Pride and Prejudice

Jane Austen

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Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that asingle man in possession of a good fortune,must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views ofsuch a man may be on his first entering aneighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in theminds of the surrounding families, that he isconsidered the rightful property of some one orother of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him oneday, "have you heard that Netherfield Park islet at last?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has justbeen here, and she told me all about it."

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

"Do you not want to know who has taken it?"cried his wife impatiently.

"You want to tell me, and I have no objection tohearing it."

This was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Longsays that Netherfield is taken by a young manof large fortune from the north of England; thathe came down on Monday in a chaise and fourto see the place, and was so much delightedwith it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris imme-diately; that he is to take possession beforeMichaelmas, and some of his servants are to bein the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single manof large fortune; four or five thousand a year.What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "howcan you be so tiresome! You must know that Iam thinking of his marrying one of them."

"Is that his design in settling here?"

"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But itis very likely that he may fall in love with one ofthem, and therefore you must visit him as soonas he comes."

"I see no occasion for that. You and the girlsmay go, or you may send them by themselves,which perhaps will be still better, for as you areas handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley maylike you the best of the party."

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have hadmy share of beauty, but I do not pretend to beanything extraordinary now. When a womanhas five grown-up daughters, she ought to giveover thinking of her own beauty."

"In such cases, a woman has not often muchbeauty to think of."

"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr.Bingley when he comes into the neighbour-hood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."

"But consider your daughters. Only think whatan establishment it would be for one of them.Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined togo, merely on that account, for in general, youknow, they visit no newcomers. Indeed youmust go, for it will be impossible for us to visithim if you do not."

"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare sayMr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and Iwill send a few lines by you to assure him ofmy hearty consent to his marrying whicheverhe chooses of the girls; though I must throw ina good word for my little Lizzy."

"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is nota bit better than the others; and I am sure she isnot half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always givingher the preference."

"They have none of them much to recommendthem," replied he; "they are all silly and igno-rant like other girls; but Lizzy has somethingmore of quickness than her sisters."

"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own chil-dren in such a way? You take delight in vexingme. You have no compassion for my poornerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high re-spect for your nerves. They are my old friends.I have heard you mention them with considera-tion these last twenty years at least."

"Ah, you do not know what I suffer."

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to seemany young men of four thousand a year comeinto the neighbourhood."

"It will be no use to us, if twenty such shouldcome, since you will not visit them."

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there aretwenty, I will visit them all."

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quickparts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice,that the experience of three-and-twenty yearshad been insufficient to make his wife under-stand his character. Her mind was less difficultto develop. She was a woman of mean under-

standing, little information, and uncertain tem-per. When she was discontented, she fanciedherself nervous. The business of her life was toget her daughters married; its solace was visit-ing and news.

Chapter 2

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of thosewho waited on Mr. Bingley. He had alwaysintended to visit him, though to the last alwaysassuring his wife that he should not go; and tillthe evening after the visit was paid she had noknowledge of it. It was then disclosed in thefollowing manner. Observing his seconddaughter employed in trimming a hat, he sud-denly addressed her with:

"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy."

"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingleylikes," said her mother resentfully, "since weare not to visit."

"But you forget, mamma," said Elizabeth, "thatwe shall meet him at the assemblies, and thatMrs. Long promised to introduce him."

"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any suchthing. She has two nieces of her own. She is aselfish, hypocritical woman, and I have noopinion of her."

"No more have I," said Mr. Bennet; "and I amglad to find that you do not depend on herserving you."

Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply,but, unable to contain herself, began scoldingone of her daughters.

"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven'ssake! Have a little compassion on my nerves.You tear them to pieces."

"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," said herfather; "she times them ill."

"I do not cough for my own amusement," re-plied Kitty fretfully. "When is your next ball tobe, Lizzy?"

"To-morrow fortnight."

"Aye, so it is," cried her mother, "and Mrs. Longdoes not come back till the day before; so it willbe impossible for her to introduce him, for shewill not know him herself."

"Then, my dear, you may have the advantageof your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley toher."

"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I amnot acquainted with him myself; how can yoube so teasing?"

"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight'sacquaintance is certainly very little. One cannotknow what a man really is by the end of a fort-night. But if we do not venture somebody elsewill; and after all, Mrs. Long and her daughtersmust stand their chance; and, therefore, as shewill think it an act of kindness, if you declinethe office, I will take it on myself."

The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet saidonly, "Nonsense, nonsense!"

"What can be the meaning of that emphaticexclamation?" cried he. "Do you consider theforms of introduction, and the stress that is laidon them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree withyou there. What say you, Mary? For you are ayoung lady of deep reflection, I know, and readgreat books and make extracts."

Mary wished to say something sensible, butknew not how.

"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he contin-ued, "let us return to Mr. Bingley."

"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried his wife.

"I am sorry to hear that; but why did not youtell me that before? If I had known as much thismorning I certainly would not have called onhim. It is very unlucky; but as I have actuallypaid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaint-ance now."

The astonishment of the ladies was just what hewished; that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassingthe rest; though, when the first tumult of joywas over, she began to declare that it was whatshe had expected all the while.

"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet!But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was

sure you loved your girls too well to neglectsuch an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am!and it is such a good joke, too, that you shouldhave gone this morning and never said a wordabout it till now."

"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as youchoose," said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, heleft the room, fatigued with the raptures of hiswife.

"What an excellent father you have, girls!" saidshe, when the door was shut. "I do not knowhow you will ever make him amends for hiskindness; or me, either, for that matter. At ourtime of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, tobe making new acquaintances every day; butfor your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia,my love, though you are the youngest, I daresay Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the nextball."

"Oh!" said Lydia stoutly, "I am not afraid; forthough I am the youngest, I'm the tallest."

The rest of the evening was spent in conjectur-ing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet'svisit, and determining when they should askhim to dinner.

Chapter 3

Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with theassistance of her five daughters, could ask onthe subject, was sufficient to draw from herhusband any satisfactory description of Mr.Bingley. They attacked him in various ways—with barefaced questions, ingenious supposi-tions, and distant surmises; but he eluded theskill of them all, and they were at last obliged

to accept the second-hand intelligence of theirneighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highlyfavourable. Sir William had been delightedwith him. He was quite young, wonderfullyhandsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crownthe whole, he meant to be at the next assemblywith a large party. Nothing could be more de-lightful! To be fond of dancing was a certainstep towards falling in love; and very livelyhopes of Mr. Bingley's heart were entertained.

"If I can but see one of my daughters happilysettled at Netherfield," said Mrs. Bennet to herhusband, "and all the others equally well mar-ried, I shall have nothing to wish for."

In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Ben-net's visit, and sat about ten minutes with himin his library. He had entertained hopes of be-ing admitted to a sight of the young ladies, ofwhose beauty he had heard much; but he sawonly the father. The ladies were somewhatmore fortunate, for they had the advantage of

ascertaining from an upper window that hewore a blue coat, and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwardsdispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennetplanned the courses that were to do credit toher housekeeping, when an answer arrivedwhich deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obligedto be in town the following day, and, conse-quently, unable to accept the honour of theirinvitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite discon-certed. She could not imagine what business hecould have in town so soon after his arrival inHertfordshire; and she began to fear that hemight be always flying about from one place toanother, and never settled at Netherfield as heought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears alittle by starting the idea of his being gone toLondon only to get a large party for the ball;and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingleywas to bring twelve ladies and seven gentle-men with him to the assembly. The girls

grieved over such a number of ladies, but werecomforted the day before the ball by hearing,that instead of twelve he brought only six withhim from London—his five sisters and acousin. And when the party entered the assem-bly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of theeldest, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentle-manlike; he had a pleasant countenance, andeasy, unaffected manners. His sisters were finewomen, with an air of decided fashion. Hisbrother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked thegentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drewthe attention of the room by his fine, tall per-son, handsome features, noble mien, and thereport which was in general circulation withinfive minutes after his entrance, of his havingten thousand a year. The gentlemen pro-nounced him to be a fine figure of a man, theladies declared he was much handsomer than

Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with greatadmiration for about half the evening, till hismanners gave a disgust which turned the tideof his popularity; for he was discovered to beproud; to be above his company, and abovebeing pleased; and not all his large estate inDerbyshire could then save him from having amost forbidding, disagreeable countenance,and being unworthy to be compared with hisfriend.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquaintedwith all the principal people in the room; hewas lively and unreserved, danced everydance, was angry that the ball closed so early,and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield.Such amiable qualities must speak for them-selves. What a contrast between him and hisfriend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs.Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declinedbeing introduced to any other lady, and spentthe rest of the evening in walking about the

room, speaking occasionally to one of his ownparty. His character was decided. He was theproudest, most disagreeable man in the world,and everybody hoped that he would nevercome there again. Amongst the most violentagainst him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike ofhis general behaviour was sharpened into par-ticular resentment by his having slighted one ofher daughters.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scar-city of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances;and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy hadbeen standing near enough for her to hear aconversation between him and Mr. Bingley,who came from the dance for a few minutes, topress his friend to join it.

"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have youdance. I hate to see you standing about byyourself in this stupid manner. You had muchbetter dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it,unless I am particularly acquainted with mypartner. At such an assembly as this it wouldbe insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, andthere is not another woman in the room whomit would not be a punishment to me to stand upwith."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," criedMr. Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour,I never met with so many pleasant girls in mylife as I have this evening; and there are severalof them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girlin the room," said Mr. Darcy, looking at theeldest Miss Bennet.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I everbeheld! But there is one of her sisters sittingdown just behind you, who is very pretty, and Idare say very agreeable. Do let me ask mypartner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" and turning round helooked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catchingher eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said:"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough totempt me; I am in no humour at present to giveconsequence to young ladies who are slightedby other men. You had better return to yourpartner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wast-ing your time with me."

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcywalked off; and Elizabeth remained with novery cordial feelings toward him. She told thestory, however, with great spirit among herfriends; for she had a lively, playful disposition,which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly tothe whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen hereldest daughter much admired by the Nether-field party. Mr. Bingley had danced with hertwice, and she had been distinguished by hissisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as

her mother could be, though in a quieter way.Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary had heardherself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the mostaccomplished girl in the neighbourhood; andCatherine and Lydia had been fortunateenough never to be without partners, whichwas all that they had yet learnt to care for at aball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits toLongbourn, the village where they lived, and ofwhich they were the principal inhabitants. Theyfound Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he wasregardless of time; and on the present occasionhe had a good deal of curiosity as to the eventsof an evening which had raised such splendidexpectations. He had rather hoped that hiswife's views on the stranger would be disap-pointed; but he soon found out that he had adifferent story to hear.

"Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet," as she entered theroom, "we have had a most delightful evening,a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there.

Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it.Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr.Bingley thought her quite beautiful, anddanced with her twice! Only think of that, mydear; he actually danced with her twice! andshe was the only creature in the room that heasked a second time. First of all, he asked MissLucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up withher! But, however, he did not admire her at all;indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemedquite struck with Jane as she was going downthe dance. So he inquired who she was, and gotintroduced, and asked her for the two next.Then the two third he danced with Miss King,and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and thetwo fifth with Jane again, and the two sixthwith Lizzy, and the Boulanger—"

"If he had had any compassion for me," criedher husband impatiently, "he would not havedanced half so much! For God's sake, say no

more of his partners. O that he had sprained hisankle in the first dance!"

"Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him.He is so excessively handsome! And his sistersare charming women. I never in my life sawanything more elegant than their dresses. I daresay the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown—"

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennetprotested against any description of finery. Shewas therefore obliged to seek another branch ofthe subject, and related, with much bitterness ofspirit and some exaggeration, the shockingrudeness of Mr. Darcy.

"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzydoes not lose much by not suiting his fancy; forhe is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at allworth pleasing. So high and so conceited thatthere was no enduring him! He walked here,and he walked there, fancying himself so verygreat! Not handsome enough to dance with! I

wish you had been there, my dear, to havegiven him one of your set-downs. I quite detestthe man."

Chapter 4

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the for-mer, who had been cautious in her praise ofMr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister justhow very much she admired him.

"He is just what a young man ought to be," saidshe, "sensible, good-humoured, lively; and Inever saw such happy manners!—so muchease, with such perfect good breeding!"

"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth,"which a young man ought likewise to be, if he

possibly can. His character is thereby com-plete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me todance a second time. I did not expect such acompliment."

"Did not you? I did for you. But that is onegreat difference between us. Compliments al-ways take you by surprise, and me never. Whatcould be more natural than his asking youagain? He could not help seeing that you wereabout five times as pretty as every otherwoman in the room. No thanks to his gallantryfor that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable,and I give you leave to like him. You have likedmany a stupider person."

"Dear Lizzy!"

"Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, tolike people in general. You never see a fault inanybody. All the world are good and agreeable

in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of ahuman being in your life."

"I would not wish to be hasty in censuring any-one; but I always speak what I think."

"I know you do; and it is that which makes thewonder. With your good sense, to be so hon-estly blind to the follies and nonsense of others!Affectation of candour is common enough—one meets with it everywhere. But to be candidwithout ostentation or design—to take thegood of everybody's character and make it stillbetter, and say nothing of the bad—belongs toyou alone. And so you like this man's sisters,too, do you? Their manners are not equal tohis."

"Certainly not—at first. But they are very pleas-ing women when you converse with them.Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, andkeep his house; and I am much mistaken if we

shall not find a very charming neighbour inher."

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not con-vinced; their behaviour at the assembly had notbeen calculated to please in general; and withmore quickness of observation and less pliancyof temper than her sister, and with a judgementtoo unassailed by any attention to herself, shewas very little disposed to approve them. Theywere in fact very fine ladies; not deficient ingood humour when they were pleased, nor inthe power of making themselves agreeablewhen they chose it, but proud and conceited.They were rather handsome, had been edu-cated in one of the first private seminaries intown, had a fortune of twenty thousandpounds, were in the habit of spending morethan they ought, and of associating with peopleof rank, and were therefore in every respectentitled to think well of themselves, andmeanly of others. They were of a respectable

family in the north of England; a circumstancemore deeply impressed on their memories thanthat their brother's fortune and their own hadbeen acquired by trade.

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amountof nearly a hundred thousand pounds from hisfather, who had intended to purchase an estate,but did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended itlikewise, and sometimes made choice of hiscounty; but as he was now provided with agood house and the liberty of a manor, it wasdoubtful to many of those who best knew theeasiness of his temper, whether he might notspend the remainder of his days at Netherfield,and leave the next generation to purchase.

His sisters were anxious for his having an es-tate of his own; but, though he was now onlyestablished as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by nomeans unwilling to preside at his table—norwas Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man ofmore fashion than fortune, less disposed to

consider his house as her home when it suitedher. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years,when he was tempted by an accidental recom-mendation to look at Netherfield House. Hedid look at it, and into it for half-an-hour—waspleased with the situation and the principalrooms, satisfied with what the owner said in itspraise, and took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a verysteady friendship, in spite of great oppositionof character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy bythe easiness, openness, and ductility of histemper, though no disposition could offer agreater contrast to his own, and though withhis own he never appeared dissatisfied. On thestrength of Darcy's regard, Bingley had thefirmest reliance, and of his judgement the high-est opinion. In understanding, Darcy was thesuperior. Bingley was by no means deficient,but Darcy was clever. He was at the same timehaughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his

manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.In that respect his friend had greatly the advan-tage. Bingley was sure of being liked whereverhe appeared, Darcy was continually givingoffense.

The manner in which they spoke of the Mery-ton assembly was sufficiently characteristic.Bingley had never met with more pleasantpeople or prettier girls in his life; everybodyhad been most kind and attentive to him; therehad been no formality, no stiffness; he had soonfelt acquainted with all the room; and, as toMiss Bennet, he could not conceive an angelmore beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, hadseen a collection of people in whom there waslittle beauty and no fashion, for none of whomhe had felt the smallest interest, and from nonereceived either attention or pleasure. Miss Ben-net he acknowledged to be pretty, but shesmiled too much.

Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so—but still they admired her and liked her, andpronounced her to be a sweet girl, and onewhom they would not object to know more of.Miss Bennet was therefore established as asweet girl, and their brother felt authorized bysuch commendation to think of her as he chose.

Chapter 5

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a fam-ily with whom the Bennets were particularlyintimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerlyin trade in Meryton, where he had made a tol-erable fortune, and risen to the honour ofknighthood by an address to the king duringhis mayoralty. The distinction had perhapsbeen felt too strongly. It had given him a dis-

gust to his business, and to his residence in asmall market town; and, in quitting them both,he had removed with his family to a houseabout a mile from Meryton, denominated fromthat period Lucas Lodge, where he could thinkwith pleasure of his own importance, and, un-shackled by business, occupy himself solely inbeing civil to all the world. For, though elatedby his rank, it did not render him supercilious;on the contrary, he was all attention to every-body. By nature inoffensive, friendly, andobliging, his presentation at St. James's hadmade him courteous.

Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman,not too clever to be a valuable neighbour toMrs. Bennet. They had several children. Theeldest of them, a sensible, intelligent youngwoman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth'sintimate friend.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennetsshould meet to talk over a ball was absolutely

necessary; and the morning after the assemblybrought the former to Longbourn to hear andto communicate.

"You began the evening well, Charlotte," saidMrs. Bennet with civil self-command to MissLucas. "You were Mr. Bingley's first choice."

"Yes; but he seemed to like his second better."

"Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because hedanced with her twice. To be sure that did seemas if he admired her—indeed I rather believe hedid—I heard something about it—but I hardlyknow what—something about Mr. Robinson."

"Perhaps you mean what I overheard betweenhim and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it toyou? Mr. Robinson's asking him how he likedour Meryton assemblies, and whether he didnot think there were a great many prettywomen in the room, and which he thought theprettiest? and his answering immediately to the

last question: 'Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, be-yond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions onthat point.'"

"Upon my word! Well, that is very decidedindeed—that does seem as if—but, however, itmay all come to nothing, you know."

"My overhearings were more to the purposethan yours, Eliza," said Charlotte. "Mr. Darcy isnot so well worth listening to as his friend, ishe?—poor Eliza!—to be only just tolerable."

"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head tobe vexed by his ill-treatment, for he is such adisagreeable man, that it would be quite a mis-fortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told melast night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips."

"Are you quite sure, ma'am?—is not there alittle mistake?" said Jane. "I certainly saw Mr.Darcy speaking to her."

"Aye—because she asked him at last how heliked Netherfield, and he could not help an-swering her; but she said he seemed quite an-gry at being spoke to."

"Miss Bingley told me," said Jane, "that henever speaks much, unless among his intimateacquaintances. With them he is remarkablyagreeable."

"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he hadbeen so very agreeable, he would have talkedto Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; eve-rybody says that he is eat up with pride, and Idare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Longdoes not keep a carriage, and had come to theball in a hack chaise."

"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,"said Miss Lucas, "but I wish he had dancedwith Eliza."

"Another time, Lizzy," said her mother, "Iwould not dance with him, if I were you."

"I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise younever to dance with him."

"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offendme so much as pride often does, because thereis an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that sovery fine a young man, with family, fortune,everything in his favour, should think highly ofhimself. If I may so express it, he has a right tobe proud."

"That is very true," replied Elizabeth, "and Icould easily forgive his pride, if he had notmortified mine."

"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued herselfupon the solidity of her reflections, "is a verycommon failing, I believe. By all that I haveever read, I am convinced that it is very com-mon indeed; that human nature is particularly

prone to it, and that there are very few of uswho do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality orother, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride aredifferent things, though the words are oftenused synonymously. A person may be proudwithout being vain. Pride relates more to ouropinion of ourselves, vanity to what we wouldhave others think of us."

"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a youngLucas, who came with his sisters, "I should notcare how proud I was. I would keep a pack offoxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day."

"Then you would drink a great deal more thanyou ought," said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were tosee you at it, I should take away your bottledirectly."

The boy protested that she should not; she con-tinued to declare that she would, and the ar-gument ended only with the visit.

Chapter 6

The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on thoseof Netherfield. The visit was soon returned indue form. Miss Bennet's pleasing mannersgrew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and MissBingley; and though the mother was found tobe intolerable, and the younger sisters notworth speaking to, a wish of being better ac-quainted with them was expressed towards thetwo eldest. By Jane, this attention was receivedwith the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth stillsaw superciliousness in their treatment of eve-rybody, hardly excepting even her sister, andcould not like them; though their kindness toJane, such as it was, had a value as arising in allprobability from the influence of their brother's

admiration. It was generally evident wheneverthey met, that he did admire her and to her itwas equally evident that Jane was yielding tothe preference which she had begun to enter-tain for him from the first, and was in a way tobe very much in love; but she considered withpleasure that it was not likely to be discoveredby the world in general, since Jane united, withgreat strength of feeling, a composure of tem-per and a uniform cheerfulness of mannerwhich would guard her from the suspicions ofthe impertinent. She mentioned this to herfriend Miss Lucas.

"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied Charlotte,"to be able to impose on the public in such acase; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to beso very guarded. If a woman conceals her affec-tion with the same skill from the object of it, shemay lose the opportunity of fixing him; and itwill then be but poor consolation to believe theworld equally in the dark. There is so much of

gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment,that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We canall begin freely—a slight preference is naturalenough; but there are very few of us who haveheart enough to be really in love without en-couragement. In nine cases out of ten a womenhad better show more affection than she feels.Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but hemay never do more than like her, if she doesnot help him on."

"But she does help him on, as much as her na-ture will allow. If I can perceive her regard forhim, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not todiscover it too."

"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane'sdisposition as you do."

"But if a woman is partial to a man, and doesnot endeavour to conceal it, he must find itout."

"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But,though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, itis never for many hours together; and, as theyalways see each other in large mixed parties, itis impossible that every moment should beemployed in conversing together. Jane shouldtherefore make the most of every half-hour inwhich she can command his attention. Whenshe is secure of him, there will be more leisurefor falling in love as much as she chooses."

"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth,"where nothing is in question but the desire ofbeing well married, and if I were determined toget a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say Ishould adopt it. But these are not Jane's feel-ings; she is not acting by design. As yet, shecannot even be certain of the degree of her ownregard nor of its reasonableness. She hasknown him only a fortnight. She danced fourdances with him at Meryton; she saw him onemorning at his own house, and has since dined

with him in company four times. This is notquite enough to make her understand his char-acter."

"Not as you represent it. Had she merely dinedwith him, she might only have discoveredwhether he had a good appetite; but you mustremember that four evenings have also beenspent together—and four evenings may do agreat deal."

"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them toascertain that they both like Vingt-un betterthan Commerce; but with respect to any otherleading characteristic, I do not imagine thatmuch has been unfolded."

"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success withall my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good achance of happiness as if she were to be study-ing his character for a twelvemonth. Happinessin marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the

dispositions of the parties are ever so wellknown to each other or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in theleast. They always continue to grow sufficientlyunlike afterwards to have their share of vexa-tion; and it is better to know as little as possibleof the defects of the person with whom you areto pass your life."

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is notsound. You know it is not sound, and that youwould never act in this way yourself."

Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentionsto her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspectingthat she was herself becoming an object of someinterest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy hadat first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he hadlooked at her without admiration at the ball;and when they next met, he looked at her onlyto criticise. But no sooner had he made it clearto himself and his friends that she hardly had agood feature in her face, than he began to find

it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by thebeautiful expression of her dark eyes. To thisdiscovery succeeded some others equally mor-tifying. Though he had detected with a criticaleye more than one failure of perfect symmetryin her form, he was forced to acknowledge herfigure to be light and pleasing; and in spite ofhis asserting that her manners were not those ofthe fashionable world, he was caught by theireasy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly un-aware; to her he was only the man who madehimself agreeable nowhere, and who had notthought her handsome enough to dance with.

He began to wish to know more of her, and as astep towards conversing with her himself, at-tended to her conversation with others. Hisdoing so drew her notice. It was at Sir WilliamLucas's, where a large party were assembled.

"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she to Char-lotte, "by listening to my conversation withColonel Forster?"

"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only cananswer."

"But if he does it any more I shall certainly lethim know that I see what he is about. He has avery satirical eye, and if I do not begin by beingimpertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid ofhim."

On his approaching them soon afterwards,though without seeming to have any intentionof speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend tomention such a subject to him; which immedi-ately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned tohim and said:

"Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressedmyself uncommonly well just now, when I wasteasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball atMeryton?"

"With great energy; but it is always a subjectwhich makes a lady energetic."

"You are severe on us."

"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said MissLucas. "I am going to open the instrument,Eliza, and you know what follows."

"You are a very strange creature by way of afriend!—always wanting me to play and singbefore anybody and everybody! If my vanityhad taken a musical turn, you would have beeninvaluable; but as it is, I would really rather notsit down before those who must be in the habitof hearing the very best performers." On MissLucas's persevering, however, she added, "Verywell, if it must be so, it must." And gravelyglancing at Mr. Darcy, "There is a fine old say-ing, which everybody here is of course familiarwith: 'Keep your breath to cool your porridge';and I shall keep mine to swell my song."

Her performance was pleasing, though by nomeans capital. After a song or two, and beforeshe could reply to the entreaties of several that

she would sing again, she was eagerly suc-ceeded at the instrument by her sister Mary,who having, in consequence of being the onlyplain one in the family, worked hard forknowledge and accomplishments, was alwaysimpatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and thoughvanity had given her application, it had givenher likewise a pedantic air and conceited man-ner, which would have injured a higher degreeof excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth,easy and unaffected, had been listened to withmuch more pleasure, though not playing halfso well; and Mary, at the end of a long con-certo, was glad to purchase praise and grati-tude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request ofher younger sisters, who, with some of the Lu-cases, and two or three officers, joined eagerlyin dancing at one end of the room.

Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignationat such a mode of passing the evening, to the

exclusion of all conversation, and was toomuch engrossed by his thoughts to perceivethat Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, tillSir William thus began:

"What a charming amusement for young peo-ple this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing likedancing after all. I consider it as one of the firstrefinements of polished society."

"Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also ofbeing in vogue amongst the less polished socie-ties of the world. Every savage can dance."

Sir William only smiled. "Your friend performsdelightfully," he continued after a pause, onseeing Bingley join the group; "and I doubt notthat you are an adept in the science yourself,Mr. Darcy."

"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir."

"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderablepleasure from the sight. Do you often dance atSt. James's?"

"Never, sir."

"Do you not think it would be a proper com-pliment to the place?"

"It is a compliment which I never pay to anyplace if I can avoid it."

"You have a house in town, I conclude?"

Mr. Darcy bowed.

"I had once had some thought of fixing in townmyself—for I am fond of superior society; but Idid not feel quite certain that the air of Londonwould agree with Lady Lucas."

He paused in hopes of an answer; but his com-panion was not disposed to make any; andElizabeth at that instant moving towards them,

he was struck with the action of doing a verygallant thing, and called out to her:

"My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present thisyoung lady to you as a very desirable partner.You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when somuch beauty is before you." And, taking herhand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcywho, though extremely surprised, was not un-willing to receive it, when she instantly drewback, and said with some discomposure to SirWilliam:

"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention ofdancing. I entreat you not to suppose that Imoved this way in order to beg for a partner."

Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested tobe allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain.Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir Williamat all shake her purpose by his attempt at per-suasion.

"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza,that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of see-ing you; and though this gentleman dislikes theamusement in general, he can have no objec-tion, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour."

"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said Elizabeth,smiling.

"He is, indeed; but, considering the induce-ment, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder athis complaisance—for who would object tosuch a partner?"

Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Herresistance had not injured her with the gentle-man, and he was thinking of her with somecomplacency, when thus accosted by MissBingley:

"I can guess the subject of your reverie."

"I should imagine not."

"You are considering how insupportable itwould be to pass many evenings in this man-ner—in such society; and indeed I am quite ofyour opinion. I was never more annoyed! Theinsipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness,and yet the self-importance of all those people!What would I give to hear your strictures onthem!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you.My mind was more agreeably engaged. I havebeen meditating on the very great pleasurewhich a pair of fine eyes in the face of a prettywoman can bestow."

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on hisface, and desired he would tell her what ladyhad the credit of inspiring such reflections. Mr.Darcy replied with great intrepidity:

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley."I am all astonishment. How long has she beensuch a favourite?—and pray, when am I towish you joy?"

"That is exactly the question which I expectedyou to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid;it jumps from admiration to love, from love tomatrimony, in a moment. I knew you would bewishing me joy."

"Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall con-sider the matter is absolutely settled. You willbe having a charming mother-in-law, indeed;and, of course, she will always be at Pemberleywith you."

He listened to her with perfect indifferencewhile she chose to entertain herself in thismanner; and as his composure convinced herthat all was safe, her wit flowed long.

Chapter 7

Mr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirelyin an estate of two thousand a year, which, un-fortunately for his daughters, was entailed, indefault of heirs male, on a distant relation; andtheir mother's fortune, though ample for hersituation in life, could but ill supply the defi-ciency of his. Her father had been an attorneyin Meryton, and had left her four thousandpounds.

She had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, whohad been a clerk to their father and succeededhim in the business, and a brother settled inLondon in a respectable line of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one milefrom Meryton; a most convenient distance forthe young ladies, who were usually temptedthither three or four times a week, to pay theirduty to their aunt and to a milliner's shop justover the way. The two youngest of the family,Catherine and Lydia, were particularly fre-quent in these attentions; their minds weremore vacant than their sisters', and when noth-ing better offered, a walk to Meryton was nec-essary to amuse their morning hours and fur-nish conversation for the evening; and howeverbare of news the country in general might be,they always contrived to learn some from theiraunt. At present, indeed, they were well sup-plied both with news and happiness by therecent arrival of a militia regiment in theneighbourhood; it was to remain the wholewinter, and Meryton was the headquarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Phillips were now produc-tive of the most interesting intelligence. Every

day added something to their knowledge of theofficers' names and connections. Their lodgingswere not long a secret, and at length they beganto know the officers themselves. Mr. Phillipsvisited them all, and this opened to his nieces astore of felicity unknown before. They couldtalk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley'slarge fortune, the mention of which gave ani-mation to their mother, was worthless in theireyes when opposed to the regimentals of anensign.

After listening one morning to their effusionson this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed:

"From all that I can collect by your manner oftalking, you must be two of the silliest girls inthe country. I have suspected it some time, butI am now convinced."

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no an-swer; but Lydia, with perfect indifference, con-tinued to express her admiration of Captain

Carter, and her hope of seeing him in thecourse of the day, as he was going the nextmorning to London.

"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet,"that you should be so ready to think your ownchildren silly. If I wished to think slightingly ofanybody's children, it should not be of my own,however."

"If my children are silly, I must hope to be al-ways sensible of it."

"Yes—but as it happens, they are all of themvery clever."

"This is the only point, I flatter myself, onwhich we do not agree. I had hoped that oursentiments coincided in every particular, but Imust so far differ from you as to think our twoyoungest daughters uncommonly foolish."

"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect suchgirls to have the sense of their father andmother. When they get to our age, I dare saythey will not think about officers any more thanwe do. I remember the time when I liked a redcoat myself very well—and, indeed, so I do stillat my heart; and if a smart young colonel, withfive or six thousand a year, should want one ofmy girls I shall not say nay to him; and Ithought Colonel Forster looked very becomingthe other night at Sir William's in his regimen-tals."

"Mamma," cried Lydia, "my aunt says thatColonel Forster and Captain Carter do not goso often to Miss Watson's as they did whenthey first came; she sees them now very oftenstanding in Clarke's library."

Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by theentrance of the footman with a note for MissBennet; it came from Netherfield, and the ser-vant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes

sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerlycalling out, while her daughter read,

"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about?What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste andtell us; make haste, my love."

"It is from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and thenread it aloud.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,—

"If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in dangerof hating each other for the rest of our lives, fora whole day's tete-a-tete between two womencan never end without a quarrel. Come as soonas you can on receipt of this. My brother andthe gentlemen are to dine with the officers.—Yours ever,

"CAROLINE BINGLEY"

"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder myaunt did not tell us of that."

"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet, "that is veryunlucky."

"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane.

"No, my dear, you had better go on horseback,because it seems likely to rain; and then youmust stay all night."

"That would be a good scheme," said Elizabeth,"if you were sure that they would not offer tosend her home."

"Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley'schaise to go to Meryton, and the Hursts haveno horses to theirs."

"I had much rather go in the coach."

"But, my dear, your father cannot spare thehorses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm,Mr. Bennet, are they not?"

"They are wanted in the farm much oftenerthan I can get them."

"But if you have got them to-day," said Eliza-beth, "my mother's purpose will be answered."

She did at last extort from her father an ac-knowledgment that the horses were engaged.Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback,and her mother attended her to the door withmany cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Herhopes were answered; Jane had not been gonelong before it rained hard. Her sisters were un-easy for her, but her mother was delighted. Therain continued the whole evening without in-termission; Jane certainly could not come back.

"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" saidMrs. Bennet more than once, as if the credit ofmaking it rain were all her own. Till the nextmorning, however, she was not aware of all thefelicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was

scarcely over when a servant from Netherfieldbrought the following note for Elizabeth:

"MY DEAREST LIZZY,—

"I find myself very unwell this morning, which,I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wetthrough yesterday. My kind friends will nothear of my returning till I am better. They insistalso on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do notbe alarmed if you should hear of his havingbeen to me—and, excepting a sore throat andheadache, there is not much the matter withme.—Yours, etc."

"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, when Eliza-beth had read the note aloud, "if your daughtershould have a dangerous fit of illness—if sheshould die, it would be a comfort to know thatit was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and underyour orders."

"Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do notdie of little trifling colds. She will be taken good

care of. As long as she stays there, it is all verywell. I would go and see her if I could have thecarriage."

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was deter-mined to go to her, though the carriage was notto be had; and as she was no horsewoman,walking was her only alternative. She declaredher resolution.

"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "asto think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You willnot be fit to be seen when you get there."

"I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all Iwant."

"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said her father, "tosend for the horses?"

"No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk.The distance is nothing when one has a motive;only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."

"I admire the activity of your benevolence,"observed Mary, "but every impulse of feelingshould be guided by reason; and, in my opin-ion, exertion should always be in proportion towhat is required."

"We will go as far as Meryton with you," saidCatherine and Lydia. Elizabeth accepted theircompany, and the three young ladies set offtogether.

"If we make haste," said Lydia, as they walkedalong, "perhaps we may see something of Cap-tain Carter before he goes."

In Meryton they parted; the two youngest re-paired to the lodgings of one of the officers'wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone,crossing field after field at a quick pace, jump-ing over stiles and springing over puddles withimpatient activity, and finding herself at lastwithin view of the house, with weary ankles,

dirty stockings, and a face glowing with thewarmth of exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast-parlour,where all but Jane were assembled, and whereher appearance created a great deal of surprise.That she should have walked three miles soearly in the day, in such dirty weather, and byherself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurstand Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convincedthat they held her in contempt for it. She wasreceived, however, very politely by them; andin their brother's manners there was somethingbetter than politeness; there was good humourand kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, andMr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was di-vided between admiration of the brilliancywhich exercise had given to her complexion,and doubt as to the occasion's justifying hercoming so far alone. The latter was thinkingonly of his breakfast.

Her inquiries after her sister were not very fa-vourably answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill,and though up, was very feverish, and not wellenough to leave her room. Elizabeth was gladto be taken to her immediately; and Jane, whohad only been withheld by the fear of givingalarm or inconvenience from expressing in hernote how much she longed for such a visit, wasdelighted at her entrance. She was not equal,however, to much conversation, and whenMiss Bingley left them together, could attemptlittle besides expressions of gratitude for theextraordinary kindness she was treated with.Elizabeth silently attended her.

When breakfast was over they were joined bythe sisters; and Elizabeth began to like themherself, when she saw how much affection andsolicitude they showed for Jane. The apothe-cary came, and having examined his patient,said, as might be supposed, that she had caughta violent cold, and that they must endeavour to

get the better of it; advised her to return to bed,and promised her some draughts. The advicewas followed readily, for the feverish symp-toms increased, and her head ached acutely.Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment;nor were the other ladies often absent; the gen-tlemen being out, they had, in fact, nothing todo elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt thatshe must go, and very unwillingly said so. MissBingley offered her the carriage, and she onlywanted a little pressing to accept it, when Janetestified such concern in parting with her, thatMiss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer ofthe chaise to an invitation to remain at Nether-field for the present. Elizabeth most thankfullyconsented, and a servant was dispatched toLongbourn to acquaint the family with her stayand bring back a supply of clothes.

Chapter 8

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress,and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned todinner. To the civil inquiries which thenpoured in, and amongst which she had thepleasure of distinguishing the much superiorsolicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not makea very favourable answer. Jane was by nomeans better. The sisters, on hearing this, re-peated three or four times how much they weregrieved, how shocking it was to have a badcold, and how excessively they disliked beingill themselves; and then thought no more of thematter: and their indifference towards Janewhen not immediately before them restored

Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her formerdislike.

Their brother, indeed, was the only one of theparty whom she could regard with any com-placency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, andhis attentions to herself most pleasing, and theyprevented her feeling herself so much an in-truder as she believed she was considered bythe others. She had very little notice from anybut him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr.Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indo-lent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and playat cards; who, when he found her to prefer aplain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say toher.

When dinner was over, she returned directly toJane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her assoon as she was out of the room. Her mannerswere pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mix-ture of pride and impertinence; she had no

conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurstthought the same, and added:

"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her,but being an excellent walker. I shall never for-get her appearance this morning. She reallylooked almost wild."

"She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keepmy countenance. Very nonsensical to come atall! Why must she be scampering about thecountry, because her sister had a cold? Herhair, so untidy, so blowsy!"

"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her pet-ticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutelycertain; and the gown which had been let downto hide it not doing its office."

"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," saidBingley; "but this was all lost upon me. Ithought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked re-markably well when she came into the room

this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escapedmy notice."

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," saidMiss Bingley; "and I am inclined to think thatyou would not wish to see your sister makesuch an exhibition."

"Certainly not."

"To walk three miles, or four miles, or fivemiles, or whatever it is, above her ankles indirt, and alone, quite alone! What could shemean by it? It seems to me to show an abomi-nable sort of conceited independence, a mostcountry-town indifference to decorum."

"It shows an affection for her sister that is verypleasing," said Bingley.

"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingleyin a half whisper, "that this adventure has

rather affected your admiration of her fineeyes."

"Not at all," he replied; "they were brightenedby the exercise." A short pause followed thisspeech, and Mrs. Hurst began again:

"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Ben-net, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wishwith all my heart she were well settled. Butwith such a father and mother, and such lowconnections, I am afraid there is no chance ofit."

"I think I have heard you say that their uncle isan attorney on Meryton."

"Yes; and they have another, who lives some-where near Cheapside."

"That is capital," added her sister, and they bothlaughed heartily.

"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheap-side," cried Bingley, "it would not make themone jot less agreeable."

"But it must very materially lessen their chanceof marrying men of any consideration in theworld," replied Darcy.

To this speech Bingley made no answer; but hissisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulgedtheir mirth for some time at the expense of theirdear friend's vulgar relations.

With a renewal of tenderness, however, theyreturned to her room on leaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to cof-fee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabethwould not quit her at all, till late in the evening,when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep,and when it seemed to her rather right thanpleasant that she should go downstairs herself.On entering the drawing-room she found thewhole party at loo, and was immediately in-

vited to join them; but suspecting them to beplaying high she declined it, and making hersister the excuse, said she would amuse herselffor the short time she could stay below, with abook. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonish-ment.

"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "thatis rather singular."

"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "de-spises cards. She is a great reader, and has nopleasure in anything else."

"I deserve neither such praise nor such cen-sure," cried Elizabeth; "I am not a great reader,and I have pleasure in many things."

"In nursing your sister I am sure you havepleasure," said Bingley; "and I hope it will besoon increased by seeing her quite well."

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and thenwalked towards the table where a few bookswere lying. He immediately offered to fetch herothers—all that his library afforded.

"And I wish my collection were larger for yourbenefit and my own credit; but I am an idlefellow, and though I have not many, I havemore than I ever looked into."

Elizabeth assured him that she could suit her-self perfectly with those in the room.

"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that myfather should have left so small a collection ofbooks. What a delightful library you have atPemberley, Mr. Darcy!"

"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has beenthe work of many generations."

"And then you have added so much to it your-self, you are always buying books."

"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a familylibrary in such days as these."

"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing thatcan add to the beauties of that noble place.Charles, when you build your house, I wish itmay be half as delightful as Pemberley."

"I wish it may."

"But I would really advise you to make yourpurchase in that neighbourhood, and takePemberley for a kind of model. There is not afiner county in England than Derbyshire."

"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself ifDarcy will sell it."

"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."

"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think itmore possible to get Pemberley by purchasethan by imitation."

Elizabeth was so much caught with whatpassed, as to leave her very little attention forher book; and soon laying it wholly aside, shedrew near the card-table, and stationed herselfbetween Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister, toobserve the game.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?"said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"

"I think she will. She is now about Miss Eliza-beth Bennet's height, or rather taller."

"How I long to see her again! I never met withanybody who delighted me so much. Such acountenance, such manners! And so extremelyaccomplished for her age! Her performance onthe pianoforte is exquisite."

"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how youngladies can have patience to be so very accom-plished as they all are."

"All young ladies accomplished! My dearCharles, what do you mean?"

"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables,cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely knowanyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure Inever heard a young lady spoken of for the firsttime, without being informed that she was veryaccomplished."

"Your list of the common extent of accom-plishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth.The word is applied to many a woman whodeserves it no otherwise than by netting apurse or covering a screen. But I am very farfrom agreeing with you in your estimation ofladies in general. I cannot boast of knowingmore than half-a-dozen, in the whole range ofmy acquaintance, that are really accomplished."

"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.

"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must compre-hend a great deal in your idea of an accom-plished woman."

"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."

"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "noone can be really esteemed accomplished whodoes not greatly surpass what is usually metwith. A woman must have a thorough knowl-edge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, andthe modern languages, to deserve the word;and besides all this, she must possess a certainsomething in her air and manner of walking,the tone of her voice, her address and expres-sions, or the word will be but half-deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "andto all this she must yet add something moresubstantial, in the improvement of her mind byextensive reading."

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing onlysix accomplished women. I rather wonder nowat your knowing any."

"Are you so severe upon your own sex as todoubt the possibility of all this?"

"I never saw such a woman. I never saw suchcapacity, and taste, and application, and ele-gance, as you describe united."

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried outagainst the injustice of her implied doubt, andwere both protesting that they knew manywomen who answered this description, whenMr. Hurst called them to order, with bittercomplaints of their inattention to what wasgoing forward. As all conversation was therebyat an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left theroom.

"Elizabeth Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when thedoor was closed on her, "is one of those young

ladies who seek to recommend themselves tothe other sex by undervaluing their own; andwith many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, inmy opinion, it is a paltry device, a very meanart."

"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom thisremark was chiefly addressed, "there is ameanness in all the arts which ladies sometimescondescend to employ for captivation. What-ever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied withthis reply as to continue the subject.

Elizabeth joined them again only to say that hersister was worse, and that she could not leaveher. Bingley urged Mr. Jones being sent forimmediately; while his sisters, convinced thatno country advice could be of any service, rec-ommended an express to town for one of themost eminent physicians. This she would nothear of; but she was not so unwilling to comply

with their brother's proposal; and it was settledthat Mr. Jones should be sent for early in themorning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedlybetter. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; hissisters declared that they were miserable. Theysolaced their wretchedness, however, by duetsafter supper, while he could find no better re-lief to his feelings than by giving his house-keeper directions that every attention might bepaid to the sick lady and her sister.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in hersister's room, and in the morning had thepleasure of being able to send a tolerable an-swer to the inquiries which she very early re-ceived from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and

some time afterwards from the two elegantladies who waited on his sisters. In spite of thisamendment, however, she requested to have anote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother tovisit Jane, and form her own judgement of hersituation. The note was immediately dis-patched, and its contents as quickly compliedwith. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her twoyoungest girls, reached Netherfield soon afterthe family breakfast.

Had she found Jane in any apparent danger,Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable;but being satisfied on seeing her that her illnesswas not alarming, she had no wish of her re-covering immediately, as her restoration tohealth would probably remove her fromNetherfield. She would not listen, therefore, toher daughter's proposal of being carried home;neither did the apothecary, who arrived aboutthe same time, think it at all advisable. Aftersitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley's

appearance and invitation, the mother andthree daughter all attended her into the break-fast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes thatMrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worsethan she expected.

"Indeed I have, sir," was her answer. "She is agreat deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones sayswe must not think of moving her. We musttrespass a little longer on your kindness."

"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not bethought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear ofher removal."

"You may depend upon it, Madam," said MissBingley, with cold civility, "that Miss Bennetwill receive every possible attention while sheremains with us."

Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledg-ments.

"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for suchgood friends I do not know what would be-come of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suf-fers a vast deal, though with the greatest pa-tience in the world, which is always the waywith her, for she has, without exception, thesweetest temper I have ever met with. I oftentell my other girls they are nothing to her. Youhave a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and acharming prospect over the gravel walk. I donot know a place in the country that is equal toNetherfield. You will not think of quitting it ina hurry, I hope, though you have but a shortlease."

"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he;"and therefore if I should resolve to quitNetherfield, I should probably be off in fiveminutes. At present, however, I consider myselfas quite fixed here."

"That is exactly what I should have supposed ofyou," said Elizabeth.

"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" criedhe, turning towards her.

"Oh! yes—I understand you perfectly."

"I wish I might take this for a compliment; butto be so easily seen through I am afraid is piti-ful."

"That is as it happens. It does not follow that adeep, intricate character is more or less estima-ble than such a one as yours."

"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember whereyou are, and do not run on in the wild mannerthat you are suffered to do at home."

"I did not know before," continued Bingleyimmediately, "that you were a studier of char-acter. It must be an amusing study."

"Yes, but intricate characters are the most amus-ing. They have at least that advantage."

"The country," said Darcy, "can in general sup-ply but a few subjects for such a study. In acountry neighbourhood you move in a veryconfined and unvarying society."

"But people themselves alter so much, thatthere is something new to be observed in themfor ever."

"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet, offended byhis manner of mentioning a countryneighbourhood. "I assure you there is quite asmuch of that going on in the country as intown."

Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, afterlooking at her for a moment, turned silentlyaway. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gaineda complete victory over him, continued hertriumph.

"I cannot see that London has any great advan-tage over the country, for my part, except the

shops and public places. The country is a vastdeal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?"

"When I am in the country," he replied, "I neverwish to leave it; and when I am in town it ispretty much the same. They have each theiradvantages, and I can be equally happy in ei-ther."

"Aye—that is because you have the right dispo-sition. But that gentleman," looking at Darcy,"seemed to think the country was nothing atall."

"Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken," saidElizabeth, blushing for her mother. "You quitemistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that therewas not such a variety of people to be met within the country as in the town, which you mustacknowledge to be true."

"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were;but as to not meeting with many people in this

neighbourhood, I believe there are fewneighbourhoods larger. I know we dine withfour-and-twenty families."

Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enableBingley to keep his countenance. His sister wasless delicate, and directed her eyes towards Mr.Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth,for the sake of saying something that mightturn her mother's thoughts, now asked her ifCharlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn sinceher coming away.

"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. Whatan agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, isnot he? So much the man of fashion! So genteeland easy! He had always something to say toeverybody. That is my idea of good breeding;and those persons who fancy themselves veryimportant, and never open their mouths, quitemistake the matter."

"Did Charlotte dine with you?"

"No, she would go home. I fancy she waswanted about the mince-pies. For my part, Mr.Bingley, I always keep servants that can dotheir own work; my daughters are brought upvery differently. But everybody is to judge forthemselves, and the Lucases are a very goodsort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they arenot handsome! Not that I think Charlotte sovery plain—but then she is our particularfriend."

"She seems a very pleasant young woman."

"Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is veryplain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, andenvied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boastof my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one doesnot often see anybody better looking. It is whateverybody says. I do not trust my own partial-ity. When she was only fifteen, there was a manat my brother Gardiner's in town so much inlove with her that my sister-in-law was sure hewould make her an offer before we came away.

But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thoughther too young. However, he wrote some verseson her, and very pretty they were."

"And so ended his affection," said Elizabethimpatiently. "There has been many a one, Ifancy, overcome in the same way. I wonderwho first discovered the efficacy of poetry indriving away love!"

"I have been used to consider poetry as the foodof love," said Darcy.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every-thing nourishes what is strong already. But if itbe only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I amconvinced that one good sonnet will starve itentirely away."

