Anne woke up very gradually, so gradually that she did not realize that she had been asleep for nearly half an hour. Her torrent of emotional pain had passed; she felt nothing but the sensation of being warm and protected. Strong arms held her firmly and comfortingly; bringing to mind long-forgotten memories of a time when she was very small. Her father's coat had felt the same against her cheek: scratchy and very slightly cigar-scented. Anne kept her eyes shut, willing time to stand still. She heaved a shuddering sigh and leaned into the embrace; it tightened slightly.

Cautiously she opened her eyes just the tiniest bit; what was she seeing? A brownish overcoat, and showing from beneath it, the dark blue fabric of an officer's dress uniform with its white lapels, brass buttons, and gold braid. Anne reached over to finger one of the lapels. I have always liked these uniforms, so distinguished and handsome. And these beautiful, shiny buttons! She sighed in contentment, studying the row of brass buttons through half-shut eyes; the uniform sighed in return. What a very comfortable uniform; it gives hugs! She snuggled a little closer and closed her eyes once more, smiling just a little as she stroked the cloth. I do believe this lovely coat is alive, for I can feel it breathing. This thought was pleasant, but perplexing. How can a uniform be ... breathing? I ... Where am I? She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.

All at once she came fully awake. Her head was resting on a man's shoulder; a man who was a naval officer. His greatcoat was wrapped around her, and so were his arms; in fact, she was sitting on his lap, leaning against his chest. Hope surged through her heart, for only one man would hold her thus. Frederick! You have come for me! She clung to him, burying her face in his collar, whispering his name with a little sob.

"Miss Elliot?" The voice was not Frederick's.

Good God! How...? Who ...? Anne sat bolt upright, pulling herself away from him. She blushed to the roots of her hair as she recognized who it was who held her.

"Captain Benwick!" she gasped, stammering awkwardly. "How did I ...? I am so sorry! But what am I ..." Of course this is not Frederick! Frederick is married! This is dreadful! I am so embarrassed, I want to die! Whatever must he think of me?

Captain Benwick looked over at her briefly, then resumed his contemplation of the bushes comprising the hedgerow. "Are you feeling better now, Miss Elliot?" His tone was kind, but decidedly un-loverlike. His shifted his hold a little, but did not release her.

"Yes. No! I ... I mean ... I am sitting ... I ... Why am I ... sitting on ... your lap?

Captain Benwick looked a little uncomfortable at this, but kept his eyes fixed elsewhere as he spoke. " I, ahem, beg your pardon, Miss Elliot. I took the liberty of making a rather desperate choice, because it is so very cold. You were in no condition to return to the party, and there was nowhere else which would be private, without, ah, prying eyes, and awkward questions. Your cloak is too thin for such weather and you needed to be kept warm." He glanced over at her rather shyly. "I did the best I could under the circumstances. I am very sorry."

" I ... thank you, but I ..." Anne's voice trailed out. What could she say?

"When you are ready, we will walk back to the cottage. There is no hurry."

She groaned and hid her face in her gloved hands. "Oh Captain Benwick, I do not know what to say to you! I am so embarrassed!"

"Are you? Whatever for? I am not!" Anne looked up at that; she found herself to be gazing directly into his eyes. "Miss Elliot, consider for a moment to whom you are speaking," he murmured softly. "When first we met in Lyme, I believe I was the one crying into my soup and you comforted me!" He raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "I believe we are now even, wouldn't you say?"

Anne blinked, digesting this. We are now even? She looked back at Captain Benwick, but he had resumed his study of the hedgerow. Presently he began to speak.

"In your list of suggested readings was a very helpful essay, based around a scriptural text, do you remember? I had learnt that one by heart as a boy, but had forgotten it. Let me see, how does it go? Ah,' ... that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted by God.'" His eyes met hers once again. "Do you see?"

"Oh." This was clearly unanswerable. "Thank you, Captain ... but I think we are not at all 'even'." She smiled weakly. "I am greatly in your debt!" She buried her head in her hands once again. What a horribly awkward circumstance! If Mary had caught me weeping and had found that letter ... or Charles ... Charles! "Oh," Anne groaned, raising her head, "I do not want to think about what would happen if Charles were to find us this way!"

"Musgrove?" Captain Benwick snorted contemptuously. "Miss Elliot, please do not give Charles Musgrove, or his crude accusations, a second thought. He will not trouble us." He smiled at her as if sharing a secret. "You may not have noticed," he pulled back the left half of his overcoat, "I am armed today, and am entirely at your service." His smile twisted a little. "Shall I run him through?"

