the others,
and with an energy which always adorned her praise.
His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever
drawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying
her into the house with so little previous formality, there
was a rapidity of thought which particularly recommended
the action to her. Every circumstance belonging to him
was interesting. His name was good, his residence was in
their favourite village, and she soon found out that of all
manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming.
Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant,
and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.

Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval
of fair weather that morning allowed him to get out
of doors; and Marianne's accident being related to him,
he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman
of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.

"Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is HE
in the country? That is good news however; I will
ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on Thursday."

"You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.

"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here
every year."

"And what sort of a young man is he?"

"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.
A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider
in England."

"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne,
indignantly. "But what are his manners on more intimate
acquaintance? What his pursuits, his talents, and genius?"

Sir John was rather puzzled.

"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him
as to all THAT. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow,
and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer


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