Darcy only smiled; and the general pausewhich ensued made Elizabeth tremble lest hermother should be exposing herself again. Shelonged to speak, but could think of nothing to

say; and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet beganrepeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for hiskindness to Jane, with an apology for troublinghim also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffect-edly civil in his answer, and forced his youngersister to be civil also, and say what the occasionrequired. She performed her part indeed with-out much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet wassatisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her car-riage. Upon this signal, the youngest of herdaughters put herself forward. The two girlshad been whispering to each other during thewhole visit, and the result of it was, that theyoungest should tax Mr. Bingley with havingpromised on his first coming into the country togive a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen,with a fine complexion and good-humouredcountenance; a favourite with her mother,whose affection had brought her into public atan early age. She had high animal spirits, and a

sort of natural self-consequence, which the at-tention of the officers, to whom her uncle'sgood dinners, and her own easy manners rec-ommended her, had increased into assurance.She was very equal, therefore, to address Mr.Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptlyreminded him of his promise; adding, that itwould be the most shameful thing in the worldif he did not keep it. His answer to this suddenattack was delightful to their mother's ear:

"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep myengagement; and when your sister is recovered,you shall, if you please, name the very day ofthe ball. But you would not wish to be dancingwhen she is ill."

Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes—itwould be much better to wait till Jane was well,and by that time most likely Captain Carterwould be at Meryton again. And when youhave given your ball," she added, "I shall insist

on their giving one also. I shall tell ColonelForster it will be quite a shame if he does not."

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed,and Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leav-ing her own and her relations' behaviour to theremarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; thelatter of whom, however, could not be pre-vailed on to join in their censure of her, in spiteof all Miss Bingley's witticisms on fine eyes.

Chapter 10

The day passed much as the day before haddone. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spentsome hours of the morning with the invalid,who continued, though slowly, to mend; and inthe evening Elizabeth joined their party in the

drawing-room. The loo-table, however, did notappear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bing-ley, seated near him, was watching the pro-gress of his letter and repeatedly calling off hisattention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurstand Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurstwas observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and wassufficiently amused in attending to whatpassed between Darcy and his companion. Theperpetual commendations of the lady, either onhis handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines,or on the length of his letter, with the perfectunconcern with which her praises were re-ceived, formed a curious dialogue, and wasexactly in union with her opinion of each.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receivesuch a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

"How many letters you must have occasion towrite in the course of a year! Letters of busi-ness, too! How odious I should think them!"

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lotinstead of yours."

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

"I have already told her so once, by your de-sire."

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let memend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."

"Thank you—but I always mend my own."

"How can you contrive to write so even?"

He was silent.

"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of herimprovement on the harp; and pray let herknow that I am quite in raptures with her beau-tiful little design for a table, and I think it infi-nitely superior to Miss Grantley's."

"Will you give me leave to defer your rapturestill I write again? At present I have not room todo them justice."

"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her inJanuary. But do you always write such charm-ing long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?"

"They are generally long; but whether alwayscharming it is not for me to determine."

"It is a rule with me, that a person who canwrite a long letter with ease, cannot write ill."

"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy,Caroline," cried her brother, "because he does

not write with ease. He studies too much forwords of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"

"My style of writing is very different fromyours."

"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in themost careless way imaginable. He leaves outhalf his words, and blots the rest."

"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not timeto express them—by which means my letterssometimes convey no ideas at all to my corre-spondents."

"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth,"must disarm reproof."

"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "thanthe appearance of humility. It is often onlycarelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indi-rect boast."

"And which of the two do you call my little re-cent piece of modesty?"

"The indirect boast; for you are really proud ofyour defects in writing, because you considerthem as proceeding from a rapidity of thoughtand carelessness of execution, which, if not es-timable, you think at least highly interesting.The power of doing anything with quickness isalways prized much by the possessor, and of-ten without any attention to the imperfection ofthe performance. When you told Mrs. Bennetthis morning that if you ever resolved uponquitting Netherfield you should be gone in fiveminutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric,of compliment to yourself—and yet what isthere so very laudable in a precipitance whichmust leave very necessary business undone,and can be of no real advantage to yourself oranyone else?"

"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to re-member at night all the foolish things that were

said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour,I believe what I said of myself to be true, and Ibelieve it at this moment. At least, therefore, Idid not assume the character of needless pre-cipitance merely to show off before the ladies."

"I dare say you believed it; but I am by nomeans convinced that you would be gone withsuch celerity. Your conduct would be quite asdependent on chance as that of any man Iknow; and if, as you were mounting yourhorse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you hadbetter stay till next week,' you would probablydo it, you would probably not go—and at an-other word, might stay a month."

"You have only proved by this," cried Eliza-beth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to hisown disposition. You have shown him off nowmuch more than he did himself."

"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "byyour converting what my friend says into a

compliment on the sweetness of my temper.But I am afraid you are giving it a turn whichthat gentleman did by no means intend; for hewould certainly think better of me, if undersuch a circumstance I were to give a flat denial,and ride off as fast as I could."

"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashnessof your original intentions as atoned for byyour obstinacy in adhering to it?"

"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain thematter; Darcy must speak for himself."

"You expect me to account for opinions whichyou choose to call mine, but which I have neveracknowledged. Allowing the case, however, tostand according to your representation, youmust remember, Miss Bennet, that the friendwho is supposed to desire his return to thehouse, and the delay of his plan, has merelydesired it, asked it without offering one argu-ment in favour of its propriety."

"To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of afriend is no merit with you."

"To yield without conviction is no complimentto the understanding of either."

"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothingfor the influence of friendship and affection. Aregard for the requester would often make onereadily yield to a request, without waiting forarguments to reason one into it. I am not par-ticularly speaking of such a case as you havesupposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as wellwait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs be-fore we discuss the discretion of his behaviourthereupon. But in general and ordinary casesbetween friend and friend, where one of themis desired by the other to change a resolution ofno very great moment, should you think ill ofthat person for complying with the desire,without waiting to be argued into it?"

"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed onthis subject, to arrange with rather more preci-sion the degree of importance which is to ap-pertain to this request, as well as the degree ofintimacy subsisting between the parties?"

"By all means," cried Bingley; "let us hear all theparticulars, not forgetting their comparativeheight and size; for that will have more weightin the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may beaware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were notsuch a great tall fellow, in comparison withmyself, I should not pay him half so much def-erence. I declare I do not know a more awfulobject than Darcy, on particular occasions, andin particular places; at his own house espe-cially, and of a Sunday evening, when he hasnothing to do."

Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought shecould perceive that he was rather offended, andtherefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingleywarmly resented the indignity he had received,

in an expostulation with her brother for talkingsuch nonsense.

"I see your design, Bingley," said his friend."You dislike an argument, and want to silencethis."

"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much likedisputes. If you and Miss Bennet will deferyours till I am out of the room, I shall be verythankful; and then you may say whatever youlike of me."

"What you ask," said Elizabeth, "is no sacrificeon my side; and Mr. Darcy had much betterfinish his letter."

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish hisletter.

When that business was over, he applied toMiss Bingley and Elizabeth for an indulgence ofsome music. Miss Bingley moved with some

alacrity to the pianoforte; and, after a politerequest that Elizabeth would lead the waywhich the other as politely and more earnestlynegatived, she seated herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while theywere thus employed, Elizabeth could not helpobserving, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument, how fre-quently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. Shehardly knew how to suppose that she could bean object of admiration to so great a man; andyet that he should look at her because he dis-liked her, was still more strange. She could onlyimagine, however, at last that she drew his no-tice because there was something more wrongand reprehensible, according to his ideas ofright, than in any other person present. Thesupposition did not pain her. She liked him toolittle to care for his approbation.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingleyvaried the charm by a lively Scotch air; and

soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing nearElizabeth, said to her:

"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Ben-net, to seize such an opportunity of dancing areel?"

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeatedthe question, with some surprise at her silence.

"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before, but I couldnot immediately determine what to say in re-ply. You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes,' thatyou might have the pleasure of despising mytaste; but I always delight in overthrowingthose kind of schemes, and cheating a person oftheir premeditated contempt. I have, therefore,made up my mind to tell you, that I do notwant to dance a reel at all—and now despiseme if you dare."

"Indeed I do not dare."

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affronthim, was amazed at his gallantry; but there wasa mixture of sweetness and archness in hermanner which made it difficult for her to af-front anybody; and Darcy had never been sobewitched by any woman as he was by her. Hereally believed, that were it not for the inferior-ity of her connections, he should be in somedanger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to bejealous; and her great anxiety for the recoveryof her dear friend Jane received some assistancefrom her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

She often tried to provoke Darcy into dislikingher guest, by talking of their supposed mar-riage, and planning his happiness in such analliance.

"I hope," said she, as they were walking to-gether in the shrubbery the next day, "you willgive your mother-in-law a few hints, when this

desirable event takes place, as to the advantageof holding her tongue; and if you can compassit, do cure the younger girls of running afterofficers. And, if I may mention so delicate asubject, endeavour to check that little some-thing, bordering on conceit and impertinence,which your lady possesses."

"Have you anything else to propose for mydomestic felicity?"

"Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle andaunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pem-berley. Put them next to your great-uncle thejudge. They are in the same profession, youknow, only in different lines. As for your Eliza-beth's picture, you must not have it taken, forwhat painter could do justice to those beautifuleyes?"

"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch theirexpression, but their colour and shape, and the

eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be cop-ied."

At that moment they were met from anotherwalk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.

"I did not know that you intended to walk,"said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest theyhad been overheard.

"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs.Hurst, "running away without telling us thatyou were coming out."

Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy,she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The pathjust admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rude-ness, and immediately said:

"This walk is not wide enough for our party.We had better go into the avenue."

But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclinationto remain with them, laughingly answered:

"No, no; stay where you are. You are charm-ingly grouped, and appear to uncommon ad-vantage. The picturesque would be spoilt byadmitting a fourth. Good-bye."

She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambledabout, in the hope of being at home again in aday or two. Jane was already so much recov-ered as to intend leaving her room for a coupleof hours that evening.

Chapter 11

When the ladies removed after dinner, Eliza-beth ran up to her sister, and seeing her wellguarded from cold, attended her into the draw-ing-room, where she was welcomed by her twofriends with many professions of pleasure; and

Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable asthey were during the hour which passed beforethe gentlemen appeared. Their powers of con-versation were considerable. They could de-scribe an entertainment with accuracy, relate ananecdote with humour, and laugh at their ac-quaintance with spirit.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was nolonger the first object; Miss Bingley's eyes wereinstantly turned toward Darcy, and she hadsomething to say to him before he had ad-vanced many steps. He addressed himself toMiss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr.Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said hewas "very glad;" but diffuseness and warmthremained for Bingley's salutation. He was fullof joy and attention. The first half-hour wasspent in piling up the fire, lest she should sufferfrom the change of room; and she removed athis desire to the other side of the fireplace, thatshe might be further from the door. He then sat

down by her, and talked scarcely to anyoneelse. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner,saw it all with great delight.

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded hissister-in-law of the card-table—but in vain. Shehad obtained private intelligence that Mr.Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurstsoon found even his open petition rejected. Sheassured him that no one intended to play, andthe silence of the whole party on the subjectseemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had thereforenothing to do, but to stretch himself on one ofthe sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book;Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst,principally occupied in playing with her brace-lets and rings, joined now and then in herbrother's conversation with Miss Bennet.

Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much en-gaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progressthrough his book, as in reading her own; andshe was perpetually either making some in-

quiry, or looking at his page. She could not winhim, however, to any conversation; he merelyanswered her question, and read on. At length,quite exhausted by the attempt to be amusedwith her own book, which she had only chosenbecause it was the second volume of his, shegave a great yawn and said, "How pleasant it isto spend an evening in this way! I declare afterall there is no enjoyment like reading! Howmuch sooner one tires of anything than of abook! When I have a house of my own, I shallbe miserable if I have not an excellent library."

No one made any reply. She then yawnedagain, threw aside her book, and cast her eyesround the room in quest for some amusement;when hearing her brother mentioning a ball toMiss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards himand said:

"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious inmeditating a dance at Netherfield? I wouldadvise you, before you determine on it, to con-

sult the wishes of the present party; I am muchmistaken if there are not some among us towhom a ball would be rather a punishmentthan a pleasure."

"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he maygo to bed, if he chooses, before it begins—butas for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and assoon as Nicholls has made white soup enough,I shall send round my cards."

"I should like balls infinitely better," she re-plied, "if they were carried on in a differentmanner; but there is something insufferablytedious in the usual process of such a meeting.It would surely be much more rational if con-versation instead of dancing were made theorder of the day."

"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I daresay, but it would not be near so much like aball."

Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon after-wards she got up and walked about the room.Her figure was elegant, and she walked well;but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was stillinflexibly studious. In the desperation of herfeelings, she resolved on one effort more, and,turning to Elizabeth, said:

"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to fol-low my example, and take a turn about theroom. I assure you it is very refreshing aftersitting so long in one attitude."

Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it im-mediately. Miss Bingley succeeded no less inthe real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy lookedup. He was as much awake to the novelty ofattention in that quarter as Elizabeth herselfcould be, and unconsciously closed his book.He was directly invited to join their party, buthe declined it, observing that he could imaginebut two motives for their choosing to walk upand down the room together, with either of

which motives his joining them would inter-fere. "What could he mean? She was dying toknow what could be his meaning?"—and askedElizabeth whether she could at all understandhim?

"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend uponit, he means to be severe on us, and our surestway of disappointing him will be to ask noth-ing about it."

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of dis-appointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and perse-vered therefore in requiring an explanation ofhis two motives.

"I have not the smallest objection to explainingthem," said he, as soon as she allowed him tospeak. "You either choose this method of pass-ing the evening because you are in each other'sconfidence, and have secret affairs to discuss,or because you are conscious that your figuresappear to the greatest advantage in walking; if

the first, I would be completely in your way,and if the second, I can admire you much betteras I sit by the fire."

"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I neverheard anything so abominable. How shall wepunish him for such a speech?"

"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclina-tion," said Elizabeth. "We can all plague andpunish one another. Tease him—laugh at him.Intimate as you are, you must know how it is tobe done."

"But upon my honour, I do not. I do assure youthat my intimacy has not yet taught me that.Tease calmness of manner and presence ofmind! No, no—feel he may defy us there. Andas to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, ifyou please, by attempting to laugh without asubject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."

"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Eliza-beth. "That is an uncommon advantage, anduncommon I hope it will continue, for it wouldbe a great loss to me to have many such ac-quaintances. I dearly love a laugh."

"Miss Bingley," said he, "has given me morecredit than can be. The wisest and the best ofmen—nay, the wisest and best of their ac-tions—may be rendered ridiculous by a personwhose first object in life is a joke."

"Certainly," replied Elizabeth—"there are suchpeople, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope Inever ridicule what is wise and good. Folliesand nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, dodivert me, I own, and I laugh at them wheneverI can. But these, I suppose, are precisely whatyou are without."

"Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But ithas been the study of my life to avoid those

weaknesses which often expose a strong under-standing to ridicule."

"Such as vanity and pride."

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pridewill be always under good regulation."

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I pre-sume," said Miss Bingley; "and pray what is theresult?"

"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcyhas no defect. He owns it himself without dis-guise."

"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such preten-sion. I have faults enough, but they are not, Ihope, of understanding. My temper I dare notvouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the

world. I cannot forget the follies and vices ofother so soon as I ought, nor their offensesagainst myself. My feelings are not puffedabout with every attempt to move them. Mytemper would perhaps be called resentful. Mygood opinion once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Im-placable resentment is a shade in a character.But you have chosen your fault well. I reallycannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."

"There is, I believe, in every disposition a ten-dency to some particular evil—a natural defect,which not even the best education can over-come."

"And your defect is to hate everybody."

"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is will-fully to misunderstand them."

"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bing-ley, tired of a conversation in which she had noshare. "Louisa, you will not mind my wakingMr. Hurst?"

Her sister had not the smallest objection, andthe pianoforte was opened; and Darcy, after afew moments' recollection, was not sorry for it.He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabethtoo much attention.

Chapter 12

In consequence of an agreement between thesisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning totheir mother, to beg that the carriage might besent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs.Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters

remaining at Netherfield till the followingTuesday, which would exactly finish Jane'sweek, could not bring herself to receive themwith pleasure before. Her answer, therefore,was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth'swishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs.Bennet sent them word that they could not pos-sibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and inher postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingleyand his sister pressed them to stay longer, shecould spare them very well. Against stayinglonger, however, Elizabeth was positively re-solved—nor did she much expect it would beasked; and fearful, on the contrary, as beingconsidered as intruding themselves needlesslylong, she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley'scarriage immediately, and at length it was set-tled that their original design of leavingNetherfield that morning should be mentioned,and the request made.

The communication excited many professionsof concern; and enough was said of wishingthem to stay at least till the following day towork on Jane; and till the morrow their goingwas deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry thatshe had proposed the delay, for her jealousyand dislike of one sister much exceeded heraffection for the other.

The master of the house heard with real sorrowthat they were to go so soon, and repeatedlytried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would notbe safe for her—that she was not enough recov-ered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself tobe right.

To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence—Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough.She attracted him more than he liked—andMiss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teas-ing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved tobe particularly careful that no sign of admira-tion should now escape him, nothing that could

elevate her with the hope of influencing hisfelicity; sensible that if such an idea had beensuggested, his behaviour during the last daymust have material weight in confirming orcrushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcelyspoke ten words to her through the whole ofSaturday, and though they were at one time leftby themselves for half-an-hour, he adheredmost conscientiously to his book, and wouldnot even look at her.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separa-tion, so agreeable to almost all, took place. MissBingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at lastvery rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane;and when they parted, after assuring the latterof the pleasure it would always give her to seeher either at Longbourn or Netherfield, andembracing her most tenderly, she even shookhands with the former. Elizabeth took leave ofthe whole party in the liveliest of spirits.

They were not welcomed home very cordiallyby their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at theircoming, and thought them very wrong to giveso much trouble, and was sure Jane would havecaught cold again. But their father, though verylaconic in his expressions of pleasure, wasreally glad to see them; he had felt their impor-tance in the family circle. The evening conver-sation, when they were all assembled, had lostmuch of its animation, and almost all its senseby the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.

They found Mary, as usual, deep in the studyof thorough-bass and human nature; and hadsome extracts to admire, and some new obser-vations of threadbare morality to listen to.Catherine and Lydia had information for themof a different sort. Much had been done andmuch had been said in the regiment since thepreceding Wednesday; several of the officershad dined lately with their uncle, a private had

been flogged, and it had actually been hintedthat Colonel Forster was going to be married.

Chapter 13

"I hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife,as they were at breakfast the next morning,"that you have ordered a good dinner to-day,because I have reason to expect an addition toour family party."

"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of no-body that is coming, I am sure, unless CharlotteLucas should happen to call in—and I hope mydinners are good enough for her. I do not be-lieve she often sees such at home."

"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman,and a stranger."

Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. "A gentleman anda stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well, Iam sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr.Bingley. But—good Lord! how unlucky! Thereis not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, mylove, ring the bell—I must speak to Hill thismoment."

"It is not Mr. Bingley," said her husband; "it is aperson whom I never saw in the whole courseof my life."

This roused a general astonishment; and he hadthe pleasure of being eagerly questioned by hiswife and his five daughters at once.

After amusing himself some time with theircuriosity, he thus explained:

"About a month ago I received this letter; andabout a fortnight ago I answered it, for Ithought it a case of some delicacy, and requir-ing early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr.Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you allout of this house as soon as he pleases."

"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear tohear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of thatodious man. I do think it is the hardest thing inthe world, that your estate should be entailedaway from your own children; and I am sure, ifI had been you, I should have tried long ago todo something or other about it."

Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her thenature of an entail. They had often attempted todo it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs.Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and shecontinued to rail bitterly against the cruelty ofsettling an estate away from a family of fivedaughters, in favour of a man whom nobodycared anything about.

"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," saidMr. Bennet, "and nothing can clear Mr. Collinsfrom the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But ifyou will listen to his letter, you may perhaps bea little softened by his manner of expressinghimself."

"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it isvery impertinent of him to write to you at all,and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends.Why could he not keep on quarreling with you,as his father did before him?"

"Why, indeed; he does seem to have had somefilial scruples on that head, as you will hear."

"Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th Octo-ber.

"Dear Sir,—

"The disagreement subsisting between yourselfand my late honoured father always gave me

much uneasiness, and since I have had the mis-fortune to lose him, I have frequently wished toheal the breach; but for some time I was keptback by my own doubts, fearing lest it mightseem disrespectful to his memory for me to beon good terms with anyone with whom it hadalways pleased him to be at variance.—'There,Mrs. Bennet.'—My mind, however, is nowmade up on the subject, for having receivedordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate asto be distinguished by the patronage of theRight Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh,widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bountyand beneficence has preferred me to the valu-able rectory of this parish, where it shall be myearnest endeavour to demean myself withgrateful respect towards her ladyship, and beever ready to perform those rites and ceremo-nies which are instituted by the Church of Eng-land. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it myduty to promote and establish the blessing ofpeace in all families within the reach of my in-

fluence; and on these grounds I flatter myselfthat my present overtures are highly com-mendable, and that the circumstance of mybeing next in the entail of Longbourn estatewill be kindly overlooked on your side, and notlead you to reject the offered olive-branch. Icannot be otherwise than concerned at beingthe means of injuring your amiable daughters,and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as toassure you of my readiness to make them everypossible amends—but of this hereafter. If youshould have no objection to receive me intoyour house, I propose myself the satisfaction ofwaiting on you and your family, Monday, No-vember 18th, by four o'clock, and shall proba-bly trespass on your hospitality till the Satur-day se'ennight following, which I can do with-out any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is farfrom objecting to my occasional absence on aSunday, provided that some other clergyman isengaged to do the duty of the day.—I remain,dear sir, with respectful compliments to your

lady and daughters, your well-wisher andfriend,

"WILLIAM COLLINS"

"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect thispeace-making gentleman," said Mr. Bennet, ashe folded up the letter. "He seems to be a mostconscientious and polite young man, upon myword, and I doubt not will prove a valuableacquaintance, especially if Lady Catherineshould be so indulgent as to let him come to usagain."

"There is some sense in what he says about thegirls, however, and if he is disposed to makethem any amends, I shall not be the person todiscourage him."

"Though it is difficult," said Jane, "to guess inwhat way he can mean to make us the atone-ment he thinks our due, the wish is certainly tohis credit."

Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordi-nary deference for Lady Catherine, and hiskind intention of christening, marrying, andburying his parishioners whenever it were re-quired.

"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "Icannot make him out.—There is somethingvery pompous in his style.—And what can hemean by apologising for being next in the en-tail?—We cannot suppose he would help it ifhe could.—Could he be a sensible man, sir?"

"No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes offinding him quite the reverse. There is a mix-ture of servility and self-importance in his let-ter, which promises well. I am impatient to seehim."

"In point of composition," said Mary, "the letterdoes not seem defective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think itis well expressed."

To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter norits writer were in any degree interesting. It wasnext to impossible that their cousin shouldcome in a scarlet coat, and it was now someweeks since they had received pleasure fromthe society of a man in any other colour. As fortheir mother, Mr. Collins's letter had doneaway much of her ill-will, and she was prepar-ing to see him with a degree of composurewhich astonished her husband and daughters.

Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and wasreceived with great politeness by the wholefamily. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but theladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr.Collins seemed neither in need of encourage-ment, nor inclined to be silent himself. He wasa tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and hismanners were very formal. He had not beenlong seated before he complimented Mrs. Ben-net on having so fine a family of daughters;

said he had heard much of their beauty, butthat in this instance fame had fallen short of thetruth; and added, that he did not doubt herseeing them all in due time disposed of in mar-riage. This gallantry was not much to the tasteof some of his hearers; but Mrs. Bennet, whoquarreled with no compliments, answeredmost readily.

"You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish withall my heart it may prove so, for else they willbe destitute enough. Things are settled sooddly."

"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this es-tate."

"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair tomy poor girls, you must confess. Not that Imean to find fault with you, for such things Iknow are all chance in this world. There is noknowing how estates will go when once theycome to be entailed."

"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship tomy fair cousins, and could say much on thesubject, but that I am cautious of appearingforward and precipitate. But I can assure theyoung ladies that I come prepared to admirethem. At present I will not say more; but, per-haps, when we are better acquainted—"

He was interrupted by a summons to dinner;and the girls smiled on each other. They werenot the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration.The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture,were examined and praised; and his commen-dation of everything would have touched Mrs.Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposi-tion of his viewing it all as his own futureproperty. The dinner too in its turn was highlyadmired; and he begged to know to which ofhis fair cousins the excellency of its cookingwas owing. But he was set right there by Mrs.Bennet, who assured him with some asperitythat they were very well able to keep a good

cook, and that her daughters had nothing to doin the kitchen. He begged pardon for havingdispleased her. In a softened tone she declaredherself not at all offended; but he continued toapologise for about a quarter of an hour.

Chapter 14

During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all;but when the servants were withdrawn, hethought it time to have some conversation withhis guest, and therefore started a subject inwhich he expected him to shine, by observingthat he seemed very fortunate in his patroness.Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to hiswishes, and consideration for his comfort, ap-peared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could nothave chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in

her praise. The subject elevated him to morethan usual solemnity of manner, and with amost important aspect he protested that "hehad never in his life witnessed such behaviourin a person of rank—such affability and conde-scension, as he had himself experienced fromLady Catherine. She had been graciouslypleased to approve of both of the discourseswhich he had already had the honour ofpreaching before her. She had also asked himtwice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for himonly the Saturday before, to make up her poolof quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine wasreckoned proud by many people he knew, buthe had never seen anything but affability in her.She had always spoken to him as she would toany other gentleman; she made not the smallestobjection to his joining in the society of theneighbourhood nor to his leaving the parishoccasionally for a week or two, to visit his rela-tions. She had even condescended to advisehim to marry as soon as he could, provided he

chose with discretion; and had once paid him avisit in his humble parsonage, where she hadperfectly approved all the alterations he hadbeen making, and had even vouchsafed to sug-gest some herself—some shelves in the closetupstairs."

"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,"said Mrs. Bennet, "and I dare say she is a veryagreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladiesin general are not more like her. Does she livenear you, sir?"

"The garden in which stands my humble abodeis separated only by a lane from Rosings Park,her ladyship's residence."

"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has sheany family?"

"She has only one daughter, the heiress of Ros-ings, and of very extensive property."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "thenshe is better off than many girls. And what sortof young lady is she? Is she handsome?"

"She is a most charming young lady indeed.Lady Catherine herself says that, in point oftrue beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior tothe handsomest of her sex, because there is thatin her features which marks the young lady ofdistinguished birth. She is unfortunately of asickly constitution, which has prevented herfrom making that progress in many accom-plishments which she could not have otherwisefailed of, as I am informed by the lady whosuperintended her education, and who stillresides with them. But she is perfectly amiable,and often condescends to drive by my humbleabode in her little phaeton and ponies."

"Has she been presented? I do not rememberher name among the ladies at court."

"Her indifferent state of health unhappily pre-vents her being in town; and by that means, as Itold Lady Catherine one day, has deprived theBritish court of its brightest ornaments. Herladyship seemed pleased with the idea; andyou may imagine that I am happy on everyoccasion to offer those little delicate compli-ments which are always acceptable to ladies. Ihave more than once observed to Lady Cath-erine, that her charming daughter seemed bornto be a duchess, and that the most elevatedrank, instead of giving her consequence, wouldbe adorned by her. These are the kind of littlethings which please her ladyship, and it is asort of attention which I conceive myself pecu-liarly bound to pay."

"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet,"and it is happy for you that you possess thetalent of flattering with delicacy. May I askwhether these pleasing attentions proceed from

the impulse of the moment, or are the result ofprevious study?"

"They arise chiefly from what is passing at thetime, and though I sometimes amuse myselfwith suggesting and arranging such little ele-gant compliments as may be adapted to ordi-nary occasions, I always wish to give them asunstudied an air as possible."

Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered.His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, andhe listened to him with the keenest enjoyment,maintaining at the same time the most resolutecomposure of countenance, and, except in anoccasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring nopartner in his pleasure.

By tea-time, however, the dose had beenenough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to take hisguest into the drawing-room again, and, whentea was over, glad to invite him to read aloudto the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and

a book was produced; but, on beholding it (foreverything announced it to be from a circulat-ing library), he started back, and begging par-don, protested that he never read novels. Kittystared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. Otherbooks were produced, and after some delibera-tion he chose Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gapedas he opened the volume, and before he had,with very monotonous solemnity, read threepages, she interrupted him with:

"Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Phillipstalks of turning away Richard; and if he does,Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told meso herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Merytonto-morrow to hear more about it, and to askwhen Mr. Denny comes back from town."

Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to holdher tongue; but Mr. Collins, much offended,laid aside his book, and said:

"I have often observed how little young ladiesare interested by books of a serious stamp,though written solely for their benefit. Itamazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can benothing so advantageous to them as instruc-tion. But I will no longer importune my youngcousin."

Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himselfas his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennetaccepted the challenge, observing that he actedvery wisely in leaving the girls to their owntrifling amusements. Mrs. Bennet and herdaughters apologised most civilly for Lydia'sinterruption, and promised that it should notoccur again, if he would resume his book; butMr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore hisyoung cousin no ill-will, and should never re-sent her behaviour as any affront, seated him-self at another table with Mr. Bennet, and pre-pared for backgammon.

Chapter 15

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and thedeficiency of nature had been but little assistedby education or society; the greatest part of hislife having been spent under the guidance of anilliterate and miserly father; and though he be-longed to one of the universities, he had merelykept the necessary terms, without forming at itany useful acquaintance. The subjection inwhich his father had brought him up had givenhim originally great humility of manner; but itwas now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement,and the consequential feelings of early and un-expected prosperity. A fortunate chance hadrecommended him to Lady Catherine de

Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was va-cant; and the respect which he felt for her highrank, and his veneration for her as his patron-ess, mingling with a very good opinion of him-self, of his authority as a clergyman, and hisright as a rector, made him altogether a mixtureof pride and obsequiousness, self-importanceand humility.

Having now a good house and a very sufficientincome, he intended to marry; and in seeking areconciliation with the Longbourn family hehad a wife in view, as he meant to choose oneof the daughters, if he found them as handsomeand amiable as they were represented by com-mon report. This was his plan of amends—ofatonement—for inheriting their father's estate;and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligi-bility and suitableness, and excessively gener-ous and disinterested on his own part.

His plan did not vary on seeing them. MissBennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and

established all his strictest notions of what wasdue to seniority; and for the first evening shewas his settled choice. The next morning, how-ever, made an alteration; for in a quarter of anhour's tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet beforebreakfast, a conversation beginning with hisparsonage-house, and leading naturally to theavowal of his hopes, that a mistress might befound for it at Longbourn, produced from her,amid very complaisant smiles and general en-couragement, a caution against the very Jane hehad fixed on. "As to her younger daughters, shecould not take upon her to say—she could notpositively answer—but she did not know of anyprepossession; her eldest daughter, she mustjust mention—she felt it incumbent on her tohint, was likely to be very soon engaged."

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane toElizabeth—and it was soon done—done whileMrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth,

equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, suc-ceeded her of course.

Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trustedthat she might soon have two daughters mar-ried; and the man whom she could not bear tospeak of the day before was now high in hergood graces.

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton wasnot forgotten; every sister except Mary agreedto go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attendthem, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who wasmost anxious to get rid of him, and have hislibrary to himself; for thither Mr. Collins hadfollowed him after breakfast; and there hewould continue, nominally engaged with oneof the largest folios in the collection, but reallytalking to Mr. Bennet, with little cessation, ofhis house and garden at Hunsford. Such doingsdiscomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In hislibrary he had been always sure of leisure andtranquillity; and though prepared, as he told

Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit inevery other room of the house, he was used tobe free from them there; his civility, therefore,was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to joinhis daughters in their walk; and Mr. Collins,being in fact much better fitted for a walkerthan a reader, was extremely pleased to closehis large book, and go.

In pompous nothings on his side, and civil as-sents on that of his cousins, their time passedtill they entered Meryton. The attention of theyounger ones was then no longer to be gainedby him. Their eyes were immediately wander-ing up in the street in quest of the officers, andnothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed,or a really new muslin in a shop window, couldrecall them.

But the attention of every lady was soon caughtby a young man, whom they had never seenbefore, of most gentlemanlike appearance,walking with another officer on the other side

of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Dennyconcerning whose return from London Lydiacame to inquire, and he bowed as they passed.All were struck with the stranger's air, all won-dered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia,determined if possible to find out, led the wayacross the street, under pretense of wantingsomething in an opposite shop, and fortunatelyhad just gained the pavement when the twogentlemen, turning back, had reached the samespot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, andentreated permission to introduce his friend,Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him theday before from town, and he was happy to sayhad accepted a commission in their corps. Thiswas exactly as it should be; for the young manwanted only regimentals to make him com-pletely charming. His appearance was greatlyin his favour; he had all the best part of beauty,a fine countenance, a good figure, and verypleasing address. The introduction was fol-lowed up on his side by a happy readiness of

conversation—a readiness at the same timeperfectly correct and unassuming; and thewhole party were still standing and talkingtogether very agreeably, when the sound ofhorses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bing-ley were seen riding down the street. On dis-tinguishing the ladies of the group, the twogentlemen came directly towards them, andbegan the usual civilities. Bingley was the prin-cipal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principalobject. He was then, he said, on his way toLongbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr.Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was be-ginning to determine not to fix his eyes onElizabeth, when they were suddenly arrestedby the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth hap-pening to see the countenance of both as theylooked at each other, was all astonishment atthe effect of the meeting. Both changed colour,one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham,after a few moments, touched his hat—a saluta-tion which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.

What could be the meaning of it? It was impos-sible to imagine; it was impossible not to longto know.

In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but withoutseeming to have noticed what passed, tookleave and rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with theyoung ladies to the door of Mr. Phillip's house,and then made their bows, in spite of MissLydia's pressing entreaties that they shouldcome in, and even in spite of Mrs. Phillips'sthrowing up the parlour window and loudlyseconding the invitation.

Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces;and the two eldest, from their recent absence,were particularly welcome, and she was ea-gerly expressing her surprise at their suddenreturn home, which, as their own carriage hadnot fetched them, she should have known noth-ing about, if she had not happened to see Mr.

Jones's shop-boy in the street, who had told herthat they were not to send any more draughtsto Netherfield because the Miss Bennets werecome away, when her civility was claimed to-wards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction ofhim. She received him with her very best po-liteness, which he returned with as much more,apologising for his intrusion, without any pre-vious acquaintance with her, which he couldnot help flattering himself, however, might bejustified by his relationship to the young ladieswho introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Phillipswas quite awed by such an excess of goodbreeding; but her contemplation of one strangerwas soon put to an end by exclamations andinquiries about the other; of whom, however,she could only tell her nieces what they alreadyknew, that Mr. Denny had brought him fromLondon, and that he was to have a lieutenant'scommission in the ——shire. She had beenwatching him the last hour, she said, as hewalked up and down the street, and had Mr.

Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia wouldcertainly have continued the occupation, butunluckily no one passed windows now except afew of the officers, who, in comparison with thestranger, were become "stupid, disagreeablefellows." Some of them were to dine with thePhillipses the next day, and their aunt prom-ised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham,and give him an invitation also, if the familyfrom Longbourn would come in the evening.This was agreed to, and Mrs. Phillips protestedthat they would have a nice comfortable noisygame of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hotsupper afterwards. The prospect of such de-lights was very cheering, and they parted inmutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated hisapologies in quitting the room, and was as-sured with unwearying civility that they wereperfectly needless.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Janewhat she had seen pass between the two gen-

tlemen; but though Jane would have defendedeither or both, had they appeared to be in thewrong, she could no more explain such behav-iour than her sister.

Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs.Bennet by admiring Mrs. Phillips's mannersand politeness. He protested that, except LadyCatherine and her daughter, he had never seena more elegant woman; for she had not onlyreceived him with the utmost civility, but evenpointedly included him in her invitation for thenext evening, although utterly unknown to herbefore. Something, he supposed, might be at-tributed to his connection with them, but yet hehad never met with so much attention in thewhole course of his life.

Chapter 16

As no objection was made to the young peo-ple's engagement with their aunt, and all Mr.Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Ben-net for a single evening during his visit weremost steadily resisted, the coach conveyed himand his five cousins at a suitable hour to Mery-ton; and the girls had the pleasure of hearing,as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr.Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation,and was then in the house.

When this information was given, and they hadall taken their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisureto look around him and admire, and he was somuch struck with the size and furniture of theapartment, that he declared he might almosthave supposed himself in the small summerbreakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison thatdid not at first convey much gratification; but

when Mrs. Phillips understood from him whatRosings was, and who was its proprietor—when she had listened to the description ofonly one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms,and found that the chimney-piece alone hadcost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the forceof the compliment, and would hardly have re-sented a comparison with the housekeeper'sroom.

In describing to her all the grandeur of LadyCatherine and her mansion, with occasionaldigressions in praise of his own humble abode,and the improvements it was receiving, he washappily employed until the gentlemen joinedthem; and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very at-tentive listener, whose opinion of his conse-quence increased with what she heard, andwho was resolving to retail it all among herneighbours as soon as she could. To the girls,who could not listen to their cousin, and whohad nothing to do but to wish for an instru-

ment, and examine their own indifferent imita-tions of china on the mantelpiece, the intervalof waiting appeared very long. It was over atlast, however. The gentlemen did approach,and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room,Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeinghim before, nor thinking of him since, with thesmallest degree of unreasonable admiration.The officers of the ——shire were in general avery creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the bestof them were of the present party; but Mr.Wickham was as far beyond them all in person,countenance, air, and walk, as they were supe-rior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips,breathing port wine, who followed them intothe room.

Mr. Wickham was the happy man towardswhom almost every female eye was turned,and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whomhe finally seated himself; and the agreeablemanner in which he immediately fell into con-

versation, though it was only on its being a wetnight, made her feel that the commonest, dull-est, most threadbare topic might be renderedinteresting by the skill of the speaker.

With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr.Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemedto sink into insignificance; to the young ladieshe certainly was nothing; but he had still atintervals a kind listener in Mrs. Phillips, andwas by her watchfulness, most abundantlysupplied with coffee and muffin. When thecard-tables were placed, he had the opportu-nity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down towhist.

"I know little of the game at present," said he,"but I shall be glad to improve myself, for inmy situation in life—" Mrs. Phillips was veryglad for his compliance, but could not wait forhis reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and withready delight was he received at the other tablebetween Elizabeth and Lydia. At first thereseemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him en-tirely, for she was a most determined talker;but being likewise extremely fond of lotterytickets, she soon grew too much interested inthe game, too eager in making bets and ex-claiming after prizes to have attention for any-one in particular. Allowing for the commondemands of the game, Mr. Wickham was there-fore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she wasvery willing to hear him, though what shechiefly wished to hear she could not hope to betold—the history of his acquaintance with Mr.Darcy. She dared not even mention that gen-tleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpect-edly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subjecthimself. He inquired how far Netherfield wasfrom Meryton; and, after receiving her answer,asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr.Darcy had been staying there.

"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, un-willing to let the subject drop, added, "He is aman of very large property in Derbyshire, Iunderstand."

"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his estate there isa noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum.You could not have met with a person morecapable of giving you certain information onthat head than myself, for I have been con-nected with his family in a particular mannerfrom my infancy."

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, atsuch an assertion, after seeing, as you probablymight, the very cold manner of our meetingyesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr.Darcy?"

"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabethvery warmly. "I have spent four days in the

same house with him, and I think him verydisagreeable."

"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wick-ham, "as to his being agreeable or otherwise. Iam not qualified to form one. I have knownhim too long and too well to be a fair judge. Itis impossible for me to be impartial. But I be-lieve your opinion of him would in generalastonish—and perhaps you would not expressit quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you arein your own family."

"Upon my word, I say no more here than Imight say in any house in the neighbourhood,except Netherfield. He is not at all liked inHertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with hispride. You will not find him more favourablyspoken of by anyone."

"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham,after a short interruption, "that he or that anyman should not be estimated beyond their de-

serts; but with him I believe it does not oftenhappen. The world is blinded by his fortuneand consequence, or frightened by his high andimposing manners, and sees him only as hechooses to be seen."

"I should take him, even on my slight acquaint-ance, to be an ill-tempered man." Wickhamonly shook his head.

"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity ofspeaking, "whether he is likely to be in thiscountry much longer."

"I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of hisgoing away when I was at Netherfield. I hopeyour plans in favour of the ——shire will notbe affected by his being in the neighbourhood."

"Oh! no—it is not for me to be driven away byMr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, hemust go. We are not on friendly terms, and italways gives me pain to meet him, but I have

no reason for avoiding him but what I mightproclaim before all the world, a sense of verygreat ill-usage, and most painful regrets at hisbeing what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, thelate Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men thatever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had;and I can never be in company with this Mr.Darcy without being grieved to the soul by athousand tender recollections. His behaviour tomyself has been scandalous; but I verily believeI could forgive him anything and everything,rather than his disappointing the hopes anddisgracing the memory of his father."

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject in-crease, and listened with all her heart; but thedelicacy of it prevented further inquiry.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more generaltopics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the soci-ety, appearing highly pleased with all that hehad yet seen, and speaking of the latter withgentle but very intelligible gallantry.

"It was the prospect of constant society, andgood society," he added, "which was my chiefinducement to enter the ——shire. I knew it tobe a most respectable, agreeable corps, and myfriend Denny tempted me further by his ac-count of their present quarters, and the verygreat attentions and excellent acquaintancesMeryton had procured them. Society, I own, isnecessary to me. I have been a disappointedman, and my spirits will not bear solitude. Imust have employment and society. A militarylife is not what I was intended for, but circum-stances have now made it eligible. The churchought to have been my profession—I wasbrought up for the church, and I should at thistime have been in possession of a most valuableliving, had it pleased the gentleman we werespeaking of just now."

"Indeed!"

"Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me thenext presentation of the best living in his gift.

He was my godfather, and excessively attachedto me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. Hemeant to provide for me amply, and thought hehad done it; but when the living fell, it wasgiven elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but howcould that be? How could his will be disre-garded? Why did you not seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the termsof the bequest as to give me no hope from law.A man of honour could not have doubted theintention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it—orto treat it as a merely conditional recommenda-tion, and to assert that I had forfeited all claimto it by extravagance, imprudence—in shortanything or nothing. Certain it is, that the liv-ing became vacant two years ago, exactly as Iwas of an age to hold it, and that it was given toanother man; and no less certain is it, that Icannot accuse myself of having really doneanything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm,

unguarded temper, and I may have spoken myopinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can re-call nothing worse. But the fact is, that we arevery different sort of men, and that he hatesme."

"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be pub-licly disgraced."

"Some time or other he will be—but it shall notbe by me. Till I can forget his father, I can neverdefy or expose him."

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, andthought him handsomer than ever as he ex-pressed them.

"But what," said she, after a pause, "can havebeen his motive? What can have induced himto behave so cruelly?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dis-like which I cannot but attribute in some meas-

ure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy likedme less, his son might have borne with me bet-ter; but his father's uncommon attachment tome irritated him, I believe, very early in life. Hehad not a temper to bear the sort of competitionin which we stood—the sort of preferencewhich was often given me."

"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him. I had notthought so very ill of him. I had supposed himto be despising his fellow-creatures in general,but did not suspect him of descending to suchmalicious revenge, such injustice, such inhu-manity as this."

After a few minutes' reflection, however, shecontinued, "I do remember his boasting oneday, at Netherfield, of the implacability of hisresentments, of his having an unforgiving tem-per. His disposition must be dreadful."

"I will not trust myself on the subject," repliedWickham; "I can hardly be just to him."

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and aftera time exclaimed, "To treat in such a mannerthe godson, the friend, the favourite of his fa-ther!" She could have added, "A young man,too, like you, whose very countenance mayvouch for your being amiable"—but she con-tented herself with, "and one, too, who hadprobably been his companion from childhood,connected together, as I think you said, in theclosest manner!"

"We were born in the same parish, within thesame park; the greatest part of our youth waspassed together; inmates of the same house,sharing the same amusements, objects of thesame parental care. My father began life in theprofession which your uncle, Mr. Phillips, ap-pears to do so much credit to—but he gave upeverything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcyand devoted all his time to the care of the Pem-

berley property. He was most highly esteemedby Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidentialfriend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himselfto be under the greatest obligations to my fa-ther's active superintendence, and when, im-mediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcygave him a voluntary promise of providing forme, I am convinced that he felt it to be as mucha debt of gratitude to him, as of his affection tomyself."

"How strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abomi-nable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr.Darcy has not made him just to you! If from nobetter motive, that he should not have been tooproud to be dishonest—for dishonesty I mustcall it."

"It is wonderful," replied Wickham, "for almostall his actions may be traced to pride; and pridehad often been his best friend. It has connectedhim nearer with virtue than with any otherfeeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in

his behaviour to me there were stronger im-pulses even than pride."

"Can such abominable pride as his have everdone him good?"

"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and gen-erous, to give his money freely, to display hos-pitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve thepoor. Family pride, and filial pride—for he isvery proud of what his father was—have donethis. Not to appear to disgrace his family, todegenerate from the popular qualities, or losethe influence of the Pemberley House, is apowerful motive. He has also brotherly pride,which, with some brotherly affection, makeshim a very kind and careful guardian of hissister, and you will hear him generally cried upas the most attentive and best of brothers."

"What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?"

He shook his head. "I wish I could call heramiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy.But she is too much like her brother—very,very proud. As a child, she was affectionateand pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and Ihave devoted hours and hours to her amuse-ment. But she is nothing to me now. She is ahandsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, Iunderstand, highly accomplished. Since herfather's death, her home has been London,where a lady lives with her, and superintendsher education."

After many pauses and many trials of othersubjects, Elizabeth could not help revertingonce more to the first, and saying:

"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bing-ley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems goodhumour itself, and is, I really believe, trulyamiable, be in friendship with such a man?How can they suit each other? Do you knowMr. Bingley?"

"Not at all."

"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charmingman. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is."

"Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please wherehe chooses. He does not want abilities. He canbe a conversible companion if he thinks itworth his while. Among those who are at allhis equals in consequence, he is a very differentman from what he is to the less prosperous. Hispride never deserts him; but with the rich he isliberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honour-able, and perhaps agreeable—allowing some-thing for fortune and figure."

The whist party soon afterwards breaking up,the players gathered round the other table andMr. Collins took his station between his cousinElizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiriesas to his success was made by the latter. It hadnot been very great; he had lost every point;but when Mrs. Phillips began to express her

concern thereupon, he assured her with muchearnest gravity that it was not of the least im-portance, that he considered the money as amere trifle, and begged that she would notmake herself uneasy.

"I know very well, madam," said he, "that whenpersons sit down to a card-table, they must taketheir chances of these things, and happily I amnot in such circumstances as to make five shil-lings any object. There are undoubtedly manywho could not say the same, but thanks to LadyCatherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyondthe necessity of regarding little matters."

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and afterobserving Mr. Collins for a few moments, heasked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her re-lation was very intimately acquainted with thefamily of de Bourgh.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "hasvery lately given him a living. I hardly know

how Mr. Collins was first introduced to hernotice, but he certainly has not known herlong."

"You know of course that Lady Catherine deBourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters;consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr.Darcy."

"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all ofLady Catherine's connections. I never heard ofher existence till the day before yesterday."

"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have avery large fortune, and it is believed that sheand her cousin will unite the two estates."

This information made Elizabeth smile, as shethought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeedmust be all her attentions, vain and useless heraffection for his sister and her praise of himself,if he were already self-destined for another.

"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both ofLady Catherine and her daughter; but fromsome particulars that he has related of her la-dyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him,and that in spite of her being his patroness, sheis an arrogant, conceited woman."

"I believe her to be both in a great degree," re-plied Wickham; "I have not seen her for manyyears, but I very well remember that I neverliked her, and that her manners were dictatorialand insolent. She has the reputation of beingremarkably sensible and clever; but I ratherbelieve she derives part of her abilities from herrank and fortune, part from her authoritativemanner, and the rest from the pride for hernephew, who chooses that everyone connectedwith him should have an understanding of thefirst class."

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very ra-tional account of it, and they continued talkingtogether, with mutual satisfaction till supper

put an end to cards, and gave the rest of theladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions.There could be no conversation in the noise ofMrs. Phillips's supper party, but his mannersrecommended him to everybody. Whatever hesaid, was said well; and whatever he did, donegracefully. Elizabeth went away with her headfull of him. She could think of nothing but ofMr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, allthe way home; but there was not time for hereven to mention his name as they went, forneither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent.Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of thefish she had lost and the fish she had won; andMr. Collins in describing the civility of Mr. andMrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not in theleast regard his losses at whist, enumerating allthe dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearingthat he crowded his cousins, had more to saythan he could well manage before the carriagestopped at Longbourn House.

Chapter 17

Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what hadpassed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Janelistened with astonishment and concern; sheknew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy couldbe so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; andyet, it was not in her nature to question the ve-racity of a young man of such amiable appear-ance as Wickham. The possibility of his havingendured such unkindness, was enough to in-terest all her tender feelings; and nothing re-mained therefore to be done, but to think wellof them both, to defend the conduct of each,and throw into the account of accident or mis-take whatever could not be otherwise ex-plained.