Anne stared at the silver hilt of his dress sword in amazement. "Could you? Is that real?"

"Of course I could, quite easily! And yes, it is real."

"Oh!" She looked at him rather uncertainly. He is surely joking, isn't he? "Ah ... I have always assumed that dress swords were not weapons, but were worn as decoration, in order to, um, strut one's consequence! I beg your pardon. Is it very sharp?"

Captain Benwick was not at all offended; in fact, he was rather pleased by her interest. She had forgotten her embarrassment and was beginning to regain her composure; he decided that almost any diversion was a good thing. "Indeed it is! I would be happy to show you, but first you will need to ... sit over here beside me."

Anne moved off his lap; he removed his greatcoat and placed it around her shoulders, heedless to her objections. "No, no, Miss Elliot. I am quite warmly dressed. Now then." The sword rang a little as he removed it from its scabbard, the highly polished blade glittered in the pale winter sunshine. Captain Benwick carefully laid it across his knees, placing the hilt toward Anne. "This type of sword is known as a sabre, Miss Elliot. It has one sharp edge, here. You may pick it up if you wish, but please bear in mind that it is a weapon."

"All right." Anne removed the glove from her right hand, cautiously reached out, and touched the handle. "I have never done this before. Do I hold it here?"

"Yes, at the haft."

She lifted it for only a moment. "It is heavy! But it is rather beautiful, if a sword may be called that!" She fingered the sword knot, with its elegant tassel, which hung from the hilt.

"It is, isn't it? This is the one I use to 'strut my consequence,' at occasions such as this," he grinned. "I bought it when I was posted into the Grappler last year, with some of my prize money. The standard sword I use for, shall we say, 'everyday business' is not nearly as attractive."

"'Everyday business'?" She frowned at the term. "Do you mean 'running someone through'? You haven't actually killed someone yourself, have you?" The question slipped out before Anne could stop it.. "I mean ..."

He regarded her quietly for a moment. "Never a loyal subject of the King, Miss Elliot." Anne swallowed, staring in horrified fascination at the bright steel blade lying on his lap. "And never anyone with this particular sword. But," he added, more cheerfully, "there's a first time for everything! Shall I go find Charles Musgrove?"

"Captain Benwick, no!" She could not help smiling. "I cannot allow you to chase after Charles!" She bit her bottom lip, considering. "What do you suppose he would do?"

" Run like ... Hades, Miss Elliot!" Benwick muttered, chuckling. "Most definitely."

Anne had no choice but to laugh; it was too ridiculous! But her mind was still taken up with the sword, a weapon which could cut a man to pieces! Without thinking she reached out to feel its sharpness with her bare hand.

Captain Benwick saw her intent and caught it back. "Ah, not that way, Miss Anne! Let me show you how. Now where is that ... oh yes. In the pocket of my greatcoat is your letter. If you will just tap the edge of the paper to this part of the blade, like so ..." he demonstrated the motion with his hand.

The letter -- Frederick's letter! Anne found it in the pocket and drew it out slowly, almost reluctantly. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded it and did as Captain Benwick instructed. The blade sliced effortlessly through the paper, making a cut several inches long at the bottom of the page. Benwick smiled at her astonishment. "Charles Musgrove will probably tell you something about an unloaded gun not being a gun at all. The same is true for a dull sabre!" He stood to replace the sword in its scabbard. "Shall we walk a little?"

"Yes, I would like that." Anne quickly stuffed the letter into the pocket of her cloak. She did not want to begin thinking about Frederick Wentworth again; it was safer to talk to Captain Benwick. "Dear me, I must look a sight! My hair ... Mary's flowers!" She stared at a few of the satin rosebuds which had fallen to the ground.

"I see nothing amiss, but your sister might. Perhaps you might wear the hood of your cloak? Oh, and I believe this is yours." Captain Benwick handed her the Bible which had been lying on the bench beside him. When she was ready, he made sure his greatcoat was secured across her shoulders and politely offered his arm. Anne took it gratefully and they began walking slowly along the path. To keep her thoughts from straying into dangerous territory, she quickly picked up the conversation where they had left off.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at how easily your blade cut that paper, Captain. Charles told us that one of your jobs on the Laconia was to make sure the swords were sharp, so ..." She broke off as she saw an odd expression cross Benwick's face.

