There being nothing to eat, he could only have some
play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his
sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her,
as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was
about Charles, she could not shake him off. She
spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain.
Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy
had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back
again directly.
“Walter,” said she, “get down this
moment. You are extremely troublesome.
I am very angry with you.”
“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why
do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear
your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to
cousin Charles.”
But not a bit did Walter stir.
In another moment, however, she found herself in the
state of being released from him; some one was taking
him from her, though he had bent down her head so
much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened
from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away,
before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.
Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly
speechless. She could not even thank him.
She could only hang over little Charles, with most
disordered feelings. His kindness in stepping
forward to her relief, the manner, the silence in
which it had passed, the little particulars of the
circumstance, with the conviction soon forced on her
by the noise he was studiously making with the child,
that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and rather
sought to testify that her conversation was the last
of his wants, produced such a confusion of varying,
but very painful agitation, as she could not recover
from, till enabled by the entrance of Mary and the
Miss Musgroves to make over her little patient to their
cares, and leave the room. She could not stay.
It might have been an opportunity of watching the
loves and jealousies of the four— they
were now altogether; but she could stay for none of
it. It was evident that Charles Hayter was not
well inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She
had a strong impression of his having said, in a vext
tone of voice, after Captain Wentworth’s interference,
“You ought to have minded me, Walter; I told
you not to teaze your aunt;” and could comprehend
his regretting that Captain Wentworth should do what
he ought to have done himself. But neither Charles
Hayter’s feelings, nor anybody’s feelings,
could interest her, till she had a little better arranged
her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed
of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle;
but so it was, and it required a long application
of solitude and reflection to recover her.