"They have both," said she, "been deceived, Idare say, in some way or other, of which wecan form no idea. Interested people have per-haps misrepresented each to the other. It is, inshort, impossible for us to conjecture the causesor circumstances which may have alienatedthem, without actual blame on either side."

"Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane,what have you got to say on behalf of the inter-ested people who have probably been con-cerned in the business? Do clear them too, or weshall be obliged to think ill of somebody."

"Laugh as much as you choose, but you will notlaugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy,do but consider in what a disgraceful light itplaces Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's fa-vourite in such a manner, one whom his fatherhad promised to provide for. It is impossible.No man of common humanity, no man whohad any value for his character, could be capa-

ble of it. Can his most intimate friends be soexcessively deceived in him? Oh! no."

"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley'sbeing imposed on, than that Mr. Wickhamshould invent such a history of himself as hegave me last night; names, facts, everythingmentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, letMr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truthin his looks."

"It is difficult indeed—it is distressing. Onedoes not know what to think."

"I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what tothink."

But Jane could think with certainty on only onepoint—that Mr. Bingley, if he had been imposedon, would have much to suffer when the affairbecame public.

The two young ladies were summoned fromthe shrubbery, where this conversation passed,by the arrival of the very persons of whom theyhad been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisterscame to give their personal invitation for thelong-expected ball at Netherfield, which wasfixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladieswere delighted to see their dear friend again,called it an age since they had met, and repeat-edly asked what she had been doing with her-self since their separation. To the rest of thefamily they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs.Bennet as much as possible, saying not much toElizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. Theywere soon gone again, rising from their seatswith an activity which took their brother bysurprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escapefrom Mrs. Bennet's civilities.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was ex-tremely agreeable to every female of the family.Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in

compliment to her eldest daughter, and wasparticularly flattered by receiving the invitationfrom Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremo-nious card. Jane pictured to herself a happyevening in the society of her two friends, andthe attentions of her brother; and Elizabeththought with pleasure of dancing a great dealwith Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirma-tion of everything in Mr. Darcy's look and be-havior. The happiness anticipated by Catherineand Lydia depended less on any single event,or any particular person, for though they each,like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the eveningwith Mr. Wickham, he was by no means theonly partner who could satisfy them, and a ballwas, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary couldassure her family that she had no disinclinationfor it.

"While I can have my mornings to myself," saidshe, "it is enough—I think it is no sacrifice tojoin occasionally in evening engagements. Soci-

ety has claims on us all; and I profess myselfone of those who consider intervals of recrea-tion and amusement as desirable for every-body."

Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occa-sion, that though she did not often speak un-necessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not helpasking him whether he intended to accept Mr.Bingley's invitation, and if he did, whether hewould think it proper to join in the evening'samusement; and she was rather surprised tofind that he entertained no scruple whatever onthat head, and was very far from dreading arebuke either from the Archbishop, or LadyCatherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.

"I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,"said he, "that a ball of this kind, given by ayoung man of character, to respectable people,can have any evil tendency; and I am so farfrom objecting to dancing myself, that I shallhope to be honoured with the hands of all my

fair cousins in the course of the evening; and Itake this opportunity of soliciting yours, MissElizabeth, for the two first dances especially, apreference which I trust my cousin Jane willattribute to the right cause, and not to any dis-respect for her."

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. Shehad fully proposed being engaged by Mr.Wickham for those very dances; and to haveMr. Collins instead! her liveliness had neverbeen worse timed. There was no help for it,however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and herown were perforce delayed a little longer, andMr. Collins's proposal accepted with as good agrace as she could. She was not the betterpleased with his gallantry from the idea it sug-gested of something more. It now first struckher, that she was selected from among her sis-ters as worthy of being mistress of HunsfordParsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrilletable at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible

visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, asshe observed his increasing civilities towardherself, and heard his frequent attempt at acompliment on her wit and vivacity; andthough more astonished than gratified herselfby this effect of her charms, it was not long be-fore her mother gave her to understand that theprobability of their marriage was extremelyagreeable to her. Elizabeth, however, did notchoose to take the hint, being well aware that aserious dispute must be the consequence of anyreply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer,and till he did, it was useless to quarrel abouthim.

If there had not been a Netherfield ball to pre-pare for and talk of, the younger Miss Bennetswould have been in a very pitiable state at thistime, for from the day of the invitation, to theday of the ball, there was such a succession ofrain as prevented their walking to Merytononce. No aunt, no officers, no news could be

sought after—the very shoe-roses for Nether-field were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth mighthave found some trial of her patience inweather which totally suspended the im-provement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wick-ham; and nothing less than a dance on Tues-day, could have made such a Friday, Saturday,Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty andLydia.

Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room atNetherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wick-ham among the cluster of red coats there as-sembled, a doubt of his being present hadnever occurred to her. The certainty of meetinghim had not been checked by any of those rec-

ollections that might not unreasonably havealarmed her. She had dressed with more thanusual care, and prepared in the highest spiritsfor the conquest of all that remained unsub-dued of his heart, trusting that it was not morethan might be won in the course of the evening.But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion ofhis being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy'spleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the offi-cers; and though this was not exactly the case,the absolute fact of his absence was pro-nounced by his friend Denny, to whom Lydiaeagerly applied, and who told them that Wick-ham had been obliged to go to town on busi-ness the day before, and was not yet returned;adding, with a significant smile, "I do not imag-ine his business would have called him awayjust now, if he had not wanted to avoid a cer-tain gentleman here."

This part of his intelligence, though unheard byLydia, was caught by Elizabeth, and, as it as-

sured her that Darcy was not less answerablefor Wickham's absence than if her first surmisehad been just, every feeling of displeasureagainst the former was so sharpened by imme-diate disappointment, that she could hardlyreply with tolerable civility to the polite inquir-ies which he directly afterwards approached tomake. Attendance, forbearance, patience withDarcy, was injury to Wickham. She was re-solved against any sort of conversation withhim, and turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she could not wholly surmounteven in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blindpartiality provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour;and though every prospect of her own was de-stroyed for the evening, it could not dwell longon her spirits; and having told all her griefs toCharlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for aweek, she was soon able to make a voluntarytransition to the oddities of her cousin, and to

point him out to her particular notice. The firsttwo dances, however, brought a return of dis-tress; they were dances of mortification. Mr.Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising in-stead of attending, and often moving wrongwithout being aware of it, gave her all theshame and misery which a disagreeable partnerfor a couple of dances can give. The moment ofher release from him was ecstasy.

She danced next with an officer, and had therefreshment of talking of Wickham, and ofhearing that he was universally liked. Whenthose dances were over, she returned to Char-lotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her,when she found herself suddenly addressed byMr. Darcy who took her so much by surprise inhis application for her hand, that, withoutknowing what she did, she accepted him. Hewalked away again immediately, and she wasleft to fret over her own want of presence ofmind; Charlotte tried to console her:

"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest mis-fortune of all! To find a man agreeable whomone is determined to hate! Do not wish me suchan evil."

When the dancing recommenced, however, andDarcy approached to claim her hand, Charlottecould not help cautioning her in a whisper, notto be a simpleton, and allow her fancy forWickham to make her appear unpleasant in theeyes of a man ten times his consequence. Eliza-beth made no answer, and took her place in theset, amazed at the dignity to which she wasarrived in being allowed to stand opposite toMr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours'looks, their equal amazement in beholding it.They stood for some time without speaking aword; and she began to imagine that their si-lence was to last through the two dances, andat first was resolved not to break it; till sud-denly fancying that it would be the greater

punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk,she made some slight observation on the dance.He replied, and was again silent. After a pauseof some minutes, she addressed him a secondtime with:—"It is your turn to say somethingnow, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, andyou ought to make some sort of remark on thesize of the room, or the number of couples."

He smiled, and assured her that whatever shewished him to say should be said.

"Very well. That reply will do for the present.Perhaps by and by I may observe that privateballs are much pleasanter than public ones. Butnow we may be silent."

"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are danc-ing?"

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know.It would look odd to be entirely silent for halfan hour together; and yet for the advantage of

some, conversation ought to be so arranged, asthat they may have the trouble of saying aslittle as possible."

"Are you consulting your own feelings in thepresent case, or do you imagine that you aregratifying mine?"

"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have al-ways seen a great similarity in the turn of ourminds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturndisposition, unwilling to speak, unless we ex-pect to say something that will amaze thewhole room, and be handed down to posteritywith all the eclat of a proverb."

"This is no very striking resemblance of yourown character, I am sure," said he. "How near itmay be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. Youthink it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

"I must not decide on my own performance."

He made no answer, and they were again silenttill they had gone down the dance, when heasked her if she and her sisters did not veryoften walk to Meryton. She answered in theaffirmative, and, unable to resist the tempta-tion, added, "When you met us there the otherday, we had just been forming a new acquaint-ance."

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade ofhauteur overspread his features, but he said nota word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herselffor her own weakness, could not go on. Atlength Darcy spoke, and in a constrained man-ner said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with suchhappy manners as may ensure his makingfriends—whether he may be equally capable ofretaining them, is less certain."

"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friend-ship," replied Elizabeth with emphasis, "and ina manner which he is likely to suffer from allhis life."

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous ofchanging the subject. At that moment, Sir Wil-liam Lucas appeared close to them, meaning topass through the set to the other side of theroom; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stoppedwith a bow of superior courtesy to complimenthim on his dancing and his partner.

"I have been most highly gratified indeed, mydear sir. Such very superior dancing is not of-ten seen. It is evident that you belong to thefirst circles. Allow me to say, however, thatyour fair partner does not disgrace you, andthat I must hope to have this pleasure oftenrepeated, especially when a certain desirableevent, my dear Eliza (glancing at her sister andBingley) shall take place. What congratulationswill then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:—butlet me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thankme for detaining you from the bewitching con-verse of that young lady, whose bright eyes arealso upbraiding me."

The latter part of this address was scarcelyheard by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to hisfriend seemed to strike him forcibly, and hiseyes were directed with a very serious expres-sion towards Bingley and Jane, who were danc-ing together. Recovering himself, however,shortly, he turned to his partner, and said, "SirWilliam's interruption has made me forgetwhat we were talking of."

"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir Wil-liam could not have interrupted two people inthe room who had less to say for themselves.We have tried two or three subjects alreadywithout success, and what we are to talk ofnext I cannot imagine."

"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.

"Books—oh! no. I am sure we never read thesame, or not with the same feelings."

"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case,there can at least be no want of subject. We maycompare our different opinions."

"No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; myhead is always full of something else."

"The present always occupies you in suchscenes—does it?" said he, with a look of doubt.

"Yes, always," she replied, without knowingwhat she said, for her thoughts had wanderedfar from the subject, as soon afterwards ap-peared by her suddenly exclaiming, "I remem-ber hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that youhardly ever forgave, that your resentment oncecreated was unappeasable. You are very cau-tious, I suppose, as to its being created."

"I am," said he, with a firm voice.

"And never allow yourself to be blinded byprejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It is particularly incumbent on those whonever change their opinion, to be secure ofjudging properly at first."

"May I ask to what these questions tend?"

"Merely to the illustration of your character,"said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity."I am trying to make it out."

"And what is your success?"

She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. Ihear such different accounts of you as puzzleme exceedingly."

"I can readily believe," answered he gravely,"that reports may vary greatly with respect tome; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that youwere not to sketch my character at the presentmoment, as there is reason to fear that the per-formance would reflect no credit on either."

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I maynever have another opportunity."

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure ofyours," he coldly replied. She said no more, andthey went down the other dance and parted insilence; and on each side dissatisfied, thoughnot to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breastthere was a tolerable powerful feeling towardsher, which soon procured her pardon, and di-rected all his anger against another.

They had not long separated, when Miss Bing-ley came towards her, and with an expressionof civil disdain accosted her:

"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delightedwith George Wickham! Your sister has beentalking to me about him, and asking me a thou-sand questions; and I find that the young manquite forgot to tell you, among his other com-munication, that he was the son of old Wick-ham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me rec-

ommend you, however, as a friend, not to giveimplicit confidence to all his assertions; for as toMr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false;for, on the contrary, he has always been re-markably kind to him, though George Wick-ham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamousmanner. I do not know the particulars, but Iknow very well that Mr. Darcy is not in theleast to blame, that he cannot bear to hearGeorge Wickham mentioned, and that thoughmy brother thought that he could not wellavoid including him in his invitation to the of-ficers, he was excessively glad to find that hehad taken himself out of the way. His cominginto the country at all is a most insolent thing,indeed, and I wonder how he could presume todo it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discoveryof your favourite's guilt; but really, consideringhis descent, one could not expect much better."

"His guilt and his descent appear by your ac-count to be the same," said Elizabeth angrily;

"for I have heard you accuse him of nothingworse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy'ssteward, and of that, I can assure you, he in-formed me himself."

"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turn-ing away with a sneer. "Excuse my interfer-ence—it was kindly meant."

"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. "Youare much mistaken if you expect to influenceme by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothingin it but your own wilful ignorance and themalice of Mr. Darcy." She then sought her eld-est sister, who has undertaken to make inquir-ies on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met herwith a smile of such sweet complacency, a glowof such happy expression, as sufficientlymarked how well she was satisfied with theoccurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantlyread her feelings, and at that moment solicitudefor Wickham, resentment against his enemies,

and everything else, gave way before the hopeof Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness.

"I want to know," said she, with a countenanceno less smiling than her sister's, "what you havelearnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps youhave been too pleasantly engaged to think ofany third person; in which case you may besure of my pardon."

"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him;but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr.Bingley does not know the whole of his history,and is quite ignorant of the circumstanceswhich have principally offended Mr. Darcy; buthe will vouch for the good conduct, the probity,and honour of his friend, and is perfectly con-vinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved muchless attention from Mr. Darcy than he has re-ceived; and I am sorry to say by his account aswell as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by nomeans a respectable young man. I am afraid he

has been very imprudent, and has deserved tolose Mr. Darcy's regard."

"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham him-self?"

"No; he never saw him till the other morning atMeryton."

"This account then is what he has received fromMr. Darcy. I am satisfied. But what does he sayof the living?"

"He does not exactly recollect the circum-stances, though he has heard them from Mr.Darcy more than once, but he believes that itwas left to him conditionally only."

"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity,"said Elizabeth warmly; "but you must excusemy not being convinced by assurances only.Mr. Bingley's defense of his friend was a veryable one, I dare say; but since he is unac-

quainted with several parts of the story, andhas learnt the rest from that friend himself, Ishall venture to still think of both gentlemen asI did before."

She then changed the discourse to one moregratifying to each, and on which there could beno difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listenedwith delight to the happy, though modesthopes which Jane entertained of Mr. Bingley'sregard, and said all in her power to heightenher confidence in it. On their being joined byMr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew toMiss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleas-antness of her last partner she had scarcely re-plied, before Mr. Collins came up to them, andtold her with great exultation that he had justbeen so fortunate as to make a most importantdiscovery.

"I have found out," said he, "by a singular acci-dent, that there is now in the room a near rela-tion of my patroness. I happened to overhear

the gentleman himself mentioning to the younglady who does the honours of the house thenames of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of hermother Lady Catherine. How wonderfullythese sort of things occur! Who would havethought of my meeting with, perhaps, anephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in thisassembly! I am most thankful that the discov-ery is made in time for me to pay my respectsto him, which I am now going to do, and trusthe will excuse my not having done it before.My total ignorance of the connection mustplead my apology."

"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr.Darcy!"

"Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for nothaving done it earlier. I believe him to be LadyCatherine's nephew. It will be in my power toassure him that her ladyship was quite wellyesterday se'nnight."

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from sucha scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy wouldconsider his addressing him without introduc-tion as an impertinent freedom, rather than acompliment to his aunt; that it was not in theleast necessary there should be any notice oneither side; and that if it were, it must belong toMr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to be-gin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to herwith the determined air of following his owninclination, and, when she ceased speaking,replied thus:

"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highestopinion in the world in your excellent judge-ment in all matters within the scope of yourunderstanding; but permit me to say, that theremust be a wide difference between the estab-lished forms of ceremony amongst the laity,and those which regulate the clergy; for, giveme leave to observe that I consider the clericaloffice as equal in point of dignity with the

highest rank in the kingdom—provided that aproper humility of behaviour is at the sametime maintained. You must therefore allow meto follow the dictates of my conscience on thisoccasion, which leads me to perform what Ilook on as a point of duty. Pardon me for ne-glecting to profit by your advice, which onevery other subject shall be my constant guide,though in the case before us I consider myselfmore fitted by education and habitual study todecide on what is right than a young lady likeyourself." And with a low bow he left her toattack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his ad-vances she eagerly watched, and whose aston-ishment at being so addressed was very evi-dent. Her cousin prefaced his speech with asolemn bow and though she could not hear aword of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and sawin the motion of his lips the words "apology,""Hunsford," and "Lady Catherine de Bourgh." Itvexed her to see him expose himself to such aman. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unre-

strained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collinsallowed him time to speak, replied with an airof distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, wasnot discouraged from speaking again, and Mr.Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly increas-ing with the length of his second speech, and atthe end of it he only made him a slight bow,and moved another way. Mr. Collins then re-turned to Elizabeth.

"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to bedissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcyseemed much pleased with the attention. Heanswered me with the utmost civility, and evenpaid me the compliment of saying that he wasso well convinced of Lady Catherine's discern-ment as to be certain she could never bestow afavour unworthily. It was really a very hand-some thought. Upon the whole, I am muchpleased with him."

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of herown to pursue, she turned her attention almost

entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley; and thetrain of agreeable reflections which her obser-vations gave birth to, made her perhaps almostas happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled inthat very house, in all the felicity which a mar-riage of true affection could bestow; and shefelt capable, under such circumstances, of en-deavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters.Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw werebent the same way, and she determined not toventure near her, lest she might hear too much.When they sat down to supper, therefore, sheconsidered it a most unlucky perversenesswhich placed them within one of each other;and deeply was she vexed to find that hermother was talking to that one person (LadyLucas) freely, openly, and of nothing else buther expectation that Jane would soon be mar-ried to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject,and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of fatiguewhile enumerating the advantages of thematch. His being such a charming young man,

and so rich, and living but three miles fromthem, were the first points of self-gratulation;and then it was such a comfort to think howfond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be cer-tain that they must desire the connection asmuch as she could do. It was, moreover, such apromising thing for her younger daughters, asJane's marrying so greatly must throw them inthe way of other rich men; and lastly, it was sopleasant at her time of life to be able to consignher single daughters to the care of their sister,that she might not be obliged to go into com-pany more than she liked. It was necessary tomake this circumstance a matter of pleasure,because on such occasions it is the etiquette; butno one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to findcomfort in staying home at any period of herlife. She concluded with many good wishes thatLady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate,though evidently and triumphantly believingthere was no chance of it.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check therapidity of her mother's words, or persuade herto describe her felicity in a less audible whis-per; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she couldperceive that the chief of it was overheard byMr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Hermother only scolded her for being nonsensical.

"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I shouldbe afraid of him? I am sure we owe him nosuch particular civility as to be obliged to saynothing he may not like to hear."

"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. Whatadvantage can it be for you to offend Mr.Darcy? You will never recommend yourself tohis friend by so doing!"

Nothing that she could say, however, had anyinfluence. Her mother would talk of her viewsin the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushedand blushed again with shame and vexation.She could not help frequently glancing her eye

at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convincedher of what she dreaded; for though he was notalways looking at her mother, she was con-vinced that his attention was invariably fixedby her. The expression of his face changedgradually from indignant contempt to a com-posed and steady gravity.

At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no moreto say; and Lady Lucas, who had been longyawning at the repetition of delights which shesaw no likelihood of sharing, was left to thecomforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabethnow began to revive. But not long was the in-terval of tranquillity; for, when supper wasover, singing was talked of, and she had themortification of seeing Mary, after very littleentreaty, preparing to oblige the company. Bymany significant looks and silent entreaties, didshe endeavour to prevent such a proof of com-plaisance, but in vain; Mary would not under-stand them; such an opportunity of exhibiting

was delightful to her, and she began her song.Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with mostpainful sensations, and she watched her pro-gress through the several stanzas with an impa-tience which was very ill rewarded at theirclose; for Mary, on receiving, amongst thethanks of the table, the hint of a hope that shemight be prevailed on to favour them again,after the pause of half a minute began another.Mary's powers were by no means fitted forsuch a display; her voice was weak, and hermanner affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. Shelooked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Janewas very composedly talking to Bingley. Shelooked at his two sisters, and saw them makingsigns of derision at each other, and at Darcy,who continued, however, imperturbably grave.She looked at her father to entreat his interfer-ence, lest Mary should be singing all night. Hetook the hint, and when Mary had finished hersecond song, said aloud, "That will do ex-tremely well, child. You have delighted us long

enough. Let the other young ladies have time toexhibit."

Mary, though pretending not to hear, wassomewhat disconcerted; and Elizabeth, sorryfor her, and sorry for her father's speech, wasafraid her anxiety had done no good. Others ofthe party were now applied to.

"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as tobe able to sing, I should have great pleasure, Iam sure, in obliging the company with an air;for I consider music as a very innocent diver-sion, and perfectly compatible with the profes-sion of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, toassert that we can be justified in devoting toomuch of our time to music, for there are cer-tainly other things to be attended to. The rectorof a parish has much to do. In the first place, hemust make such an agreement for tithes as maybe beneficial to himself and not offensive to hispatron. He must write his own sermons; andthe time that remains will not be too much for

his parish duties, and the care and improve-ment of his dwelling, which he cannot be ex-cused from making as comfortable as possible.And I do not think it of light importance that heshould have attentive and conciliatory mannertowards everybody, especially towards those towhom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquithim of that duty; nor could I think well of theman who should omit an occasion of testifyinghis respect towards anybody connected withthe family." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, heconcluded his speech, which had been spokenso loud as to be heard by half the room. Manystared—many smiled; but no one looked moreamused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wifeseriously commended Mr. Collins for havingspoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarka-bly clever, good kind of young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her familymade an agreement to expose themselves as

much as they could during the evening, itwould have been impossible for them to playtheir parts with more spirit or finer success;and happy did she think it for Bingley and hersister that some of the exhibition had escapedhis notice, and that his feelings were not of asort to be much distressed by the folly which hemust have witnessed. That his two sisters andMr. Darcy, however, should have such an op-portunity of ridiculing her relations, was badenough, and she could not determine whetherthe silent contempt of the gentleman, or theinsolent smiles of the ladies, were more intoler-able.

The rest of the evening brought her littleamusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins,who continued most perseveringly by her side,and though he could not prevail on her todance with him again, put it out of her powerto dance with others. In vain did she entreathim to stand up with somebody else, and offer

to introduce him to any young lady in theroom. He assured her, that as to dancing, hewas perfectly indifferent to it; that his chiefobject was by delicate attentions to recommendhimself to her and that he should thereforemake a point of remaining close to her thewhole evening. There was no arguing uponsuch a project. She owed her greatest relief toher friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them,and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's con-versation to herself.

She was at least free from the offense of Mr.Darcy's further notice; though often standingwithin a very short distance of her, quite disen-gaged, he never came near enough to speak.She felt it to be the probable consequence of herallusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all thecompany to depart, and, by a manoeuvre ofMrs. Bennet, had to wait for their carriage aquarter of an hour after everybody else was

gone, which gave them time to see how heartilythey were wished away by some of the family.Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely opened theirmouths, except to complain of fatigue, andwere evidently impatient to have the house tothemselves. They repulsed every attempt ofMrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doingthrew a languor over the whole party, whichwas very little relieved by the long speeches ofMr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bing-ley and his sisters on the elegance of their en-tertainment, and the hospitality and politenesswhich had marked their behaviour to theirguests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, inequal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bing-ley and Jane were standing together, a littledetached from the rest, and talked only to eachother. Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence aseither Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and evenLydia was too much fatigued to utter morethan the occasional exclamation of "Lord, howtired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs.Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope ofseeing the whole family soon at Longbourn,and addressed herself especially to Mr. Bingley,to assure him how happy he would make themby eating a family dinner with them at anytime, without the ceremony of a formal invita-tion. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and hereadily engaged for taking the earliest oppor-tunity of waiting on her, after his return fromLondon, whither he was obliged to go the nextday for a short time.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quittedthe house under the delightful persuasion that,allowing for the necessary preparations of set-tlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes,she should undoubtedly see her daughter set-tled at Netherfield in the course of three or fourmonths. Of having another daughter married toMr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty,and with considerable, though not equal,

pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her ofall her children; and though the man and thematch were quite good enough for her, theworth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley andNetherfield.

Chapter 19

The next day opened a new scene at Long-bourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration inform. Having resolved to do it without loss oftime, as his leave of absence extended only tothe following Saturday, and having no feelingsof diffidence to make it distressing to himselfeven at the moment, he set about it in a veryorderly manner, with all the observances,which he supposed a regular part of the busi-ness. On finding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and

one of the younger girls together, soon afterbreakfast, he addressed the mother in thesewords:

"May I hope, madam, for your interest withyour fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit forthe honour of a private audience with her in thecourse of this morning?"

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but ablush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered in-stantly, "Oh dear!—yes—certainly. I am sureLizzy will be very happy—I am sure she canhave no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you up-stairs." And, gathering her work together, shewas hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:

"Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go.Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have noth-ing to say to me that anybody need not hear. Iam going away myself."

"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to staywhere you are." And upon Elizabeth's seemingreally, with vexed and embarrassed looks,about to escape, she added: "Lizzy, I insist uponyour staying and hearing Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunc-tion—and a moment's consideration makingher also sensible that it would be wisest to get itover as soon and as quietly as possible, she satdown again and tried to conceal, by incessantemployment the feelings which were dividedbetween distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennetand Kitty walked off, and as soon as they weregone, Mr. Collins began.

"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that yourmodesty, so far from doing you any disservice,rather adds to your other perfections. Youwould have been less amiable in my eyes hadthere not been this little unwillingness; but al-low me to assure you, that I have your re-spected mother's permission for this address.

You can hardly doubt the purport of my dis-course, however your natural delicacy maylead you to dissemble; my attentions have beentoo marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as Ientered the house, I singled you out as thecompanion of my future life. But before I amrun away with by my feelings on this subject,perhaps it would be advisable for me to statemy reasons for marrying—and, moreover, forcoming into Hertfordshire with the design ofselecting a wife, as I certainly did."

The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemncomposure, being run away with by his feel-ings, made Elizabeth so near laughing, that shecould not use the short pause he allowed in anyattempt to stop him further, and he continued:

"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I thinkit a right thing for every clergyman in easy cir-cumstances (like myself) to set the example ofmatrimony in his parish; secondly, that I amconvinced that it will add very greatly to my

happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I oughtto have mentioned earlier, that it is the particu-lar advice and recommendation of the verynoble lady whom I have the honour of callingpatroness. Twice has she condescended to giveme her opinion (unasked too!) on this subject;and it was but the very Saturday night before Ileft Hunsford—between our pools at quadrille,while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss deBourgh's footstool, that she said, 'Mr. Collins,you must marry. A clergyman like you mustmarry. Choose properly, choose a gentle-woman for my sake; and for your own, let herbe an active, useful sort of person, not broughtup high, but able to make a small income go agood way. This is my advice. Find such awoman as soon as you can, bring her toHunsford, and I will visit her.' Allow me, bythe way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I donot reckon the notice and kindness of LadyCatherine de Bourgh as among the least of theadvantages in my power to offer. You will find

her manners beyond anything I can describe;and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be ac-ceptable to her, especially when tempered withthe silence and respect which her rank will in-evitably excite. Thus much for my general in-tention in favour of matrimony; it remains to betold why my views were directed towardsLongbourn instead of my own neighbourhood,where I can assure you there are many amiableyoung women. But the fact is, that being, as Iam, to inherit this estate after the death of yourhonoured father (who, however, may livemany years longer), I could not satisfy myselfwithout resolving to choose a wife from amonghis daughters, that the loss to them might be aslittle as possible, when the melancholy eventtakes place—which, however, as I have alreadysaid, may not be for several years. This hasbeen my motive, my fair cousin, and I flattermyself it will not sink me in your esteem. Andnow nothing remains for me but to assure youin the most animated language of the violence

of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indif-ferent, and shall make no demand of that na-ture on your father, since I am well aware thatit could not be complied with; and that onethousand pounds in the four per cents, whichwill not be yours till after your mother's de-cease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. Onthat head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent;and you may assure yourself that no ungener-ous reproach shall ever pass my lips when weare married."

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt himnow.

"You are too hasty, sir," she cried. "You forgetthat I have made no answer. Let me do it with-out further loss of time. Accept my thanks forthe compliment you are paying me. I am verysensible of the honour of your proposals, but itis impossible for me to do otherwise than todecline them."

"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins,with a formal wave of the hand, "that it is usualwith young ladies to reject the addresses of theman whom they secretly mean to accept, whenhe first applies for their favour; and that some-times the refusal is repeated a second, or even athird time. I am therefore by no means discour-aged by what you have just said, and shallhope to lead you to the altar ere long."

"Upon my word, sir," cried Elizabeth, "yourhope is a rather extraordinary one after mydeclaration. I do assure you that I am not one ofthose young ladies (if such young ladies thereare) who are so daring as to risk their happi-ness on the chance of being asked a secondtime. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. Youcould not make me happy, and I am convincedthat I am the last woman in the world whocould make you so. Nay, were your friendLady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded

she would find me in every respect ill qualifiedfor the situation."

"Were it certain that Lady Catherine wouldthink so," said Mr. Collins very gravely—"but Icannot imagine that her ladyship would at alldisapprove of you. And you may be certainwhen I have the honour of seeing her again, Ishall speak in the very highest terms of yourmodesty, economy, and other amiable qualifi-cation."

"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will beunnecessary. You must give me leave to judgefor myself, and pay me the compliment of be-lieving what I say. I wish you very happy andvery rich, and by refusing your hand, do all inmy power to prevent your being otherwise. Inmaking me the offer, you must have satisfiedthe delicacy of your feelings with regard to myfamily, and may take possession of Longbournestate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be considered,

therefore, as finally settled." And rising as shethus spoke, she would have quitted the room,had Mr. Collins not thus addressed her:

"When I do myself the honour of speaking toyou next on the subject, I shall hope to receive amore favourable answer than you have nowgiven me; though I am far from accusing you ofcruelty at present, because I know it to be theestablished custom of your sex to reject a manon the first application, and perhaps you haveeven now said as much to encourage my suit aswould be consistent with the true delicacy ofthe female character."

"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with somewarmth, "you puzzle me exceedingly. If what Ihave hitherto said can appear to you in theform of encouragement, I know not how toexpress my refusal in such a way as to convinceyou of its being one."

"You must give me leave to flatter myself, mydear cousin, that your refusal of my addressesis merely words of course. My reasons for be-lieving it are briefly these: It does not appear tome that my hand is unworthy your acceptance,or that the establishment I can offer would beany other than highly desirable. My situation inlife, my connections with the family of deBourgh, and my relationship to your own, arecircumstances highly in my favour; and youshould take it into further consideration, that inspite of your manifold attractions, it is by nomeans certain that another offer of marriagemay ever be made you. Your portion is unhap-pily so small that it will in all likelihood undothe effects of your loveliness and amiable quali-fications. As I must therefore conclude that youare not serious in your rejection of me, I shallchoose to attribute it to your wish of increasingmy love by suspense, according to the usualpractice of elegant females."

"I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensionswhatever to that kind of elegance which con-sists in tormenting a respectable man. I wouldrather be paid the compliment of being be-lieved sincere. I thank you again and again forthe honour you have done me in your propos-als, but to accept them is absolutely impossible.My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can Ispeak plainer? Do not consider me now as anelegant female, intending to plague you, but asa rational creature, speaking the truth from herheart."

"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, withan air of awkward gallantry; "and I am per-suaded that when sanctioned by the expressauthority of both your excellent parents, myproposals will not fail of being acceptable."

To such perseverance in wilful self-deceptionElizabeth would make no reply, and immedi-ately and in silence withdrew; determined, if hepersisted in considering her repeated refusals

as flattering encouragement, to apply to herfather, whose negative might be uttered in sucha manner as to be decisive, and whose behaviorat least could not be mistaken for the affecta-tion and coquetry of an elegant female.

Chapter 20

Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent con-templation of his successful love; for Mrs. Ben-net, having dawdled about in the vestibule towatch for the end of the conference, no soonersaw Elizabeth open the door and with quickstep pass her towards the staircase, than sheentered the breakfast-room, and congratulatedboth him and herself in warm terms on thehappy prospect or their nearer connection. Mr.Collins received and returned these felicitations

with equal pleasure, and then proceeded torelate the particulars of their interview, withthe result of which he trusted he had every rea-son to be satisfied, since the refusal which hiscousin had steadfastly given him would natu-rally flow from her bashful modesty and thegenuine delicacy of her character.

This information, however, startled Mrs. Ben-net; she would have been glad to be equallysatisfied that her daughter had meant to en-courage him by protesting against his propos-als, but she dared not believe it, and could nothelp saying so.

"But, depend upon it, Mr. Collins," she added,"that Lizzy shall be brought to reason. I willspeak to her about it directly. She is a veryheadstrong, foolish girl, and does not know herown interest but I will make her know it."

"Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,"cried Mr. Collins; "but if she is really head-

strong and foolish, I know not whether shewould altogether be a very desirable wife to aman in my situation, who naturally looks forhappiness in the marriage state. If therefore sheactually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps itwere better not to force her into accepting me,because if liable to such defects of temper, shecould not contribute much to my felicity."

"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," said Mrs.Bennet, alarmed. "Lizzy is only headstrong insuch matters as these. In everything else she isas good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will godirectly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soonsettle it with her, I am sure."

She would not give him time to reply, but hur-rying instantly to her husband, called out asshe entered the library, "Oh! Mr. Bennet, youare wanted immediately; we are all in an up-roar. You must come and make Lizzy marryMr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him,

and if you do not make haste he will change hismind and not have her."

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as sheentered, and fixed them on her face with a calmunconcern which was not in the least altered byher communication.

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you,"said he, when she had finished her speech. "Ofwhat are you talking?"

"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares shewill not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins be-gins to say that he will not have Lizzy."

"And what am I to do on the occasion? It seemsan hopeless business."

"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her thatyou insist upon her marrying him."

"Let her be called down. She shall hear myopinion."

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabethwas summoned to the library.

"Come here, child," cried her father as she ap-peared. "I have sent for you on an affair of im-portance. I understand that Mr. Collins hasmade you an offer of marriage. Is it true?"Elizabeth replied that it was. "Very well—andthis offer of marriage you have refused?"

"I have, sir."

"Very well. We now come to the point. Yourmother insists upon your accepting it. Is it notso, Mrs. Bennet?"

"Yes, or I will never see her again."

"An unhappy alternative is before you, Eliza-beth. From this day you must be a stranger toone of your parents. Your mother will never seeyou again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, andI will never see you again if you do."

Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclu-sion of such a beginning, but Mrs. Bennet, whohad persuaded herself that her husband re-garded the affair as she wished, was exces-sively disappointed.

"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking thisway? You promised me to insist upon her mar-rying him."

"My dear," replied her husband, "I have twosmall favours to request. First, that you willallow me the free use of my understanding onthe present occasion; and secondly, of myroom. I shall be glad to have the library to my-self as soon as may be."

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappoint-ment in her husband, did Mrs. Bennet give upthe point. She talked to Elizabeth again andagain; coaxed and threatened her by turns. Sheendeavoured to secure Jane in her interest; butJane, with all possible mildness, declined inter-

fering; and Elizabeth, sometimes with real ear-nestness, and sometimes with playful gaiety,replied to her attacks. Though her manner var-ied, however, her determination never did.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in soli-tude on what had passed. He thought too wellof himself to comprehend on what motives hiscousin could refuse him; and though his pridewas hurt, he suffered in no other way. His re-gard for her was quite imaginary; and the pos-sibility of her deserving her mother's reproachprevented his feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Char-lotte Lucas came to spend the day with them.She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who,flying to her, cried in a half whisper, "I am gladyou are come, for there is such fun here! Whatdo you think has happened this morning? Mr.Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she willnot have him."

Charlotte hardly had time to answer, beforethey were joined by Kitty, who came to tell thesame news; and no sooner had they entered thebreakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone,than she likewise began on the subject, callingon Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreat-ing her to persuade her friend Lizzy to complywith the wishes of all her family. "Pray do, mydear Miss Lucas," she added in a melancholytone, "for nobody is on my side, nobody takespart with me. I am cruelly used, nobody feelsfor my poor nerves."

Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance ofJane and Elizabeth.

"Aye, there she comes," continued Mrs. Bennet,"looking as unconcerned as may be, and caringno more for us than if we were at York, pro-vided she can have her own way. But I tell you,Miss Lizzy—if you take it into your head to goon refusing every offer of marriage in this way,you will never get a husband at all—and I am

sure I do not know who is to maintain youwhen your father is dead. I shall not be able tokeep you—and so I warn you. I have done withyou from this very day. I told you in the li-brary, you know, that I should never speak toyou again, and you will find me as good as myword. I have no pleasure in talking to undutifulchildren. Not that I have much pleasure, in-deed, in talking to anybody. People who sufferas I do from nervous complaints can have nogreat inclination for talking. Nobody can tellwhat I suffer! But it is always so. Those who donot complain are never pitied."

Her daughters listened in silence to this effu-sion, sensible that any attempt to reason withher or soothe her would only increase the irrita-tion. She talked on, therefore, without interrup-tion from any of them, till they were joined byMr. Collins, who entered the room with an airmore stately than usual, and on perceivingwhom, she said to the girls, "Now, I do insist

upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues,and let me and Mr. Collins have a little conver-sation together."

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Janeand Kitty followed, but Lydia stood herground, determined to hear all she could; andCharlotte, detained first by the civility of Mr.Collins, whose inquiries after herself and all herfamily were very minute, and then by a littlecuriosity, satisfied herself with walking to thewindow and pretending not to hear. In a dole-ful voice Mrs. Bennet began the projected con-versation: "Oh! Mr. Collins!"

"My dear madam," replied he, "let us be forever silent on this point. Far be it from me," hepresently continued, in a voice that marked hisdispleasure, "to resent the behaviour of yourdaughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is theevil duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a youngman who has been so fortunate as I have beenin early preferment; and I trust I am resigned.

Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt ofmy positive happiness had my fair cousin hon-oured me with her hand; for I have often ob-served that resignation is never so perfect aswhen the blessing denied begins to lose some-what of its value in our estimation. You willnot, I hope, consider me as showing any disre-spect to your family, my dear madam, by thuswithdrawing my pretensions to your daugh-ter's favour, without having paid yourself andMr. Bennet the compliment of requesting youto interpose your authority in my behalf. Myconduct may, I fear, be objectionable in havingaccepted my dismission from your daughter'slips instead of your own. But we are all liable toerror. I have certainly meant well through thewhole affair. My object has been to secure anamiable companion for myself, with due con-sideration for the advantage of all your family,and if my manner has been at all reprehensible,I here beg leave to apologise."

Chapter 21

The discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was nownearly at an end, and Elizabeth had only to suf-fer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarilyattending it, and occasionally from some pee-vish allusions of her mother. As for the gentle-man himself, his feelings were chiefly ex-pressed, not by embarrassment or dejection, orby trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of man-ner and resentful silence. He scarcely everspoke to her, and the assiduous attentionswhich he had been so sensible of himself weretransferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas,whose civility in listening to him was a season-able relief to them all, and especially to herfriend.

The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs.Bennet's ill-humour or ill health. Mr. Collinswas also in the same state of angry pride.Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment mightshorten his visit, but his plan did not appear inthe least affected by it. He was always to havegone on Saturday, and to Saturday he meant tostay.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton toinquire if Mr. Wickham were returned, and tolament over his absence from the Netherfieldball. He joined them on their entering the town,and attended them to their aunt's where hisregret and vexation, and the concern of every-body, was well talked over. To Elizabeth, how-ever, he voluntarily acknowledged that thenecessity of his absence had been self-imposed.

"I found," said he, "as the time drew near that Ihad better not meet Mr. Darcy; that to be in thesame room, the same party with him for somany hours together, might be more than I

could bear, and that scenes might arise un-pleasant to more than myself."

She highly approved his forbearance, and theyhad leisure for a full discussion of it, and for allthe commendation which they civilly bestowedon each other, as Wickham and another officerwalked back with them to Longbourn, and dur-ing the walk he particularly attended to her.His accompanying them was a double advan-tage; she felt all the compliment it offered toherself, and it was most acceptable as an occa-sion of introducing him to her father andmother.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered toMiss Bennet; it came from Netherfield. The en-velope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair,flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister'scountenance change as she read it, and saw herdwelling intently on some particular passages.Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the

letter away, tried to join with her usual cheer-fulness in the general conversation; but Eliza-beth felt an anxiety on the subject which drewoff her attention even from Wickham; and nosooner had he and his companion taken leave,than a glance from Jane invited her to followher upstairs. When they had gained their ownroom, Jane, taking out the letter, said:

"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it containshas surprised me a good deal. The whole partyhave left Netherfield by this time, and are ontheir way to town—and without any intentionof coming back again. You shall hear what shesays."

She then read the first sentence aloud, whichcomprised the information of their having justresolved to follow their brother to town di-rectly, and of their meaning to dine in Grosve-nor Street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. Thenext was in these words: "I do not pretend toregret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire,

except your society, my dearest friend; but wewill hope, at some future period, to enjoy manyreturns of that delightful intercourse we haveknown, and in the meanwhile may lessen thepain of separation by a very frequent and mostunreserved correspondence. I depend on youfor that." To these highflown expressions Eliza-beth listened with all the insensibility of dis-trust; and though the suddenness of their re-moval surprised her, she saw nothing in itreally to lament; it was not to be supposed thattheir absence from Netherfield would preventMr. Bingley's being there; and as to the loss oftheir society, she was persuaded that Jane mustcease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.

"It is unlucky," said she, after a short pause,"that you should not be able to see your friendsbefore they leave the country. But may we nothope that the period of future happiness towhich Miss Bingley looks forward may arriveearlier than she is aware, and that the delightful

intercourse you have known as friends will berenewed with yet greater satisfaction as sisters?Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London bythem."

"Caroline decidedly says that none of the partywill return into Hertfordshire this winter. I willread it to you:"

"When my brother left us yesterday, he imag-ined that the business which took him to Lon-don might be concluded in three or four days;but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at thesame time convinced that when Charles gets totown he will be in no hurry to leave it again, wehave determined on following him thither, thathe may not be obliged to spend his vacanthours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my ac-quaintances are already there for the winter; Iwish that I could hear that you, my dearestfriend, had any intention of making one of thecrowd—but of that I despair. I sincerely hopeyour Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound

in the gaieties which that season generallybrings, and that your beaux will be so numer-ous as to prevent your feeling the loss of thethree of whom we shall deprive you."

"It is evident by this," added Jane, "that hecomes back no more this winter."

"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does notmean that he should."

"Why will you think so? It must be his owndoing. He is his own master. But you do notknow all. I will read you the passage which par-ticularly hurts me. I will have no reserves fromyou."

"Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister; and, toconfess the truth, we are scarcely less eager tomeet her again. I really do not think GeorgianaDarcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, andaccomplishments; and the affection she inspiresin Louisa and myself is heightened into some-

thing still more interesting, from the hope wedare entertain of her being hereafter our sister. Ido not know whether I ever before mentionedto you my feelings on this subject; but I will notleave the country without confiding them, andI trust you will not esteem them unreasonable.My brother admires her greatly already; he willhave frequent opportunity now of seeing heron the most intimate footing; her relations allwish the connection as much as his own; and asister's partiality is not misleading me, I think,when I call Charles most capable of engagingany woman's heart. With all these circum-stances to favour an attachment, and nothing toprevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in in-dulging the hope of an event which will securethe happiness of so many?"

"What do you think of this sentence, my dearLizzy?" said Jane as she finished it. "Is it notclear enough? Does it not expressly declare thatCaroline neither expects nor wishes me to be

her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of herbrother's indifference; and that if she suspectsthe nature of my feelings for him, she means(most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Canthere be any other opinion on the subject?"

"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different.Will you hear it?"

"Most willingly."

"You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingleysees that her brother is in love with you, andwants him to marry Miss Darcy. She followshim to town in hope of keeping him there, andtries to persuade you that he does not careabout you."

Jane shook her head.

"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No onewho has ever seen you together can doubt hisaffection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot. She is

not such a simpleton. Could she have seen halfas much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, shewould have ordered her wedding clothes. Butthe case is this: We are not rich enough orgrand enough for them; and she is the moreanxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, fromthe notion that when there has been one inter-marriage, she may have less trouble in achiev-ing a second; in which there is certainly someingenuity, and I dare say it would succeed, ifMiss de Bourgh were out of the way. But, mydearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine thatbecause Miss Bingley tells you her brothergreatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the small-est degree less sensible of your merit than whenhe took leave of you on Tuesday, or that it willbe in her power to persuade him that, insteadof being in love with you, he is very much inlove with her friend."

"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley," repliedJane, "your representation of all this might

make me quite easy. But I know the foundationis unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully de-ceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in thiscase is that she is deceiving herself."

"That is right. You could not have started amore happy idea, since you will not take com-fort in mine. Believe her to be deceived, by allmeans. You have now done your duty by her,and must fret no longer."

"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even sup-posing the best, in accepting a man whose sis-ters and friends are all wishing him to marryelsewhere?"

"You must decide for yourself," said Elizabeth;"and if, upon mature deliberation, you find thatthe misery of disobliging his two sisters is morethan equivalent to the happiness of being hiswife, I advise you by all means to refuse him."

"How can you talk so?" said Jane, faintly smil-ing. "You must know that though I should beexceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, Icould not hesitate."

"I did not think you would; and that being thecase, I cannot consider your situation withmuch compassion."

"But if he returns no more this winter, mychoice will never be required. A thousandthings may arise in six months!"

The idea of his returning no more Elizabethtreated with the utmost contempt. It appearedto her merely the suggestion of Caroline's in-terested wishes, and she could not for a mo-ment suppose that those wishes, howeveropenly or artfully spoken, could influence ayoung man so totally independent of everyone.

She represented to her sister as forcibly as pos-sible what she felt on the subject, and had soon

the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane'stemper was not desponding, and she wasgradually led to hope, though the diffidence ofaffection sometimes overcame the hope, thatBingley would return to Netherfield and an-swer every wish of her heart.

They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hearof the departure of the family, without beingalarmed on the score of the gentleman's con-duct; but even this partial communication gaveher a great deal of concern, and she bewailed itas exceedingly unlucky that the ladies shouldhappen to go away just as they were all gettingso intimate together. After lamenting it, how-ever, at some length, she had the consolationthat Mr. Bingley would be soon down againand soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclu-sion of all was the comfortable declaration, thatthough he had been invited only to a familydinner, she would take care to have two fullcourses.

Chapter 22

The Bennets were engaged to dine with theLucases and again during the chief of the daywas Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr.Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity ofthanking her. "It keeps him in good humour,"said she, "and I am more obliged to you than Ican express." Charlotte assured her friend ofher satisfaction in being useful, and that it am-ply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time.This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindnessextended farther than Elizabeth had any con-ception of; its object was nothing else than tosecure her from any return of Mr. Collins's ad-dresses, by engaging them towards herself.Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appear-

ances were so favourable, that when theyparted at night, she would have felt almost se-cure of success if he had not been to leave Hert-fordshire so very soon. But here she did injus-tice to the fire and independence of his charac-ter, for it led him to escape out of LongbournHouse the next morning with admirable sly-ness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw him-self at her feet. He was anxious to avoid thenotice of his cousins, from a conviction that ifthey saw him depart, they could not fail to con-jecture his design, and he was not willing tohave the attempt known till its success mightbe known likewise; for though feeling almostsecure, and with reason, for Charlotte had beentolerably encouraging, he was comparativelydiffident since the adventure of Wednesday.His reception, however, was of the most flatter-ing kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from anupper window as he walked towards thehouse, and instantly set out to meet him acci-dentally in the lane. But little had she dared to

hope that so much love and eloquence awaitedher there.