"That I did what? Sharpened swords? That wasn't my responsi ..." His eyes narrowed. "Just a minute! What else did Charles tell you I did?" he asked, rather grimly.

"Well, he told us many different things about the Navy, in general, and that you, um ...." she looked at him hesitantly. "That is, after the fighting was over, you would ..."

Captain Benwick's lips twitched a little. "Go on."

"You counted up the ..." This was too gruesome to repeat, but she found herself biting back a giggle. "You counted ..."

Captain Benwick finished for her, carefully enunciating every word. "That I counted up the dead men's heads and stacked them neatly in a pile?" She nodded. "Oh lord!" He threw back his head and laughed. "Hang that Musgrove! Of all the windbags! I think I shall have to call him out after all!" He looked over at his companion. "I'm sorry Miss Elliot! Charles Musgrove's tongue is hinged in the middle! I didn't mean that piece of information to get back to you; it is not at all accurate! I was attempting to pay him out for teasing you the way he did, about a forced marriage. Harville and I filled him full of grisly Navy tales, some of which were rather embellished, like that one!"

"You ... did?" Anne stared at him in pleasure and surprise. "Oh ... why ... thank you!" These two men had come to her defense, men who were not even her own friends! No one had ever done such a thing for her before. They had actually punished Charles! Indeed, he deserved it, but she thought she should explain. "I'm relieved to know you didn't actually stack up the, ah, the ... well!" Anne smiled awkwardly. "But I hope you and Captain Harville didn't treat Charles too badly. He is an old friend, Captain, as well as my brother. I don't mind his teasing very much, not nearly as much as Mary does. He has joked about finding me a husband for years. It really doesn't bother me anymore."

"Humph! That attitude does you credit, Miss Elliot, and you handled him very well Thursday night. I suppose I am a bit old fashioned in my notions," he grumbled, "but I think a man shouldn't twit a woman about such a thing, 'old friend' or no. If he's so eager to find you a husband, why didn't he just propose to you in the first place and be done with it!"

This remark was met with dead silence.

Captain Benwick was instantly aware that he had made a major misstep. He looked penetratingly at Anne as she walked beside him; her face was flushed, her eyes were downcast and the cheerful demeanor he had worked so hard to encourage was gone. They walked along without speaking for a few minutes; he wondering how to apologize for this unguarded, awkward remark; she wondering how to regain her composure and continue with what had been a very enjoyable conversation. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Please forgive me, Miss Elliot. It seems that nearly everything I have said or done today has had dreadful results for you! I had no idea that this was how things stood." Benwick bit his lip, casting a sideways look at Anne. "He, ah, thought that Mary would do as well, didn't he?" Poor Charles! What a tragic mistake!

Anne winced at his perceptiveness. Somehow, in the course of one morning, this quiet, unassuming man had learned so much! And all about Frederick! I told him everything! Her throat tightened, another wave of shame and embarrassment threatened to overcome her. She walked on, eyes focused on the path. "Captain Benwick, whatever must you think of me? Charles ... and Frederick ... I ..."

"If you mean by 'think of you' that I blame you in any way, no, I do not. There is enough blame, and unhappiness, and pain to go around between you without me putting my oar in." He looked over at her. "Is this a subject you wish to discuss further, Miss Elliot? I have been working very hard to avoid it, but if you would like, we can pursue it."

"Oh, no! No, I don't want to think one thought about that horrid letter! Except that, would it be wrong ... would it be so very bad if I ... well, you see, when I think about that letter now, I find that I am not hurt or sad as much as I am angry. Is that wrong?"

Captain Benwick thought for a moment. "No ... I think not. To be honest, I am a little angry myself, for a few of the sentiments written there would have been better left unsaid! But the letter was kindly meant, and we must remember that. And later, as you begin to forgive him, the anger and the pain will slowly fade away, and you will be left with his kindness. Or such is my experience; I don't mean to preach at you."

"No, no that is very helpful. I thank you." She sighed. "But I must also forgive myself! I am so humiliated by how I behaved today! Like an utter fool!"

"Now that we can do something about right now." He stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face her. "Miss Elliot," he said, smiling, " I propose that we make a pact, you and I! I will agree to forget all about your perfectly natural and understandable behavior today (which you term 'humiliating') and you will please forget my weepy-eyed, foolish melancholy at Lyme."

"Which was perfectly natural and understandable," she added.

