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rage than his eyes could discern in her's. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer; and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend, that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner.
In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity.
"We have not been so silent all the time," replied his mother. "Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you coming."—And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a volume of Shakespeare.—"She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that