In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speecheswould allow, everything was settled betweenthem to the satisfaction of both; and as theyentered the house he earnestly entreated her toname the day that was to make him the happi-est of men; and though such a solicitation mustbe waived for the present, the lady felt no incli-nation to trifle with his happiness. The stupid-ity with which he was favoured by nature mustguard his courtship from any charm that couldmake a woman wish for its continuance; andMiss Lucas, who accepted him solely from thepure and disinterested desire of an establish-ment, cared not how soon that establishmentwere gained.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily ap-plied to for their consent; and it was bestowedwith a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's pre-sent circumstances made it a most eligible

match for their daughter, to whom they couldgive little fortune; and his prospects of futurewealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas be-gan directly to calculate, with more interestthan the matter had ever excited before, howmany years longer Mr. Bennet was likely tolive; and Sir William gave it as his decidedopinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should bein possession of the Longbourn estate, it wouldbe highly expedient that both he and his wifeshould make their appearance at St. James's.The whole family, in short, were properly over-joyed on the occasion. The younger girlsformed hopes of coming out a year or twosooner than they might otherwise have done;and the boys were relieved from their appre-hension of Charlotte's dying an old maid. Char-lotte herself was tolerably composed. She hadgained her point, and had time to consider of it.Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr.Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible noragreeable; his society was irksome, and his at-

tachment to her must be imaginary. But still hewould be her husband. Without thinkinghighly either of men or matrimony, marriagehad always been her object; it was the onlyprovision for well-educated young women ofsmall fortune, and however uncertain of givinghappiness, must be their pleasantest preserva-tive from want. This preservative she had nowobtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, with-out having ever been handsome, she felt all thegood luck of it. The least agreeable circum-stance in the business was the surprise it mustoccasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendshipshe valued beyond that of any other person.Elizabeth would wonder, and probably wouldblame her; and though her resolution was notto be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by sucha disapprobation. She resolved to give her theinformation herself, and therefore charged Mr.Collins, when he returned to Longbourn todinner, to drop no hint of what had passed be-fore any of the family. A promise of secrecy

was of course very dutifully given, but it couldnot be kept without difficulty; for the curiosityexcited by his long absence burst forth in suchvery direct questions on his return as requiredsome ingenuity to evade, and he was at thesame time exercising great self-denial, for hewas longing to publish his prosperous love.

As he was to begin his journey too early on themorrow to see any of the family, the ceremonyof leave-taking was performed when the ladiesmoved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet, withgreat politeness and cordiality, said how happythey should be to see him at Longbourn again,whenever his engagements might allow him tovisit them.

"My dear madam," he replied, "this invitation isparticularly gratifying, because it is what I havebeen hoping to receive; and you may be verycertain that I shall avail myself of it as soon aspossible."

They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, whocould by no means wish for so speedy a return,immediately said:

"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine'sdisapprobation here, my good sir? You hadbetter neglect your relations than run the risk ofoffending your patroness."

"My dear sir," replied Mr. Collins, "I am par-ticularly obliged to you for this friendly cau-tion, and you may depend upon my not takingso material a step without her ladyship's con-currence."

"You cannot be too much upon your guard.Risk anything rather than her displeasure; andif you find it likely to be raised by your comingto us again, which I should think exceedinglyprobable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfiedthat we shall take no offence."

"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude iswarmly excited by such affectionate attention;and depend upon it, you will speedily receivefrom me a letter of thanks for this, and forevery other mark of your regard during mystay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins,though my absence may not be long enough torender it necessary, I shall now take the libertyof wishing them health and happiness, not ex-cepting my cousin Elizabeth."

With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew;all of them equally surprised that he meditateda quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to under-stand by it that he thought of paying his ad-dresses to one of her younger girls, and Marymight have been prevailed on to accept him.She rated his abilities much higher than any ofthe others; there was a solidity in his reflectionswhich often struck her, and though by nomeans so clever as herself, she thought that ifencouraged to read and improve himself by

such an example as hers, he might become avery agreeable companion. But on the follow-ing morning, every hope of this kind was doneaway. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast,and in a private conference with Elizabeth re-lated the event of the day before.

The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himselfin love with her friend had once occurred toElizabeth within the last day or two; but thatCharlotte could encourage him seemed almostas far from possibility as she could encouragehim herself, and her astonishment was conse-quently so great as to overcome at first thebounds of decorum, and she could not helpcrying out:

"Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—impossible!"

The steady countenance which Miss Lucas hadcommanded in telling her story, gave way to amomentary confusion here on receiving so di-

rect a reproach; though, as it was no more thanshe expected, she soon regained her compo-sure, and calmly replied:

"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza?Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collinsshould be able to procure any woman's goodopinion, because he was not so happy as tosucceed with you?"

But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, andmaking a strong effort for it, was able to assurewith tolerable firmness that the prospect oftheir relationship was highly grateful to her,and that she wished her all imaginable happi-ness.

"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte."You must be surprised, very much surprised—so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marryyou. But when you have had time to think itover, I hope you will be satisfied with what Ihave done. I am not romantic, you know; I

never was. I ask only a comfortable home; andconsidering Mr. Collins's character, connection,and situation in life, I am convinced that mychance of happiness with him is as fair as mostpeople can boast on entering the marriagestate."

Elizabeth quietly answered "Undoubtedly;" andafter an awkward pause, they returned to therest of the family. Charlotte did not stay muchlonger, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect onwhat she had heard. It was a long time beforeshe became at all reconciled to the idea of sounsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr.Collins's making two offers of marriage withinthree days was nothing in comparison of hisbeing now accepted. She had always felt thatCharlotte's opinion of matrimony was not ex-actly like her own, but she had not supposed itto be possible that, when called into action, shewould have sacrificed every better feeling toworldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr.

Collins was a most humiliating picture! And tothe pang of a friend disgracing herself andsunk in her esteem, was added the distressingconviction that it was impossible for that friendto be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.

Chapter 23

Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sis-ters, reflecting on what she had heard, anddoubting whether she was authorised to men-tion it, when Sir William Lucas himself ap-peared, sent by his daughter, to announce herengagement to the family. With many compli-ments to them, and much self-gratulation onthe prospect of a connection between thehouses, he unfolded the matter—to an audiencenot merely wondering, but incredulous; for

Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than po-liteness, protested he must be entirely mis-taken; and Lydia, always unguarded and oftenuncivil, boisterously exclaimed:

"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell sucha story? Do not you know that Mr. Collinswants to marry Lizzy?"

Nothing less than the complaisance of a court-ier could have borne without anger such treat-ment; but Sir William's good breeding carriedhim through it all; and though he begged leaveto be positive as to the truth of his information,he listened to all their impertinence with themost forbearing courtesy.

Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relievehim from so unpleasant a situation, now putherself forward to confirm his account, by men-tioning her prior knowledge of it from Char-lotte herself; and endeavoured to put a stop tothe exclamations of her mother and sisters by

the earnestness of her congratulations to SirWilliam, in which she was readily joined byJane, and by making a variety of remarks onthe happiness that might be expected from thematch, the excellent character of Mr. Collins,and the convenient distance of Hunsford fromLondon.

Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpoweredto say a great deal while Sir William remained;but no sooner had he left them than her feelingsfound a rapid vent. In the first place, she per-sisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter;secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collinshad been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that theywould never be happy together; and fourthly,that the match might be broken off. Two infer-ences, however, were plainly deduced from thewhole: one, that Elizabeth was the real cause ofthe mischief; and the other that she herself hadbeen barbarously misused by them all; and onthese two points she principally dwelt during

the rest of the day. Nothing could console andnothing could appease her. Nor did that daywear out her resentment. A week elapsed be-fore she could see Elizabeth without scoldingher, a month passed away before she couldspeak to Sir William or Lady Lucas withoutbeing rude, and many months were gone be-fore she could at all forgive their daughter.

Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tran-quil on the occasion, and such as he did experi-ence he pronounced to be of a most agreeablesort; for it gratified him, he said, to discoverthat Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been usedto think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as hiswife, and more foolish than his daughter!

Jane confessed herself a little surprised at thematch; but she said less of her astonishmentthan of her earnest desire for their happiness;nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider itas improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far fromenvying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a

clergyman; and it affected them in no otherway than as a piece of news to spread at Mery-ton.

Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumphon being able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the com-fort of having a daughter well married; and shecalled at Longbourn rather oftener than usualto say how happy she was, though Mrs. Ben-net's sour looks and ill-natured remarks mighthave been enough to drive happiness away.

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was arestraint which kept them mutually silent onthe subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded thatno real confidence could ever subsist betweenthem again. Her disappointment in Charlottemade her turn with fonder regard to her sister,of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sureher opinion could never be shaken, and forwhose happiness she grew daily more anxious,as Bingley had now been gone a week andnothing more was heard of his return.

Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to herletter, and was counting the days till she mightreasonably hope to hear again. The promisedletter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived onTuesday, addressed to their father, and writtenwith all the solemnity of gratitude which atwelvemonth's abode in the family might haveprompted. After discharging his conscience onthat head, he proceeded to inform them, withmany rapturous expressions, of his happinessin having obtained the affection of their amia-ble neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explainedthat it was merely with the view of enjoyingher society that he had been so ready to closewith their kind wish of seeing him again atLongbourn, whither he hoped to be able to re-turn on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine,he added, so heartily approved his marriage,that she wished it to take place as soon as pos-sible, which he trusted would be an unanswer-able argument with his amiable Charlotte to

name an early day for making him the happiestof men.

Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was nolonger a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. Onthe contrary, she was as much disposed tocomplain of it as her husband. It was verystrange that he should come to Longbourn in-stead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very incon-venient and exceedingly troublesome. Shehated having visitors in the house while herhealth was so indifferent, and lovers were of allpeople the most disagreeable. Such were thegentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they gaveway only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley'scontinued absence.

Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable onthis subject. Day after day passed away withoutbringing any other tidings of him than the re-port which shortly prevailed in Meryton of hiscoming no more to Netherfield the whole win-ter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Ben-

net, and which she never failed to contradict asa most scandalous falsehood.

Even Elizabeth began to fear—not that Bingleywas indifferent—but that his sisters would besuccessful in keeping him away. Unwilling asshe was to admit an idea so destructive ofJane's happiness, and so dishonorable to thestability of her lover, she could not prevent itsfrequently occurring. The united efforts of histwo unfeeling sisters and of his overpoweringfriend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcyand the amusements of London might be toomuch, she feared, for the strength of his at-tachment.

As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspensewas, of course, more painful than Elizabeth's,but whatever she felt she was desirous of con-cealing, and between herself and Elizabeth,therefore, the subject was never alluded to. Butas no such delicacy restrained her mother, anhour seldom passed in which she did not talk

of Bingley, express her impatience for his arri-val, or even require Jane to confess that if hedid not come back she would think herself veryill used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness tobear these attacks with tolerable tranquillity.

Mr. Collins returned most punctually on Mon-day fortnight, but his reception at Longbournwas not quite so gracious as it had been on hisfirst introduction. He was too happy, however,to need much attention; and luckily for the oth-ers, the business of love-making relieved themfrom a great deal of his company. The chief ofevery day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge,and he sometimes returned to Longbourn onlyin time to make an apology for his absence be-fore the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state.The very mention of anything concerning thematch threw her into an agony of ill-humour,and wherever she went she was sure of hearingit talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious

to her. As her successor in that house, she re-garded her with jealous abhorrence. WheneverCharlotte came to see them, she concluded herto be anticipating the hour of possession; andwhenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr.Collins, was convinced that they were talkingof the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turnherself and her daughters out of the house, assoon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complainedbitterly of all this to her husband.

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, "it is very hardto think that Charlotte Lucas should ever bemistress of this house, that I should be forced tomake way for her, and live to see her take herplace in it!"

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomythoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let usflatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."

This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet,and therefore, instead of making any answer,she went on as before.

"I cannot bear to think that they should have allthis estate. If it was not for the entail, I shouldnot mind it."

"What should not you mind?"

"I should not mind anything at all."

"Let us be thankful that you are preserved froma state of such insensibility."

"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any-thing about the entail. How anyone could havethe conscience to entail away an estate fromone's own daughters, I cannot understand; andall for the sake of Mr. Collins too! Why shouldhe have it more than anybody else?"

"I leave it to yourself to determine," said Mr.Bennet.

Chapter 24

Miss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end todoubt. The very first sentence conveyed theassurance of their being all settled in Londonfor the winter, and concluded with herbrother's regret at not having had time to payhis respects to his friends in Hertfordshire be-fore he left the country.

Hope was over, entirely over; and when Janecould attend to the rest of the letter, she foundlittle, except the professed affection of thewriter, that could give her any comfort. MissDarcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Hermany attractions were again dwelt on, andCaroline boasted joyfully of their increasing

intimacy, and ventured to predict the accom-plishment of the wishes which had been un-folded in her former letter. She wrote also withgreat pleasure of her brother's being an inmateof Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with rap-tures some plans of the latter with regard tonew furniture.

Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communi-cated the chief of all this, heard it in silent in-dignation. Her heart was divided between con-cern for her sister, and resentment against allothers. To Caroline's assertion of her brother'sbeing partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit.That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted nomore than she had ever done; and much as shehad always been disposed to like him, shecould not think without anger, hardly withoutcontempt, on that easiness of temper, that wantof proper resolution, which now made him theslave of his designing friends, and led him tosacrifice of his own happiness to the caprice of

their inclination. Had his own happiness, how-ever, been the only sacrifice, he might havebeen allowed to sport with it in whatever man-ner he thought best, but her sister's was in-volved in it, as she thought he must be sensiblehimself. It was a subject, in short, on whichreflection would be long indulged, and must beunavailing. She could think of nothing else; andyet whether Bingley's regard had really diedaway, or were suppressed by his friends' inter-ference; whether he had been aware of Jane'sattachment, or whether it had escaped his ob-servation; whatever were the case, though heropinion of him must be materially affected bythe difference, her sister's situation remainedthe same, her peace equally wounded.

A day or two passed before Jane had courage tospeak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last, onMrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after alonger irritation than usual about Netherfieldand its master, she could not help saying:

"Oh, that my dear mother had more commandover herself! She can have no idea of the painshe gives me by her continual reflections onhim. But I will not repine. It cannot last long.He will be forgot, and we shall all be as wewere before."

Elizabeth looked at her sister with increduloussolicitude, but said nothing.

"You doubt me," cried Jane, slightly colouring;"indeed, you have no reason. He may live inmy memory as the most amiable man of myacquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing ei-ther to hope or fear, and nothing to reproachhim with. Thank God! I have not that pain. Alittle time, therefore—I shall certainly try to getthe better."

With a stronger voice she soon added, "I havethis comfort immediately, that it has not beenmore than an error of fancy on my side, andthat it has done no harm to anyone but myself."

"My dear Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "you aretoo good. Your sweetness and disinterestednessare really angelic; I do not know what to say toyou. I feel as if I had never done you justice, orloved you as you deserve."

Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordi-nary merit, and threw back the praise on hersister's warm affection.

"Nay," said Elizabeth, "this is not fair. You wishto think all the world respectable, and are hurtif I speak ill of anybody. I only want to thinkyou perfect, and you set yourself against it. Donot be afraid of my running into any excess, ofmy encroaching on your privilege of universalgood-will. You need not. There are few peoplewhom I really love, and still fewer of whom Ithink well. The more I see of the world, themore am I dissatisfied with it; and every dayconfirms my belief of the inconsistency of allhuman characters, and of the little dependencethat can be placed on the appearance of merit

or sense. I have met with two instances lately,one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte'smarriage. It is unaccountable! In every view itis unaccountable!"

"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feel-ings as these. They will ruin your happiness.You do not make allowance enough for differ-ence of situation and temper. Consider Mr.Collins's respectability, and Charlotte's steady,prudent character. Remember that she is one ofa large family; that as to fortune, it is a mosteligible match; and be ready to believe, for eve-rybody's sake, that she may feel something likeregard and esteem for our cousin."

"To oblige you, I would try to believe almostanything, but no one else could be benefited bysuch a belief as this; for were I persuaded thatCharlotte had any regard for him, I should onlythink worse of her understanding than I nowdo of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is aconceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly

man; you know he is, as well as I do; and youmust feel, as well as I do, that the woman whomarried him cannot have a proper way ofthinking. You shall not defend her, though it isCharlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake ofone individual, change the meaning of princi-ple and integrity, nor endeavour to persuadeyourself or me, that selfishness is prudence,and insensibility of danger security for happi-ness."

"I must think your language too strong inspeaking of both," replied Jane; "and I hope youwill be convinced of it by seeing them happytogether. But enough of this. You alluded tosomething else. You mentioned two instances. Icannot misunderstand you, but I entreat you,dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that per-son to blame, and saying your opinion of him issunk. We must not be so ready to fancy our-selves intentionally injured. We must not ex-pect a lively young man to be always so

guarded and circumspect. It is very often noth-ing but our own vanity that deceives us.Women fancy admiration means more than itdoes."

"And men take care that they should."

"If it is designedly done, they cannot be justi-fied; but I have no idea of there being so muchdesign in the world as some persons imagine."

"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bing-ley's conduct to design," said Elizabeth; "butwithout scheming to do wrong, or to make oth-ers unhappy, there may be error, and there maybe misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attentionto other people's feelings, and want of resolu-tion, will do the business."

"And do you impute it to either of those?"

"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displeaseyou by saying what I think of persons you es-teem. Stop me whilst you can."

"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters in-fluence him?"

"Yes, in conjunction with his friend."

"I cannot believe it. Why should they try to in-fluence him? They can only wish his happiness;and if he is attached to me, no other woman cansecure it."

"Your first position is false. They may wishmany things besides his happiness; they maywish his increase of wealth and consequence;they may wish him to marry a girl who has allthe importance of money, great connections,and pride."

"Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to chooseMiss Darcy," replied Jane; "but this may be

from better feelings than you are supposing.They have known her much longer than theyhave known me; no wonder if they love herbetter. But, whatever may be their own wishes,it is very unlikely they should have opposedtheir brother's. What sister would think herselfat liberty to do it, unless there were somethingvery objectionable? If they believed him at-tached to me, they would not try to part us; ifhe were so, they could not succeed. By suppos-ing such an affection, you make everybodyacting unnaturally and wrong, and me mostunhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I amnot ashamed of having been mistaken—or, atleast, it is light, it is nothing in comparison ofwhat I should feel in thinking ill of him or hissisters. Let me take it in the best light, in thelight in which it may be understood."

Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; andfrom this time Mr. Bingley's name was scarcelyever mentioned between them.

Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and re-pine at his returning no more, and though aday seldom passed in which Elizabeth did notaccount for it clearly, there was little chance ofher ever considering it with less perplexity. Herdaughter endeavoured to convince her of whatshe did not believe herself, that his attentions toJane had been merely the effect of a commonand transient liking, which ceased when he sawher no more; but though the probability of thestatement was admitted at the time, she had thesame story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet'sbest comfort was that Mr. Bingley must bedown again in the summer.

Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. "So,Lizzy," said he one day, "your sister is crossedin love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to beingmarried, a girl likes to be crossed a little in lovenow and then. It is something to think of, and itgives her a sort of distinction among her com-panions. When is your turn to come? You will

hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now isyour time. Here are officers enough in Merytonto disappoint all the young ladies in the coun-try. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasantfellow, and would jilt you creditably."

"Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable manwould satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane'sgood fortune."

"True," said Mr. Bennet, "but it is a comfort tothink that whatever of that kind may befallyou, you have an affectionate mother who willmake the most of it."

Mr. Wickham's society was of material servicein dispelling the gloom which the late perverseoccurrences had thrown on many of the Long-bourn family. They saw him often, and to hisother recommendations was now added that ofgeneral unreserve. The whole of what Elizabethhad already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy,and all that he had suffered from him, was now

openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed;and everybody was pleased to know howmuch they had always disliked Mr. Darcy be-fore they had known anything of the matter.

Miss Bennet was the only creature who couldsuppose there might be any extenuating cir-cumstances in the case, unknown to the societyof Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candouralways pleaded for allowances, and urged thepossibility of mistakes—but by everybody elseMr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.

Chapter 25

After a week spent in professions of love andschemes of felicity, Mr. Collins was called fromhis amiable Charlotte by the arrival of Satur-

day. The pain of separation, however, might bealleviated on his side, by preparations for thereception of his bride; as he had reason to hope,that shortly after his return into Hertfordshire,the day would be fixed that was to make himthe happiest of men. He took leave of his rela-tions at Longbourn with as much solemnity asbefore; wished his fair cousins health and hap-piness again, and promised their father anotherletter of thanks.

On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had thepleasure of receiving her brother and his wife,who came as usual to spend the Christmas atLongbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible,gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sis-ter, as well by nature as education. The Nether-field ladies would have had difficulty in believ-ing that a man who lived by trade, and withinview of his own warehouses, could have beenso well-bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, whowas several years younger than Mrs. Bennet

and Mrs. Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent,elegant woman, and a great favourite with allher Longbourn nieces. Between the two eldestand herself especially, there subsisted a particu-lar regard. They had frequently been stayingwith her in town.

The first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on herarrival was to distribute her presents and de-scribe the newest fashions. When this was doneshe had a less active part to play. It became herturn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many grievancesto relate, and much to complain of. They hadall been very ill-used since she last saw her sis-ter. Two of her girls had been upon the point ofmarriage, and after all there was nothing in it.

"I do not blame Jane," she continued, "for Janewould have got Mr. Bingley if she could. ButLizzy! Oh, sister! It is very hard to think thatshe might have been Mr. Collins's wife by thistime, had it not been for her own perverseness.He made her an offer in this very room, and

she refused him. The consequence of it is, thatLady Lucas will have a daughter married be-fore I have, and that the Longbourn estate isjust as much entailed as ever. The Lucases arevery artful people indeed, sister. They are allfor what they can get. I am sorry to say it ofthem, but so it is. It makes me very nervousand poorly, to be thwarted so in my own fam-ily, and to have neighbours who think of them-selves before anybody else. However, yourcoming just at this time is the greatest of com-forts, and I am very glad to hear what you tellus, of long sleeves."

Mrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this newshad been given before, in the course of Jane andElizabeth's correspondence with her, made hersister a slight answer, and, in compassion to hernieces, turned the conversation.

When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, shespoke more on the subject. "It seems likely tohave been a desirable match for Jane," said she.

"I am sorry it went off. But these things happenso often! A young man, such as you describeMr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a prettygirl for a few weeks, and when accident sepa-rates them, so easily forgets her, that these sortof inconsistencies are very frequent."

"An excellent consolation in its way," saidElizabeth, "but it will not do for us. We do notsuffer by accident. It does not often happen thatthe interference of friends will persuade ayoung man of independent fortune to think nomore of a girl whom he was violently in lovewith only a few days before."

"But that expression of 'violently in love' is sohackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite, that itgives me very little idea. It is as often applied tofeelings which arise from a half-hour's ac-quaintance, as to a real, strong attachment.Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?"

"I never saw a more promising inclination; hewas growing quite inattentive to other people,and wholly engrossed by her. Every time theymet, it was more decided and remarkable. Athis own ball he offended two or three youngladies, by not asking them to dance; and Ispoke to him twice myself, without receivingan answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Isnot general incivility the very essence of love?"

"Oh, yes!—of that kind of love which I supposehim to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her,because, with her disposition, she may not getover it immediately. It had better have hap-pened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughedyourself out of it sooner. But do you think shewould be prevailed upon to go back with us?Change of scene might be of service—and per-haps a little relief from home may be as usefulas anything."

Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with thisproposal, and felt persuaded of her sister'sready acquiescence.

"I hope," added Mrs. Gardiner, "that no consid-eration with regard to this young man will in-fluence her. We live in so different a part oftown, all our connections are so different, and,as you well know, we go out so little, that it isvery improbable that they should meet at all,unless he really comes to see her."

"And that is quite impossible; for he is now inthe custody of his friend, and Mr. Darcy wouldno more suffer him to call on Jane in such a partof London! My dear aunt, how could you thinkof it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have heard ofsuch a place as Gracechurch Street, but hewould hardly think a month's ablution enoughto cleanse him from its impurities, were he onceto enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingleynever stirs without him."

"So much the better. I hope they will not meetat all. But does not Jane correspond with hissister? She will not be able to help calling."

"She will drop the acquaintance entirely."

But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabethaffected to place this point, as well as the stillmore interesting one of Bingley's being with-held from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude onthe subject which convinced her, on examina-tion, that she did not consider it entirely hope-less. It was possible, and sometimes shethought it probable, that his affection might bereanimated, and the influence of his friendssuccessfully combated by the more natural in-fluence of Jane's attractions.

Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation withpleasure; and the Bingleys were no otherwise inher thoughts at the same time, than as shehoped by Caroline's not living in the samehouse with her brother, she might occasionally

spend a morning with her, without any dangerof seeing him.

The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn;and what with the Phillipses, the Lucases, andthe officers, there was not a day without itsengagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully pro-vided for the entertainment of her brother andsister, that they did not once sit down to a fam-ily dinner. When the engagement was forhome, some of the officers always made part ofit—of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure tobe one; and on these occasion, Mrs. Gardiner,rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm com-mendation, narrowly observed them both.Without supposing them, from what she saw,to be very seriously in love, their preference ofeach other was plain enough to make her a lit-tle uneasy; and she resolved to speak to Eliza-beth on the subject before she left Hertford-shire, and represent to her the imprudence ofencouraging such an attachment.

To Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means ofaffording pleasure, unconnected with his gen-eral powers. About ten or a dozen years ago,before her marriage, she had spent a consider-able time in that very part of Derbyshire towhich he belonged. They had, therefore, manyacquaintances in common; and though Wick-ham had been little there since the death ofDarcy's father, it was yet in his power to giveher fresher intelligence of her former friendsthan she had been in the way of procuring.

Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and knownthe late Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well.Here consequently was an inexhaustible subjectof discourse. In comparing her recollection ofPemberley with the minute description whichWickham could give, and in bestowing hertribute of praise on the character of its late pos-sessor, she was delighting both him and her-self. On being made acquainted with the pre-sent Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to

remember some of that gentleman's reputeddisposition when quite a lad which might agreewith it, and was confident at last that she recol-lected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcyformerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-naturedboy.

Chapter 26

Mrs. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punc-tually and kindly given on the first favourableopportunity of speaking to her alone; afterhonestly telling her what she thought, she thuswent on:

"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in lovemerely because you are warned against it; and,therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly.

Seriously, I would have you be on your guard.Do not involve yourself or endeavour to in-volve him in an affection which the want offortune would make so very imprudent. I havenothing to say against him; he is a most interest-ing young man; and if he had the fortune heought to have, I should think you could not dobetter. But as it is, you must not let your fancyrun away with you. You have sense, and we allexpect you to use it. Your father would dependon your resolution and good conduct, I am sure.You must not disappoint your father."

"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."

"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be seriouslikewise."

"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. Iwill take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickhamtoo. He shall not be in love with me, if I canprevent it."

"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."

"I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present Iam not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I cer-tainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison,the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if hebecomes really attached to me—I believe it willbe better that he should not. I see the impru-dence of it. Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy! Myfather's opinion of me does me the greatesthonour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it.My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham.In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorryto be the means of making any of you unhappy;but since we see every day that where there isaffection, young people are seldom withheld byimmediate want of fortune from entering intoengagements with each other, how can I prom-ise to be wiser than so many of my fellow-creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even toknow that it would be wisdom to resist? Allthat I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in

a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe my-self his first object. When I am in company withhim, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do mybest."

"Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage hiscoming here so very often. At least, you shouldnot remind your mother of inviting him."

"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth with aconscious smile: "very true, it will be wise inme to refrain from that. But do not imagine thathe is always here so often. It is on your accountthat he has been so frequently invited thisweek. You know my mother's ideas as to thenecessity of constant company for her friends.But really, and upon my honour, I will try to dowhat I think to be the wisest; and now I hopeyou are satisfied."

Her aunt assured her that she was, and Eliza-beth having thanked her for the kindness of herhints, they parted; a wonderful instance of ad-

vice being given on such a point, without beingresented.

Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soonafter it had been quitted by the Gardiners andJane; but as he took up his abode with the Lu-cases, his arrival was no great inconvenience toMrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast ap-proaching, and she was at length so far re-signed as to think it inevitable, and even re-peatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she"wished they might be happy." Thursday was tobe the wedding day, and on Wednesday MissLucas paid her farewell visit; and when sherose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of hermother's ungracious and reluctant goodwishes, and sincerely affected herself, accom-panied her out of the room. As they wentdownstairs together, Charlotte said:

"I shall depend on hearing from you very often,Eliza."

"That you certainly shall."

"And I have another favour to ask you. Willyou come and see me?"

"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire."

"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time.Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford."

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresawlittle pleasure in the visit.

"My father and Maria are coming to me inMarch," added Charlotte, "and I hope you willconsent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, youwill be as welcome as either of them."

The wedding took place; the bride and bride-groom set off for Kent from the church door,and everybody had as much to say, or to hear,on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heardfrom her friend; and their correspondence wasas regular and frequent as it had ever been; that

it should be equally unreserved was impossi-ble. Elizabeth could never address her withoutfeeling that all the comfort of intimacy wasover, and though determined not to slacken asa correspondent, it was for the sake of whathad been, rather than what was. Charlotte'sfirst letters were received with a good deal ofeagerness; there could not but be curiosity toknow how she would speak of her new home,how she would like Lady Catherine, and howhappy she would dare pronounce herself to be;though, when the letters were read, Elizabethfelt that Charlotte expressed herself on everypoint exactly as she might have foreseen. Shewrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded withcomforts, and mentioned nothing which shecould not praise. The house, furniture,neighbourhood, and roads, were all to hertaste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour wasmost friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins'spicture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally

softened; and Elizabeth perceived that she mustwait for her own visit there to know the rest.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sis-ter to announce their safe arrival in London;and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped itwould be in her power to say something of theBingleys.

Her impatience for this second letter was aswell rewarded as impatience generally is. Janehad been a week in town without either seeingor hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it,however, by supposing that her last letter toher friend from Longbourn had by some acci-dent been lost.

"My aunt," she continued, "is going to-morrowinto that part of the town, and I shall take theopportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street."

She wrote again when the visit was paid, andshe had seen Miss Bingley. "I did not think

Caroline in spirits," were her words, "but shewas very glad to see me, and reproached mefor giving her no notice of my coming to Lon-don. I was right, therefore, my last letter hadnever reached her. I inquired after theirbrother, of course. He was well, but so muchengaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely eversaw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expectedto dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit wasnot long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were go-ing out. I dare say I shall see them soon here."

Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. Itconvinced her that accident only could discoverto Mr. Bingley her sister's being in town.

Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothingof him. She endeavoured to persuade herselfthat she did not regret it; but she could nolonger be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention.After waiting at home every morning for afortnight, and inventing every evening a freshexcuse for her, the visitor did at last appear; but

the shortness of her stay, and yet more, the al-teration of her manner would allow Jane todeceive herself no longer. The letter which shewrote on this occasion to her sister will provewhat she felt.

"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapableof triumphing in her better judgement, at myexpense, when I confess myself to have beenentirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard forme. But, my dear sister, though the event hasproved you right, do not think me obstinate if Istill assert that, considering what her behaviourwas, my confidence was as natural as yoursuspicion. I do not at all comprehend her rea-son for wishing to be intimate with me; but ifthe same circumstances were to happen again, Iam sure I should be deceived again. Carolinedid not return my visit till yesterday; and not anote, not a line, did I receive in the meantime.When she did come, it was very evident thatshe had no pleasure in it; she made a slight,

formal apology, for not calling before, said nota word of wishing to see me again, and was inevery respect so altered a creature, that whenshe went away I was perfectly resolved to con-tinue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, thoughI cannot help blaming her. She was very wrongin singling me out as she did; I can safely saythat every advance to intimacy began on herside. But I pity her, because she must feel thatshe has been acting wrong, and because I amvery sure that anxiety for her brother is thecause of it. I need not explain myself farther;and though we know this anxiety to be quiteneedless, yet if she feels it, it will easily accountfor her behaviour to me; and so deservedlydear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety shemust feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. Icannot but wonder, however, at her having anysuch fears now, because, if he had at all caredabout me, we must have met, long ago. Heknows of my being in town, I am certain, fromsomething she said herself; and yet it would

seem, by her manner of talking, as if shewanted to persuade herself that he is reallypartial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. IfI were not afraid of judging harshly, I should bealmost tempted to say that there is a strongappearance of duplicity in all this. But I willendeavour to banish every painful thought,and think only of what will make me happy—your affection, and the invariable kindness ofmy dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from youvery soon. Miss Bingley said something of hisnever returning to Netherfield again, of givingup the house, but not with any certainty. Wehad better not mention it. I am extremely gladthat you have such pleasant accounts from ourfriends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, withSir William and Maria. I am sure you will bevery comfortable there.—Yours, etc."

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but herspirits returned as she considered that Janewould no longer be duped, by the sister at

least. All expectation from the brother was nowabsolutely over. She would not even wish for arenewal of his attentions. His character sunk onevery review of it; and as a punishment forhim, as well as a possible advantage to Jane,she seriously hoped he might really soon marryMr. Darcy's sister, as by Wickham's account,she would make him abundantly regret whathe had thrown away.

Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Eliza-beth of her promise concerning that gentleman,and required information; and Elizabeth hadsuch to send as might rather give contentmentto her aunt than to herself. His apparent parti-ality had subsided, his attentions were over, hewas the admirer of some one else. Elizabethwas watchful enough to see it all, but she couldsee it and write of it without material pain. Herheart had been but slightly touched, and hervanity was satisfied with believing that shewould have been his only choice, had fortune

permitted it. The sudden acquisition of tenthousand pounds was the most remarkablecharm of the young lady to whom he was nowrendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, lessclear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Char-lotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish ofindependence. Nothing, on the contrary, couldbe more natural; and while able to suppose thatit cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, shewas ready to allow it a wise and desirablemeasure for both, and could very sincerelywish him happy.

All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner;and after relating the circumstances, she thuswent on: "I am now convinced, my dear aunt,that I have never been much in love; for had Ireally experienced that pure and elevating pas-sion, I should at present detest his very name,and wish him all manner of evil. But my feel-ings are not only cordial towards him; they areeven impartial towards Miss King. I cannot

find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in theleast unwilling to think her a very good sort ofgirl. There can be no love in all this. My watch-fulness has been effectual; and though I cer-tainly should be a more interesting object to allmy acquaintances were I distractedly in lovewith him, I cannot say that I regret my com-parative insignificance. Importance may some-times be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydiatake his defection much more to heart than Ido. They are young in the ways of the world,and not yet open to the mortifying convictionthat handsome young men must have some-thing to live on as well as the plain."

Chapter 27

With no greater events than these in the Long-bourn family, and otherwise diversified by lit-tle beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimesdirty and sometimes cold, did January and Feb-ruary pass away. March was to take Elizabethto Hunsford. She had not at first thought veryseriously of going thither; but Charlotte, shesoon found, was depending on the plan andshe gradually learned to consider it herself withgreater pleasure as well as greater certainty.Absence had increased her desire of seeingCharlotte again, and weakened her disgust ofMr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme,and as, with such a mother and such uncom-panionable sisters, home could not be faultless,a little change was not unwelcome for its ownsake. The journey would moreover give her apeep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drewnear, she would have been very sorry for any

delay. Everything, however, went on smoothly,and was finally settled according to Charlotte'sfirst sketch. She was to accompany Sir Williamand his second daughter. The improvement ofspending a night in London was added in time,and the plan became perfect as plan could be.

The only pain was in leaving her father, whowould certainly miss her, and who, when itcame to the point, so little liked her going, thathe told her to write to him, and almost prom-ised to answer her letter.

The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickhamwas perfectly friendly; on his side even more.His present pursuit could not make him forgetthat Elizabeth had been the first to excite and todeserve his attention, the first to listen and topity, the first to be admired; and in his mannerof bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoy-ment, reminding her of what she was to expectin Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting theiropinion of her—their opinion of everybody—

would always coincide, there was a solicitude,an interest which she felt must ever attach herto him with a most sincere regard; and sheparted from him convinced that, whether mar-ried or single, he must always be her model ofthe amiable and pleasing.

Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of akind to make her think him less agreeable. SirWilliam Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as him-self, had nothing to say that could be worthhearing, and were listened to with about asmuch delight as the rattle of the chaise. Eliza-beth loved absurdities, but she had known SirWilliam's too long. He could tell her nothingnew of the wonders of his presentation andknighthood; and his civilities were worn out,like his information.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, andthey began it so early as to be in GracechurchStreet by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner's

door, Jane was at a drawing-room windowwatching their arrival; when they entered thepassage she was there to welcome them, andElizabeth, looking earnestly in her face, waspleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever.On the stairs were a troop of little boys andgirls, whose eagerness for their cousin's ap-pearance would not allow them to wait in thedrawing-room, and whose shyness, as they hadnot seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented theircoming lower. All was joy and kindness. Theday passed most pleasantly away; the morningin bustle and shopping, and the evening at oneof the theatres.

Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt.Their first object was her sister; and she wasmore grieved than astonished to hear, in replyto her minute inquiries, that though Jane al-ways struggled to support her spirits, therewere periods of dejection. It was reasonable,however, to hope that they would not continue

long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particularsalso of Miss Bingley's visit in GracechurchStreet, and repeated conversations occurring atdifferent times between Jane and herself, whichproved that the former had, from her heart,given up the acquaintance.

Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wick-ham's desertion, and complimented her onbearing it so well.

"But my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sortof girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to thinkour friend mercenary."

"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference inmatrimonial affairs, between the mercenaryand the prudent motive? Where does discretionend, and avarice begin? Last Christmas youwere afraid of his marrying me, because itwould be imprudent; and now, because he istrying to get a girl with only ten thousand

pounds, you want to find out that he is merce-nary."

"If you will only tell me what sort of girl MissKing is, I shall know what to think."

"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. Iknow no harm of her."

"But he paid her not the smallest attention tillher grandfather's death made her mistress ofthis fortune."

"No—what should he? If it were not allowablefor him to gain my affections because I had nomoney, what occasion could there be for mak-ing love to a girl whom he did not care about,and who was equally poor?"

"But there seems an indelicacy in directing hisattentions towards her so soon after this event."

"A man in distressed circumstances has nottime for all those elegant decorums which other

people may observe. If she does not object to it,why should we?"

"Her not objecting does not justify him. It onlyshows her being deficient in something her-self—sense or feeling."

"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose.He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish."

"No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. Ishould be sorry, you know, to think ill of ayoung man who has lived so long in Derby-shire."

"Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion ofyoung men who live in Derbyshire; and theirintimate friends who live in Hertfordshire arenot much better. I am sick of them all. ThankHeaven! I am going to-morrow where I shallfind a man who has not one agreeable quality,who has neither manner nor sense to recom-

mend him. Stupid men are the only ones worthknowing, after all."

"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours stronglyof disappointment."

Before they were separated by the conclusion ofthe play, she had the unexpected happiness ofan invitation to accompany her uncle and auntin a tour of pleasure which they proposed tak-ing in the summer.

"We have not determined how far it shall carryus," said Mrs. Gardiner, "but, perhaps, to theLakes."

No scheme could have been more agreeable toElizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitationwas most ready and grateful. "Oh, my dear,dear aunt," she rapturously cried, "what de-light! what felicity! You give me fresh life andvigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen.What are young men to rocks and mountains?

Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend!And when we do return, it shall not be likeother travellers, without being able to give oneaccurate idea of anything. We will know wherewe have gone—we will recollect what we haveseen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers shall not bejumbled together in our imaginations; norwhen we attempt to describe any particularscene, will we begin quarreling about its rela-tive situation. Let our first effusions be less in-supportable than those of the generality oftravellers."

Chapter 28

Every object in the next day's journey was newand interesting to Elizabeth; and her spiritswere in a state of enjoyment; for she had seen

her sister looking so well as to banish all fearfor her health, and the prospect of her northerntour was a constant source of delight.

When they left the high road for the lane toHunsford, every eye was in search of the Par-sonage, and every turning expected to bring itin view. The palings of Rosings Park was theirboundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at therecollection of all that she had heard of its in-habitants.

At length the Parsonage was discernible. Thegarden sloping to the road, the house standingin it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge, eve-rything declared they were arriving. Mr.Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, andthe carriage stopped at the small gate which ledby a short gravel walk to the house, amidst thenods and smiles of the whole party. In a mo-ment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing atthe sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomedher friend with the liveliest pleasure, and

Elizabeth was more and more satisfied withcoming when she found herself so affection-ately received. She saw instantly that hercousin's manners were not altered by his mar-riage; his formal civility was just what it hadbeen, and he detained her some minutes at thegate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after allher family. They were then, with no other delaythan his pointing out the neatness of the en-trance, taken into the house; and as soon asthey were in the parlour, he welcomed them asecond time, with ostentatious formality to hishumble abode, and punctually repeated all hiswife's offers of refreshment.

Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory;and she could not help in fancying that in dis-playing the good proportion of the room, itsaspect and its furniture, he addressed himselfparticularly to her, as if wishing to make herfeel what she had lost in refusing him. Butthough everything seemed neat and comfort-

able, she was not able to gratify him by anysigh of repentance, and rather looked withwonder at her friend that she could have socheerful an air with such a companion. WhenMr. Collins said anything of which his wifemight reasonably be ashamed, which certainlywas not unseldom, she involuntarily turned hereye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could dis-cern a faint blush; but in general Charlottewisely did not hear. After sitting long enoughto admire every article of furniture in the room,from the sideboard to the fender, to give anaccount of their journey, and of all that hadhappened in London, Mr. Collins invited themto take a stroll in the garden, which was largeand well laid out, and to the cultivation ofwhich he attended himself. To work in thisgarden was one of his most respectable pleas-ures; and Elizabeth admired the command ofcountenance with which Charlotte talked of thehealthfulness of the exercise, and owned sheencouraged it as much as possible. Here, lead-

ing the way through every walk and crosswalk, and scarcely allowing them an interval toutter the praises he asked for, every view waspointed out with a minuteness which leftbeauty entirely behind. He could number thefields in every direction, and could tell howmany trees there were in the most distantclump. But of all the views which his garden, orwhich the country or kingdom could boast,none were to be compared with the prospect ofRosings, afforded by an opening in the treesthat bordered the park nearly opposite the frontof his house. It was a handsome modern build-ing, well situated on rising ground.

From his garden, Mr. Collins would have ledthem round his two meadows; but the ladies,not having shoes to encounter the remains of awhite frost, turned back; and while Sir Williamaccompanied him, Charlotte took her sister andfriend over the house, extremely well pleased,probably, to have the opportunity of showing it

without her husband's help. It was rather small,but well built and convenient; and everythingwas fitted up and arranged with a neatness andconsistency of which Elizabeth gave Charlotteall the credit. When Mr. Collins could be for-gotten, there was really an air of great comfortthroughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoy-ment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be oftenforgotten.

She had already learnt that Lady Catherine wasstill in the country. It was spoken of againwhile they were at dinner, when Mr. Collinsjoining in, observed:

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honourof seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the en-suing Sunday at church, and I need not say youwill be delighted with her. She is all affabilityand condescension, and I doubt not but youwill be honoured with some portion of her no-tice when service is over. I have scarcely anyhesitation in saying she will include you and

my sister Maria in every invitation with whichshe honours us during your stay here. Her be-haviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. Wedine at Rosings twice every week, and arenever allowed to walk home. Her ladyship'scarriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say,one of her ladyship's carriages, for she has sev-eral."

"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensiblewoman indeed," added Charlotte, "and a mostattentive neighbour."

"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say.She is the sort of woman whom one cannotregard with too much deference."

The evening was spent chiefly in talking overHertfordshire news, and telling again what hadalready been written; and when it closed,Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, hadto meditate upon Charlotte's degree of con-tentment, to understand her address in guid-

ing, and composure in bearing with, her hus-band, and to acknowledge that it was all donevery well. She had also to anticipate how hervisit would pass, the quiet tenor of their usualemployments, the vexatious interruptions ofMr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercoursewith Rosings. A lively imagination soon settledit all.

About the middle of the next day, as she was inher room getting ready for a walk, a suddennoise below seemed to speak the whole housein confusion; and, after listening a moment, sheheard somebody running upstairs in a violenthurry, and calling loudly after her. She openedthe door and met Maria in the landing place,who, breathless with agitation, cried out—

"Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and comeinto the dining-room, for there is such a sight tobe seen! I will not tell you what it is. Makehaste, and come down this moment."

Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria wouldtell her nothing more, and down they ran intothe dining-room, which fronted the lane, inquest of this wonder; It was two ladies stop-ping in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected atleast that the pigs were got into the garden, andhere is nothing but Lady Catherine and herdaughter."

"La! my dear," said Maria, quite shocked at themistake, "it is not Lady Catherine. The old ladyis Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them; theother is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. Sheis quite a little creature. Who would havethought that she could be so thin and small?"

"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte outof doors in all this wind. Why does she notcome in?"

"Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It isthe greatest of favours when Miss de Bourghcomes in."

"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struckwith other ideas. "She looks sickly and cross.Yes, she will do for him very well. She willmake him a very proper wife."

Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standingat the gate in conversation with the ladies; andSir William, to Elizabeth's high diversion, wasstationed in the doorway, in earnest contempla-tion of the greatness before him, and constantlybowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked thatway.

At length there was nothing more to be said;the ladies drove on, and the others returnedinto the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw thetwo girls than he began to congratulate themon their good fortune, which Charlotte ex-plained by letting them know that the whole

party was asked to dine at Rosings the nextday.

Chapter 29

Mr. Collins's triumph, in consequence of thisinvitation, was complete. The power of display-ing the grandeur of his patroness to his won-dering visitors, and of letting them see her civil-ity towards himself and his wife, was exactlywhat he had wished for; and that an opportu-nity of doing it should be given so soon, wassuch an instance of Lady Catherine's conde-scension, as he knew not how to admireenough.

"I confess," said he, "that I should not have beenat all surprised by her ladyship's asking us on

Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening atRosings. I rather expected, from my knowledgeof her affability, that it would happen. But whocould have foreseen such an attention as this?Who could have imagined that we should re-ceive an invitation to dine there (an invitation,moreover, including the whole party) so im-mediately after your arrival!"

"I am the less surprised at what has happened,"replied Sir William, "from that knowledge ofwhat the manners of the great really are, whichmy situation in life has allowed me to acquire.About the court, such instances of elegantbreeding are not uncommon."

Scarcely anything was talked of the whole dayor next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr.Collins was carefully instructing them in whatthey were to expect, that the sight of suchrooms, so many servants, and so splendid adinner, might not wholly overpower them.

When the ladies were separating for the toi-lette, he said to Elizabeth—

"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin,about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far fromrequiring that elegance of dress in us whichbecomes herself and her daughter. I would ad-vise you merely to put on whatever of yourclothes is superior to the rest—there is no occa-sion for anything more. Lady Catherine will notthink the worse of you for being simplydressed. She likes to have the distinction ofrank preserved."

While they were dressing, he came two or threetimes to their different doors, to recommendtheir being quick, as Lady Catherine very muchobjected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Suchformidable accounts of her ladyship, and hermanner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucaswho had been little used to company, and shelooked forward to her introduction at Rosings

with as much apprehension as her father haddone to his presentation at St. James's.

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasantwalk of about half a mile across the park. Everypark has its beauty and its prospects; andElizabeth saw much to be pleased with, thoughshe could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collinsexpected the scene to inspire, and was butslightly affected by his enumeration of thewindows in front of the house, and his relationof what the glazing altogether had originallycost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.

When they ascended the steps to the hall,Maria's alarm was every moment increasing,and even Sir William did not look perfectlycalm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. Shehad heard nothing of Lady Catherine thatspoke her awful from any extraordinary talentsor miraculous virtue, and the mere statelinessof money or rank she thought she could wit-ness without trepidation.

From the entrance-hall, of which Mr. Collinspointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine pro-portion and the finished ornaments, they fol-lowed the servants through an ante-chamber,to the room where Lady Catherine, her daugh-ter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her lady-ship, with great condescension, arose to receivethem; and as Mrs. Collins had settled it withher husband that the office of introductionshould be hers, it was performed in a propermanner, without any of those apologies andthanks which he would have thought neces-sary.

In spite of having been at St. James's Sir Wil-liam was so completely awed by the grandeursurrounding him, that he had but just courageenough to make a very low bow, and take hisseat without saying a word; and his daughter,frightened almost out of her senses, sat on theedge of her chair, not knowing which way tolook. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the

scene, and could observe the three ladies beforeher composedly. Lady Catherine was a tall,large woman, with strongly-marked features,which might once have been handsome. Her airwas not conciliating, nor was her manner ofreceiving them such as to make her visitorsforget their inferior rank. She was not renderedformidable by silence; but whatever she saidwas spoken in so authoritative a tone, asmarked her self-importance, and brought Mr.Wickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind; andfrom the observation of the day altogether, shebelieved Lady Catherine to be exactly what herepresented.

When, after examining the mother, in whosecountenance and deportment she soon foundsome resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned hereyes on the daughter, she could almost havejoined in Maria's astonishment at her being sothin and so small. There was neither in figurenor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss

de Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features,though not plain, were insignificant; and shespoke very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs.Jenkinson, in whose appearance there wasnothing remarkable, and who was entirely en-gaged in listening to what she said, and placinga screen in the proper direction before her eyes.