He grinned. "Very well, accepted with the addendum! We both agree to forget the bad behavior of the other and henceforth we shall not refer to it in thought, word, or deed, unless we mutually agree to do so." He put out his gloved hand. "Do we have a deal?"

She placed her hand in his. "Yes, indeed! I wholeheartedly agree."

"Good!" He shook her hand firmly, then offered her his arm again in order to continue walking. "And now, have you any objection if I choose the next topic for our conversation?"

"None at all, Captain Benwick. Indeed, I would be most grateful if you would."

"Ah! That is the correct answer! Well, I wish you will tell me, with as much detail as you like, all about your family estate and its history. For it has been a fascinating place to stay and I am frustrated to be leaving so soon, having learned so little."

Not unnaturally, this was a very pleasant subject for Anne. Captain Benwick launched right in, peppering her with questions about Kellynch Hall: its age, origin, size, architectural style, the dates different wings had been added, and about some of the people whose portraits he had seen hanging in the gallery. His descriptions of these (for he did not know any names, and so had to rely on odd facial features, props, or clothing) were very amusing, and they walked slowly along the path, quite pleased to be in company together.

But as they neared Uppercross Cottage, during a discussion of the outlandish customs of chivalry and honor held by some, Benwick noticed that Anne's attention had wandered; she began answering him very much at random, and at last fell silent. He walked along beside her without speaking. It was not difficult to guess where her thoughts had drifted. Such a letter! Frederick, my friend, you are a complete idiot! You have wounded two lovely young women! If you are twice as miserable as you make out to be, it will be less than you deserve!

Perhaps, he stole a look at Anne; her face was pale and sad, if I had known how things really stood between Frederick and Miss Anne, I would have given more serious consideration to ... Benwick sighed and directed his eyes toward the hedgerow on his side of the pathway. But no, it would not have been fair to her. Louisa Musgrove had admired him, she had been grateful for his attentions to her, but he knew this was because she was injured and helpless. He had reasoned it out very carefully, for he had been attracted to her, what man would not have been? She was so lovely and vulnerable; her manner toward him had been completely open and trusting. Louisa Musgrove could easily have been persuaded to believe herself in love with me. But when she recovered ...

Benwick sighed again. He was under no illusions, his eleven years in the social circles of the Navy had taught him that he was not the type of man that women gave a moment's thought to. Fanny Harville had been the lone exception, a complete surprise. High spirited, joyous talking Louisa would certainly come to regret taking him as husband. I would be a profound disappointment to any woman who has loved Frederick! He smiled a little sadly and glanced over at Anne, still lost in her thoughts. Poor Miss Anne. What a dismal state of affairs! I wonder what will become of her now? Will she ever find love again? Will I ...

"He felt he was doing the honorable thing, in marrying Louisa." Anne interrupted his melancholy musings, speaking her thought aloud. "That is ... commendable, to do one's duty, even though it violates the wishes of one's own heart." She lifted her eyes from the pathway to look at Captain Benwick. "Isn't it?"

"It is, Miss Anne," he replied quietly.

"I mean, I can admire that in him, even if I do not understand why."

Benwick nodded silently; his heart was wrung to see Anne's pathetic attempt to defend the man who had hurt her so. She loved him in spite of his failings; that was love indeed.

"I am afraid I have violated our agreement, by talking about this subject again," she confessed. "I am sorry."

"We agreed not to condemn ourselves by remembering our bad behavior, Miss Anne, nothing more. Please continue, if you wish."

"If I wish, yes," she stared down at the ground again; their pace had slowed, now it halted altogether. "What I wish ... is to understand why he did it. Do you suppose he felt responsible for Louisa's accident?"

Captain Benwick hesitated, frowning as he considered how to answer. "Frederick wrote that he had behaved foolishly and unguardedly," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "I think he meant his obvious preference for Louisa, which you had seen yourself; his singling her out. It was rather pointed; even the Harvilles considered them to have some sort of an ...understanding between them." The fact that Frederick had flatly denied an engagement he kept to himself.

"But if he loved me all the while, then why would he ...?" She raised her eyes to meet Benwick's.

" I believe it is a case of a man coming to know the true condition of his heart ... too late." he said gently.

"Oh." Anne's voice was small and sad. She looked back at the pathway and took a step, intending to resume walking back to the cottage. It was quite nearby, its dark form could be seen through the barren branches of the trees ahead of them.

