In the mean while she was in the carriage.  He had handed them both in, and placed himself between them; and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme.  How the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their manners; what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could not foresee.  It was all quite natural, however.  He was devoted to Henrietta; always turning towards her; and when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits.  In general, his voice and manner were studiously calm.  To spare Henrietta from agitation seemed the governing principle.  Once only, when she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome—­

“Don’t talk of it, don’t talk of it,” he cried.  “Oh God! that I had not given way to her at the fatal moment!  Had I done as I ought!  But so eager and so resolute!  Dear, sweet Louisa!”

Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character; and whether it might not strike him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits.  She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character.

They got on fast.  Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills and the same objects so soon.  Their actual speed, heightened by some dread of the conclusion, made the road appear but half as long as on the day before.  It was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total silence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going up their last hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth.  In a low, cautious voice, he said:  —­

“I have been considering what we had best do.  She must not appear at first.  She could not stand it.  I have been thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove.  Do you think this is a good plan?”

She did:  he was satisfied, and said no more.  But the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgement, a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen.

When the distressing communication at Uppercross was over, and he had seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be hoped, and the daughter all the better for being with them, he announced his intention of returning in the same carriage to Lyme; and when the horses were baited, he was off.