After sitting a few minutes, they were all sentto one of the windows to admire the view, Mr.Collins attending them to point out its beauties,and Lady Catherine kindly informing them thatit was much better worth looking at in thesummer.

The dinner was exceedingly handsome, andthere were all the servants and all the articles ofplate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, ashe had likewise foretold, he took his seat at thebottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire,and looked as if he felt that life could furnishnothing greater. He carved, and ate, andpraised with delighted alacrity; and every dish

was commended, first by him and then by SirWilliam, who was now enough recovered toecho whatever his son-in-law said, in a mannerwhich Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherinecould bear. But Lady Catherine seemed grati-fied by their excessive admiration, and gavemost gracious smiles, especially when any dishon the table proved a novelty to them. Theparty did not supply much conversation. Eliza-beth was ready to speak whenever there was anopening, but she was seated between Charlotteand Miss de Bourgh—the former of whom wasengaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and thelatter said not a word to her all dinner-time.Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watch-ing how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing herto try some other dish, and fearing she wasindisposed. Maria thought speaking out of thequestion, and the gentlemen did nothing buteat and admire.

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room,there was little to be done but to hear LadyCatherine talk, which she did without any in-termission till coffee came in, delivering heropinion on every subject in so decisive a man-ner, as proved that she was not used to haveher judgement controverted. She inquired intoCharlotte's domestic concerns familiarly andminutely, gave her a great deal of advice as tothe management of them all; told her how eve-rything ought to be regulated in so small a fam-ily as hers, and instructed her as to the care ofher cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found thatnothing was beneath this great lady's attention,which could furnish her with an occasion ofdictating to others. In the intervals of her dis-course with Mrs. Collins, she addressed a vari-ety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, butespecially to the latter, of whose connectionsshe knew the least, and who she observed toMrs. Collins was a very genteel, pretty kind ofgirl. She asked her, at different times, how

many sisters she had, whether they were olderor younger than herself, whether any of themwere likely to be married, whether they werehandsome, where they had been educated,what carriage her father kept, and what hadbeen her mother's maiden name? Elizabeth feltall the impertinence of her questions but an-swered them very composedly. Lady Catherinethen observed,

"Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, Ithink. For your sake," turning to Charlotte, "Iam glad of it; but otherwise I see no occasionfor entailing estates from the female line. It wasnot thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh'sfamily. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?"

"A little."

"Oh! then—some time or other we shall behappy to hear you. Our instrument is a capitalone, probably superior to——You shall try itsome day. Do your sisters play and sing?"

"One of them does."

"Why did not you all learn? You ought all tohave learned. The Miss Webbs all play, andtheir father has not so good an income as yours.Do you draw?"

"No, not at all."

"What, none of you?"

"Not one."

"That is very strange. But I suppose you had noopportunity. Your mother should have takenyou to town every spring for the benefit of mas-ters."

"My mother would have had no objection, butmy father hates London."

"Has your governess left you?"

"We never had any governess."

"No governess! How was that possible? Fivedaughters brought up at home without a gov-erness! I never heard of such a thing. Yourmother must have been quite a slave to youreducation."

Elizabeth could hardly help smiling as she as-sured her that had not been the case.

"Then, who taught you? who attended to you?Without a governess, you must have been ne-glected."

"Compared with some families, I believe wewere; but such of us as wished to learn neverwanted the means. We were always encour-aged to read, and had all the masters that werenecessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainlymight."

"Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governesswill prevent, and if I had known your mother, Ishould have advised her most strenuously to

engage one. I always say that nothing is to bedone in education without steady and regularinstruction, and nobody but a governess cangive it. It is wonderful how many families Ihave been the means of supplying in that way.I am always glad to get a young person wellplaced out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson aremost delightfully situated through my means;and it was but the other day that I recom-mended another young person, who wasmerely accidentally mentioned to me, and thefamily are quite delighted with her. Mrs.Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalf's callingyesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope atreasure. 'Lady Catherine,' said she, 'you havegiven me a treasure.' Are any of your youngersisters out, Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, ma'am, all."

"All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! Andyou only the second. The younger ones out

before the elder ones are married! Youryounger sisters must be very young?"

"Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she isfull young to be much in company. But really,ma'am, I think it would be very hard uponyounger sisters, that they should not have theirshare of society and amusement, because theelder may not have the means or inclination tomarry early. The last-born has as good a rightto the pleasures of youth at the first. And to bekept back on such a motive! I think it would notbe very likely to promote sisterly affection ordelicacy of mind."

"Upon my word," said her ladyship, "you giveyour opinion very decidedly for so young aperson. Pray, what is your age?"

"With three younger sisters grown up," repliedElizabeth, smiling, "your ladyship can hardlyexpect me to own it."

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at notreceiving a direct answer; and Elizabeth sus-pected herself to be the first creature who hadever dared to trifle with so much dignified im-pertinence.

"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure,therefore you need not conceal your age."

"I am not one-and-twenty."

When the gentlemen had joined them, and teawas over, the card-tables were placed. LadyCatherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs.Collins sat down to quadrille; and as Miss deBourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girlshad the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson tomake up her party. Their table was superla-tively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was utteredthat did not relate to the game, except whenMrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss deBourgh's being too hot or too cold, or havingtoo much or too little light. A great deal more

passed at the other table. Lady Catherine wasgenerally speaking—stating the mistakes of thethree others, or relating some anecdote of her-self. Mr. Collins was employed in agreeing toeverything her ladyship said, thanking her forevery fish he won, and apologising if hethought he won too many. Sir William did notsay much. He was storing his memory withanecdotes and noble names.

When Lady Catherine and her daughter hadplayed as long as they chose, the tables werebroken up, the carriage was offered to Mrs.Collins, gratefully accepted and immediatelyordered. The party then gathered round the fireto hear Lady Catherine determine whatweather they were to have on the morrow.From these instructions they were summonedby the arrival of the coach; and with manyspeeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's sideand as many bows on Sir William's they de-parted. As soon as they had driven from the

door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin togive her opinion of all that she had seen at Ros-ings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she mademore favourable than it really was. But hercommendation, though costing her some trou-ble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins, andhe was very soon obliged to take her ladyship'spraise into his own hands.

Chapter 30

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford,but his visit was long enough to convince himof his daughter's being most comfortably set-tled, and of her possessing such a husband andsuch a neighbour as were not often met with.While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collinsdevoted his morning to driving him out in his

gig, and showing him the country; but when hewent away, the whole family returned to theirusual employments, and Elizabeth was thank-ful to find that they did not see more of hercousin by the alteration, for the chief of the timebetween breakfast and dinner was now passedby him either at work in the garden or in read-ing and writing, and looking out of the windowin his own book-room, which fronted the road.The room in which the ladies sat was back-wards. Elizabeth had at first rather wonderedthat Charlotte should not prefer the dining-parlour for common use; it was a better sizedroom, and had a more pleasant aspect; but shesoon saw that her friend had an excellent rea-son for what she did, for Mr. Collins wouldundoubtedly have been much less in his ownapartment, had they sat in one equally lively;and she gave Charlotte credit for the arrange-ment.

From the drawing-room they could distinguishnothing in the lane, and were indebted to Mr.Collins for the knowledge of what carriageswent along, and how often especially Miss deBourgh drove by in her phaeton, which henever failed coming to inform them of, thoughit happened almost every day. She not unfre-quently stopped at the Parsonage, and had afew minutes' conversation with Charlotte, butwas scarcely ever prevailed upon to get out.

Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins didnot walk to Rosings, and not many in which hiswife did not think it necessary to go likewise;and till Elizabeth recollected that there mightbe other family livings to be disposed of, shecould not understand the sacrifice of so manyhours. Now and then they were honoured witha call from her ladyship, and nothing escapedher observation that was passing in the roomduring these visits. She examined into theiremployments, looked at their work, and ad-

vised them to do it differently; found fault withthe arrangement of the furniture; or detectedthe housemaid in negligence; and if she ac-cepted any refreshment, seemed to do it onlyfor the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collins'sjoints of meat were too large for her family.

Elizabeth soon perceived, that though this greatlady was not in commission of the peace of thecounty, she was a most active magistrate in herown parish, the minutest concerns of whichwere carried to her by Mr. Collins; and when-ever any of the cottagers were disposed to bequarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, shesallied forth into the village to settle their dif-ferences, silence their complaints, and scoldthem into harmony and plenty.

The entertainment of dining at Rosings wasrepeated about twice a week; and, allowing forthe loss of Sir William, and there being onlyone card-table in the evening, every such enter-tainment was the counterpart of the first. Their

other engagements were few, as the style ofliving in the neighbourhood in general wasbeyond Mr. Collins's reach. This, however, wasno evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole shespent her time comfortably enough; there werehalf-hours of pleasant conversation with Char-lotte, and the weather was so fine for the timeof year that she had often great enjoyment outof doors. Her favourite walk, and where shefrequently went while the others were callingon Lady Catherine, was along the open grovewhich edged that side of the park, where therewas a nice sheltered path, which no oneseemed to value but herself, and where she feltbeyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity.

In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visitsoon passed away. Easter was approaching,and the week preceding it was to bring an addi-tion to the family at Rosings, which in so smalla circle must be important. Elizabeth had heardsoon after her arrival that Mr. Darcy was ex-

pected there in the course of a few weeks, andthough there were not many of her acquaintan-ces whom she did not prefer, his coming wouldfurnish one comparatively new to look at intheir Rosings parties, and she might be amusedin seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designson him were, by his behaviour to his cousin, forwhom he was evidently destined by LadyCatherine, who talked of his coming with thegreatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms ofthe highest admiration, and seemed almostangry to find that he had already been fre-quently seen by Miss Lucas and herself.

His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage;for Mr. Collins was walking the whole morningwithin view of the lodges opening intoHunsford Lane, in order to have the earliestassurance of it, and after making his bow as thecarriage turned into the Park, hurried homewith the great intelligence. On the followingmorning he hastened to Rosings to pay his re-

spects. There were two nephews of Lady Cath-erine to require them, for Mr. Darcy hadbrought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, theyounger son of his uncle Lord ——, and, to thegreat surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collinsreturned, the gentlemen accompanied him.Charlotte had seen them from her husband'sroom, crossing the road, and immediately run-ning into the other, told the girls what an hon-our they might expect, adding:

"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civil-ity. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soonto wait upon me."

Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all rightto the compliment, before their approach wasannounced by the door-bell, and shortly after-wards the three gentlemen entered the room.Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, wasabout thirty, not handsome, but in person andaddress most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcylooked just as he had been used to look in Hert-

fordshire—paid his compliments, with hisusual reserve, to Mrs. Collins, and whatevermight be his feelings toward her friend, met herwith every appearance of composure. Elizabethmerely curtseyed to him without saying aword.

Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversationdirectly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but hiscousin, after having addressed a slight observa-tion on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins,sat for some time without speaking to anybody.At length, however, his civility was so farawakened as to inquire of Elizabeth after thehealth of her family. She answered him in theusual way, and after a moment's pause, added:

"My eldest sister has been in town these threemonths. Have you never happened to see herthere?"

She was perfectly sensible that he never had;but she wished to see whether he would betrayany consciousness of what had passed betweenthe Bingleys and Jane, and she thought helooked a little confused as he answered that hehad never been so fortunate as to meet MissBennet. The subject was pursued no farther,and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.

Chapter 31

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were very muchadmired at the Parsonage, and the ladies all feltthat he must add considerably to the pleasuresof their engagements at Rosings. It was somedays, however, before they received any invita-tion thither—for while there were visitors inthe house, they could not be necessary; and it

was not till Easter-day, almost a week after thegentlemen's arrival, that they were honouredby such an attention, and then they weremerely asked on leaving church to come therein the evening. For the last week they had seenvery little of Lady Catherine or her daughter.Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonagemore than once during the time, but Mr. Darcythey had seen only at church.

The invitation was accepted of course, and at aproper hour they joined the party in LadyCatherine's drawing-room. Her ladyship re-ceived them civilly, but it was plain that theircompany was by no means so acceptable aswhen she could get nobody else; and she was,in fact, almost engrossed by her nephews,speaking to them, especially to Darcy, muchmore than to any other person in the room.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to seethem; anything was a welcome relief to him atRosings; and Mrs. Collins's pretty friend had

moreover caught his fancy very much. He nowseated himself by her, and talked so agreeablyof Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling andstaying at home, of new books and music, thatElizabeth had never been half so well enter-tained in that room before; and they conversedwith so much spirit and flow, as to draw theattention of Lady Catherine herself, as well asof Mr. Darcy. His eyes had been soon and re-peatedly turned towards them with a look ofcuriosity; and that her ladyship, after a while,shared the feeling, was more openly acknowl-edged, for she did not scruple to call out:

"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? Whatis it you are talking of? What are you tellingMiss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."

"We are speaking of music, madam," said he,when no longer able to avoid a reply.

"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of allsubjects my delight. I must have my share in

the conversation if you are speaking of music.There are few people in England, I suppose,who have more true enjoyment of music thanmyself, or a better natural taste. If I had everlearnt, I should have been a great proficient.And so would Anne, if her health had allowedher to apply. I am confident that she wouldhave performed delightfully. How does Geor-giana get on, Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of hissister's proficiency.

"I am very glad to hear such a good account ofher," said Lady Catherine; "and pray tell herfrom me, that she cannot expect to excel if shedoes not practice a good deal."

"I assure you, madam," he replied, "that shedoes not need such advice. She practises veryconstantly."

"So much the better. It cannot be done toomuch; and when I next write to her, I shallcharge her not to neglect it on any account. Ioften tell young ladies that no excellence inmusic is to be acquired without constant prac-tice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, thatshe will never play really well unless she prac-tises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no in-strument, she is very welcome, as I have oftentold her, to come to Rosings every day, andplay on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson'sroom. She would be in nobody's way, youknow, in that part of the house."

Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt'sill-breeding, and made no answer.

When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam re-minded Elizabeth of having promised to playto him; and she sat down directly to the in-strument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Cath-erine listened to half a song, and then talked, asbefore, to her other nephew; till the latter

walked away from her, and making with hisusual deliberation towards the pianoforte sta-tioned himself so as to command a full view ofthe fair performer's countenance. Elizabeth sawwhat he was doing, and at the first convenientpause, turned to him with an arch smile, andsaid:

"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by com-ing in all this state to hear me? I will not bealarmed though your sister does play so well.There is a stubbornness about me that nevercan bear to be frightened at the will of others.My courage always rises at every attempt tointimidate me."

"I shall not say you are mistaken," he replied,"because you could not really believe me toentertain any design of alarming you; and Ihave had the pleasure of your acquaintancelong enough to know that you find great en-joyment in occasionally professing opinionswhich in fact are not your own."

Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture ofherself, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Yourcousin will give you a very pretty notion of me,and teach you not to believe a word I say. I amparticularly unlucky in meeting with a personso able to expose my real character, in a part ofthe world where I had hoped to pass myself offwith some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy,it is very ungenerous in you to mention all thatyou knew to my disadvantage in Hertford-shire—and, give me leave to say, very impolitictoo—for it is provoking me to retaliate, andsuch things may come out as will shock yourrelations to hear."

"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.

"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse himof," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I should like toknow how he behaves among strangers."

"You shall hear then—but prepare yourself forsomething very dreadful. The first time of my

ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you mustknow, was at a ball—and at this ball, what doyou think he did? He danced only four dances,though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my cer-tain knowledge, more than one young lady wassitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy,you cannot deny the fact."

"I had not at that time the honour of knowingany lady in the assembly beyond my ownparty."

"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in aball-room. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do Iplay next? My fingers wait your orders."

"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judgedbetter, had I sought an introduction; but I amill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers."

"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?"said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwil-liam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense

and education, and who has lived in the world,is ill qualified to recommend himself to strang-ers?"

"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam,"without applying to him. It is because he willnot give himself the trouble."

"I certainly have not the talent which somepeople possess," said Darcy, "of conversingeasily with those I have never seen before. Icannot catch their tone of conversation, or ap-pear interested in their concerns, as I often seedone."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move overthis instrument in the masterly manner which Isee so many women's do. They have not thesame force or rapidity, and do not produce thesame expression. But then I have always sup-posed it to be my own fault—because I will nottake the trouble of practising. It is not that I do

not believe my fingers as capable as any otherwoman's of superior execution."

Darcy smiled and said, "You are perfectly right.You have employed your time much better. Noone admitted to the privilege of hearing youcan think anything wanting. We neither of usperform to strangers."

Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine,who called out to know what they were talkingof. Elizabeth immediately began playing again.Lady Catherine approached, and, after listeningfor a few minutes, said to Darcy:

"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if shepractised more, and could have the advantageof a London master. She has a very good notionof fingering, though her taste is not equal toAnne's. Anne would have been a delightfulperformer, had her health allowed her to learn."

Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordiallyhe assented to his cousin's praise; but neither atthat moment nor at any other could she discernany symptom of love; and from the whole ofhis behaviour to Miss de Bourgh she derivedthis comfort for Miss Bingley, that he mighthave been just as likely to marry her, had shebeen his relation.

Lady Catherine continued her remarks onElizabeth's performance, mixing with themmany instructions on execution and taste.Elizabeth received them with all the forbear-ance of civility, and, at the request of the gen-tlemen, remained at the instrument till her la-dyship's carriage was ready to take them allhome.

Chapter 32

Elizabeth was sitting by herself the next morn-ing, and writing to Jane while Mrs. Collins andMaria were gone on business into the village,when she was startled by a ring at the door, thecertain signal of a visitor. As she had heard nocarriage, she thought it not unlikely to be LadyCatherine, and under that apprehension wasputting away her half-finished letter that shemight escape all impertinent questions, whenthe door opened, and, to her very great sur-prise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, enteredthe room.

He seemed astonished too on finding her alone,and apologised for his intrusion by letting herknow that he had understood all the ladieswere to be within.

They then sat down, and when her inquiriesafter Rosings were made, seemed in danger of

sinking into total silence. It was absolutely nec-essary, therefore, to think of something, and inthis emergence recollecting when she had seenhim last in Hertfordshire, and feeling curious toknow what he would say on the subject of theirhasty departure, she observed:

"How very suddenly you all quitted Nether-field last November, Mr. Darcy! It must havebeen a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingleyto see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollectright, he went but the day before. He and hissisters were well, I hope, when you left Lon-don?"

"Perfectly so, I thank you."

She found that she was to receive no other an-swer, and, after a short pause added:

"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley hasnot much idea of ever returning to Netherfieldagain?"

"I have never heard him say so; but it is prob-able that he may spend very little of his timethere in the future. He has many friends, and isat a time of life when friends and engagementsare continually increasing."

"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, itwould be better for the neighbourhood that heshould give up the place entirely, for then wemight possibly get a settled family there. But,perhaps, Mr. Bingley did not take the house somuch for the convenience of the neighbour-hood as for his own, and we must expect himto keep it or quit it on the same principle."

"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if hewere to give it up as soon as any eligible pur-chase offers."

Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid oftalking longer of his friend; and, having noth-ing else to say, was now determined to leavethe trouble of finding a subject to him.

He took the hint, and soon began with, "Thisseems a very comfortable house. Lady Cath-erine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr.Collins first came to Hunsford."

"I believe she did—and I am sure she could nothave bestowed her kindness on a more gratefulobject."

"Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in hischoice of a wife."

"Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in hishaving met with one of the very few sensiblewomen who would have accepted him, or havemade him happy if they had. My friend has anexcellent understanding—though I am not cer-tain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins asthe wisest thing she ever did. She seems per-fectly happy, however, and in a prudentiallight it is certainly a very good match for her."

"It must be very agreeable for her to be settledwithin so easy a distance of her own family andfriends."

"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearlyfifty miles."

"And what is fifty miles of good road? Littlemore than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it avery easy distance."

"I should never have considered the distance asone of the advantages of the match," cried Eliza-beth. "I should never have said Mrs. Collinswas settled near her family."

"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hert-fordshire. Anything beyond the veryneighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose,would appear far."

As he spoke there was a sort of smile whichElizabeth fancied she understood; he must be

supposing her to be thinking of Jane andNetherfield, and she blushed as she answered:

"I do not mean to say that a woman may not besettled too near her family. The far and the nearmust be relative, and depend on many varyingcircumstances. Where there is fortune to makethe expenses of travelling unimportant, dis-tance becomes no evil. But that is not the casehere. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortableincome, but not such a one as will allow of fre-quent journeys—and I am persuaded my friendwould not call herself near her family underless than half the present distance."

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her,and said, "You cannot have a right to such verystrong local attachment. You cannot have beenalways at Longbourn."

Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman ex-perienced some change of feeling; he drew back

his chair, took a newspaper from the table, andglancing over it, said, in a colder voice:

"Are you pleased with Kent?"

A short dialogue on the subject of the countryensued, on either side calm and concise—andsoon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotteand her sister, just returned from her walk. Thetete-a-tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy relatedthe mistake which had occasioned his intrudingon Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minuteslonger without saying much to anybody, wentaway.

"What can be the meaning of this?" said Char-lotte, as soon as he was gone. "My dear, Eliza,he must be in love with you, or he would neverhave called us in this familiar way."

But when Elizabeth told of his silence; it did notseem very likely, even to Charlotte's wishes, tobe the case; and after various conjectures, they

could at last only suppose his visit to proceedfrom the difficulty of finding anything to do,which was the more probable from the time ofyear. All field sports were over. Within doorsthere was Lady Catherine, books, and a bil-liard-table, but gentlemen cannot always bewithin doors; and in the nearness of the Par-sonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, orof the people who lived in it, the two cousinsfound a temptation from this period of walkingthither almost every day. They called at varioustimes of the morning, sometimes separately,sometimes together, and now and then accom-panied by their aunt. It was plain to them allthat Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he hadpleasure in their society, a persuasion which ofcourse recommended him still more; and Eliza-beth was reminded by her own satisfaction inbeing with him, as well as by his evident admi-ration of her, of her former favourite GeorgeWickham; and though, in comparing them, shesaw there was less captivating softness in

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed hemight have the best informed mind.

But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Par-sonage, it was more difficult to understand. Itcould not be for society, as he frequently satthere ten minutes together without opening hislips; and when he did speak, it seemed the ef-fect of necessity rather than of choice—a sacri-fice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. Heseldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collinsknew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitz-william's occasionally laughing at his stupidity,proved that he was generally different, whichher own knowledge of him could not have toldher; and as she would liked to have believedthis change the effect of love, and the object ofthat love her friend Eliza, she set herself seri-ously to work to find it out. She watched himwhenever they were at Rosings, and wheneverhe came to Hunsford; but without much suc-cess. He certainly looked at her friend a great

deal, but the expression of that look was dis-putable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, butshe often doubted whether there were muchadmiration in it, and sometimes it seemed noth-ing but absence of mind.

She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeththe possibility of his being partial to her, butElizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs.Collins did not think it right to press the sub-ject, from the danger of raising expectationswhich might only end in disappointment; for inher opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that allher friend's dislike would vanish, if she couldsuppose him to be in her power.

In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she some-times planned her marrying Colonel Fitzwil-liam. He was beyond comparison the mostpleasant man; he certainly admired her, and hissituation in life was most eligible; but, to coun-terbalance these advantages, Mr. Darcy had

considerable patronage in the church, and hiscousin could have none at all.

Chapter 33

More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramblewithin the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy.She felt all the perverseness of the mischancethat should bring him where no one else wasbrought, and, to prevent its ever happeningagain, took care to inform him at first that itwas a favourite haunt of hers. How it couldoccur a second time, therefore, was very odd!Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wil-ful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for onthese occasions it was not merely a few formalinquiries and an awkward pause and thenaway, but he actually thought it necessary to

turn back and walk with her. He never said agreat deal, nor did she give herself the troubleof talking or of listening much; but it struck herin the course of their third rencontre that hewas asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, herlove of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr.and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speak-ing of Rosings and her not perfectly under-standing the house, he seemed to expect thatwhenever she came into Kent again she wouldbe staying there too. His words seemed to implyit. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in histhoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything,he must mean an allusion to what might arisein that quarter. It distressed her a little, and shewas quite glad to find herself at the gate in thepales opposite the Parsonage.

She was engaged one day as she walked, inperusing Jane's last letter, and dwelling onsome passages which proved that Jane had not

written in spirits, when, instead of being againsurprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking upthat Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Put-ting away the letter immediately and forcing asmile, she said:

"I did not know before that you ever walkedthis way."

"I have been making the tour of the park," hereplied, "as I generally do every year, and in-tend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Areyou going much farther?"

"No, I should have turned in a moment."

And accordingly she did turn, and they walkedtowards the Parsonage together.

"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?"said she.

"Yes—if Darcy does not put it off again. But Iam at his disposal. He arranges the businessjust as he pleases."

"And if not able to please himself in the ar-rangement, he has at least pleasure in the greatpower of choice. I do not know anybody whoseems more to enjoy the power of doing whathe likes than Mr. Darcy."

"He likes to have his own way very well," re-plied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. Itis only that he has better means of having itthan many others, because he is rich, and manyothers are poor. I speak feelingly. A youngerson, you know, must be inured to self-denialand dependence."

"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl canknow very little of either. Now seriously, whathave you ever known of self-denial and de-pendence? When have you been prevented bywant of money from going wherever you

chose, or procuring anything you had a fancyfor?"

"These are home questions—and perhaps Icannot say that I have experienced many hard-ships of that nature. But in matters of greaterweight, I may suffer from want of money.Younger sons cannot marry where they like."

"Unless where they like women of fortune,which I think they very often do."

"Our habits of expense make us too dependent,and there are not many in my rank of life whocan afford to marry without some attention tomoney."

"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?"and she coloured at the idea; but, recoveringherself, said in a lively tone, "And pray, what isthe usual price of an earl's younger son? Unlessthe elder brother is very sickly, I suppose youwould not ask above fifty thousand pounds."

He answered her in the same style, and thesubject dropped. To interrupt a silence whichmight make him fancy her affected with whathad passed, she soon afterwards said:

"I imagine your cousin brought you down withhim chiefly for the sake of having someone athis disposal. I wonder he does not marry, tosecure a lasting convenience of that kind. But,perhaps, his sister does as well for the present,and, as she is under his sole care, he may dowhat he likes with her."

"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an ad-vantage which he must divide with me. I amjoined with him in the guardianship of MissDarcy."

"Are you indeed? And pray what sort ofguardians do you make? Does your charge giveyou much trouble? Young ladies of her age aresometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she

has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to haveher own way."

As she spoke she observed him looking at herearnestly; and the manner in which he immedi-ately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcylikely to give them any uneasiness, convincedher that she had somehow or other got prettynear the truth. She directly replied:

"You need not be frightened. I never heard anyharm of her; and I dare say she is one of themost tractable creatures in the world. She is avery great favourite with some ladies of myacquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. Ithink I have heard you say that you knowthem."

"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasantgentlemanlike man—he is a great friend ofDarcy's."

"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily; "Mr. Darcy isuncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes aprodigious deal of care of him."

"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy doestake care of him in those points where he mostwants care. From something that he told me inour journey hither, I have reason to think Bing-ley very much indebted to him. But I ought tobeg his pardon, for I have no right to supposethat Bingley was the person meant. It was allconjecture."

"What is it you mean?"

"It is a circumstance which Darcy could notwish to be generally known, because if it wereto get round to the lady's family, it would be anunpleasant thing."

"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."

"And remember that I have not much reasonfor supposing it to be Bingley. What he told mewas merely this: that he congratulated himselfon having lately saved a friend from the incon-veniences of a most imprudent marriage, butwithout mentioning names or any other par-ticulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingleyfrom believing him the kind of young man toget into a scrape of that sort, and from knowingthem to have been together the whole of lastsummer."

"Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this inter-ference?"

"I understood that there were some very strongobjections against the lady."

"And what arts did he use to separate them?"

"He did not talk to me of his own arts," saidFitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what Ihave now told you."

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, herheart swelling with indignation. After watchingher a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she wasso thoughtful.

"I am thinking of what you have been tellingme," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does notsuit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"

"You are rather disposed to call his interferenceofficious?"

"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to de-cide on the propriety of his friend's inclination,or why, upon his own judgement alone, he wasto determine and direct in what manner hisfriend was to be happy. But," she continued,recollecting herself, "as we know none of theparticulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It isnot to be supposed that there was much affec-tion in the case."

"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwil-liam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of mycousin's triumph very sadly."

This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared toher so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that shewould not trust herself with an answer, andtherefore, abruptly changing the conversationtalked on indifferent matters until they reachedthe Parsonage. There, shut into her own room,as soon as their visitor left them, she couldthink without interruption of all that she hadheard. It was not to be supposed that any otherpeople could be meant than those with whomshe was connected. There could not exist in theworld two men over whom Mr. Darcy couldhave such boundless influence. That he hadbeen concerned in the measures taken to sepa-rate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted;but she had always attributed to Miss Bingleythe principal design and arrangement of them.If his own vanity, however, did not mislead

him, he was the cause, his pride and capricewere the cause, of all that Jane had suffered,and still continued to suffer. He had ruined fora while every hope of happiness for the mostaffectionate, generous heart in the world; andno one could say how lasting an evil he mighthave inflicted.

"There were some very strong objectionsagainst the lady," were Colonel Fitzwilliam'swords; and those strong objections probablywere, her having one uncle who was a countryattorney, and another who was in business inLondon.

"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could beno possibility of objection; all loveliness andgoodness as she is!—her understanding excel-lent, her mind improved, and her manners cap-tivating. Neither could anything be urgedagainst my father, who, though with some pe-culiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself neednot disdain, and respectability which he will

probably never reach." When she thought ofher mother, her confidence gave way a little;but she would not allow that any objectionsthere had material weight with Mr. Darcy,whose pride, she was convinced, would receivea deeper wound from the want of importancein his friend's connections, than from theirwant of sense; and she was quite decided, atlast, that he had been partly governed by thisworst kind of pride, and partly by the wish ofretaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.

The agitation and tears which the subject occa-sioned, brought on a headache; and it grew somuch worse towards the evening, that, addedto her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it deter-mined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings,where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs.Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, didnot press her to go and as much as possibleprevented her husband from pressing her; butMr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension

of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased byher staying at home.

Chapter 34

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intendingto exasperate herself as much as possibleagainst Mr. Darcy, chose for her employmentthe examination of all the letters which Janehad written to her since her being in Kent. Theycontained no actual complaint, nor was thereany revival of past occurrences, or any com-munication of present suffering. But in all, andin almost every line of each, there was a wantof that cheerfulness which had been used tocharacterise her style, and which, proceedingfrom the serenity of a mind at ease with itselfand kindly disposed towards everyone, had

been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticedevery sentence conveying the idea of uneasi-ness, with an attention which it had hardly re-ceived on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shame-ful boast of what misery he had been able toinflict, gave her a keener sense of her sister'ssufferings. It was some consolation to thinkthat his visit to Rosings was to end on the dayafter the next—and, a still greater, that in lessthan a fortnight she should herself be with Janeagain, and enabled to contribute to the recoveryof her spirits, by all that affection could do.

She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kentwithout remembering that his cousin was to gowith him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made itclear that he had no intentions at all, and agree-able as he was, she did not mean to be unhappyabout him.

While settling this point, she was suddenlyroused by the sound of the door-bell, and herspirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its

being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who hadonce before called late in the evening, andmight now come to inquire particularly afterher. But this idea was soon banished, and herspirits were very differently affected, when, toher utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walkinto the room. In an hurried manner he imme-diately began an inquiry after her health, im-puting his visit to a wish of hearing that shewere better. She answered him with cold civil-ity. He sat down for a few moments, and thengetting up, walked about the room. Elizabethwas surprised, but said not a word. After a si-lence of several minutes, he came towards herin an agitated manner, and thus began:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. Myfeelings will not be repressed. You must allowme to tell you how ardently I admire and loveyou."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expres-sion. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was

silent. This he considered sufficient encour-agement; and the avowal of all that he felt, andhad long felt for her, immediately followed. Hespoke well; but there were feelings besidesthose of the heart to be detailed; and he was notmore eloquent on the subject of tenderness thanof pride. His sense of her inferiority—of its be-ing a degradation—of the family obstacleswhich had always opposed to inclination, weredwelt on with a warmth which seemed due tothe consequence he was wounding, but wasvery unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she couldnot be insensible to the compliment of such aman's affection, and though her intentions didnot vary for an instant, she was at first sorry forthe pain he was to receive; till, roused to re-sentment by his subsequent language, she lostall compassion in anger. She tried, however, tocompose herself to answer him with patience,when he should have done. He concluded with

representing to her the strength of that attach-ment which, in spite of all his endeavours, hehad found impossible to conquer; and withexpressing his hope that it would now be re-warded by her acceptance of his hand. As hesaid this, she could easily see that he had nodoubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of ap-prehension and anxiety, but his countenanceexpressed real security. Such a circumstancecould only exasperate farther, and, when heceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and shesaid:

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the estab-lished mode to express a sense of obligation forthe sentiments avowed, however unequallythey may be returned. It is natural that obliga-tion should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, Iwould now thank you. But I cannot—I havenever desired your good opinion, and you havecertainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I amsorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has

been most unconsciously done, however, and Ihope will be of short duration. The feelingswhich, you tell me, have long prevented theacknowledgment of your regard, can have littledifficulty in overcoming it after this explana-tion."

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the man-telpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemedto catch her words with no less resentment thansurprise. His complexion became pale withanger, and the disturbance of his mind wasvisible in every feature. He was struggling forthe appearance of composure, and would notopen his lips till he believed himself to haveattained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feel-ings dreadful. At length, with a voice of forcedcalmness, he said:

"And this is all the reply which I am to have thehonour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish tobe informed why, with so little endeavour at

civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of smallimportance."

"I might as well inquire," replied she, "whywith so evident a desire of offending and in-sulting me, you chose to tell me that you likedme against your will, against your reason, andeven against your character? Was not this someexcuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I haveother provocations. You know I have. Had notmy feelings decided against you—had theybeen indifferent, or had they even been favour-able, do you think that any considerationwould tempt me to accept the man who hasbeen the means of ruining, perhaps for ever,the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcychanged colour; but the emotion was short, andhe listened without attempting to interrupt herwhile she continued:

"I have every reason in the world to think ill ofyou. No motive can excuse the unjust and un-generous part you acted there. You dare not,you cannot deny, that you have been the prin-cipal, if not the only means of dividing themfrom each other—of exposing one to the cen-sure of the world for caprice and instability,and the other to its derision for disappointedhopes, and involving them both in misery ofthe acutest kind."

She paused, and saw with no slight indignationthat he was listening with an air which provedhim wholly unmoved by any feeling of re-morse. He even looked at her with a smile ofaffected incredulity.

"Can you deny that you have done it?" she re-peated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: "Ihave no wish of denying that I did everythingin my power to separate my friend from your

sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towardshim I have been kinder than towards myself."

Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticingthis civil reflection, but its meaning did notescape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.

"But it is not merely this affair," she continued,"on which my dislike is founded. Long before ithad taken place my opinion of you was de-cided. Your character was unfolded in the re-cital which I received many months ago fromMr. Wickham. On this subject, what can youhave to say? In what imaginary act of friend-ship can you here defend yourself? or underwhat misrepresentation can you here imposeupon others?"

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman'sconcerns," said Darcy, in a less tranquil tone,and with a heightened colour.

"Who that knows what his misfortunes havebeen, can help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptu-ously; "yes, his misfortunes have been greatindeed."

"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth withenergy. "You have reduced him to his presentstate of poverty—comparative poverty. Youhave withheld the advantages which you mustknow to have been designed for him. You havedeprived the best years of his life of that inde-pendence which was no less his due than hisdesert. You have done all this! and yet you cantreat the mention of his misfortune with con-tempt and ridicule."

"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked withquick steps across the room, "is your opinion ofme! This is the estimation in which you holdme! I thank you for explaining it so fully. Myfaults, according to this calculation, are heavy

indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in hiswalk, and turning towards her, "these offensesmight have been overlooked, had not yourpride been hurt by my honest confession of thescruples that had long prevented my formingany serious design. These bitter accusationsmight have been suppressed, had I, withgreater policy, concealed my struggles, andflattered you into the belief of my being im-pelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; byreason, by reflection, by everything. But dis-guise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am Iashamed of the feelings I related. They werenatural and just. Could you expect me to rejoicein the inferiority of your connections?—to con-gratulate myself on the hope of relations,whose condition in life is so decidedly beneathmy own?"

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry everymoment; yet she tried to the utmost to speakwith composure when she said:

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you supposethat the mode of your declaration affected mein any other way, than as it spared the concernwhich I might have felt in refusing you, hadyou behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing,and she continued:

"You could not have made the offer of yourhand in any possible way that would havetempted me to accept it."

Again his astonishment was obvious; and helooked at her with an expression of mingledincredulity and mortification. She went on:

"From the very beginning—from the first mo-ment, I may almost say—of my acquaintancewith you, your manners, impressing me withthe fullest belief of your arrogance, your con-ceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings ofothers, were such as to form the groundwork of

disapprobation on which succeeding eventshave built so immovable a dislike; and I hadnot known you a month before I felt that youwere the last man in the world whom I couldever be prevailed on to marry."

"You have said quite enough, madam. I per-fectly comprehend your feelings, and have nowonly to be ashamed of what my own have been.Forgive me for having taken up so much ofyour time, and accept my best wishes for yourhealth and happiness."

And with these words he hastily left the room,and Elizabeth heard him the next moment openthe front door and quit the house.

The tumult of her mind, was now painfullygreat. She knew not how to support herself,and from actual weakness sat down and criedfor half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she re-flected on what had passed, was increased byevery review of it. That she should receive an

offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That heshould have been in love with her for so manymonths! So much in love as to wish to marryher in spite of all the objections which hadmade him prevent his friend's marrying hersister, and which must appear at least withequal force in his own case—was almost in-credible! It was gratifying to have inspired un-consciously so strong an affection. But hispride, his abominable pride—his shamelessavowal of what he had done with respect toJane—his unpardonable assurance in acknowl-edging, though he could not justify it, and theunfeeling manner in which he had mentionedMr. Wickham, his cruelty towards whom hehad not attempted to deny, soon overcame thepity which the consideration of his attachmenthad for a moment excited. She continued invery agitated reflections till the sound of LadyCatherine's carriage made her feel how unequalshe was to encounter Charlotte's observation,and hurried her away to her room.

Chapter 35

Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the samethoughts and meditations which had at lengthclosed her eyes. She could not yet recover fromthe surprise of what had happened; it was im-possible to think of anything else; and, totallyindisposed for employment, she resolved, soonafter breakfast, to indulge herself in air andexercise. She was proceeding directly to herfavourite walk, when the recollection of Mr.Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her,and instead of entering the park, she turned upthe lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. The park paling was still the boundary onone side, and she soon passed one of the gatesinto the ground.

After walking two or three times along thatpart of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleas-antness of the morning, to stop at the gates andlook into the park. The five weeks which shehad now passed in Kent had made a great dif-ference in the country, and every day was add-ing to the verdure of the early trees. She was onthe point of continuing her walk, when shecaught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sortof grove which edged the park; he was movingthat way; and, fearful of its being Mr. Darcy,she was directly retreating. But the person whoadvanced was now near enough to see her, andstepping forward with eagerness, pronouncedher name. She had turned away; but on hearingherself called, though in a voice which provedit to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towardsthe gate. He had by that time reached it also,and, holding out a letter, which she instinc-tively took, said, with a look of haughty com-posure, "I have been walking in the grove sometime in the hope of meeting you. Will you do

me the honour of reading that letter?" Andthen, with a slight bow, turned again into theplantation, and was soon out of sight.

With no expectation of pleasure, but with thestrongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter,and, to her still increasing wonder, perceivedan envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written quite through, in a very closehand. The envelope itself was likewise full.Pursuing her way along the lane, she then be-gan it. It was dated from Rosings, at eighto'clock in the morning, and was as follows:—

"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this let-ter, by the apprehension of its containing anyrepetition of those sentiments or renewal ofthose offers which were last night so disgustingto you. I write without any intention of painingyou, or humbling myself, by dwelling onwishes which, for the happiness of both, cannotbe too soon forgotten; and the effort which theformation and the perusal of this letter must

occasion, should have been spared, had not mycharacter required it to be written and read.You must, therefore, pardon the freedom withwhich I demand your attention; your feelings, Iknow, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demandit of your justice.

"Two offenses of a very different nature, and byno means of equal magnitude, you last nightlaid to my charge. The first mentioned was,that, regardless of the sentiments of either, Ihad detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, andthe other, that I had, in defiance of variousclaims, in defiance of honour and humanity,ruined the immediate prosperity and blastedthe prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully andwantonly to have thrown off the companion ofmy youth, the acknowledged favourite of myfather, a young man who had scarcely anyother dependence than on our patronage, andwho had been brought up to expect its exertion,would be a depravity, to which the separation

of two young persons, whose affection could bethe growth of only a few weeks, could bear nocomparison. But from the severity of that blamewhich was last night so liberally bestowed, re-specting each circumstance, I shall hope to be inthe future secured, when the following accountof my actions and their motives has been read.If, in the explanation of them, which is due tomyself, I am under the necessity of relatingfeelings which may be offensive to yours, I canonly say that I am sorry. The necessity must beobeyed, and further apology would be absurd.

"I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before Isaw, in common with others, that Bingley pre-ferred your elder sister to any other youngwoman in the country. But it was not till theevening of the dance at Netherfield that I hadany apprehension of his feeling a serious at-tachment. I had often seen him in love before.At that ball, while I had the honour of dancingwith you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir

William Lucas's accidental information, thatBingley's attentions to your sister had givenrise to a general expectation of their marriage.He spoke of it as a certain event, of which thetime alone could be undecided. From that mo-ment I observed my friend's behaviour atten-tively; and I could then perceive that his parti-ality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I hadever witnessed in him. Your sister I alsowatched. Her look and manners were open,cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without anysymptom of peculiar regard, and I remainedconvinced from the evening's scrutiny, thatthough she received his attentions with pleas-ure, she did not invite them by any participa-tion of sentiment. If you have not been mistakenhere, I must have been in error. Your superiorknowledge of your sister must make the latterprobable. If it be so, if I have been misled bysuch error to inflict pain on her, your resent-ment has not been unreasonable. But I shall notscruple to assert, that the serenity of your sis-

ter's countenance and air was such as mighthave given the most acute observer a convic-tion that, however amiable her temper, herheart was not likely to be easily touched. That Iwas desirous of believing her indifferent is cer-tain—but I will venture to say that my investi-gation and decisions are not usually influencedby my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to beindifferent because I wished it; I believed it onimpartial conviction, as truly as I wished it inreason. My objections to the marriage were notmerely those which I last night acknowledgedto have the utmost force of passion to put aside,in my own case; the want of connection couldnot be so great an evil to my friend as to me.But there were other causes of repugnance;causes which, though still existing, and existingto an equal degree in both instances, I had my-self endeavoured to forget, because they werenot immediately before me. These causes mustbe stated, though briefly. The situation of yourmother's family, though objectionable, was

nothing in comparison to that total want ofpropriety so frequently, so almost uniformlybetrayed by herself, by your three younger sis-ters, and occasionally even by your father. Par-don me. It pains me to offend you. But amidstyour concern for the defects of your nearestrelations, and your displeasure at this represen-tation of them, let it give you consolation toconsider that, to have conducted yourselves soas to avoid any share of the like censure, ispraise no less generally bestowed on you andyour elder sister, than it is honourable to thesense and disposition of both. I will only sayfarther that from what passed that evening, myopinion of all parties was confirmed, and everyinducement heightened which could have ledme before, to preserve my friend from what Iesteemed a most unhappy connection. He leftNetherfield for London, on the day following,as you, I am certain, remember, with the designof soon returning.

"The part which I acted is now to be explained.His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excitedwith my own; our coincidence of feeling wassoon discovered, and, alike sensible that notime was to be lost in detaching their brother,we shortly resolved on joining him directly inLondon. We accordingly went—and there Ireadily engaged in the office of pointing out tomy friend the certain evils of such a choice. Idescribed, and enforced them earnestly. But,however this remonstrance might have stag-gered or delayed his determination, I do notsuppose that it would ultimately have pre-vented the marriage, had it not been secondedby the assurance that I hesitated not in giving,of your sister's indifference. He had before be-lieved her to return his affection with sincere, ifnot with equal regard. But Bingley has greatnatural modesty, with a stronger dependenceon my judgement than on his own. To convincehim, therefore, that he had deceived himself,was no very difficult point. To persuade him

against returning into Hertfordshire, when thatconviction had been given, was scarcely thework of a moment. I cannot blame myself forhaving done thus much. There is but one partof my conduct in the whole affair on which I donot reflect with satisfaction; it is that I conde-scended to adopt the measures of art so far asto conceal from him your sister's being in town.I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bing-ley; but her brother is even yet ignorant of it.That they might have met without ill conse-quence is perhaps probable; but his regard didnot appear to me enough extinguished for himto see her without some danger. Perhaps thisconcealment, this disguise was beneath me; it isdone, however, and it was done for the best.On this subject I have nothing more to say, noother apology to offer. If I have wounded yoursister's feelings, it was unknowingly done andthough the motives which governed me may toyou very naturally appear insufficient, I havenot yet learnt to condemn them.

"With respect to that other, more weighty accu-sation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I canonly refute it by laying before you the whole ofhis connection with my family. Of what he hasparticularly accused me I am ignorant; but of thetruth of what I shall relate, I can summon morethan one witness of undoubted veracity.

"Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectableman, who had for many years the managementof all the Pemberley estates, and whose goodconduct in the discharge of his trust naturallyinclined my father to be of service to him; andon George Wickham, who was his godson, hiskindness was therefore liberally bestowed. Myfather supported him at school, and afterwardsat Cambridge—most important assistance, ashis own father, always poor from the extrava-gance of his wife, would have been unable togive him a gentleman's education. My fatherwas not only fond of this young man's society,whose manner were always engaging; he had

also the highest opinion of him, and hoping thechurch would be his profession, intended toprovide for him in it. As for myself, it is many,many years since I first began to think of him ina very different manner. The vicious propensi-ties—the want of principle, which he was care-ful to guard from the knowledge of his bestfriend, could not escape the observation of ayoung man of nearly the same age with him-self, and who had opportunities of seeing himin unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy couldnot have. Here again I shall give you pain—towhat degree you only can tell. But whatevermay be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham hascreated, a suspicion of their nature shall notprevent me from unfolding his real character—it adds even another motive.

"My excellent father died about five years ago;and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to thelast so steady, that in his will he particularlyrecommended it to me, to promote his ad-

vancement in the best manner that his profes-sion might allow—and if he took orders, de-sired that a valuable family living might be hisas soon as it became vacant. There was also alegacy of one thousand pounds. His own fatherdid not long survive mine, and within half ayear from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote toinform me that, having finally resolved againsttaking orders, he hoped I should not think itunreasonable for him to expect some more im-mediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of thepreferment, by which he could not be bene-fited. He had some intention, he added, ofstudying law, and I must be aware that the in-terest of one thousand pounds would be a veryinsufficient support therein. I rather wished,than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate,was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. Iknew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a cler-gyman; the business was therefore soon set-tled—he resigned all claim to assistance in thechurch, were it possible that he could ever be in

a situation to receive it, and accepted in returnthree thousand pounds. All connection be-tween us seemed now dissolved. I thought tooill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admithis society in town. In town I believe he chieflylived, but his studying the law was a mere pre-tence, and being now free from all restraint, hislife was a life of idleness and dissipation. Forabout three years I heard little of him; but onthe decease of the incumbent of the livingwhich had been designed for him, he applied tome again by letter for the presentation. His cir-cumstances, he assured me, and I had no diffi-culty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. Hehad found the law a most unprofitable study,and was now absolutely resolved on being or-dained, if I would present him to the living inquestion—of which he trusted there could belittle doubt, as he was well assured that I hadno other person to provide for, and I could nothave forgotten my revered father's intentions.You will hardly blame me for refusing to com-

ply with this entreaty, or for resisting everyrepetition to it. His resentment was in propor-tion to the distress of his circumstances—andhe was doubtless as violent in his abuse of meto others as in his reproaches to myself. Afterthis period every appearance of acquaintancewas dropped. How he lived I know not. Butlast summer he was again most painfully ob-truded on my notice.