"Miss Anne," Captain Benwick caught her arm and held her back, speaking with warmth and intensity, "before we return to the party and to the ... world of propriety and manners ... there is something I would like to ask you, something that I have been thinking about these past days."

He looked directly into her eyes. "Is there any hope for us? For love?"

Anne's eyes widened. Was this some sort of a declaration?

He saw her dismay and hastily corrected himself. "No, no, not for us, I mean for each of us, individually: for you, for me, ... and for Frederick. We are young; we may well have many years ahead of us. Can we ever find love again? Or ... have we had our one chance at true intimacy with another and now ... there is nothing left?

She stared at him, struggling with the implication of his words. There is nothing left?

Captain Benwick continued, "Can the human heart ever learn to love again? Intimately, profoundly, deeply ... the way you and I have known it? To find another ... how did I put it earlier ... kindred spirit. Could we find that?"

Anne found herself with nothing to say.

"The poets tell us no. There is much written about the anguish and mourning over the loss of true love. The surviving lover wishing to die and join the other, casting himself (or herself) on the beloved one's grave, weeping, wishing to kiss the beloved's 'clay-cold lips,' or else pining away, with nothing to look forword to but lifelong loneliness!" He smiled slightly. "I know, I have read them all, or very nearly so. And you were very right to warn me about the danger, Miss Anne! For there is nothing that I can find to give us hope of loving that way again."

He sighed and looked up at the barren trees ahead of them. "But ... I am coming to understand that while poetry is a wonderful vehicle for describing the passions of the human heart, it is quite unreliable in prescribing what it is that we should do about our despair. And so I wonder, is this all? Or is there more?"

He looked over at Anne, his dark eyes full of compassion. "I am sorry Miss Anne. I do not have an answer for this question; I do not expect to have one from you. You have more than enough to deal with, without me adding to it. But it is something worth pondering about; whether either of us may dare to dream of being happy again."

"I do so want that," Anne whispered.

"And I. And I have been thinking. Perhaps it is not completely impossible. You see, I did not always love Fanny, not at first. I knew her only as Harville's younger sister. And then one evening we began to talk and ... it was magic! Do you suppose that can ever happen again?"

"I hope so, Captain Benwick."

"I do too, Miss Anne. So perhaps we should do just that ... dare to hope for love someday. It will not be the same as it was before, not at first. And it may come from an unexpected source, but ..." His attention was reclaimed by the sound of voices, "Oh ... uh ... good afternoon." He nodded politely to a knot of gentlemen who passed them as they made their way down the path. "Civilization," he murmured to Anne, taking a deep breath; "and the world of propriety. Well! Shall we go on? I believe I am finished with my rantings and can converse more normally now."

"Oh, yes, of course," Anne replied, as they resumed their walk. "Conversing normally ... that is, about nothing in particular." She smiled wryly. "Have we ever done that, you and I?"

"No, I suppose we have not," he smiled at the irony of her observation. "It is only the tragic and heart-rending for us! We seem to prefer the deep water! But we should make the effort, you know." He cleared his throat. "So tell me, Miss Elliot, " he said, with mock affability; "how have you enjoyed your visit here at Uppercross?"

"Very well, I thank you, sir," she countered, "we have had remarkably fine weather these past few days."

He chuckled a little at her quip. She was quite a young woman, this Miss Anne Elliot. To look at her beautiful face, her small frame, and gentle, retiring ways, one would never guess at the hidden strength of character within. It was no wonder that she had caught ... and held, the heart of Frederick Wentworth.

Within a few moments they had reached the paving stones which led to the front door, it was nearly time to say good bye. Captain Benwick wondered how to do this; he found he was very sorry to leave her, even after such a trying morning. "Miss Anne, we sailors are not very good at ..."

"Captain Benwick, I have been wearing your coat this entire time!" she interrupted. "You must be nearly frozen! Would you like to come in and sit by the fire awhile?"

"Ah, do you know, I would like that," he said, rather bashfully. "I am rather cold. And we may continue practicing our 'normal' conversation while we warm ourselves." They turned and walked up to the front entrance together. "Let me see, it is now my turn to think of nothing to say. How is this? Ahem! 'And what do you find to occupy yourself within Uppercross, Miss Elliot?'"

Anne opened the door. " 'I read .... poetry,' Captain Benwick. But not during this visit! Let me tell you about what I have been ..." The heavy door swung closed behind them and shut out the cold of that short winter's day, which had been the longest day of Anne's life. But it was not over, not yet.

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