"I must now mention a circumstance which Iwould wish to forget myself, and which noobligation less than the present should induceme to unfold to any human being. Having saidthus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. Mysister, who is more than ten years my junior,was left to the guardianship of my mother'snephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself.About a year ago, she was taken from school,and an establishment formed for her in Lon-don; and last summer she went with the ladywho presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither

also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by de-sign; for there proved to have been a prior ac-quaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, inwhose character we were most unhappily de-ceived; and by her connivance and aid, he sofar recommended himself to Georgiana, whoseaffectionate heart retained a strong impressionof his kindness to her as a child, that she waspersuaded to believe herself in love, and toconsent to an elopement. She was then but fif-teen, which must be her excuse; and after stat-ing her imprudence, I am happy to add, that Iowed the knowledge of it to herself. I joinedthem unexpectedly a day or two before the in-tended elopement, and then Georgiana, unableto support the idea of grieving and offending abrother whom she almost looked up to as afather, acknowledged the whole to me. Youmay imagine what I felt and how I acted. Re-gard for my sister's credit and feelings pre-vented any public exposure; but I wrote to Mr.Wickham, who left the place immediately, and

Mrs. Younge was of course removed from hercharge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was un-questionably my sister's fortune, which is thirtythousand pounds; but I cannot help supposingthat the hope of revenging himself on me was astrong inducement. His revenge would havebeen complete indeed.

"This, madam, is a faithful narrative of everyevent in which we have been concerned to-gether; and if you do not absolutely reject it asfalse, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth ofcruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not inwhat manner, under what form of falsehood hehad imposed on you; but his success is not per-haps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previ-ously were of everything concerning either,detection could not be in your power, and sus-picion certainly not in your inclination.

"You may possibly wonder why all this was nottold you last night; but I was not then masterenough of myself to know what could or ought

to be revealed. For the truth of everything hererelated, I can appeal more particularly to thetestimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, fromour near relationship and constant intimacy,and, still more, as one of the executors of myfather's will, has been unavoidably acquaintedwith every particular of these transactions. Ifyour abhorrence of me should make my asser-tions valueless, you cannot be prevented by thesame cause from confiding in my cousin; andthat there may be the possibility of consultinghim, I shall endeavour to find some opportu-nity of putting this letter in your hands in thecourse of the morning. I will only add, Godbless you.

"FITZWILLIAM DARCY"

Chapter 36

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the let-ter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of hisoffers, she had formed no expectation at all ofits contents. But such as they were, it may wellbe supposed how eagerly she went throughthem, and what a contrariety of emotion theyexcited. Her feelings as she read were scarcelyto be defined. With amazement did she firstunderstand that he believed any apology to bein his power; and steadfastly was she per-suaded, that he could have no explanation togive, which a just sense of shame would notconceal. With a strong prejudice against every-thing he might say, she began his account ofwhat had happened at Netherfield. She readwith an eagerness which hardly left her powerof comprehension, and from impatience ofknowing what the next sentence might bring,was incapable of attending to the sense of the

one before her eyes. His belief of her sister'sinsensibility she instantly resolved to be false;and his account of the real, the worst objectionsto the match, made her too angry to have anywish of doing him justice. He expressed no re-gret for what he had done which satisfied her;his style was not penitent, but haughty. It wasall pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by hisaccount of Mr. Wickham—when she read withsomewhat clearer attention a relation of eventswhich, if true, must overthrow every cherishedopinion of his worth, and which bore so alarm-ing an affinity to his own history of himself—her feelings were yet more acutely painful andmore difficult of definition. Astonishment, ap-prehension, and even horror, oppressed her.She wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedlyexclaiming, "This must be false! This cannot be!This must be the grossest falsehood!"—andwhen she had gone through the whole letter,

though scarcely knowing anything of the lastpage or two, put it hastily away, protesting thatshe would not regard it, that she would neverlook in it again.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughtsthat could rest on nothing, she walked on; but itwould not do; in half a minute the letter wasunfolded again, and collecting herself as well asshe could, she again began the mortifying pe-rusal of all that related to Wickham, and com-manded herself so far as to examine the mean-ing of every sentence. The account of his con-nection with the Pemberley family was exactlywhat he had related himself; and the kindnessof the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not be-fore known its extent, agreed equally well withhis own words. So far each recital confirmedthe other; but when she came to the will, thedifference was great. What Wickham had saidof the living was fresh in her memory, and asshe recalled his very words, it was impossible

not to feel that there was gross duplicity on oneside or the other; and, for a few moments, sheflattered herself that her wishes did not err. Butwhen she read and re-read with the closest at-tention, the particulars immediately followingof Wickham's resigning all pretensions to theliving, of his receiving in lieu so considerable asum as three thousand pounds, again was sheforced to hesitate. She put down the letter,weighed every circumstance with what shemeant to be impartiality—deliberated on theprobability of each statement—but with littlesuccess. On both sides it was only assertion.Again she read on; but every line proved moreclearly that the affair, which she had believed itimpossible that any contrivance could so repre-sent as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it lessthan infamous, was capable of a turn whichmust make him entirely blameless throughoutthe whole.

The extravagance and general profligacy whichhe scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham's charge,exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as shecould bring no proof of its injustice. She hadnever heard of him before his entrance into the——shire Militia, in which he had engaged atthe persuasion of the young man who, on meet-ing him accidentally in town, had there re-newed a slight acquaintance. Of his former wayof life nothing had been known in Hertford-shire but what he told himself. As to his realcharacter, had information been in her power,she had never felt a wish of inquiring. Hiscountenance, voice, and manner had estab-lished him at once in the possession of everyvirtue. She tried to recollect some instance ofgoodness, some distinguished trait of integrityor benevolence, that might rescue him from theattacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the pre-dominance of virtue, atone for those casualerrors under which she would endeavour toclass what Mr. Darcy had described as the idle-

ness and vice of many years' continuance. Butno such recollection befriended her. She couldsee him instantly before her, in every charm ofair and address; but she could remember nomore substantial good than the general appro-bation of the neighbourhood, and the regardwhich his social powers had gained him in themess. After pausing on this point a consider-able while, she once more continued to read.But, alas! the story which followed, of his de-signs on Miss Darcy, received some confirma-tion from what had passed between ColonelFitzwilliam and herself only the morning be-fore; and at last she was referred for the truth ofevery particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam him-self—from whom she had previously receivedthe information of his near concern in all hiscousin's affairs, and whose character she hadno reason to question. At one time she had al-most resolved on applying to him, but the ideawas checked by the awkwardness of the appli-cation, and at length wholly banished by the

conviction that Mr. Darcy would never havehazarded such a proposal, if he had not beenwell assured of his cousin's corroboration.

She perfectly remembered everything that hadpassed in conversation between Wickham andherself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips's.Many of his expressions were still fresh in hermemory. She was now struck with the impro-priety of such communications to a stranger,and wondered it had escaped her before. Shesaw the indelicacy of putting himself forwardas he had done, and the inconsistency of hisprofessions with his conduct. She rememberedthat he had boasted of having no fear of seeingMr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave thecountry, but that he should stand his ground;yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball thevery next week. She remembered also that, tillthe Netherfield family had quitted the country,he had told his story to no one but herself; butthat after their removal it had been everywhere

discussed; that he had then no reserves, noscruples in sinking Mr. Darcy's character,though he had assured her that respect for thefather would always prevent his exposing theson.

How differently did everything now appear inwhich he was concerned! His attentions to MissKing were now the consequence of views solelyand hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity ofher fortune proved no longer the moderation ofhis wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any-thing. His behaviour to herself could now havehad no tolerable motive; he had either beendeceived with regard to her fortune, or hadbeen gratifying his vanity by encouraging thepreference which she believed she had mostincautiously shown. Every lingering struggle inhis favour grew fainter and fainter; and in far-ther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could notbut allow Mr. Bingley, when questioned byJane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness

in the affair; that proud and repulsive as werehis manners, she had never, in the wholecourse of their acquaintance—an acquaintancewhich had latterly brought them much to-gether, and given her a sort of intimacy withhis ways—seen anything that betrayed him tobe unprincipled or unjust—anything that spokehim of irreligious or immoral habits; thatamong his own connections he was esteemedand valued—that even Wickham had allowedhim merit as a brother, and that she had oftenheard him speak so affectionately of his sisteras to prove him capable of some amiable feeling;that had his actions been what Mr. Wickhamrepresented them, so gross a violation of every-thing right could hardly have been concealedfrom the world; and that friendship between aperson capable of it, and such an amiable manas Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Ofneither Darcy nor Wickham could she think

without feeling she had been blind, partial,prejudiced, absurd.

"How despicably I have acted!" she cried; "I,who have prided myself on my discernment! I,who have valued myself on my abilities! whohave often disdained the generous candour ofmy sister, and gratified my vanity in useless orblameable mistrust! How humiliating is thisdiscovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had Ibeen in love, I could not have been morewretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has beenmy folly. Pleased with the preference of one,and offended by the neglect of the other, on thevery beginning of our acquaintance, I havecourted prepossession and ignorance, anddriven reason away, where either were con-cerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."

From herself to Jane—from Jane to Bingley, herthoughts were in a line which soon brought toher recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanationthere had appeared very insufficient, and she

read it again. Widely different was the effect ofa second perusal. How could she deny thatcredit to his assertions in one instance, whichshe had been obliged to give in the other? Hedeclared himself to be totally unsuspicious ofher sister's attachment; and she could not helpremembering what Charlotte's opinion hadalways been. Neither could she deny the justiceof his description of Jane. She felt that Jane'sfeelings, though fervent, were little displayed,and that there was a constant complacency inher air and manner not often united with greatsensibility.

When she came to that part of the letter inwhich her family were mentioned in terms ofsuch mortifying, yet merited reproach, hersense of shame was severe. The justice of thecharge struck her too forcibly for denial, andthe circumstances to which he particularly al-luded as having passed at the Netherfield ball,and as confirming all his first disapprobation,

could not have made a stronger impression onhis mind than on hers.

The compliment to herself and her sister wasnot unfelt. It soothed, but it could not consoleher for the contempt which had thus been self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as sheconsidered that Jane's disappointment had infact been the work of her nearest relations, andreflected how materially the credit of both mustbe hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she feltdepressed beyond anything she had everknown before.

After wandering along the lane for two hours,giving way to every variety of thought—re-considering events, determining probabilities,and reconciling herself, as well as she could, toa change so sudden and so important, fatigue,and a recollection of her long absence, madeher at length return home; and she entered thehouse with the wish of appearing cheerful asusual, and the resolution of repressing such

reflections as must make her unfit for conversa-tion.

She was immediately told that the two gentle-men from Rosings had each called during herabsence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, totake leave—but that Colonel Fitzwilliam hadbeen sitting with them at least an hour, hopingfor her return, and almost resolving to walkafter her till she could be found. Elizabethcould but just affect concern in missing him; shereally rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was nolonger an object; she could think only of herletter.

Chapter 37

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morn-ing, and Mr. Collins having been in waitingnear the lodges, to make them his parting obei-sance, was able to bring home the pleasing in-telligence, of their appearing in very goodhealth, and in as tolerable spirits as could beexpected, after the melancholy scene so latelygone through at Rosings. To Rosings he thenhastened, to console Lady Catherine and herdaughter; and on his return brought back, withgreat satisfaction, a message from her ladyship,importing that she felt herself so dull as tomake her very desirous of having them all todine with her.

Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine withoutrecollecting that, had she chosen it, she mightby this time have been presented to her as herfuture niece; nor could she think, without a

smile, of what her ladyship's indignationwould have been. "What would she have said?how would she have behaved?" were questionswith which she amused herself.

Their first subject was the diminution of theRosings party. "I assure you, I feel it exceed-ingly," said Lady Catherine; "I believe no onefeels the loss of friends so much as I do. But Iam particularly attached to these young men,and know them to be so much attached to me!They were excessively sorry to go! But so theyalways are. The dear Colonel rallied his spiritstolerably till just at last; but Darcy seemed tofeel it most acutely, more, I think, than lastyear. His attachment to Rosings certainly in-creases."

Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusionto throw in here, which were kindly smiled onby the mother and daughter.

Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, thatMiss Bennet seemed out of spirits, and imme-diately accounting for it by herself, by suppos-ing that she did not like to go home again sosoon, she added:

"But if that is the case, you must write to yourmother and beg that you may stay a littlelonger. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of yourcompany, I am sure."

"I am much obliged to your ladyship for yourkind invitation," replied Elizabeth, "but it is notin my power to accept it. I must be in town nextSaturday."

"Why, at that rate, you will have been here onlysix weeks. I expected you to stay two months. Itold Mrs. Collins so before you came. There canbe no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs.Bennet could certainly spare you for anotherfortnight."

"But my father cannot. He wrote last week tohurry my return."

"Oh! your father of course may spare you, ifyour mother can. Daughters are never of somuch consequence to a father. And if you willstay another month complete, it will be in mypower to take one of you as far as London, for Iam going there early in June, for a week; and asDawson does not object to the barouche-box,there will be very good room for one of you—and indeed, if the weather should happen to becool, I should not object to taking you both, asyou are neither of you large."

"You are all kindness, madam; but I believe wemust abide by our original plan."

Lady Catherine seemed resigned. "Mrs. Collins,you must send a servant with them. You knowI always speak my mind, and I cannot bear theidea of two young women travelling post bythemselves. It is highly improper. You must

contrive to send somebody. I have the greatestdislike in the world to that sort of thing. Youngwomen should always be properly guardedand attended, according to their situation inlife. When my niece Georgiana went to Rams-gate last summer, I made a point of her havingtwo men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, thedaughter of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and LadyAnne, could not have appeared with proprietyin a different manner. I am excessively attentiveto all those things. You must send John with theyoung ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it oc-curred to me to mention it; for it would reallybe discreditable to you to let them go alone."

"My uncle is to send a servant for us."

"Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, doeshe? I am very glad you have somebody whothinks of these things. Where shall you changehorses? Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mentionmy name at the Bell, you will be attended to."

Lady Catherine had many other questions toask respecting their journey, and as she did notanswer them all herself, attention was neces-sary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky forher; or, with a mind so occupied, she mighthave forgotten where she was. Reflection mustbe reserved for solitary hours; whenever shewas alone, she gave way to it as the greatestrelief; and not a day went by without a solitarywalk, in which she might indulge in all the de-light of unpleasant recollections.

Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soonknowing by heart. She studied every sentence;and her feelings towards its writer were attimes widely different. When she rememberedthe style of his address, she was still full of in-dignation; but when she considered how un-justly she had condemned and upbraided him,her anger was turned against herself; and hisdisappointed feelings became the object ofcompassion. His attachment excited gratitude,

his general character respect; but she could notapprove him; nor could she for a moment re-pent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclinationever to see him again. In her own past behav-iour, there was a constant source of vexationand regret; and in the unhappy defects of herfamily, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. Theywere hopeless of remedy. Her father, contentedwith laughing at them, would never exert him-self to restrain the wild giddiness of his young-est daughters; and her mother, with manners sofar from right herself, was entirely insensible ofthe evil. Elizabeth had frequently united withJane in an endeavour to check the imprudenceof Catherine and Lydia; but while they weresupported by their mother's indulgence, whatchance could there be of improvement? Cath-erine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completelyunder Lydia's guidance, had been always af-fronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willedand careless, would scarcely give them a hear-ing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While

there was an officer in Meryton, they wouldflirt with him; and while Meryton was within awalk of Longbourn, they would be going thereforever.

Anxiety on Jane's behalf was another prevailingconcern; and Mr. Darcy's explanation, by re-storing Bingley to all her former good opinion,heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. Hisaffection was proved to have been sincere, andhis conduct cleared of all blame, unless anycould attach to the implicitness of his confi-dence in his friend. How grievous then was thethought that, of a situation so desirable in everyrespect, so replete with advantage, so promis-ing for happiness, Jane had been deprived, bythe folly and indecorum of her own family!

When to these recollections was added the de-velopment of Wickham's character, it may beeasily believed that the happy spirits which hadseldom been depressed before, were now so

much affected as to make it almost impossiblefor her to appear tolerably cheerful.

Their engagements at Rosings were as frequentduring the last week of her stay as they hadbeen at first. The very last evening was spentthere; and her ladyship again inquired mi-nutely into the particulars of their journey,gave them directions as to the best method ofpacking, and was so urgent on the necessity ofplacing gowns in the only right way, that Mariathought herself obliged, on her return, to undoall the work of the morning, and pack her trunkafresh.

When they parted, Lady Catherine, with greatcondescension, wished them a good journey,and invited them to come to Hunsford againnext year; and Miss de Bourgh exerted herselfso far as to curtsey and hold out her hand toboth.

Chapter 38

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr.Collins met for breakfast a few minutes beforethe others appeared; and he took the opportu-nity of paying the parting civilities which hedeemed indispensably necessary.

"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said he, "whetherMrs. Collins has yet expressed her sense ofyour kindness in coming to us; but I am verycertain you will not leave the house withoutreceiving her thanks for it. The favor of yourcompany has been much felt, I assure you. Weknow how little there is to tempt anyone to ourhumble abode. Our plain manner of living, oursmall rooms and few domestics, and the little

we see of the world, must make Hunsford ex-tremely dull to a young lady like yourself; but Ihope you will believe us grateful for the conde-scension, and that we have done everything inour power to prevent your spending your timeunpleasantly."

Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assur-ances of happiness. She had spent six weekswith great enjoyment; and the pleasure of beingwith Charlotte, and the kind attentions she hadreceived, must make her feel the obliged. Mr.Collins was gratified, and with a more smilingsolemnity replied:

"It gives me great pleasure to hear that youhave passed your time not disagreeably. Wehave certainly done our best; and most fortu-nately having it in our power to introduce youto very superior society, and, from our connec-tion with Rosings, the frequent means of vary-ing the humble home scene, I think we mayflatter ourselves that your Hunsford visit can-

not have been entirely irksome. Our situationwith regard to Lady Catherine's family is in-deed the sort of extraordinary advantage andblessing which few can boast. You see on whata footing we are. You see how continually weare engaged there. In truth I must acknowledgethat, with all the disadvantages of this humbleparsonage, I should not think anyone abidingin it an object of compassion, while they aresharers of our intimacy at Rosings."

Words were insufficient for the elevation of hisfeelings; and he was obliged to walk about theroom, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility andtruth in a few short sentences.

"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable re-port of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. Iflatter myself at least that you will be able to doso. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs.Collins you have been a daily witness of; andaltogether I trust it does not appear that yourfriend has drawn an unfortunate—but on this

point it will be as well to be silent. Only let meassure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I canfrom my heart most cordially wish you equalfelicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and Ihave but one mind and one way of thinking.There is in everything a most remarkable re-semblance of character and ideas between us.We seem to have been designed for each other."

Elizabeth could safely say that it was a greathappiness where that was the case, and withequal sincerity could add, that she firmly be-lieved and rejoiced in his domestic comforts.She was not sorry, however, to have the recitalof them interrupted by the lady from whomthey sprang. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholyto leave her to such society! But she had chosenit with her eyes open; and though evidentlyregretting that her visitors were to go, she didnot seem to ask for compassion. Her home andher housekeeping, her parish and her poultry,

and all their dependent concerns, had not yetlost their charms.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks werefastened on, the parcels placed within, and itwas pronounced to be ready. After an affec-tionate parting between the friends, Elizabethwas attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins,and as they walked down the garden he wascommissioning her with his best respects to allher family, not forgetting his thanks for thekindness he had received at Longbourn in thewinter, and his compliments to Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner, though unknown. He then handedher in, Maria followed, and the door was on thepoint of being closed, when he suddenly re-minded them, with some consternation, thatthey had hitherto forgotten to leave any mes-sage for the ladies at Rosings.

"But," he added, "you will of course wish tohave your humble respects delivered to them,

with your grateful thanks for their kindness toyou while you have been here."

Elizabeth made no objection; the door was thenallowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.

"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a few min-utes' silence, "it seems but a day or two sincewe first came! and yet how many things havehappened!"

"A great many indeed," said her companionwith a sigh.

"We have dined nine times at Rosings, besidesdrinking tea there twice! How much I shallhave to tell!"

Elizabeth added privately, "And how much Ishall have to conceal!"

Their journey was performed without muchconversation, or any alarm; and within fourhours of their leaving Hunsford they reached

Mr. Gardiner's house, where they were to re-main a few days.

Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little op-portunity of studying her spirits, amidst thevarious engagements which the kindness of heraunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to gohome with her, and at Longbourn there wouldbe leisure enough for observation.

It was not without an effort, meanwhile, thatshe could wait even for Longbourn, before shetold her sister of Mr. Darcy's proposals. Toknow that she had the power of revealing whatwould so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must,at the same time, so highly gratify whatever ofher own vanity she had not yet been able toreason away, was such a temptation to open-ness as nothing could have conquered but thestate of indecision in which she remained as tothe extent of what she should communicate;and her fear, if she once entered on the subject,of being hurried into repeating something of

Bingley which might only grieve her sister fur-ther.

Chapter 39

It was the second week in May, in which thethree young ladies set out together fromGracechurch Street for the town of ——, inHertfordshire; and, as they drew near the ap-pointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was tomeet them, they quickly perceived, in token ofthe coachman's punctuality, both Kitty andLydia looking out of a dining-room upstairs.These two girls had been above an hour in theplace, happily employed in visiting an oppositemilliner, watching the sentinel on guard, anddressing a salad and cucumber.

After welcoming their sisters, they trium-phantly displayed a table set out with such coldmeat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaim-ing, "Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeablesurprise?"

"And we mean to treat you all," added Lydia,"but you must lend us the money, for we havejust spent ours at the shop out there." Then,showing her purchases—"Look here, I havebought this bonnet. I do not think it is verypretty; but I thought I might as well buy it asnot. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I gethome, and see if I can make it up any better."

And when her sisters abused it as ugly, sheadded, with perfect unconcern, "Oh! but therewere two or three much uglier in the shop; andwhen I have bought some prettier-colouredsatin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be verytolerable. Besides, it will not much signify whatone wears this summer, after the ——shire

have left Meryton, and they are going in a fort-night."

"Are they indeed!" cried Elizabeth, with thegreatest satisfaction.

"They are going to be encamped near Brighton;and I do so want papa to take us all there forthe summer! It would be such a deliciousscheme; and I dare say would hardly cost any-thing at all. Mamma would like to go too of allthings! Only think what a miserable summerelse we shall have!"

"Yes," thought Elizabeth, "that would be a de-lightful scheme indeed, and completely do forus at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and awhole campful of soldiers, to us, who havebeen overset already by one poor regiment ofmilitia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!"

"Now I have got some news for you," saidLydia, as they sat down at table. "What do you

think? It is excellent news—capital news—andabout a certain person we all like!"

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, andthe waiter was told he need not stay. Lydialaughed, and said:

"Aye, that is just like your formality and discre-tion. You thought the waiter must not hear, asif he cared! I dare say he often hears worsethings said than I am going to say. But he is anugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never sawsuch a long chin in my life. Well, but now formy news; it is about dear Wickham; too goodfor the waiter, is it not? There is no danger ofWickham's marrying Mary King. There's foryou! She is gone down to her uncle at Liver-pool: gone to stay. Wickham is safe."

"And Mary King is safe!" added Elizabeth; "safefrom a connection imprudent as to fortune."

"She is a great fool for going away, if she likedhim."

"But I hope there is no strong attachment oneither side," said Jane.

"I am sure there is not on his. I will answer forit, he never cared three straws about her—whocould about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

Elizabeth was shocked to think that, howeverincapable of such coarseness of expression her-self, the coarseness of the sentiment was littleother than her own breast had harboured andfancied liberal!

As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid,the carriage was ordered; and after some con-trivance, the whole party, with all their boxes,work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcomeaddition of Kitty's and Lydia's purchases, wereseated in it.

"How nicely we are all crammed in," criedLydia. "I am glad I bought my bonnet, if it isonly for the fun of having another bandbox!Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug,and talk and laugh all the way home. And inthe first place, let us hear what has happened toyou all since you went away. Have you seenany pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? Iwas in great hopes that one of you would havegot a husband before you came back. Jane willbe quite an old maid soon, I declare. She is al-most three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed Ishould be of not being married before three-and-twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so toget husbands, you can't think. She says Lizzyhad better have taken Mr. Collins; but I do notthink there would have been any fun in it.Lord! how I should like to be married beforeany of you; and then I would chaperon youabout to all the balls. Dear me! we had such agood piece of fun the other day at ColonelForster's. Kitty and me were to spend the day

there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have a littledance in the evening; (by the bye, Mrs. Forsterand me are such friends!) and so she asked thetwo Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill,and so Pen was forced to come by herself; andthen, what do you think we did? We dressedup Chamberlayne in woman's clothes on pur-pose to pass for a lady, only think what fun!Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs.Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, forwe were forced to borrow one of her gowns;and you cannot imagine how well he looked!When Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, andtwo or three more of the men came in, they didnot know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed!and so did Mrs. Forster. I thought I shouldhave died. And that made the men suspectsomething, and then they soon found out whatwas the matter."

With such kinds of histories of their parties andgood jokes, did Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints

and additions, endeavour to amuse her com-panions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabethlistened as little as she could, but there was noescaping the frequent mention of Wickham'sname.

Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs.Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminishedbeauty; and more than once during dinner didMr. Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth:

"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."

Their party in the dining-room was large, foralmost all the Lucases came to meet Maria andhear the news; and various were the subjectsthat occupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiringof Maria, after the welfare and poultry of hereldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly en-gaged, on one hand collecting an account of thepresent fashions from Jane, who sat some waybelow her, and, on the other, retailing them allto the younger Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice

rather louder than any other person's, wasenumerating the various pleasures of the morn-ing to anybody who would hear her.

"Oh! Mary," said she, "I wish you had gonewith us, for we had such fun! As we wentalong, Kitty and I drew up the blinds, and pre-tended there was nobody in the coach; and Ishould have gone so all the way, if Kitty hadnot been sick; and when we got to the George, Ido think we behaved very handsomely, for wetreated the other three with the nicest coldluncheon in the world, and if you would havegone, we would have treated you too. And thenwhen we came away it was such fun! I thoughtwe never should have got into the coach. I wasready to die of laughter. And then we were somerry all the way home! we talked andlaughed so loud, that anybody might haveheard us ten miles off!"

To this Mary very gravely replied, "Far be itfrom me, my dear sister, to depreciate such

pleasures! They would doubtless be congenialwith the generality of female minds. But I con-fess they would have no charms for me—Ishould infinitely prefer a book."

But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. Sheseldom listened to anybody for more than halfa minute, and never attended to Mary at all.

In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the restof the girls to walk to Meryton, and to see howeverybody went on; but Elizabeth steadily op-posed the scheme. It should not be said that theMiss Bennets could not be at home half a daybefore they were in pursuit of the officers.There was another reason too for her opposi-tion. She dreaded seeing Mr. Wickham again,and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible.The comfort to her of the regiment's approach-ing removal was indeed beyond expression. Ina fortnight they were to go—and once gone, shehoped there could be nothing more to plagueher on his account.

She had not been many hours at home beforeshe found that the Brighton scheme, of whichLydia had given them a hint at the inn, wasunder frequent discussion between her parents.Elizabeth saw directly that her father had notthe smallest intention of yielding; but his an-swers were at the same time so vague andequivocal, that her mother, though often dis-heartened, had never yet despaired of succeed-ing at last.

Chapter 40

Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane withwhat had happened could no longer be over-come; and at length, resolving to suppressevery particular in which her sister was con-cerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she

related to her the next morning the chief of thescene between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessenedby the strong sisterly partiality which made anyadmiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natu-ral; and all surprise was shortly lost in otherfeelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy shouldhave delivered his sentiments in a manner solittle suited to recommend them; but still morewas she grieved for the unhappiness which hersister's refusal must have given him.

"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,"said she, "and certainly ought not to have ap-peared; but consider how much it must in-crease his disappointment!"

"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorryfor him; but he has other feelings, which willprobably soon drive away his regard for me.You do not blame me, however, for refusinghim?"

"Blame you! Oh, no."

"But you blame me for having spoken sowarmly of Wickham?"

"No—I do not know that you were wrong insaying what you did."

"But you will know it, when I tell you whathappened the very next day."

She then spoke of the letter, repeating thewhole of its contents as far as they concernedGeorge Wickham. What a stroke was this forpoor Jane! who would willingly have gonethrough the world without believing that somuch wickedness existed in the whole race ofmankind, as was here collected in one individ-ual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grate-ful to her feelings, capable of consoling her forsuch discovery. Most earnestly did she labourto prove the probability of error, and seek toclear the one without involving the other.

"This will not do," said Elizabeth; "you neverwill be able to make both of them good for any-thing. Take your choice, but you must be satis-fied with only one. There is but such a quantityof merit between them; just enough to makeone good sort of man; and of late it has beenshifting about pretty much. For my part, I aminclined to believe it all Darcy's; but you shalldo as you choose."

It was some time, however, before a smilecould be extorted from Jane.

"I do not know when I have been moreshocked," said she. "Wickham so very bad! It isalmost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! DearLizzy, only consider what he must have suf-fered. Such a disappointment! and with theknowledge of your ill opinion, too! and havingto relate such a thing of his sister! It is really toodistressing. I am sure you must feel it so."

"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all doneaway by seeing you so full of both. I know youwill do him such ample justice, that I am grow-ing every moment more unconcerned and in-different. Your profusion makes me saving; andif you lament over him much longer, my heartwill be as light as a feather."

"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression ofgoodness in his countenance! such an opennessand gentleness in his manner!"

"There certainly was some great mismanage-ment in the education of those two young men.One has got all the goodness, and the other allthe appearance of it."

"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in theappearance of it as you used to do."

"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever intaking so decided a dislike to him, without anyreason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an

opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind.One may be continually abusive without sayinganything just; but one cannot always be laugh-ing at a man without now and then stumblingon something witty."

"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sureyou could not treat the matter as you do now."

"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortableenough, I may say unhappy. And with no oneto speak to about what I felt, no Jane to comfortme and say that I had not been so very weakand vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh!how I wanted you!"

"How unfortunate that you should have usedsuch very strong expressions in speaking ofWickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they do appearwholly undeserved."

"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking withbitterness is a most natural consequence of the

prejudices I had been encouraging. There is onepoint on which I want your advice. I want to betold whether I ought, or ought not, to make ouracquaintances in general understand Wick-ham's character."

Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied,"Surely there can be no occasion for exposinghim so dreadfully. What is your opinion?"

"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcyhas not authorised me to make his communica-tion public. On the contrary, every particularrelative to his sister was meant to be kept asmuch as possible to myself; and if I endeavourto undeceive people as to the rest of his con-duct, who will believe me? The general preju-dice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that itwould be the death of half the good people inMeryton to attempt to place him in an amiablelight. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soonbe gone; and therefore it will not signify toanyone here what he really is. Some time hence

it will be all found out, and then we may laughat their stupidity in not knowing it before. Atpresent I will say nothing about it."

"You are quite right. To have his errors madepublic might ruin him for ever. He is now, per-haps, sorry for what he has done, and anxiousto re-establish a character. We must not makehim desperate."

The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed bythis conversation. She had got rid of two of thesecrets which had weighed on her for a fort-night, and was certain of a willing listener inJane, whenever she might wish to talk again ofeither. But there was still something lurkingbehind, of which prudence forbade the disclo-sure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr.Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister howsincerely she had been valued by her friend.Here was knowledge in which no one couldpartake; and she was sensible that nothing lessthan a perfect understanding between the par-

ties could justify her in throwing off this lastencumbrance of mystery. "And then," said she,"if that very improbable event should ever takeplace, I shall merely be able to tell what Bingleymay tell in a much more agreeable mannerhimself. The liberty of communication cannotbe mine till it has lost all its value!"

She was now, on being settled at home, at lei-sure to observe the real state of her sister's spir-its. Jane was not happy. She still cherished avery tender affection for Bingley. Having nevereven fancied herself in love before, her regardhad all the warmth of first attachment, and,from her age and disposition, greater steadi-ness than most first attachments often boast;and so fervently did she value his remem-brance, and prefer him to every other man, thatall her good sense, and all her attention to thefeelings of her friends, were requisite to checkthe indulgence of those regrets which must

have been injurious to her own health and theirtranquillity.

"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "whatis your opinion now of this sad business ofJane's? For my part, I am determined never tospeak of it again to anybody. I told my sisterPhillips so the other day. But I cannot find outthat Jane saw anything of him in London. Well,he is a very undeserving young man—and I donot suppose there's the least chance in theworld of her ever getting him now. There is notalk of his coming to Netherfield again in thesummer; and I have inquired of everybody, too,who is likely to know."

"I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfieldany more."

"Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wantshim to come. Though I shall always say he usedmy daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, Iwould not have put up with it. Well, my com-

fort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart;and then he will be sorry for what he hasdone."

But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort fromany such expectation, she made no answer.

"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother, soon af-terwards, "and so the Collinses live very com-fortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it willlast. And what sort of table do they keep? Char-lotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If sheis half as sharp as her mother, she is savingenough. There is nothing extravagant in theirhousekeeping, I dare say."

"No, nothing at all."

"A great deal of good management, dependupon it. Yes, yes. they will take care not to out-run their income. They will never be distressedfor money. Well, much good may it do them!And so, I suppose, they often talk of having

Longbourn when your father is dead. Theylook upon it as quite their own, I dare say,whenever that happens."

"It was a subject which they could not mentionbefore me."

"No; it would have been strange if they had;but I make no doubt they often talk of it be-tween themselves. Well, if they can be easywith an estate that is not lawfully their own, somuch the better. I should be ashamed of havingone that was only entailed on me."

Chapter 41

The first week of their return was soon gone.The second began. It was the last of the regi-

ment's stay in Meryton, and all the young la-dies in the neighbourhood were droopingapace. The dejection was almost universal. Theelder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat,drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual courseof their employments. Very frequently werethey reproached for this insensibility by Kittyand Lydia, whose own misery was extreme,and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.

"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? Whatare we to do?" would they often exclaim in thebitterness of woe. "How can you be smiling so,Lizzy?"

Their affectionate mother shared all their grief;she remembered what she had herself enduredon a similar occasion, five-and-twenty yearsago.

"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days to-gether when Colonel Miller's regiment went

away. I thought I should have broken myheart."

"I am sure I shall break mine," said Lydia.

"If one could but go to Brighton!" observedMrs. Bennet.

"Oh, yes!—if one could but go to Brighton! Butpapa is so disagreeable."

"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."

"And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do me agreat deal of good," added Kitty.

Such were the kind of lamentations resoundingperpetually through Longbourn House. Eliza-beth tried to be diverted by them; but all senseof pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew thejustice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never hadshe been so much disposed to pardon his inter-ference in the views of his friend.

But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortlycleared away; for she received an invitationfrom Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of theregiment, to accompany her to Brighton. Thisinvaluable friend was a very young woman,and very lately married. A resemblance in goodhumour and good spirits had recommendedher and Lydia to each other, and out of theirthree months' acquaintance they had been inti-mate two.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her ado-ration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Ben-net, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcelyto be described. Wholly inattentive to her sis-ter's feelings, Lydia flew about the house inrestless ecstasy, calling for everyone's congratu-lations, and laughing and talking with moreviolence than ever; whilst the luckless Kittycontinued in the parlour repined at her fate interms as unreasonable as her accent was pee-vish.

"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not askme as well as Lydia," said she, "Though I am nother particular friend. I have just as much rightto be asked as she has, and more too, for I amtwo years older."

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her rea-sonable, and Jane to make her resigned. As forElizabeth herself, this invitation was so far fromexciting in her the same feelings as in hermother and Lydia, that she considered it as thedeath warrant of all possibility of commonsense for the latter; and detestable as such astep must make her were it known, she couldnot help secretly advising her father not to lether go. She represented to him all the impro-prieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the littleadvantage she could derive from the friendshipof such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the prob-ability of her being yet more imprudent withsuch a companion at Brighton, where the temp-

tations must be greater than at home. He heardher attentively, and then said:

"Lydia will never be easy until she has exposedherself in some public place or other, and wecan never expect her to do it with so little ex-pense or inconvenience to her family as underthe present circumstances."

"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the verygreat disadvantage to us all which must arisefrom the public notice of Lydia's unguardedand imprudent manner—nay, which has al-ready arisen from it, I am sure you would judgedifferently in the affair."

"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What,has she frightened away some of your lovers?Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Suchsqueamish youths as cannot bear to be con-nected with a little absurdity are not worth aregret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fel-

lows who have been kept aloof by Lydia'sfolly."

"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such inju-ries to resent. It is not of particular, but of gen-eral evils, which I am now complaining. Ourimportance, our respectability in the worldmust be affected by the wild volatility, the as-surance and disdain of all restraint which markLydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speakplainly. If you, my dear father, will not take thetrouble of checking her exuberant spirits, andof teaching her that her present pursuits are notto be the business of her life, she will soon bebeyond the reach of amendment. Her characterwill be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be themost determined flirt that ever made herself orher family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worstand meanest degree of flirtation; without anyattraction beyond youth and a tolerable person;and, from the ignorance and emptiness of hermind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of

that universal contempt which her rage foradmiration will excite. In this danger Kitty alsois comprehended. She will follow whereverLydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutelyuncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you sup-pose it possible that they will not be censuredand despised wherever they are known, andthat their sisters will not be often involved inthe disgrace?"

Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in thesubject, and affectionately taking her hand saidin reply:

"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wher-ever you and Jane are known you must be re-spected and valued; and you will not appear toless advantage for having a couple of—or I maysay, three—very silly sisters. We shall have nopeace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go toBrighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is asensible man, and will keep her out of any realmischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an

object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she willbe of less importance even as a common flirtthan she has been here. The officers will findwomen better worth their notice. Let us hope,therefore, that her being there may teach herher own insignificance. At any rate, she cannotgrow many degrees worse, without authorisingus to lock her up for the rest of her life."

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to becontent; but her own opinion continued thesame, and she left him disappointed and sorry.It was not in her nature, however, to increaseher vexations by dwelling on them. She wasconfident of having performed her duty, and tofret over unavoidable evils, or augment themby anxiety, was no part of her disposition.

Had Lydia and her mother known the sub-stance of her conference with her father, theirindignation would hardly have found expres-sion in their united volubility. In Lydia'simagination, a visit to Brighton comprised

every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw,with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of thatgay bathing-place covered with officers. Shesaw herself the object of attention, to tens andto scores of them at present unknown. She sawall the glories of the camp—its tents stretchedforth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowdedwith the young and the gay, and dazzling withscarlet; and, to complete the view, she saw her-self seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting withat least six officers at once.

Had she known her sister sought to tear herfrom such prospects and such realities as these,what would have been her sensations? Theycould have been understood only by hermother, who might have felt nearly the same.Lydia's going to Brighton was all that consoledher for her melancholy conviction of her hus-band's never intending to go there himself.

But they were entirely ignorant of what hadpassed; and their raptures continued, with little

intermission, to the very day of Lydia's leavinghome.

Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for thelast time. Having been frequently in companywith him since her return, agitation was prettywell over; the agitations of formal partialityentirely so. She had even learnt to detect, in thevery gentleness which had first delighted her,an affectation and a sameness to disgust andweary. In his present behaviour to herself,moreover, she had a fresh source of displeas-ure, for the inclination he soon testified of re-newing those intentions which had marked theearly part of their acquaintance could onlyserve, after what had since passed, to provokeher. She lost all concern for him in finding her-self thus selected as the object of such idle andfrivolous gallantry; and while she steadily re-pressed it, could not but feel the reproof con-tained in his believing, that however long, andfor whatever cause, his attentions had been

withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified, andher preference secured at any time by their re-newal.

On the very last day of the regiment's remain-ing at Meryton, he dined, with other of the offi-cers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabethdisposed to part from him in good humour,that on his making some inquiry as to the man-ner in which her time had passed at Hunsford,she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr.Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Ros-ings, and asked him, if he was acquainted withthe former.

He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; butwith a moment's recollection and a returningsmile, replied, that he had formerly seen himoften; and, after observing that he was a verygentlemanlike man, asked her how she hadliked him. Her answer was warmly in his fa-vour. With an air of indifference he soon after-wards added:

"How long did you say he was at Rosings?"

"Nearly three weeks."

"And you saw him frequently?"

"Yes, almost every day."

"His manners are very different from hiscousin's."

"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy im-proves upon acquaintance."

"Indeed!" cried Mr. Wickham with a look whichdid not escape her. "And pray, may I ask?—"But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone,"Is it in address that he improves? Has hedeigned to add aught of civility to his ordinarystyle?—for I dare not hope," he continued in alower and more serious tone, "that he is im-proved in essentials."

"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I be-lieve, he is very much what he ever was."

While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcelyknowing whether to rejoice over her words, orto distrust their meaning. There was a some-thing in her countenance which made him lis-ten with an apprehensive and anxious atten-tion, while she added:

"When I said that he improved on acquaint-ance, I did not mean that his mind or his man-ners were in a state of improvement, but that,from knowing him better, his disposition wasbetter understood."

Wickham's alarm now appeared in a height-ened complexion and agitated look; for a fewminutes he was silent, till, shaking off his em-barrassment, he turned to her again, and said inthe gentlest of accents:

"You, who so well know my feeling towardsMr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sin-cerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough toassume even the appearance of what is right. Hispride, in that direction, may be of service, if notto himself, to many others, for it must only de-ter him from such foul misconduct as I havesuffered by. I only fear that the sort of cau-tiousness to which you, I imagine, have beenalluding, is merely adopted on his visits to hisaunt, of whose good opinion and judgement hestands much in awe. His fear of her has alwaysoperated, I know, when they were together;and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish offorwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh,which I am certain he has very much at heart."

Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, butshe answered only by a slight inclination of thehead. She saw that he wanted to engage her onthe old subject of his grievances, and she was inno humour to indulge him. The rest of the eve-

ning passed with the appearance, on his side, ofusual cheerfulness, but with no further attemptto distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at lastwith mutual civility, and possibly a mutualdesire of never meeting again.

When the party broke up, Lydia returned withMrs. Forster to Meryton, from whence theywere to set out early the next morning. Theseparation between her and her family wasrather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the onlyone who shed tears; but she did weep fromvexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse inher good wishes for the felicity of her daughter,and impressive in her injunctions that sheshould not miss the opportunity of enjoyingherself as much as possible—advice whichthere was every reason to believe would bewell attended to; and in the clamorous happi-ness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, themore gentle adieus of her sisters were utteredwithout being heard.

Chapter 42

Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn fromher own family, she could not have formed avery pleasing opinion of conjugal felicity ordomestic comfort. Her father, captivated byyouth and beauty, and that appearance of goodhumour which youth and beauty generallygive, had married a woman whose weak un-derstanding and illiberal mind had very earlyin their marriage put an end to all real affectionfor her. Respect, esteem, and confidence hadvanished for ever; and all his views of domestichappiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennetwas not of a disposition to seek comfort for thedisappointment which his own imprudencehad brought on, in any of those pleasures

which too often console the unfortunate fortheir folly or their vice. He was fond of thecountry and of books; and from these tasteshad arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wifehe was very little otherwise indebted, than asher ignorance and folly had contributed to hisamusement. This is not the sort of happinesswhich a man would in general wish to owe tohis wife; but where other powers of entertain-ment are wanting, the true philosopher willderive benefit from such as are given.

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to theimpropriety of her father's behaviour as a hus-band. She had always seen it with pain; butrespecting his abilities, and grateful for his af-fectionate treatment of herself, she endeav-oured to forget what she could not overlook,and to banish from her thoughts that continualbreach of conjugal obligation and decorumwhich, in exposing his wife to the contempt ofher own children, was so highly reprehensible.

But she had never felt so strongly as now thedisadvantages which must attend the childrenof so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been sofully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, which,rightly used, might at least have preserved therespectability of his daughters, even if incapa-ble of enlarging the mind of his wife.

When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham'sdeparture she found little other cause for satis-faction in the loss of the regiment. Their partiesabroad were less varied than before, and athome she had a mother and sister whose con-stant repinings at the dullness of everythingaround them threw a real gloom over theirdomestic circle; and, though Kitty might intime regain her natural degree of sense, sincethe disturbers of her brain were removed, herother sister, from whose disposition greater evilmight be apprehended, was likely to be hard-ened in all her folly and assurance by a situa-

tion of such double danger as a watering-placeand a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, shefound, what has been sometimes found before,that an event to which she had been lookingwith impatient desire did not, in taking place,bring all the satisfaction she had promised her-self. It was consequently necessary to namesome other period for the commencement ofactual felicity—to have some other point onwhich her wishes and hopes might be fixed,and by again enjoying the pleasure of anticipa-tion, console herself for the present, and pre-pare for another disappointment. Her tour tothe Lakes was now the object of her happiestthoughts; it was her best consolation for all theuncomfortable hours which the discontented-ness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable;and could she have included Jane in thescheme, every part of it would have been per-fect.

"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I havesomething to wish for. Were the whole ar-rangement complete, my disappointmentwould be certain. But here, by carrying with meone ceaseless source of regret in my sister's ab-sence, I may reasonably hope to have all myexpectations of pleasure realised. A scheme ofwhich every part promises delight can never besuccessful; and general disappointment is onlywarded off by the defence of some little pecu-liar vexation."

When Lydia went away she promised to writevery often and very minutely to her motherand Kitty; but her letters were always long ex-pected, and always very short. Those to hermother contained little else than that they werejust returned from the library, where such andsuch officers had attended them, and where shehad seen such beautiful ornaments as made herquite wild; that she had a new gown, or a newparasol, which she would have described more

fully, but was obliged to leave off in a violenthurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they weregoing off to the camp; and from her correspon-dence with her sister, there was still less to belearnt—for her letters to Kitty, though ratherlonger, were much too full of lines under thewords to be made public.

After the first fortnight or three weeks of herabsence, health, good humour, and cheerful-ness began to reappear at Longbourn. Every-thing wore a happier aspect. The families whohad been in town for the winter came backagain, and summer finery and summer en-gagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored toher usual querulous serenity; and, by the mid-dle of June, Kitty was so much recovered as tobe able to enter Meryton without tears; anevent of such happy promise as to make Eliza-beth hope that by the following Christmas shemight be so tolerably reasonable as not to men-tion an officer above once a day, unless, by

some cruel and malicious arrangement at theWar Office, another regiment should be quar-tered in Meryton.

The time fixed for the beginning of their north-ern tour was now fast approaching, and a fort-night only was wanting of it, when a letter ar-rived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once de-layed its commencement and curtailed its ex-tent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented bybusiness from setting out till a fortnight later inJuly, and must be in London again within amonth, and as that left too short a period forthem to go so far, and see so much as they hadproposed, or at least to see it with the leisureand comfort they had built on, they wereobliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute amore contracted tour, and, according to thepresent plan, were to go no farther northwardsthan Derbyshire. In that county there wasenough to be seen to occupy the chief of theirthree weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a pe-

culiarly strong attraction. The town where shehad formerly passed some years of her life, andwhere they were now to spend a few days, wasprobably as great an object of her curiosity asall the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chats-worth, Dovedale, or the Peak.

Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; shehad set her heart on seeing the Lakes, and stillthought there might have been time enough.But it was her business to be satisfied—andcertainly her temper to be happy; and all wassoon right again.

With the mention of Derbyshire there weremany ideas connected. It was impossible forher to see the word without thinking of Pem-berley and its owner. "But surely," said she, "Imay enter his county without impunity, androb it of a few petrified spars without his per-ceiving me."

The period of expectation was now doubled.Four weeks were to pass away before her uncleand aunt's arrival. But they did pass away, andMr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four chil-dren, did at length appear at Longbourn. Thechildren, two girls of six and eight years old,and two younger boys, were to be left underthe particular care of their cousin Jane, whowas the general favourite, and whose steadysense and sweetness of temper exactly adaptedher for attending to them in every way—teaching them, playing with them, and lovingthem.

The Gardiners stayed only one night at Long-bourn, and set off the next morning with Eliza-beth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. Oneenjoyment was certain—that of suitableness ofcompanions; a suitableness which compre-hended health and temper to bear inconven-iences—cheerfulness to enhance every pleas-ure—and affection and intelligence, which

might supply it among themselves if there weredisappointments abroad.

It is not the object of this work to give a de-scription of Derbyshire, nor of any of the re-markable places through which their routethither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Ken-ilworth, Birmingham, etc. are sufficientlyknown. A small part of Derbyshire is all thepresent concern. To the little town of Lambton,the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residence,and where she had lately learned some ac-quaintance still remained, they bent their steps,after having seen all the principal wonders ofthe country; and within five miles of Lambton,Elizabeth found from her aunt that Pemberleywas situated. It was not in their direct road, normore than a mile or two out of it. In talkingover their route the evening before, Mrs. Gar-diner expressed an inclination to see the placeagain. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness,

and Elizabeth was applied to for her approba-tion.

"My love, should not you like to see a place ofwhich you have heard so much?" said her aunt;"a place, too, with which so many of your ac-quaintances are connected. Wickham passed allhis youth there, you know."

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she hadno business at Pemberley, and was obliged toassume a disinclination for seeing it. She mustown that she was tired of seeing great houses;after going over so many, she really had nopleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.

Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it weremerely a fine house richly furnished," said she,"I should not care about it myself; but thegrounds are delightful. They have some of thefinest woods in the country."

Elizabeth said no more—but her mind couldnot acquiesce. The possibility of meeting Mr.Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly oc-curred. It would be dreadful! She blushed atthe very idea, and thought it would be better tospeak openly to her aunt than to run such arisk. But against this there were objections; andshe finally resolved that it could be the last re-source, if her private inquiries to the absence ofthe family were unfavourably answered.

Accordingly, when she retired at night, sheasked the chambermaid whether Pemberleywere not a very fine place? what was the nameof its proprietor? and, with no little alarm,whether the family were down for the sum-mer? A most welcome negative followed thelast question—and her alarms now being re-moved, she was at leisure to feel a great deal ofcuriosity to see the house herself; and when thesubject was revived the next morning, and shewas again applied to, could readily answer,

and with a proper air of indifference, that shehad not really any dislike to the scheme. ToPemberley, therefore, they were to go.

Chapter 43

Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for thefirst appearance of Pemberley Woods withsome perturbation; and when at length theyturned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a highflutter.

The park was very large, and contained greatvariety of ground. They entered it in one of itslowest points, and drove for some time througha beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.

Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation,but she saw and admired every remarkablespot and point of view. They gradually as-cended for half-a-mile, and then found them-selves at the top of a considerable eminence,where the wood ceased, and the eye was in-stantly caught by Pemberley House, situated onthe opposite side of a valley, into which theroad with some abruptness wound. It was alarge, handsome stone building, standing wellon rising ground, and backed by a ridge of highwoody hills; and in front, a stream of somenatural importance was swelled into greater,but without any artificial appearance. Its bankswere neither formal nor falsely adorned. Eliza-beth was delighted. She had never seen a placefor which nature had done more, or wherenatural beauty had been so little counteractedby an awkward taste. They were all of themwarm in their admiration; and at that momentshe felt that to be mistress of Pemberley mightbe something!

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge,and drove to the door; and, while examiningthe nearer aspect of the house, all her appre-hension of meeting its owner returned. Shedreaded lest the chambermaid had been mis-taken. On applying to see the place, they wereadmitted into the hall; and Elizabeth, as theywaited for the housekeeper, had leisure towonder at her being where she was.

The housekeeper came; a respectable-lookingelderly woman, much less fine, and more civil,than she had any notion of finding her. Theyfollowed her into the dining-parlour. It was alarge, well proportioned room, handsomelyfitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it,went to a window to enjoy its prospect. Thehill, crowned with wood, which they had de-scended, receiving increased abruptness fromthe distance, was a beautiful object. Every dis-position of the ground was good; and shelooked on the whole scene, the river, the trees

scattered on its banks and the winding of thevalley, as far as she could trace it, with delight.As they passed into other rooms these objectswere taking different positions; but from everywindow there were beauties to be seen. Therooms were lofty and handsome, and their fur-niture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor;but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste,that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine;with less of splendour, and more real elegance,than the furniture of Rosings.

"And of this place," thought she, "I might havebeen mistress! With these rooms I might nowhave been familiarly acquainted! Instead ofviewing them as a stranger, I might have re-joiced in them as my own, and welcomed tothem as visitors my uncle and aunt. But no,"—recollecting herself—"that could never be; myuncle and aunt would have been lost to me; Ishould not have been allowed to invite them."

This was a lucky recollection—it saved herfrom something very like regret.

She longed to inquire of the housekeeperwhether her master was really absent, but hadnot the courage for it. At length however, thequestion was asked by her uncle; and sheturned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynoldsreplied that he was, adding, "But we expect himto-morrow, with a large party of friends." Howrejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journeyhad not by any circumstance been delayed aday!

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture.She approached and saw the likeness of Mr.Wickham, suspended, amongst several otherminiatures, over the mantelpiece. Her auntasked her, smilingly, how she liked it. Thehousekeeper came forward, and told them itwas a picture of a young gentleman, the son ofher late master's steward, who had beenbrought up by him at his own expense. "He is

now gone into the army," she added; "but I amafraid he has turned out very wild."

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile,but Elizabeth could not return it.

"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing toanother of the miniatures, "is my master—andvery like him. It was drawn at the same time asthe other—about eight years ago."

"I have heard much of your master's fine per-son," said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture;"it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tellus whether it is like or not."

Mrs. Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed toincrease on this intimation of her knowing hermaster.

"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth coloured, and said: "A little."

"And do not you think him a very handsomegentleman, ma'am?"

"Yes, very handsome."

"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in thegallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger pic-ture of him than this. This room was my latemaster's favourite room, and these miniaturesare just as they used to be then. He was veryfond of them."

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham'sbeing among them.

Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention toone of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was onlyeight years old.

"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as herbrother?" said Mrs. Gardiner.

"Oh! yes—the handsomest young lady that everwas seen; and so accomplished!—She plays and

sings all day long. In the next room is a newinstrument just come down for her—a presentfrom my master; she comes here to-morrowwith him."

Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were very easyand pleasant, encouraged her communicative-ness by his questions and remarks; Mrs. Rey-nolds, either by pride or attachment, had evi-dently great pleasure in talking of her masterand his sister.

"Is your master much at Pemberley in thecourse of the year?"

"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare sayhe may spend half his time here; and MissDarcy is always down for the summer months."

"Except," thought Elizabeth, "when she goes toRamsgate."

"If your master would marry, you might seemore of him."

"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. Ido not know who is good enough for him."

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth couldnot help saying, "It is very much to his credit, Iam sure, that you should think so."

"I say no more than the truth, and everybodywill say that knows him," replied the other.Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far; andshe listened with increasing astonishment asthe housekeeper added, "I have never known across word from him in my life, and I haveknown him ever since he was four years old."

This was praise, of all others most extraordi-nary, most opposite to her ideas. That he wasnot a good-tempered man had been her firmestopinion. Her keenest attention was awakened;

she longed to hear more, and was grateful toher uncle for saying:

"There are very few people of whom so muchcan be said. You are lucky in having such amaster."

"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go throughthe world, I could not meet with a better. But Ihave always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured whenthey grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in theworld."

Elizabeth almost stared at her. "Can this be Mr.Darcy?" thought she.

"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs.Gardiner.

"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his sonwill be just like him—just as affable to thepoor."

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, andwas impatient for more. Mrs. Reynolds couldinterest her on no other point. She related thesubjects of the pictures, the dimensions of therooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain.Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind offamily prejudice to which he attributed herexcessive commendation of her master, soonled again to the subject; and she dwelt withenergy on his many merits as they proceededtogether up the great staircase.

"He is the best landlord, and the best master,"said she, "that ever lived; not like the wildyoung men nowadays, who think of nothingbut themselves. There is not one of his tenantsor servants but will give him a good name.Some people call him proud; but I am sure Inever saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only

because he does not rattle away like otheryoung men."

"In what an amiable light does this place him!"thought Elizabeth.

"This fine account of him," whispered her auntas they walked, "is not quite consistent with hisbehaviour to our poor friend."

"Perhaps we might be deceived."

"That is not very likely; our authority was toogood."

On reaching the spacious lobby above theywere shown into a very pretty sitting-room,lately fitted up with greater elegance and light-ness than the apartments below; and were in-formed that it was but just done to give pleas-ure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking tothe room when last at Pemberley.

"He is certainly a good brother," said Elizabeth,as she walked towards one of the windows.

Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight,when she should enter the room. "And this isalways the way with him," she added. "What-ever can give his sister any pleasure is sure tobe done in a moment. There is nothing hewould not do for her."

The picture-gallery, and two or three of theprincipal bedrooms, were all that remained tobe shown. In the former were many goodpaintings; but Elizabeth knew nothing of theart; and from such as had been already visiblebelow, she had willingly turned to look at somedrawings of Miss Darcy's, in crayons, whosesubjects were usually more interesting, and alsomore intelligible.

In the gallery there were many family portraits,but they could have little to fix the attention ofa stranger. Elizabeth walked in quest of the

only face whose features would be known toher. At last it arrested her—and she beheld astriking resemblance to Mr. Darcy, with such asmile over the face as she remembered to havesometimes seen when he looked at her. Shestood several minutes before the picture, inearnest contemplation, and returned to it againbefore they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynoldsinformed them that it had been taken in hisfather's lifetime.

There was certainly at this moment, in Eliza-beth's mind, a more gentle sensation towardsthe original than she had ever felt at the heightof their acquaintance. The commendation be-stowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds was of notrifling nature. What praise is more valuablethan the praise of an intelligent servant? As abrother, a landlord, a master, she consideredhow many people's happiness were in hisguardianship!—how much of pleasure or painwas it in his power to bestow!—how much of

good or evil must be done by him! Every ideathat had been brought forward by the house-keeper was favourable to his character, and asshe stood before the canvas on which he wasrepresented, and fixed his eyes upon herself,she thought of his regard with a deeper senti-ment of gratitude than it had ever raised be-fore; she remembered its warmth, and softenedits impropriety of expression.

When all of the house that was open to generalinspection had been seen, they returned down-stairs, and, taking leave of the housekeeper,were consigned over to the gardener, who metthem at the hall-door.

As they walked across the hall towards theriver, Elizabeth turned back to look again; heruncle and aunt stopped also, and while theformer was conjecturing as to the date of thebuilding, the owner of it himself suddenlycame forward from the road, which led behindit to the stables.

They were within twenty yards of each other,and so abrupt was his appearance, that it wasimpossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes in-stantly met, and the cheeks of both were over-spread with the deepest blush. He absolutelystarted, and for a moment seemed immovablefrom surprise; but shortly recovering himself,advanced towards the party, and spoke toElizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure,at least of perfect civility.

She had instinctively turned away; but stop-ping on his approach, received his complimentswith an embarrassment impossible to be over-come. Had his first appearance, or his resem-blance to the picture they had just been examin-ing, been insufficient to assure the other twothat they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardener'sexpression of surprise, on beholding his master,must immediately have told it. They stood alittle aloof while he was talking to their niece,who, astonished and confused, scarcely dared

lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what an-swer she returned to his civil inquiries after herfamily. Amazed at the alteration of his mannersince they last parted, every sentence that heuttered was increasing her embarrassment; andevery idea of the impropriety of her beingfound there recurring to her mind, the fewminutes in which they continued were some ofthe most uncomfortable in her life. Nor did heseem much more at ease; when he spoke, hisaccent had none of its usual sedateness; and herepeated his inquiries as to the time of her hav-ing left Longbourn, and of her having stayed inDerbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way,as plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts.

At length every idea seemed to fail him; and,after standing a few moments without saying aword, he suddenly recollected himself, andtook leave.

The others then joined her, and expressed ad-miration of his figure; but Elizabeth heard not a

word, and wholly engrossed by her own feel-ings, followed them in silence. She was over-powered by shame and vexation. Her comingthere was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the world! How strange it mustappear to him! In what a disgraceful lightmight it not strike so vain a man! It might seemas if she had purposely thrown herself in hisway again! Oh! why did she come? Or, why didhe thus come a day before he was expected?Had they been only ten minutes sooner, theyshould have been beyond the reach of his dis-crimination; for it was plain that he was thatmoment arrived—that moment alighted fromhis horse or his carriage. She blushed again andagain over the perverseness of the meeting.And his behaviour, so strikingly altered—whatcould it mean? That he should even speak toher was amazing!—but to speak with such ci-vility, to inquire after her family! Never in herlife had she seen his manners so little dignified,never had he spoken with such gentleness as

on this unexpected meeting. What a contrastdid it offer to his last address in Rosings Park,when he put his letter into her hand! She knewnot what to think, or how to account for it.

They had now entered a beautiful walk by theside of the water, and every step was bringingforward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer reachof the woods to which they were approaching;but it was some time before Elizabeth was sen-sible of any of it; and, though she answeredmechanically to the repeated appeals of heruncle and aunt, and seemed to direct her eyesto such objects as they pointed out, she distin-guished no part of the scene. Her thoughtswere all fixed on that one spot of PemberleyHouse, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcythen was. She longed to know what at the mo-ment was passing in his mind—in what man-ner he thought of her, and whether, in defianceof everything, she was still dear to him. Per-haps he had been civil only because he felt

himself at ease; yet there had been that in hisvoice which was not like ease. Whether he hadfelt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing hershe could not tell, but he certainly had not seenher with composure.

At length, however, the remarks of her com-panions on her absence of mind aroused her,and she felt the necessity of appearing morelike herself.

They entered the woods, and bidding adieu tothe river for a while, ascended some of thehigher grounds; when, in spots where theopening of the trees gave the eye power towander, were many charming views of the val-ley, the opposite hills, with the long range ofwoods overspreading many, and occasionallypart of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed awish of going round the whole park, but fearedit might be beyond a walk. With a triumphantsmile they were told that it was ten milesround. It settled the matter; and they pursued

the accustomed circuit; which brought themagain, after some time, in a descent amonghanging woods, to the edge of the water, andone of its narrowest parts. They crossed it by asimple bridge, in character with the general airof the scene; it was a spot less adorned than anythey had yet visited; and the valley, here con-tracted into a glen, allowed room only for thestream, and a narrow walk amidst the roughcoppice-wood which bordered it. Elizabethlonged to explore its windings; but when theyhad crossed the bridge, and perceived theirdistance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner, whowas not a great walker, could go no farther,and thought only of returning to the carriage asquickly as possible. Her niece was, therefore,obliged to submit, and they took their way to-wards the house on the opposite side of theriver, in the nearest direction; but their progresswas slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldomable to indulge the taste, was very fond of fish-ing, and was so much engaged in watching the

occasional appearance of some trout in the wa-ter, and talking to the man about them, that headvanced but little. Whilst wandering on in thisslow manner, they were again surprised, andElizabeth's astonishment was quite equal towhat it had been at first, by the sight of Mr.Darcy approaching them, and at no great dis-tance. The walk here being here less shelteredthan on the other side, allowed them to see himbefore they met. Elizabeth, however aston-ished, was at least more prepared for an inter-view than before, and resolved to appear andto speak with calmness, if he really intended tomeet them. For a few moments, indeed, she feltthat he would probably strike into some otherpath. The idea lasted while a turning in thewalk concealed him from their view; the turn-ing past, he was immediately before them.With a glance, she saw that he had lost none ofhis recent civility; and, to imitate his politeness,she began, as they met, to admire the beauty ofthe place; but she had not got beyond the

words "delightful," and "charming," when someunlucky recollections obtruded, and she fan-cied that praise of Pemberley from her might bemischievously construed. Her colour changed,and she said no more.

Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; andon her pausing, he asked her if she would dohim the honour of introducing him to herfriends. This was a stroke of civility for whichshe was quite unprepared; and she couldhardly suppress a smile at his being now seek-ing the acquaintance of some of those verypeople against whom his pride had revolted inhis offer to herself. "What will be his surprise,"thought she, "when he knows who they are? Hetakes them now for people of fashion."

The introduction, however, was immediatelymade; and as she named their relationship toherself, she stole a sly look at him, to see howhe bore it, and was not without the expectationof his decamping as fast as he could from such

disgraceful companions. That he was surprisedby the connection was evident; he sustained it,however, with fortitude, and so far from goingaway, turned his back with them, and enteredinto conversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabethcould not but be pleased, could not but tri-umph. It was consoling that he should knowshe had some relations for whom there was noneed to blush. She listened most attentively toall that passed between them, and gloried inevery expression, every sentence of her uncle,which marked his intelligence, his taste, or hisgood manners.

The conversation soon turned upon fishing;and she heard Mr. Darcy invite him, with thegreatest civility, to fish there as often as hechose while he continued in the neighbour-hood, offering at the same time to supply himwith fishing tackle, and pointing out thoseparts of the stream where there was usuallymost sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was walking

arm-in-arm with Elizabeth, gave her a lookexpressive of wonder. Elizabeth said nothing,but it gratified her exceedingly; the complimentmust be all for herself. Her astonishment, how-ever, was extreme, and continually was sherepeating, "Why is he so altered? From whatcan it proceed? It cannot be for me—it cannot befor my sake that his manners are thus softened.My reproofs at Hunsford could not work sucha change as this. It is impossible that he shouldstill love me."

After walking some time in this way, the twoladies in front, the two gentlemen behind, onresuming their places, after descending to thebrink of the river for the better inspection ofsome curious water-plant, there chanced to be alittle alteration. It originated in Mrs. Gardiner,who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning,found Elizabeth's arm inadequate to her sup-port, and consequently preferred her hus-band's. Mr. Darcy took her place by her niece,

and they walked on together. After a short si-lence, the lady first spoke. She wished him toknow that she had been assured of his absencebefore she came to the place, and accordinglybegan by observing, that his arrival had beenvery unexpected—"for your housekeeper," sheadded, "informed us that you would certainlynot be here till to-morrow; and indeed, beforewe left Bakewell, we understood that you werenot immediately expected in the country." Heacknowledged the truth of it all, and said thatbusiness with his steward had occasioned hiscoming forward a few hours before the rest ofthe party with whom he had been travelling."They will join me early to-morrow," he contin-ued, "and among them are some who will claiman acquaintance with you—Mr. Bingley and hissisters."

Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Herthoughts were instantly driven back to the timewhen Mr. Bingley's name had been the last

mentioned between them; and, if she mightjudge by his complexion, his mind was not verydifferently engaged.

"There is also one other person in the party," hecontinued after a pause, "who more particularlywishes to be known to you. Will you allow me,or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister toyour acquaintance during your stay at Lamb-ton?"

The surprise of such an application was greatindeed; it was too great for her to know in whatmanner she acceded to it. She immediately feltthat whatever desire Miss Darcy might have ofbeing acquainted with her must be the work ofher brother, and, without looking farther, itwas satisfactory; it was gratifying to know thathis resentment had not made him think reallyill of her.

They now walked on in silence, each of themdeep in thought. Elizabeth was not comfort-

able; that was impossible; but she was flatteredand pleased. His wish of introducing his sisterto her was a compliment of the highest kind.They soon outstripped the others, and whenthey had reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile behind.

He then asked her to walk into the house—butshe declared herself not tired, and they stoodtogether on the lawn. At such a time muchmight have been said, and silence was veryawkward. She wanted to talk, but there seemedto be an embargo on every subject. At last sherecollected that she had been travelling, andthey talked of Matlock and Dove Dale withgreat perseverance. Yet time and her auntmoved slowly—and her patience and her ideaswere nearly worn our before the tete-a-tete wasover. On Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's coming upthey were all pressed to go into the house andtake some refreshment; but this was declined,and they parted on each side with utmost po-

liteness. Mr. Darcy handed the ladies into thecarriage; and when it drove off, Elizabeth sawhim walking slowly towards the house.

The observations of her uncle and aunt nowbegan; and each of them pronounced him to beinfinitely superior to anything they had ex-pected. "He is perfectly well behaved, polite,and unassuming," said her uncle.

"There is something a little stately in him, to besure," replied her aunt, "but it is confined to hisair, and is not unbecoming. I can now say withthe housekeeper, that though some people maycall him proud, I have seen nothing of it."

"I was never more surprised than by his behav-iour to us. It was more than civil; it was reallyattentive; and there was no necessity for suchattention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth wasvery trifling."

"To be sure, Lizzy," said her aunt, "he is not sohandsome as Wickham; or, rather, he has notWickham's countenance, for his features areperfectly good. But how came you to tell methat he was so disagreeable?"

Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could;said that she had liked him better when theyhad met in Kent than before, and that she hadnever seen him so pleasant as this morning.

"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in hiscivilities," replied her uncle. "Your great menoften are; and therefore I shall not take him athis word, as he might change his mind anotherday, and warn me off his grounds."

Elizabeth felt that they had entirely misunder-stood his character, but said nothing.

"From what we have seen of him," continuedMrs. Gardiner, "I really should not havethought that he could have behaved in so cruel

a way by anybody as he has done by poorWickham. He has not an ill-natured look. Onthe contrary, there is something pleasing abouthis mouth when he speaks. And there is some-thing of dignity in his countenance that wouldnot give one an unfavourable idea of his heart.But, to be sure, the good lady who showed ushis house did give him a most flaming charac-ter! I could hardly help laughing aloud some-times. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, andthat in the eye of a servant comprehends everyvirtue."

Elizabeth here felt herself called on to saysomething in vindication of his behaviour toWickham; and therefore gave them to under-stand, in as guarded a manner as she could,that by what she had heard from his relationsin Kent, his actions were capable of a very dif-ferent construction; and that his character wasby no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amia-ble, as they had been considered in Hertford-

shire. In confirmation of this, she related theparticulars of all the pecuniary transactions inwhich they had been connected, without actu-ally naming her authority, but stating it to besuch as might be relied on.

Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned;but as they were now approaching the scene ofher former pleasures, every idea gave way tothe charm of recollection; and she was toomuch engaged in pointing out to her husbandall the interesting spots in its environs to thinkof anything else. Fatigued as she had been bythe morning's walk they had no sooner dinedthan she set off again in quest of her formeracquaintance, and the evening was spent in thesatisfactions of a intercourse renewed aftermany years' discontinuance.

The occurrences of the day were too full of in-terest to leave Elizabeth much attention for anyof these new friends; and she could do nothingbut think, and think with wonder, of Mr.

Darcy's civility, and, above all, of his wishingher to be acquainted with his sister.

Chapter 44

Elizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy wouldbring his sister to visit her the very day afterher reaching Pemberley; and was consequentlyresolved not to be out of sight of the inn thewhole of that morning. But her conclusion wasfalse; for on the very morning after their arrivalat Lambton, these visitors came. They had beenwalking about the place with some of their newfriends, and were just returning to the inn todress themselves for dining with the same fam-ily, when the sound of a carriage drew them toa window, and they saw a gentleman and alady in a curricle driving up the street. Eliza-

beth immediately recognizing the livery,guessed what it meant, and imparted no smalldegree of her surprise to her relations by ac-quainting them with the honour which she ex-pected. Her uncle and aunt were all amaze-ment; and the embarrassment of her manner asshe spoke, joined to the circumstance itself, andmany of the circumstances of the precedingday, opened to them a new idea on the busi-ness. Nothing had ever suggested it before, butthey felt that there was no other way of ac-counting for such attentions from such a quar-ter than by supposing a partiality for theirniece. While these newly-born notions werepassing in their heads, the perturbation ofElizabeth's feelings was at every moment in-creasing. She was quite amazed at her own dis-composure; but amongst other causes of dis-quiet, she dreaded lest the partiality of thebrother should have said too much in her fa-vour; and, more than commonly anxious to

please, she naturally suspected that everypower of pleasing would fail her.

She retreated from the window, fearful of beingseen; and as she walked up and down theroom, endeavouring to compose herself, sawsuch looks of inquiring surprise in her uncleand aunt as made everything worse.

Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and thisformidable introduction took place. With aston-ishment did Elizabeth see that her new ac-quaintance was at least as much embarrassedas herself. Since her being at Lambton, she hadheard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud;but the observation of a very few minutes con-vinced her that she was only exceedingly shy.She found it difficult to obtain even a wordfrom her beyond a monosyllable.

Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale thanElizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen,her figure was formed, and her appearance

womanly and graceful. She was less handsomethan her brother; but there was sense and goodhumour in her face, and her manners were per-fectly unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, whohad expected to find in her as acute and unem-barrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy hadbeen, was much relieved by discerning suchdifferent feelings.

They had not long been together before Mr.Darcy told her that Bingley was also coming towait on her; and she had barely time to expressher satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor,when Bingley's quick step was heard on thestairs, and in a moment he entered the room.All Elizabeth's anger against him had been longdone away; but had she still felt any, it couldhardly have stood its ground against the unaf-fected cordiality with which he expressed him-self on seeing her again. He inquired in afriendly, though general way, after her family,

and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever done.

To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely aless interesting personage than to herself. Theyhad long wished to see him. The whole partybefore them, indeed, excited a lively attention.The suspicions which had just arisen of Mr.Darcy and their niece directed their observationtowards each with an earnest though guardedinquiry; and they soon drew from those inqui-ries the full conviction that one of them at leastknew what it was to love. Of the lady's sensa-tions they remained a little in doubt; but thatthe gentleman was overflowing with admira-tion was evident enough.

Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. Shewanted to ascertain the feelings of each of hervisitors; she wanted to compose her own, andto make herself agreeable to all; and in the lat-ter object, where she feared most to fail, shewas most sure of success, for those to whom

she endeavoured to give pleasure were prepos-sessed in her favour. Bingley was ready, Geor-giana was eager, and Darcy determined, to bepleased.

In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flewto her sister; and, oh! how ardently did shelong to know whether any of his were directedin a like manner. Sometimes she could fancythat he talked less than on former occasions,and once or twice pleased herself with the no-tion that, as he looked at her, he was trying totrace a resemblance. But, though this might beimaginary, she could not be deceived as to hisbehaviour to Miss Darcy, who had been set upas a rival to Jane. No look appeared on eitherside that spoke particular regard. Nothing oc-curred between them that could justify thehopes of his sister. On this point she was soonsatisfied; and two or three little circumstancesoccurred ere they parted, which, in her anxiousinterpretation, denoted a recollection of Jane

not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish ofsaying more that might lead to the mention ofher, had he dared. He observed to her, at amoment when the others were talking together,and in a tone which had something of real re-gret, that it "was a very long time since he hadhad the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before shecould reply, he added, "It is above eightmonths. We have not met since the 26th of No-vember, when we were all dancing together atNetherfield."

Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory soexact; and he afterwards took occasion to askher, when unattended to by any of the rest,whether all her sisters were at Longbourn.There was not much in the question, nor in thepreceding remark; but there was a look and amanner which gave them meaning.

It was not often that she could turn her eyes onMr. Darcy himself; but, whenever she did catcha glimpse, she saw an expression of general

complaisance, and in all that he said she heardan accent so removed from hauteur or disdainof his companions, as convinced her that theimprovement of manners which she had yes-terday witnessed however temporary its exis-tence might prove, had at least outlived oneday. When she saw him thus seeking the ac-quaintance and courting the good opinion ofpeople with whom any intercourse a fewmonths ago would have been a disgrace—when she saw him thus civil, not only to her-self, but to the very relations whom he hadopenly disdained, and recollected their lastlively scene in Hunsford Parsonage—the dif-ference, the change was so great, and struck soforcibly on her mind, that she could hardlyrestrain her astonishment from being visible.Never, even in the company of his dear friendsat Netherfield, or his dignified relations at Ros-ings, had she seen him so desirous to please, sofree from self-consequence or unbending re-serve, as now, when no importance could result

from the success of his endeavours, and wheneven the acquaintance of those to whom hisattentions were addressed would draw downthe ridicule and censure of the ladies both ofNetherfield and Rosings.

Their visitors stayed with them above half-an-hour; and when they arose to depart, Mr. Darcycalled on his sister to join him in expressingtheir wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, andMiss Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, beforethey left the country. Miss Darcy, though witha diffidence which marked her little in the habitof giving invitations, readily obeyed. Mrs. Gar-diner looked at her niece, desirous of knowinghow she, whom the invitation most concerned,felt disposed as to its acceptance, but Elizabethhad turned away her head. Presuming howev-er, that this studied avoidance spoke rather amomentary embarrassment than any dislike ofthe proposal, and seeing in her husband, whowas fond of society, a perfect willingness to

accept it, she ventured to engage for her atten-dance, and the day after the next was fixed on.

Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certain-ty of seeing Elizabeth again, having still a greatdeal to say to her, and many inquiries to makeafter all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth,construing all this into a wish of hearing herspeak of her sister, was pleased, and on thisaccount, as well as some others, found herself,when their visitors left them, capable of consi-dering the last half-hour with some satisfaction,though while it was passing, the enjoyment ofit had been little. Eager to be alone, and fearfulof inquiries or hints from her uncle and aunt,she stayed with them only long enough to heartheir favourable opinion of Bingley, and thenhurried away to dress.

But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner's curiosity; it was not their wish toforce her communication. It was evident thatshe was much better acquainted with Mr. Dar-

cy than they had before any idea of; it was evi-dent that he was very much in love with her.They saw much to interest, but nothing to justi-fy inquiry.

Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety tothink well; and, as far as their acquaintancereached, there was no fault to find. They couldnot be untouched by his politeness; and hadthey drawn his character from their own feel-ings and his servant's report, without any ref-erence to any other account, the circle in Hert-fordshire to which he was known would nothave recognized it for Mr. Darcy. There wasnow an interest, however, in believing thehousekeeper; and they soon became sensiblethat the authority of a servant who had knownhim since he was four years old, and whoseown manners indicated respectability, was notto be hastily rejected. Neither had anythingoccurred in the intelligence of their Lambtonfriends that could materially lessen its weight.

They had nothing to accuse him of but pride;pride he probably had, and if not, it would cer-tainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a smallmarket-town where the family did not visit. Itwas acknowledged, however, that he was aliberal man, and did much good among thepoor.

With respect to Wickham, the travellers soonfound that he was not held there in much esti-mation; for though the chief of his concernswith the son of his patron were imperfectlyunderstood, it was yet a well-known fact that,on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left manydebts behind him, which Mr. Darcy afterwardsdischarged.

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pember-ley this evening more than the last; and theevening, though as it passed it seemed long,was not long enough to determine her feelingstowards one in that mansion; and she lay awaketwo whole hours endeavouring to make them

out. She certainly did not hate him. No; hatredhad vanished long ago, and she had almost aslong been ashamed of ever feeling a dislikeagainst him, that could be so called. The respectcreated by the conviction of his valuable quali-ties, though at first unwillingly admitted, hadfor some time ceased to be repugnant to herfeeling; and it was now heightened into some-what of a friendlier nature, by the testimony sohighly in his favour, and bringing forward hisdisposition in so amiable a light, which yester-day had produced. But above all, above respectand esteem, there was a motive within her ofgoodwill which could not be overlooked. It wasgratitude; gratitude, not merely for having onceloved her, but for loving her still well enoughto forgive all the petulance and acrimony of hermanner in rejecting him, and all the unjust ac-cusations accompanying her rejection. He who,she had been persuaded, would avoid her ashis greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidentalmeeting, most eager to preserve the acquain-

tance, and without any indelicate display ofregard, or any peculiarity of manner, wheretheir two selves only were concerned, was soli-citing the good opinion of her friends, and benton making her known to his sister. Such achange in a man of so much pride exciting notonly astonishment but gratitude—for to love,ardent love, it must be attributed; and as suchits impression on her was of a sort to be en-couraged, as by no means unpleasing, though itcould not be exactly defined. She respected, sheesteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt areal interest in his welfare; and she only wantedto know how far she wished that welfare todepend upon herself, and how far it would befor the happiness of both that she should em-ploy the power, which her fancy told her shestill possessed, of bringing on her the renewalof his addresses.

It had been settled in the evening between theaunt and the niece, that such a striking civility

as Miss Darcy's in coming to see them on thevery day of her arrival at Pemberley, for shehad reached it only to a late breakfast, ought tobe imitated, though it could not be equalled, bysome exertion of politeness on their side; and,consequently, that it would be highly expedientto wait on her at Pemberley the followingmorning. They were, therefore, to go. Elizabethwas pleased; though when she asked herselfthe reason, she had very little to say in reply.

Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. Thefishing scheme had been renewed the day be-fore, and a positive engagement made of hismeeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberleybefore noon.

Chapter 45

Convinced as Elizabeth now was that MissBingley's dislike of her had originated in jeal-ousy, she could not help feeling how unwel-come her appearance at Pemberley must be toher, and was curious to know with how muchcivility on that lady's side the acquaintancewould now be renewed.

On reaching the house, they were shownthrough the hall into the saloon, whose north-ern aspect rendered it delightful for summer.Its windows opening to the ground, admitted amost refreshing view of the high woody hillsbehind the house, and of the beautiful oaks andSpanish chestnuts which were scattered overthe intermediate lawn.

In this house they were received by Miss Darcy,who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and MissBingley, and the lady with whom she lived in

London. Georgiana's reception of them wasvery civil, but attended with all the embar-rassment which, though proceeding from shy-ness and the fear of doing wrong, would easilygive to those who felt themselves inferior thebelief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs.Gardiner and her niece, however, did her jus-tice, and pitied her.

By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley they were no-ticed only by a curtsey; and, on their beingseated, a pause, awkward as such pauses mustalways be, succeeded for a few moments. It wasfirst broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agree-able-looking woman, whose endeavour to in-troduce some kind of discourse proved her tobe more truly well-bred than either of the oth-ers; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, withoccasional help from Elizabeth, the conversa-tion was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if shewished for courage enough to join in it; and

sometimes did venture a short sentence whenthere was least danger of its being heard.

Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closelywatched by Miss Bingley, and that she couldnot speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy,without calling her attention. This observationwould not have prevented her from trying totalk to the latter, had they not been seated at aninconvenient distance; but she was not sorry tobe spared the necessity of saying much. Herown thoughts were employing her. She ex-pected every moment that some of the gentle-men would enter the room. She wished, shefeared that the master of the house might beamongst them; and whether she wished orfeared it most, she could scarcely determine.After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hourwithout hearing Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabethwas roused by receiving from her a cold in-quiry after the health of her family. She ans-

wered with equal indifference and brevity, andthe others said no more.

The next variation which their visit affordedwas produced by the entrance of servants withcold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finestfruits in season; but this did not take place tillafter many a significant look and smile fromMrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given,to remind her of her post. There was now em-ployment for the whole party—for though theycould not all talk, they could all eat; and thebeautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, andpeaches soon collected them round the table.

While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair op-portunity of deciding whether she most fearedor wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, bythe feelings which prevailed on his entering theroom; and then, though but a moment beforeshe had believed her wishes to predominate,she began to regret that he came.

He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner,who, with two or three other gentlemen fromthe house, was engaged by the river, and hadleft him only on learning that the ladies of thefamily intended a visit to Georgiana that morn-ing. No sooner did he appear than Elizabethwisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unem-barrassed; a resolution the more necessary to bemade, but perhaps not the more easily kept,because she saw that the suspicions of thewhole party were awakened against them, andthat there was scarcely an eye which did notwatch his behaviour when he first came intothe room. In no countenance was attentive cu-riosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's,in spite of the smiles which overspread her facewhenever she spoke to one of its objects; forjealousy had not yet made her desperate, andher attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no meansover. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance,exerted herself much more to talk, and Eliza-beth saw that he was anxious for his sister and

herself to get acquainted, and forwarded asmuch as possible, every attempt at conversa-tion on either side. Miss Bingley saw all thislikewise; and, in the imprudence of anger, tookthe first opportunity of saying, with sneeringcivility:

"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ——shire Militiaremoved from Meryton? They must be a greatloss to your family."

In Darcy's presence she dared not mentionWickham's name; but Elizabeth instantly com-prehended that he was uppermost in herthoughts; and the various recollections con-nected with him gave her a moment's distress;but exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered thequestion in a tolerably detached tone. Whileshe spoke, an involuntary glance showed herDarcy, with a heightened complexion, earnestlylooking at her, and his sister overcome withconfusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had

Miss Bingley known what pain she was thengiving her beloved friend, she undoubtedlywould have refrained from the hint; but shehad merely intended to discompose Elizabethby bringing forward the idea of a man to whomshe believed her partial, to make her betray asensibility which might injure her in Darcy'sopinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter ofall the follies and absurdities by which somepart of her family were connected with thatcorps. Not a syllable had ever reached her ofMiss Darcy's meditated elopement. To no crea-ture had it been revealed, where secrecy waspossible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bing-ley's connections her brother was particularlyanxious to conceal it, from the very wish whichElizabeth had long ago attributed to him, oftheir becoming hereafter her own. He had cer-tainly formed such a plan, and without mean-ing that it should effect his endeavour to sepa-rate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it

might add something to his lively concern forthe welfare of his friend.

Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soonquieted his emotion; and as Miss Bingley,vexed and disappointed, dared not approachnearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recoveredin time, though not enough to be able to speakany more. Her brother, whose eye she feared tomeet, scarcely recollected her interest in theaffair, and the very circumstance which hadbeen designed to turn his thoughts from Eliza-beth seemed to have fixed them on her moreand more cheerfully.

Their visit did not continue long after the ques-tion and answer above mentioned; and whileMr. Darcy was attending them to their carriageMiss Bingley was venting her feelings in criti-cisms on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, anddress. But Georgiana would not join her. Herbrother's recommendation was enough to en-sure her favour; his judgement could not err.

And he had spoken in such terms of Elizabethas to leave Georgiana without the power offinding her otherwise than lovely and amiable.When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bing-ley could not help repeating to him some partof what she had been saying to his sister.

"How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks thismorning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never in mylife saw anyone so much altered as she is sincethe winter. She is grown so brown and coarse!Louisa and I were agreeing that we should nothave known her again."

However little Mr. Darcy might have likedsuch an address, he contented himself withcoolly replying that he perceived no other alte-ration than her being rather tanned, no mira-culous consequence of travelling in the sum-mer.

"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must con-fess that I never could see any beauty in her.

Her face is too thin; her complexion has no bril-liancy; and her features are not at all hand-some. Her nose wants character—there is noth-ing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable,but not out of the common way; and as for hereyes, which have sometimes been called so fine,I could never see anything extraordinary inthem. They have a sharp, shrewish look, whichI do not like at all; and in her air altogetherthere is a self-sufficiency without fashion,which is intolerable."

Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy ad-mired Elizabeth, this was not the best methodof recommending herself; but angry people arenot always wise; and in seeing him at last looksomewhat nettled, she had all the success sheexpected. He was resolutely silent, however,and, from a determination of making himspeak, she continued:

"I remember, when we first knew her in Hert-fordshire, how amazed we all were to find that

she was a reputed beauty; and I particularlyrecollect your saying one night, after they hadbeen dining at Netherfield, 'She a beauty!—Ishould as soon call her mother a wit.' But af-terwards she seemed to improve on you, and Ibelieve you thought her rather pretty at onetime."

"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himselfno longer, "but that was only when I first sawher, for it is many months since I have consi-dered her as one of the handsomest women ofmy acquaintance."

He then went away, and Miss Bingley was leftto all the satisfaction of having forced him tosay what gave no one any pain but herself.

Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all thathad occurred during their visit, as they re-turned, except what had particularly interestedthem both. The look and behaviour of every-body they had seen were discussed, except of

the person who had mostly engaged their at-tention. They talked of his sister, his friends, hishouse, his fruit—of everything but himself; yetElizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gar-diner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner wouldhave been highly gratified by her niece's begin-ning the subject.

Chapter 46

Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed innot finding a letter from Jane on their first ar-rival at Lambton; and this disappointment hadbeen renewed on each of the mornings that hadnow been spent there; but on the third her re-pining was over, and her sister justified, by thereceipt of two letters from her at once, on one ofwhich was marked that it had been missent

elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, asJane had written the direction remarkably ill.

They had just been preparing to walk as theletters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leavingher to enjoy them in quiet, set off by them-selves. The one missent must first be attendedto; it had been written five days ago. The be-ginning contained an account of all their littleparties and engagements, with such news asthe country afforded; but the latter half, whichwas dated a day later, and written in evidentagitation, gave more important intelligence. Itwas to this effect:

"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, some-thing has occurred of a most unexpected andserious nature; but I am afraid of alarmingyou—be assured that we are all well. What Ihave to say relates to poor Lydia. An expresscame at twelve last night, just as we were allgone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform usthat she was gone off to Scotland with one of

his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham!Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, itdoes not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very,very sorry. So imprudent a match on bothsides! But I am willing to hope the best, andthat his character has been misunderstood.Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believehim, but this step (and let us rejoice over it)marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disin-terested at least, for he must know my fathercan give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadlygrieved. My father bears it better. How thank-ful am I that we never let them know what hasbeen said against him; we must forget it our-selves. They were off Saturday night abouttwelve, as is conjectured, but were not missedtill yesterday morning at eight. The express wassent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must havepassed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forstergives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydialeft a few lines for his wife, informing her oftheir intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be

long from my poor mother. I am afraid you willnot be able to make it out, but I hardly knowwhat I have written."

Without allowing herself time for considera-tion, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Eliza-beth on finishing this letter instantly seized theother, and opening it with the utmost impa-tience, read as follows: it had been written aday later than the conclusion of the first.

"By this time, my dearest sister, you have re-ceived my hurried letter; I wish this may bemore intelligible, but though not confined fortime, my head is so bewildered that I cannotanswer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, Ihardly know what I would write, but I havebad news for you, and it cannot be delayed.Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wick-ham and our poor Lydia would be, we are nowanxious to be assured it has taken place, forthere is but too much reason to fear they are notgone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yester-

day, having left Brighton the day before, notmany hours after the express. Though Lydia'sshort letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understandthat they were going to Gretna Green, some-thing was dropped by Denny expressing hisbelief that W. never intended to go there, or tomarry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Co-lonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set offfrom B. intending to trace their route. He didtrace them easily to Clapham, but no further;for on entering that place, they removed into ahackney coach, and dismissed the chaise thatbrought them from Epsom. All that is knownafter this is, that they were seen to continue theLondon road. I know not what to think. Aftermaking every possible inquiry on that sideLondon, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire,anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes,and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, butwithout any success—no such people had beenseen to pass through. With the kindest concernhe came on to Longbourn, and broke his ap-

prehensions to us in a manner most creditableto his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him andMrs. F., but no one can throw any blame onthem. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is verygreat. My father and mother believe the worst,but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circums-tances might make it more eligible for them tobe married privately in town than to pursuetheir first plan; and even if he could form such adesign against a young woman of Lydia's con-nections, which is not likely, can I suppose herso lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve tofind, however, that Colonel F. is not disposedto depend upon their marriage; he shook hishead when I expressed my hopes, and said hefeared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poormother is really ill, and keeps her room. Couldshe exert herself, it would be better; but this isnot to be expected. And as to my father, I neverin my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty hasanger for having concealed their attachment;but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot

wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that youhave been spared something of these distress-ing scenes; but now, as the first shock is over,shall I own that I long for your return? I am notso selfish, however, as to press for it, if incon-venient. Adieu! I take up my pen again to dowhat I have just told you I would not; but cir-cumstances are such that I cannot help earnest-ly begging you all to come here as soon as poss-ible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well,that I am not afraid of requesting it, though Ihave still something more to ask of the former.My father is going to London with Colonel For-ster instantly, to try to discover her. What hemeans to do I am sure I know not; but his ex-cessive distress will not allow him to pursueany measure in the best and safest way, andColonel Forster is obliged to be at Brightonagain to-morrow evening. In such an exigence,my uncle's advice and assistance would be eve-rything in the world; he will immediately com-

prehend what I must feel, and I rely upon hisgoodness."

"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Eliza-beth, darting from her seat as she finished theletter, in eagerness to follow him, without los-ing a moment of the time so precious; but asshe reached the door it was opened by a ser-vant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale faceand impetuous manner made him start, andbefore he could recover himself to speak, she,in whose mind every idea was superseded byLydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg yourpardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr.Gardiner this moment, on business that cannotbe delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, withmore feeling than politeness; then recollectinghimself, "I will not detain you a minute; but letme, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannotgo yourself."

Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembledunder her and she felt how little would begained by her attempting to pursue them. Call-ing back the servant, therefore, she commis-sioned him, though in so breathless an accentas made her almost unintelligible, to fetch hismaster and mistress home instantly.

On his quitting the room she sat down, unableto support herself, and looking so miserably ill,that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, orto refrain from saying, in a tone of gentlenessand commiseration, "Let me call your maid. Isthere nothing you could take to give youpresent relief? A glass of wine; shall I get youone? You are very ill."

"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring torecover herself. "There is nothing the matterwith me. I am quite well; I am only distressedby some dreadful news which I have just re-ceived from Longbourn."

She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and fora few minutes could not speak another word.Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only saysomething indistinctly of his concern, and ob-serve her in compassionate silence. At lengthshe spoke again. "I have just had a letter fromJane, with such dreadful news. It cannot beconcealed from anyone. My younger sister hasleft all her friends—has eloped; has thrownherself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham.They are gone off together from Brighton. Youknow him too well to doubt the rest. She has nomoney, no connections, nothing that can tempthim to—she is lost for ever."

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I con-sider," she added in a yet more agitated voice,"that I might have prevented it! I, who knewwhat he was. Had I but explained some part ofit only—some part of what I learnt, to my ownfamily! Had his character been known, this

could not have happened. But it is all—all toolate now."

"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved—shocked. But is it certain—absolutely certain?"

"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sun-day night, and were traced almost to London,but not beyond; they are certainly not gone toScotland."

"And what has been done, what has been at-tempted, to recover her?"

"My father is gone to London, and Jane haswritten to beg my uncle's immediate assistance;and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. Butnothing can be done—I know very well thatnothing can be done. How is such a man to beworked on? How are they even to be discov-ered? I have not the smallest hope. It is everyway horrible!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

"When my eyes were opened to his real charac-ter—Oh! had I known what I ought, what Idared to do! But I knew not—I was afraid ofdoing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely tohear her, and was walking up and down theroom in earnest meditation, his brow con-tracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon ob-served, and instantly understood it. Her powerwas sinking; everything must sink under such aproof of family weakness, such an assurance ofthe deepest disgrace. She could neither wondernor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquestbrought nothing consolatory to her bosom, af-forded no palliation of her distress. It was, onthe contrary, exactly calculated to make herunderstand her own wishes; and never had sheso honestly felt that she could have loved him,as now, when all love must be vain.

But self, though it would intrude, could notengross her. Lydia—the humiliation, the miseryshe was bringing on them all, soon swallowedup every private care; and covering her facewith her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lostto everything else; and, after a pause of severalminutes, was only recalled to a sense of hersituation by the voice of her companion, who,in a manner which, though it spoke compas-sion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "I am afraidyou have been long desiring my absence, norhave I anything to plead in excuse of my stay,but real, though unavailing concern. Would toHeaven that anything could be either said ordone on my part that might offer consolation tosuch distress! But I will not torment you withvain wishes, which may seem purposely to askfor your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, Ifear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure ofseeing you at Pemberley to-day."

"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us toMiss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls ushome immediately. Conceal the unhappy truthas long as it is possible, I know it cannot belong."

He readily assured her of his secrecy; againexpressed his sorrow for her distress, wished ita happier conclusion than there was at presentreason to hope, and leaving his complimentsfor her relations, with only one serious, partinglook, went away.

As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how im-probable it was that they should ever see eachother again on such terms of cordiality as hadmarked their several meetings in Derbyshire;and as she threw a retrospective glance overthe whole of their acquaintance, so full of con-tradictions and varieties, sighed at the per-verseness of those feelings which would nowhave promoted its continuance, and wouldformerly have rejoiced in its termination.

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations ofaffection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment willbe neither improbable nor faulty. But if other-wise—if regard springing from such sources isunreasonable or unnatural, in comparison ofwhat is so often described as arising on a firstinterview with its object, and even before twowords have been exchanged, nothing can besaid in her defence, except that she had givensomewhat of a trial to the latter method in herpartiality for Wickham, and that its ill successmight, perhaps, authorise her to seek the otherless interesting mode of attachment. Be that asit may, she saw him go with regret; and in thisearly example of what Lydia's infamy mustproduce, found additional anguish as she re-flected on that wretched business. Never, sincereading Jane's second letter, had she enter-tained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marryher. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatterherself with such an expectation. Surprise wasthe least of her feelings on this development.

While the contents of the first letter remained inher mind, she was all surprise—all astonish-ment that Wickham should marry a girl whomit was impossible he could marry for money;and how Lydia could ever have attached himhad appeared incomprehensible. But now itwas all too natural. For such an attachment asthis she might have sufficient charms; andthough she did not suppose Lydia to be delibe-rately engaging in an elopement without theintention of marriage, she had no difficulty inbelieving that neither her virtue nor her under-standing would preserve her from falling aneasy prey.

She had never perceived, while the regimentwas in Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any par-tiality for him; but she was convinced that Ly-dia wanted only encouragement to attach her-self to anybody. Sometimes one officer, some-times another, had been her favourite, as theirattentions raised them in her opinion. Her af-

fections had continually been fluctuating butnever without an object. The mischief of neglectand mistaken indulgence towards such a girl—oh! how acutely did she now feel it!

She was wild to be at home—to hear, to see, tobe upon the spot to share with Jane in the caresthat must now fall wholly upon her, in a familyso deranged, a father absent, a mother incapa-ble of exertion, and requiring constant atten-dance; and though almost persuaded that noth-ing could be done for Lydia, her uncle's interfe-rence seemed of the utmost importance, and tillhe entered the room her impatience was severe.Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back inalarm, supposing by the servant's account thattheir niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfy-ing them instantly on that head, she eagerlycommunicated the cause of their summons,reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling onthe postscript of the last with trembling energy,though Lydia had never been a favourite with

them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but bedeeply afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all wereconcerned in it; and after the first exclamationsof surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promisedevery assistance in his power. Elizabeth,though expecting no less, thanked him withtears of gratitude; and all three being actuatedby one spirit, everything relating to their jour-ney was speedily settled. They were to be off assoon as possible. "But what is to be done aboutPemberley?" cried Mrs. Gardiner. "John told usMr. Darcy was here when you sent for us; wasit so?"

"Yes; and I told him we should not be able tokeep our engagement. That is all settled."

"What is all settled?" repeated the other, as sheran into her room to prepare. "And are theyupon such terms as for her to disclose the realtruth? Oh, that I knew how it was!"

But wishes were vain, or at least could onlyserve to amuse her in the hurry and confusionof the following hour. Had Elizabeth been atleisure to be idle, she would have remainedcertain that all employment was impossible toone so wretched as herself; but she had hershare of business as well as her aunt, andamongst the rest there were notes to be writtento all their friends at Lambton, with falseexcuses for their sudden departure. An hour,however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.Gardiner meanwhile having settled his accountat the inn, nothing remained to be done but togo; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of themorning, found herself, in a shorter space oftime than she could have supposed, seated inthe carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.

Chapter 47

"I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,"said her uncle, as they drove from the town;"and really, upon serious consideration, I ammuch more inclined than I was to judge as youreldest sister does on the matter. It appears tome so very unlikely that any young manshould form such a design against a girl who isby no means unprotected or friendless, andwho was actually staying in his colonel's fami-ly, that I am strongly inclined to hope the best.Could he expect that her friends would not stepforward? Could he expect to be noticed againby the regiment, after such an affront to Colo-nel Forster? His temptation is not adequate tothe risk!"

"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brigh-tening up for a moment.

"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I beginto be of your uncle's opinion. It is really toogreat a violation of decency, honour, and inter-est, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think sovery ill of Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy,so wholly give him up, as to believe him capa-ble of it?"

"Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest;but of every other neglect I can believe himcapable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I darenot hope it. Why should they not go on to Scot-land if that had been the case?"

"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "thereis no absolute proof that they are not gone toScotland."

"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into ahackney coach is such a presumption! And,besides, no traces of them were to be found onthe Barnet road."

"Well, then—supposing them to be in London.They may be there, though for the purpose ofconcealment, for no more exceptional purpose.It is not likely that money should be very ab-undant on either side; and it might strike themthat they could be more economically, thoughless expeditiously, married in London than inScotland."

"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of de-tection? Why must their marriage be private?Oh, no, no—this is not likely. His most particu-lar friend, you see by Jane's account, was per-suaded of his never intending to marry her.Wickham will never marry a woman withoutsome money. He cannot afford it. And whatclaims has Lydia—what attraction has shebeyond youth, health, and good humour thatcould make him, for her sake, forego everychance of benefiting himself by marrying well?As to what restraint the apprehensions of dis-grace in the corps might throw on a dishonour-

able elopement with her, I am not able to judge;for I know nothing of the effects that such astep might produce. But as to your other objec-tion, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydiahas no brothers to step forward; and he mightimagine, from my father's behaviour, from hisindolence and the little attention he has everseemed to give to what was going forward inhis family, that he would do as little, and thinkas little about it, as any father could do, in sucha matter."

"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to eve-rything but love of him as to consent to livewith him on any terms other than marriage?"

"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,"replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, "that asister's sense of decency and virtue in such apoint should admit of doubt. But, really, Iknow not what to say. Perhaps I am not doingher justice. But she is very young; she has neverbeen taught to think on serious subjects; and

for the last half-year, nay, for a twelvemonth—she has been given up to nothing but amuse-ment and vanity. She has been allowed to dis-pose of her time in the most idle and frivolousmanner, and to adopt any opinions that camein her way. Since the ——shire were first quar-tered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation,and officers have been in her head. She hasbeen doing everything in her power by think-ing and talking on the subject, to give greater—what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings;which are naturally lively enough. And we allknow that Wickham has every charm of personand address that can captivate a woman."

"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does notthink so very ill of Wickham as to believe himcapable of the attempt."

"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who isthere, whatever might be their former conduct,that she would think capable of such an at-tempt, till it were proved against them? But

Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickhamreally is. We both know that he has been profli-gate in every sense of the word; that he hasneither integrity nor honour; that he is as falseand deceitful as he is insinuating."

"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs.Gardiner, whose curiosity as to the mode of herintelligence was all alive.

"I do indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "Itold you, the other day, of his infamous beha-viour to Mr. Darcy; and you yourself, when lastat Longbourn, heard in what manner he spokeof the man who had behaved with such for-bearance and liberality towards him. And thereare other circumstances which I am not at liber-ty—which it is not worth while to relate; but hislies about the whole Pemberley family are end-less. From what he said of Miss Darcy I wasthoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved,disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary

himself. He must know that she was as amiableand unpretending as we have found her."

"But does Lydia know nothing of this? can shebe ignorant of what you and Jane seem so wellto understand?"

"Oh, yes!—that, that is the worst of all. Till Iwas in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr. Dar-cy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I wasignorant of the truth myself. And when I re-turned home, the ——shire was to leave Mery-ton in a week or fortnight's time. As that wasthe case, neither Jane, to whom I related thewhole, nor I, thought it necessary to make ourknowledge public; for of what use could it ap-parently be to any one, that the good opinionwhich all the neighbourhood had of himshould then be overthrown? And even when itwas settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. For-ster, the necessity of opening her eyes to hischaracter never occurred to me. That she couldbe in any danger from the deception never en-

tered my head. That such a consequence as thiscould ensue, you may easily believe, was farenough from my thoughts."

"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore,you had no reason, I suppose, to believe themfond of each other?"

"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptomof affection on either side; and had anything ofthe kind been perceptible, you must be awarethat ours is not a family on which it could bethrown away. When first he entered the corps,she was ready enough to admire him; but so weall were. Every girl in or near Meryton was outof her senses about him for the first twomonths; but he never distinguished her by anyparticular attention; and, consequently, after amoderate period of extravagant and wild admi-ration, her fancy for him gave way, and othersof the regiment, who treated her with moredistinction, again became her favourites."

It may be easily believed, that however little ofnovelty could be added to their fears, hopes,and conjectures, on this interesting subject, byits repeated discussion, no other could detainthem from it long, during the whole of thejourney. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was neverabsent. Fixed there by the keenest of all an-guish, self-reproach, she could find no intervalof ease or forgetfulness.

They travelled as expeditiously as possible,and, sleeping one night on the road, reachedLongbourn by dinner time the next day. It wasa comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Janecould not have been wearied by long expecta-tions.

The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of achaise, were standing on the steps of the houseas they entered the paddock; and, when thecarriage drove up to the door, the joyful sur-

prise that lighted up their faces, and displayeditself over their whole bodies, in a variety ofcapers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnestof their welcome.

Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each ofthem a hasty kiss, hurried into the vestibule,where Jane, who came running down from hermother's apartment, immediately met her.

Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her,whilst tears filled the eyes of both, lost not amoment in asking whether anything had beenheard of the fugitives.

"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dearuncle is come, I hope everything will be well."

"Is my father in town?"

"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote youword."

"And have you heard from him often?"

"We have heard only twice. He wrote me a fewlines on Wednesday to say that he had arrivedin safety, and to give me his directions, which Iparticularly begged him to do. He merely add-ed that he should not write again till he hadsomething of importance to mention."

"And my mother—how is she? How are youall?"

"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; thoughher spirits are greatly shaken. She is upstairsand will have great satisfaction in seeing youall. She does not yet leave her dressing-room.Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven, are quite well."

"But you—how are you?" cried Elizabeth. "Youlook pale. How much you must have gonethrough!"

Her sister, however, assured her of her beingperfectly well; and their conversation, whichhad been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner

were engaged with their children, was now putan end to by the approach of the whole party.Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomedand thanked them both, with alternate smilesand tears.

When they were all in the drawing-room, thequestions which Elizabeth had already askedwere of course repeated by the others, and theysoon found that Jane had no intelligence togive. The sanguine hope of good, however,which the benevolence of her heart suggestedhad not yet deserted her; she still expected thatit would all end well, and that every morningwould bring some letter, either from Lydia orher father, to explain their proceedings, and,perhaps, announce their marriage.

Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all re-paired, after a few minutes' conversation to-gether, received them exactly as might be ex-pected; with tears and lamentations of regret,invectives against the villainous conduct of

Wickham, and complaints of her own suffer-ings and ill-usage; blaming everybody but theperson to whose ill-judging indulgence the er-rors of her daughter must principally be owing.

"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my pointin going to Brighton, with all my family, thiswould not have happened; but poor dear Lydiahad nobody to take care of her. Why did theForsters ever let her go out of their sight? I amsure there was some great neglect or other ontheir side, for she is not the kind of girl to dosuch a thing if she had been well looked after. Ialways thought they were very unfit to havethe charge of her; but I was overruled, as I al-ways am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr.Bennet gone away, and I know he will fightWickham, wherever he meets him and then hewill be killed, and what is to become of us all?The Collinses will turn us out before he is coldin his grave, and if you are not kind to us,brother, I do not know what we shall do."

They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas;and Mr. Gardiner, after general assurances ofhis affection for her and all her family, told herthat he meant to be in London the very nextday, and would assist Mr. Bennet in every en-deavour for recovering Lydia.

"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he;"though it is right to be prepared for the worst,there is no occasion to look on it as certain. It isnot quite a week since they left Brighton. In afew days more we may gain some news ofthem; and till we know that they are not mar-ried, and have no design of marrying, do not letus give the matter over as lost. As soon as I getto town I shall go to my brother, and make himcome home with me to Gracechurch Street; andthen we may consult together as to what is tobe done."

"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet,"that is exactly what I could most wish for. Andnow do, when you get to town, find them out,

wherever they may be; and if they are not mar-ried already, make them marry. And as forwedding clothes, do not let them wait for that,but tell Lydia she shall have as much money asshe chooses to buy them, after they are mar-ried. And, above all, keep Mr. Bennet fromfighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in,that I am frighted out of my wits—and havesuch tremblings, such flutterings, all over me—such spasms in my side and pains in my head,and such beatings at heart, that I can get no restby night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydianot to give any directions about her clothes tillshe has seen me, for she does not know whichare the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kindyou are! I know you will contrive it all."

But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her againof his earnest endeavours in the cause, couldnot avoid recommending moderation to her, aswell in her hopes as her fear; and after talkingwith her in this manner till dinner was on the

table, they all left her to vent all her feelings onthe housekeeper, who attended in the absenceof her daughters.

Though her brother and sister were persuadedthat there was no real occasion for such a seclu-sion from the family, they did not attempt tooppose it, for they knew that she had not pru-dence enough to hold her tongue before theservants, while they waited at table, and judgedit better that one only of the household, and theone whom they could most trust should com-prehend all her fears and solicitude on the sub-ject.

In the dining-room they were soon joined byMary and Kitty, who had been too busily en-gaged in their separate apartments to maketheir appearance before. One came from herbooks, and the other from her toilette. The facesof both, however, were tolerably calm; and nochange was visible in either, except that the lossof her favourite sister, or the anger which she

had herself incurred in this business, had givenmore of fretfulness than usual to the accents ofKitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough ofherself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a counten-ance of grave reflection, soon after they wereseated at table:

"This is a most unfortunate affair, and willprobably be much talked of. But we must stemthe tide of malice, and pour into the woundedbosoms of each other the balm of sisterly conso-lation."

Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination ofreplying, she added, "Unhappy as the eventmust be for Lydia, we may draw from it thisuseful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female isirretrievable; that one false step involves her inendless ruin; that her reputation is no less brit-tle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot betoo much guarded in her behaviour towardsthe undeserving of the other sex."

Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, butwas too much oppressed to make any reply.Mary, however, continued to console herselfwith such kind of moral extractions from theevil before them.

In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennetswere able to be for half-an-hour by themselves;and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of theopportunity of making any inquiries, whichJane was equally eager to satisfy. After joiningin general lamentations over the dreadful se-quel of this event, which Elizabeth consideredas all but certain, and Miss Bennet could notassert to be wholly impossible, the former con-tinued the subject, by saying, "But tell me alland everything about it which I have not al-ready heard. Give me further particulars. Whatdid Colonel Forster say? Had they no appre-hension of anything before the elopement tookplace? They must have seen them together forever."

"Colonel Forster did own that he had oftensuspected some partiality, especially on Lydia'sside, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am sogrieved for him! His behaviour was attentiveand kind to the utmost. He was coming to us, inorder to assure us of his concern, before he hadany idea of their not being gone to Scotland:when that apprehension first got abroad, it has-tened his journey."

"And was Denny convinced that Wickhamwould not marry? Did he know of their intend-ing to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Dennyhimself?"

"Yes; but, when questioned by him, Denny de-nied knowing anything of their plans, andwould not give his real opinion about it. He didnot repeat his persuasion of their not marry-ing—and from that, I am inclined to hope, hemight have been misunderstood before."

"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not oneof you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of theirbeing really married?"

"How was it possible that such an idea shouldenter our brains? I felt a little uneasy—a littlefearful of my sister's happiness with him inmarriage, because I knew that his conduct hadnot been always quite right. My father andmother knew nothing of that; they only felthow imprudent a match it must be. Kitty thenowned, with a very natural triumph on know-ing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's lastletter she had prepared her for such a step. Shehad known, it seems, of their being in love witheach other, many weeks."

"But not before they went to Brighton?"

"No, I believe not."

"And did Colonel Forster appear to think wellof Wickham himself? Does he know his realcharacter?"

"I must confess that he did not speak so well ofWickham as he formerly did. He believed himto be imprudent and extravagant. And sincethis sad affair has taken place, it is said that heleft Meryton greatly in debt; but I hope thismay be false."

"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we toldwhat we knew of him, this could not have hap-pened!"

"Perhaps it would have been better," repliedher sister. "But to expose the former faults ofany person without knowing what theirpresent feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. Weacted with the best intentions."

"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars ofLydia's note to his wife?"

"He brought it with him for us to see."

Jane then took it from her pocket-book, andgave it to Elizabeth. These were the contents:

"MY DEAR HARRIET,

"You will laugh when you know where I amgone, and I cannot help laughing myself atyour surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as Iam missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and ifyou cannot guess with who, I shall think you asimpleton, for there is but one man in the worldI love, and he is an angel. I should never behappy without him, so think it no harm to beoff. You need not send them word at Long-bourn of my going, if you do not like it, for itwill make the surprise the greater, when I writeto them and sign my name 'Lydia Wickham.'What a good joke it will be! I can hardly writefor laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt fornot keeping my engagement, and dancing withhim to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse mewhen he knows all; and tell him I will dance

with him at the next ball we meet, with greatpleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I getto Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sallyto mend a great slit in my worked muslin gownbefore they are packed up. Good-bye. Give mylove to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink toour good journey.

"Your affectionate friend,"LYDIA BENNET."

"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" criedElizabeth when she had finished it. "What aletter is this, to be written at such a moment!But at least it shows that she was serious on thesubject of their journey. Whatever he mightafterwards persuade her to, it was not on herside a scheme of infamy. My poor father! howhe must have felt it!"

"I never saw anyone so shocked. He could notspeak a word for full ten minutes. My mother

was taken ill immediately, and the whole housein such confusion!"

"Oh! Jane," cried Elizabeth, "was there a servantbelonging to it who did not know the wholestory before the end of the day?"

"I do not know. I hope there was. But to beguarded at such a time is very difficult. Mymother was in hysterics, and though I endea-voured to give her every assistance in my pow-er, I am afraid I did not do so much as I mighthave done! But the horror of what might possi-bly happen almost took from me my faculties."

"Your attendance upon her has been too muchfor you. You do not look well. Oh that I hadbeen with you! you have had every care andanxiety upon yourself alone."

"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, andwould have shared in every fatigue, I am sure;but I did not think it right for either of them.

Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies somuch, that her hours of repose should not bebroken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Long-bourn on Tuesday, after my father went away;and was so good as to stay till Thursday withme. She was of great use and comfort to us all.And Lady Lucas has been very kind; shewalked here on Wednesday morning to con-dole with us, and offered her services, or any ofher daughters', if they should be of use to us."

"She had better have stayed at home," criedElizabeth; "perhaps she meant well, but, undersuch a misfortune as this, one cannot see toolittle of one's neighbours. Assistance is imposs-ible; condolence insufferable. Let them triumphover us at a distance, and be satisfied."

She then proceeded to inquire into the meas-ures which her father had intended to pursue,while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.

"He meant I believe," replied Jane, "to go toEpsom, the place where they last changedhorses, see the postilions and try if anythingcould be made out from them. His principalobject must be to discover the number of thehackney coach which took them from Clapham.It had come with a fare from London; and as hethought that the circumstance of a gentlemanand lady's removing from one carriage intoanother might be remarked he meant to makeinquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow dis-cover at what house the coachman had beforeset down his fare, he determined to make in-quiries there, and hoped it might not be im-possible to find out the stand and number ofthe coach. I do not know of any other designsthat he had formed; but he was in such a hurryto be gone, and his spirits so greatly discom-posed, that I had difficulty in finding out evenso much as this."

Chapter 48

The whole party were in hopes of a letter fromMr. Bennet the next morning, but the post camein without bringing a single line from him. Hisfamily knew him to be, on all common occa-sions, a most negligent and dilatory correspon-dent; but at such a time they had hoped forexertion. They were forced to conclude that hehad no pleasing intelligence to send; but evenof that they would have been glad to be certain.Mr. Gardiner had waited only for the lettersbefore he set off.

When he was gone, they were certain at least ofreceiving constant information of what wasgoing on, and their uncle promised, at parting,

to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Long-bourn, as soon as he could, to the great consola-tion of his sister, who considered it as the onlysecurity for her husband's not being killed in aduel.

Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remainin Hertfordshire a few days longer, as the for-mer thought her presence might be serviceableto her nieces. She shared in their attendance onMrs. Bennet, and was a great comfort to themin their hours of freedom. Their other aunt alsovisited them frequently, and always, as shesaid, with the design of cheering and hearten-ing them up—though, as she never came with-out reporting some fresh instance of Wickham'sextravagance or irregularity, she seldom wentaway without leaving them more dispiritedthan she found them.

All Meryton seemed striving to blacken theman who, but three months before, had beenalmost an angel of light. He was declared to be

in debt to every tradesman in the place, and hisintrigues, all honoured with the title of seduc-tion, had been extended into every tradesman'sfamily. Everybody declared that he was thewickedest young man in the world; and every-body began to find out that they had alwaysdistrusted the appearance of his goodness.Elizabeth, though she did not credit above halfof what was said, believed enough to make herformer assurance of her sister's ruin more cer-tain; and even Jane, who believed still less of it,became almost hopeless, more especially as thetime was now come when, if they had gone toScotland, which she had never before entirelydespaired of, they must in all probability havegained some news of them.

Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; onTuesday his wife received a letter from him; ittold them that, on his arrival, he had imme-diately found out his brother, and persuadedhim to come to Gracechurch Street; that Mr.

Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, be-fore his arrival, but without gaining any satis-factory information; and that he was now de-termined to inquire at all the principal hotels intown, as Mr. Bennet thought it possible theymight have gone to one of them, on their firstcoming to London, before they procured lodg-ings. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect anysuccess from this measure, but as his brotherwas eager in it, he meant to assist him in pur-suing it. He added that Mr. Bennet seemedwholly disinclined at present to leave Londonand promised to write again very soon. Therewas also a postscript to this effect:

"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire himto find out, if possible, from some of the youngman's intimates in the regiment, whetherWickham has any relations or connections whowould be likely to know in what part of townhe has now concealed himself. If there wereanyone that one could apply to with a probabil-

ity of gaining such a clue as that, it might be ofessential consequence. At present we havenothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I daresay, do everything in his power to satisfy us onthis head. But, on second thoughts, perhaps,Lizzy could tell us what relations he has nowliving, better than any other person."

Elizabeth was at no loss to understand fromwhence this deference to her authority pro-ceeded; but it was not in her power to give anyinformation of so satisfactory a nature as thecompliment deserved. She had never heard ofhis having had any relations, except a fatherand mother, both of whom had been deadmany years. It was possible, however, thatsome of his companions in the ——shire mightbe able to give more information; and thoughshe was not very sanguine in expecting it, theapplication was a something to look forwardto.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of an-xiety; but the most anxious part of each waswhen the post was expected. The arrival of let-ters was the grand object of every morning'simpatience. Through letters, whatever of goodor bad was to be told would be communicated,and every succeeding day was expected tobring some news of importance.

But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner,a letter arrived for their father, from a differentquarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane hadreceived directions to open all that came forhim in his absence, she accordingly read; andElizabeth, who knew what curiosities his lettersalways were, looked over her, and read it like-wise. It was as follows:

"MY DEAR SIR,

"I feel myself called upon, by our relationship,and my situation in life, to condole with you onthe grievous affliction you are now sufferingunder, of which we were yesterday informed

by a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured, mydear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerelysympathise with you and all your respectablefamily, in your present distress, which must beof the bitterest kind, because proceeding from acause which no time can remove. No argu-ments shall be wanting on my part that canalleviate so severe a misfortune—or that maycomfort you, under a circumstance that must beof all others the most afflicting to a parent'smind. The death of your daughter would havebeen a blessing in comparison of this. And it isthe more to be lamented, because there is rea-son to suppose as my dear Charlotte informsme, that this licentiousness of behaviour inyour daughter has proceeded from a faultydegree of indulgence; though, at the same time,for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet,I am inclined to think that her own dispositionmust be naturally bad, or she could not beguilty of such an enormity, at so early an age.Howsoever that may be, you are grievously to

be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joinedby Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherineand her daughter, to whom I have related theaffair. They agree with me in apprehendingthat this false step in one daughter will be inju-rious to the fortunes of all the others; for who,as Lady Catherine herself condescendinglysays, will connect themselves with such a fami-ly? And this consideration leads me moreoverto reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on acertain event of last November; for had it beenotherwise, I must have been involved in allyour sorrow and disgrace. Let me then adviseyou, dear sir, to console yourself as much aspossible, to throw off your unworthy childfrom your affection for ever, and leave her toreap the fruits of her own heinous offense.

"I am, dear sir, etc., etc."

Mr. Gardiner did not write again till he hadreceived an answer from Colonel Forster; andthen he had nothing of a pleasant nature to

send. It was not known that Wickham had asingle relationship with whom he kept up anyconnection, and it was certain that he had nonear one living. His former acquaintances hadbeen numerous; but since he had been in themilitia, it did not appear that he was on termsof particular friendship with any of them. Therewas no one, therefore, who could be pointedout as likely to give any news of him. And inthe wretched state of his own finances, therewas a very powerful motive for secrecy, in ad-dition to his fear of discovery by Lydia's rela-tions, for it had just transpired that he had leftgaming debts behind him to a very considera-ble amount. Colonel Forster believed that morethan a thousand pounds would be necessary toclear his expenses at Brighton. He owed a gooddeal in town, but his debts of honour were stillmore formidable. Mr. Gardiner did not attemptto conceal these particulars from the Long-bourn family. Jane heard them with horror. "A

gamester!" she cried. "This is wholly unex-pected. I had not an idea of it."

Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that theymight expect to see their father at home on thefollowing day, which was Saturday. Renderedspiritless by the ill-success of all their endea-vours, he had yielded to his brother-in-law'sentreaty that he would return to his family, andleave it to him to do whatever occasion mightsuggest to be advisable for continuing theirpursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, shedid not express so much satisfaction as herchildren expected, considering what her anxie-ty for his life had been before.

"What, is he coming home, and without poorLydia?" she cried. "Sure he will not leave Lon-don before he has found them. Who is to fightWickham, and make him marry her, if hecomes away?"

As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home,it was settled that she and the children shouldgo to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennetcame from it. The coach, therefore, took themthe first stage of their journey, and brought itsmaster back to Longbourn.

Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexityabout Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend thathad attended her from that part of the world.His name had never been voluntarily men-tioned before them by her niece; and the kindof half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner hadformed, of their being followed by a letter fromhim, had ended in nothing. Elizabeth had re-ceived none since her return that could comefrom Pemberley.

The present unhappy state of the family ren-dered any other excuse for the lowness of herspirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, couldbe fairly conjectured from that, though Eliza-beth, who was by this time tolerably well ac-

quainted with her own feelings, was perfectlyaware that, had she known nothing of Darcy,she could have borne the dread of Lydia's in-famy somewhat better. It would have sparedher, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.

When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the ap-pearance of his usual philosophic composure.He said as little as he had ever been in the habitof saying; made no mention of the business thathad taken him away, and it was some time be-fore his daughters had courage to speak of it.

It was not till the afternoon, when he hadjoined them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured tointroduce the subject; and then, on her brieflyexpressing her sorrow for what he must haveendured, he replied, "Say nothing of that. Whoshould suffer but myself? It has been my owndoing, and I ought to feel it."

"You must not be too severe upon yourself,"replied Elizabeth.

"You may well warn me against such an evil.Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No,Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much Ihave been to blame. I am not afraid of beingoverpowered by the impression. It will passaway soon enough."

"Do you suppose them to be in London?"

"Yes; where else can they be so well con-cealed?"

"And Lydia used to want to go to London,"added Kitty.

"She is happy then," said her father drily; "andher residence there will probably be of someduration."

Then after a short silence he continued:

"Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justifiedin your advice to me last May, which, consider-ing the event, shows some greatness of mind."

They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, whocame to fetch her mother's tea.

"This is a parade," he cried, "which does onegood; it gives such an elegance to misfortune!Another day I will do the same; I will sit in mylibrary, in my nightcap and powdering gown,and give as much trouble as I can; or, perhaps, Imay defer it till Kitty runs away."

"I am not going to run away, papa," said Kittyfretfully. "If I should ever go to Brighton, Iwould behave better than Lydia."

"You go to Brighton. I would not trust you sonear it as Eastbourne for fifty pounds! No, Kit-ty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and youwill feel the effects of it. No officer is ever toenter into my house again, nor even to passthrough the village. Balls will be absolutelyprohibited, unless you stand up with one ofyour sisters. And you are never to stir out of

doors till you can prove that you have spent tenminutes of every day in a rational manner."

Kitty, who took all these threats in a seriouslight, began to cry.

"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourselfunhappy. If you are a good girl for the next tenyears, I will take you to a review at the end ofthem."

Chapter 49

Two days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane andElizabeth were walking together in the shrub-bery behind the house, they saw the housekee-per coming towards them, and, concluding thatshe came to call them to their mother, went

forward to meet her; but, instead of the ex-pected summons, when they approached her,she said to Miss Bennet, "I beg your pardon,madam, for interrupting you, but I was inhopes you might have got some good newsfrom town, so I took the liberty of coming toask."

"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard noth-ing from town."

"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great asto-nishment, "don't you know there is an expresscome for master from Mr. Gardiner? He hasbeen here this half-hour, and master has had aletter."

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to havetime for speech. They ran through the vestibuleinto the breakfast-room; from thence to the li-brary; their father was in neither; and they wereon the point of seeking him upstairs with their

mother, when they were met by the butler, whosaid:

"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he iswalking towards the little copse."

Upon this information, they instantly passedthrough the hall once more, and ran across thelawn after their father, who was deliberatelypursuing his way towards a small wood on oneside of the paddock.

Jane, who was not so light nor so much in thehabit of running as Elizabeth, soon lagged be-hind, while her sister, panting for breath, cameup with him, and eagerly cried out:

"Oh, papa, what news—what news? Have youheard from my uncle?"

"Yes I have had a letter from him by express."

"Well, and what news does it bring—good orbad?"

"What is there of good to be expected?" said he,taking the letter from his pocket. "But perhapsyou would like to read it."

Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand.Jane now came up.

"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardlyknow myself what it is about."

"Gracechurch Street, Monday, August 2.

"MY DEAR BROTHER,

"At last I am able to send you some tidings ofmy niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hopeit will give you satisfaction. Soon after you leftme on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to findout in what part of London they were. The par-ticulars I reserve till we meet; it is enough toknow they are discovered. I have seen themboth—"

"Then it is as I always hoped," cried Jane; "theyare married!"

Elizabeth read on:

"I have seen them both. They are not married,nor can I find there was any intention of beingso; but if you are willing to perform the en-gagements which I have ventured to make onyour side, I hope it will not be long before theyare. All that is required of you is, to assure toyour daughter, by settlement, her equal shareof the five thousand pounds secured amongyour children after the decease of yourself andmy sister; and, moreover, to enter into an en-gagement of allowing her, during your life, onehundred pounds per annum. These are condi-tions which, considering everything, I had nohesitation in complying with, as far as Ithought myself privileged, for you. I shall sendthis by express, that no time may be lost inbringing me your answer. You will easily com-prehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wick-

ham's circumstances are not so hopeless as theyare generally believed to be. The world hasbeen deceived in that respect; and I am happyto say there will be some little money, evenwhen all his debts are discharged, to settle onmy niece, in addition to her own fortune. If, as Iconclude will be the case, you send me fullpowers to act in your name throughout thewhole of this business, I will immediately givedirections to Haggerston for preparing a propersettlement. There will not be the smallest occa-sion for your coming to town again; thereforestay quiet at Longbourn, and depend on mydiligence and care. Send back your answer asfast as you can, and be careful to write explicit-ly. We have judged it best that my niece shouldbe married from this house, of which I hopeyou will approve. She comes to us to-day. Ishall write again as soon as anything more isdetermined on. Yours, etc.,

"EDW. GARDINER."

"Is it possible?" cried Elizabeth, when she hadfinished. "Can it be possible that he will marryher?"

"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as wethought him," said her sister. "My dear father, Icongratulate you."

"And have you answered the letter?" cried Eliz-abeth.

"No; but it must be done soon."

Most earnestly did she then entreaty him tolose no more time before he wrote.

"Oh! my dear father," she cried, "come back andwrite immediately. Consider how importantevery moment is in such a case."

"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislikethe trouble yourself."

"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it mustbe done."

And so saying, he turned back with them, andwalked towards the house.

"And may I ask—" said Elizabeth; "but theterms, I suppose, must be complied with."

"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his ask-ing so little."

"And they must marry! Yet he is such a man!"

"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothingelse to be done. But there are two things that Iwant very much to know; one is, how muchmoney your uncle has laid down to bring itabout; and the other, how am I ever to payhim."

"Money! My uncle!" cried Jane, "what do youmean, sir?"

"I mean, that no man in his senses would marryLydia on so slight a temptation as one hundreda year during my life, and fifty after I am gone."

"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though ithad not occurred to me before. His debts to bedischarged, and something still to remain! Oh!it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, goodman, I am afraid he has distressed himself. Asmall sum could not do all this."

"No," said her father; "Wickham's a fool if hetakes her with a farthing less than ten thousandpounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him,in the very beginning of our relationship."

"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How ishalf such a sum to be repaid?"

Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them,deep in thought, continued silent till theyreached the house. Their father then went on to

the library to write, and the girls walked intothe breakfast-room.

"And they are really to be married!" cried Eliz-abeth, as soon as they were by themselves."How strange this is! And for this we are to bethankful. That they should marry, small as istheir chance of happiness, and wretched as ishis character, we are forced to rejoice. Oh, Ly-dia!"

"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane,"that he certainly would not marry Lydia if hehad not a real regard for her. Though our kinduncle has done something towards clearinghim, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds,or anything like it, has been advanced. He haschildren of his own, and may have more. Howcould he spare half ten thousand pounds?"

"If he were ever able to learn what Wickham'sdebts have been," said Elizabeth, "and howmuch is settled on his side on our sister, we

shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has donefor them, because Wickham has not sixpence ofhis own. The kindness of my uncle and auntcan never be requited. Their taking her home,and affording her their personal protection andcountenance, is such a sacrifice to her advan-tage as years of gratitude cannot enough ac-knowledge. By this time she is actually withthem! If such goodness does not make her mi-serable now, she will never deserve to be hap-py! What a meeting for her, when she first seesmy aunt!"

"We must endeavour to forget all that haspassed on either side," said Jane: "I hope andtrust they will yet be happy. His consenting tomarry her is a proof, I will believe, that he iscome to a right way of thinking. Their mutualaffection will steady them; and I flatter myselfthey will settle so quietly, and live in so rationala manner, as may in time make their past im-prudence forgotten."

"Their conduct has been such," replied Eliza-beth, "as neither you, nor I, nor anybody canever forget. It is useless to talk of it."

It now occurred to the girls that their motherwas in all likelihood perfectly ignorant of whathad happened. They went to the library, there-fore, and asked their father whether he wouldnot wish them to make it known to her. He waswriting and, without raising his head, coollyreplied:

"Just as you please."

"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?"

"Take whatever you like, and get away."

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-table,and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kit-ty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one communi-cation would, therefore, do for all. After a slightpreparation for good news, the letter was read

aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain her-self. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner'shope of Lydia's being soon married, her joyburst forth, and every following sentence add-ed to its exuberance. She was now in an irrita-tion as violent from delight, as she had everbeen fidgety from alarm and vexation. To knowthat her daughter would be married wasenough. She was disturbed by no fear for herfelicity, nor humbled by any remembrance ofher misconduct.

"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried. "This is de-lightful indeed! She will be married! I shall seeher again! She will be married at sixteen! Mygood, kind brother! I knew how it would be. Iknew he would manage everything! How Ilong to see her! and to see dear Wickham too!But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I willwrite to my sister Gardiner about them directly.Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, andask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I

will go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. Iwill put on my things in a moment. My dear,dear Lydia! How merry we shall be togetherwhen we meet!"

Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give somerelief to the violence of these transports, by lea-ding her thoughts to the obligations which Mr.Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.

"For we must attribute this happy conclusion,"she added, "in a great measure to his kindness.We are persuaded that he has pledged himselfto assist Mr. Wickham with money."

"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right;who should do it but her own uncle? If he hadnot had a family of his own, I and my childrenmust have had all his money, you know; and itis the first time we have ever had anythingfrom him, except a few presents. Well! I am sohappy! In a short time I shall have a daughtermarried. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds!

And she was only sixteen last June. My dearJane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I can'twrite; so I will dictate, and you write for me.We will settle with your father about the mo-ney afterwards; but the things should be orde-red immediately."

She was then proceeding to all the particularsof calico, muslin, and cambric, and would shor-tly have dictated some very plentiful orders,had not Jane, though with some difficulty, per-suaded her to wait till her father was at leisureto be consulted. One day's delay, she observed,would be of small importance; and her motherwas too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual.Other schemes, too, came into her head.

"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as Iam dressed, and tell the good, good news to mysister Philips. And as I come back, I can call onLady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run downand order the carriage. An airing would do mea great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do

anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comesHill! My dear Hill, have you heard the goodnews? Miss Lydia is going to be married; andyou shall all have a bowl of punch to make me-rry at her wedding."

Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy.Elizabeth received her congratulations amongstthe rest, and then, sick of this folly, took refugein her own room, that she might think withfreedom.

Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be badenough; but that it was no worse, she had needto be thankful. She felt it so; and though, inlooking forward, neither rational happiness norworldly prosperity could be justly expected forher sister, in looking back to what they hadfeared, only two hours ago, she felt all the ad-vantages of what they had gained.

Chapter 50

Mr. Bennet had very often wished before thisperiod of his life that, instead of spending hiswhole income, he had laid by an annual sumfor the better provision of his children, and ofhis wife, if she survived him. He now wished itmore than ever. Had he done his duty in thatrespect, Lydia need not have been indebted toher uncle for whatever of honour or creditcould now be purchased for her. The satisfac-tion of prevailing on one of the most worthlessyoung men in Great Britain to be her husbandmight then have rested in its proper place.

He was seriously concerned that a cause of solittle advantage to anyone should be forwarded

at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and hewas determined, if possible, to find out the ex-tent of his assistance, and to discharge the obli-gation as soon as he could.

When first Mr. Bennet had married, economywas held to be perfectly useless, for, of course,they were to have a son. The son was to join incutting off the entail, as soon as he should be ofage, and the widow and younger childrenwould by that means be provided for. Fivedaughters successively entered the world, butyet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, formany years after Lydia's birth, had been certainthat he would. This event had at last been des-paired of, but it was then too late to be saving.Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and herhusband's love of independence had alone pre-vented their exceeding their income.

Five thousand pounds was settled by marriagearticles on Mrs. Bennet and the children. But inwhat proportions it should be divided amongst

the latter depended on the will of the parents.This was one point, with regard to Lydia, atleast, which was now to be settled, and Mr.Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding tothe proposal before him. In terms of gratefulacknowledgment for the kindness of his brot-her, though expressed most concisely, he thendelivered on paper his perfect approbation ofall that was done, and his willingness to fulfilthe engagements that had been made for him.He had never before supposed that, could Wic-kham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, itwould be done with so little inconvenience tohimself as by the present arrangement. Hewould scarcely be ten pounds a year the loserby the hundred that was to be paid them; for,what with her board and pocket allowance, andthe continual presents in money which passedto her through her mother's hands, Lydia's ex-penses had been very little within that sum.

That it would be done with such trifling exer-tion on his side, too, was another very welcomesurprise; for his wish at present was to have aslittle trouble in the business as possible. Whenthe first transports of rage which had producedhis activity in seeking her were over, he natura-lly returned to all his former indolence. Hisletter was soon dispatched; for, though dilatoryin undertaking business, he was quick in itsexecution. He begged to know further particu-lars of what he was indebted to his brother, butwas too angry with Lydia to send any messageto her.

The good news spread quickly through thehouse, and with proportionate speed throughthe neighbourhood. It was borne in the latterwith decent philosophy. To be sure, it wouldhave been more for the advantage of conversa-tion had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon thetown; or, as the happiest alternative, been se-cluded from the world, in some distant farm-

house. But there was much to be talked of inmarrying her; and the good-natured wishes forher well-doing which had proceeded beforefrom all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton lostbut a little of their spirit in this change of cir-cumstances, because with such an husband hermisery was considered certain.

It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had beendownstairs; but on this happy day she againtook her seat at the head of her table, and inspirits oppressively high. No sentiment of sha-me gave a damp to her triumph. The marriageof a daughter, which had been the first object ofher wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now onthe point of accomplishment, and her thoughtsand her words ran wholly on those attendantsof elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages,and servants. She was busily searching throughthe neighbourhood for a proper situation forher daughter, and, without knowing or consi-

dering what their income might be, rejectedmany as deficient in size and importance.

"Haye Park might do," said she, "if the Goul-dings could quit it—or the great house at Stoke,if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworthis too far off! I could not bear to have her tenmiles from me; and as for Pulvis Lodge, theattics are dreadful."

Her husband allowed her to talk on withoutinterruption while the servants remained. Butwhen they had withdrawn, he said to her: "Mrs.Bennet, before you take any or all of these hou-ses for your son and daughter, let us come to aright understanding. Into one house in thisneighbourhood they shall never have admit-tance. I will not encourage the impudence ofeither, by receiving them at Longbourn."

A long dispute followed this declaration; butMr. Bennet was firm. It soon led to another; andMrs. Bennet found, with amazement and

horror, that her husband would not advance aguinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He pro-tested that she should receive from him nomark of affection whatever on the occasion.Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend it. Thathis anger could be carried to such a point ofinconceivable resentment as to refuse hisdaughter a privilege without which her ma-rriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded allshe could believe possible. She was more aliveto the disgrace which her want of new clothesmust reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than toany sense of shame at her eloping and livingwith Wickham a fortnight before they took pla-ce.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that shehad, from the distress of the moment, been ledto make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fearsfor her sister; for since her marriage would soshortly give the proper termination to the elo-pement, they might hope to conceal its unfa-

vourable beginning from all those who werenot immediately on the spot.

She had no fear of its spreading farther throughhis means. There were few people on whosesecrecy she would have more confidently de-pended; but, at the same time, there was no onewhose knowledge of a sister's frailty wouldhave mortified her so much—not, however,from any fear of disadvantage from it indivi-dually to herself, for, at any rate, there seemeda gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia'smarriage been concluded on the most honou-rable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr.Darcy would connect himself with a familywhere, to every other objection, would now beadded an alliance and relationship of the nea-rest kind with a man whom he so justly scor-ned.

From such a connection she could not wonderthat he would shrink. The wish of procuringher regard, which she had assured herself of his

feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational ex-pectation survive such a blow as this. She washumbled, she was grieved; she repented,though she hardly knew of what. She becamejealous of his esteem, when she could no longerhope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hearof him, when there seemed the least chance ofgaining intelligence. She was convinced thatshe could have been happy with him, when itwas no longer likely they should meet.

What a triumph for him, as she often thought,could he know that the proposals which shehad proudly spurned only four months ago,would now have been most gladly and gratefu-lly received! He was as generous, she doubtednot, as the most generous of his sex; but whilehe was mortal, there must be a triumph.

She began now to comprehend that he wasexactly the man who, in disposition and talents,would most suit her. His understanding andtemper, though unlike her own, would have

answered all her wishes. It was an union thatmust have been to the advantage of both; byher ease and liveliness, his mind might havebeen softened, his manners improved; andfrom his judgement, information, and know-ledge of the world, she must have received be-nefit of greater importance.

But no such happy marriage could now teachthe admiring multitude what connubial felicityreally was. An union of a different tendency,and precluding the possibility of the other, wassoon to be formed in their family.

How Wickham and Lydia were to be supportedin tolerable independence, she could not ima-gine. But how little of permanent happinesscould belong to a couple who were onlybrought together because their passions werestronger than their virtue, she could easily con-jecture.

Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother.To Mr. Bennet's acknowledgments he brieflyreplied, with assurance of his eagerness topromote the welfare of any of his family; andconcluded with entreaties that the subjectmight never be mentioned to him again. Theprincipal purport of his letter was to informthem that Mr. Wickham had resolved on quit-ting the militia.

"It was greatly my wish that he should do so,"he added, "as soon as his marriage was fixedon. And I think you will agree with me, in con-sidering the removal from that corps as highlyadvisable, both on his account and my niece's.It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go into the re-gulars; and among his former friends, there arestill some who are able and willing to assisthim in the army. He has the promise of an en-signcy in General ——'s regiment, now quarte-red in the North. It is an advantage to have it sofar from this part of the kingdom. He promises

fairly; and I hope among different people, whe-re they may each have a character to preserve,they will both be more prudent. I have writtento Colonel Forster, to inform him of our presentarrangements, and to request that he will satis-fy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in andnear Brighton, with assurances of speedy pay-ment, for which I have pledged myself. Andwill you give yourself the trouble of carryingsimilar assurances to his creditors in Meryton,of whom I shall subjoin a list according to hisinformation? He has given in all his debts; Ihope at least he has not deceived us. Haggers-ton has our directions, and all will be comple-ted in a week. They will then join his regiment,unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and Iunderstand from Mrs. Gardiner, that my nieceis very desirous of seeing you all before sheleaves the South. She is well, and begs to bedutifully remembered to you and your mot-her.—Yours, etc.,

"E. GARDINER."

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the ad-vantages of Wickham's removal from the ——shire as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. ButMrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it.Lydia's being settled in the North, just whenshe had expected most pleasure and pride inher company, for she had by no means givenup her plan of their residing in Hertfordshire,was a severe disappointment; and, besides, itwas such a pity that Lydia should be takenfrom a regiment where she was acquaintedwith everybody, and had so many favourites.

"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it willbe quite shocking to send her away! And thereare several of the young men, too, that she likesvery much. The officers may not be so pleasantin General ——'s regiment."

His daughter's request, for such it might beconsidered, of being admitted into her familyagain before she set off for the North, receivedat first an absolute negative. But Jane and Eli-

zabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake oftheir sister's feelings and consequence, that sheshould be noticed on her marriage by her pa-rents, urged him so earnestly yet so rationallyand so mildly, to receive her and her husbandat Longbourn, as soon as they were married,that he was prevailed on to think as theythought, and act as they wished. And theirmother had the satisfaction of knowing that shewould be able to show her married daughter inthe neighbourhood before she was banished tothe North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to hisbrother, therefore, he sent his permission forthem to come; and it was settled, that as soon asthe ceremony was over, they should proceed toLongbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however,that Wickham should consent to such a scheme,and had she consulted only her own inclina-tion, any meeting with him would have beenthe last object of her wishes.

Chapter 51

Their sister's wedding day arrived; and Janeand Elizabeth felt for her probably more thanshe felt for herself. The carriage was sent tomeet them at ——, and they were to return in itby dinner-time. Their arrival was dreaded bythe elder Miss Bennets, and Jane more especia-lly, who gave Lydia the feelings which wouldhave attended herself, had she been the culprit,and was wretched in the thought of what hersister must endure.

They came. The family were assembled in thebreakfast room to receive them. Smiles deckedthe face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove upto the door; her husband looked impenetrably

grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, unea-sy.

Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; thedoor was thrown open, and she ran into theroom. Her mother stepped forwards, embracedher, and welcomed her with rapture; gave herhand, with an affectionate smile, to Wickham,who followed his lady; and wished them bothjoy with an alacrity which shewed no doubt oftheir happiness.

Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom theythen turned, was not quite so cordial. His coun-tenance rather gained in austerity; and he scar-cely opened his lips. The easy assurance of theyoung couple, indeed, was enough to provokehim. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even MissBennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; un-tamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless.She turned from sister to sister, demandingtheir congratulations; and when at length theyall sat down, looked eagerly round the room,

took notice of some little alteration in it, andobserved, with a laugh, that it was a great whi-le since she had been there.

Wickham was not at all more distressed thanherself, but his manners were always so plea-sing, that had his character and his marriagebeen exactly what they ought, his smiles andhis easy address, while he claimed their rela-tionship, would have delighted them all. Eliza-beth had not before believed him quite equal tosuch assurance; but she sat down, resolvingwithin herself to draw no limits in future to theimpudence of an impudent man. She blushed,and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the twowho caused their confusion suffered no varia-tion of colour.

There was no want of discourse. The bride andher mother could neither of them talk fastenough; and Wickham, who happened to sitnear Elizabeth, began inquiring after his ac-quaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good

humoured ease which she felt very unable toequal in her replies. They seemed each of themto have the happiest memories in the world.Nothing of the past was recollected with pain;and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects which hersisters would not have alluded to for the world.

"Only think of its being three months," shecried, "since I went away; it seems but a fort-night I declare; and yet there have been thingsenough happened in the time. Good gracious!when I went away, I am sure I had no moreidea of being married till I came back again!though I thought it would be very good fun if Iwas."

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distres-sed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia; butshe, who never heard nor saw anything ofwhich she chose to be insensible, gaily conti-nued, "Oh! mamma, do the people hereaboutsknow I am married to-day? I was afraid theymight not; and we overtook William Goulding

in his curricle, so I was determined he shouldknow it, and so I let down the side-glass next tohim, and took off my glove, and let my handjust rest upon the window frame, so that hemight see the ring, and then I bowed and smi-led like anything."

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up,and ran out of the room; and returned no more,till she heard them passing through the hall tothe dining parlour. She then joined them soonenough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walkup to her mother's right hand, and hear her sayto her eldest sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your placenow, and you must go lower, because I am amarried woman."

It was not to be supposed that time would giveLydia that embarrassment from which she hadbeen so wholly free at first. Her ease and goodspirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phi-llips, the Lucases, and all their other neigh-bours, and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wic-

kham" by each of them; and in the mean time,she went after dinner to show her ring, andboast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the twohousemaids.

"Well, mamma," said she, when they were allreturned to the breakfast room, "and what doyou think of my husband? Is not he a charmingman? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. Ionly hope they may have half my good luck.They must all go to Brighton. That is the placeto get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, wedid not all go."

"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. Butmy dear Lydia, I don't at all like your goingsuch a way off. Must it be so?"

"Oh, lord! yes;—there is nothing in that. I shalllike it of all things. You and papa, and my sis-ters, must come down and see us. We shall beat Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there

will be some balls, and I will take care to getgood partners for them all."

"I should like it beyond anything!" said hermother.

"And then when you go away, you may leaveone or two of my sisters behind you; and I daresay I shall get husbands for them before thewinter is over."

"I thank you for my share of the favour," saidElizabeth; "but I do not particularly like yourway of getting husbands."

Their visitors were not to remain above tendays with them. Mr. Wickham had received hiscommission before he left London, and he wasto join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that theirstay would be so short; and she made the mostof the time by visiting about with her daughter,

and having very frequent parties at home. The-se parties were acceptable to all; to avoid a fa-mily circle was even more desirable to such asdid think, than such as did not.

Wickham's affection for Lydia was just whatElizabeth had expected to find it; not equal toLydia's for him. She had scarcely needed herpresent observation to be satisfied, from thereason of things, that their elopement had beenbrought on by the strength of her love, ratherthan by his; and she would have wonderedwhy, without violently caring for her, he choseto elope with her at all, had she not felt certainthat his flight was rendered necessary by di-stress of circumstances; and if that were thecase, he was not the young man to resist anopportunity of having a companion.

Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was herdear Wickham on every occasion; no one wasto be put in competition with him. He did eve-ry thing best in the world; and she was sure he

would kill more birds on the first of September,than any body else in the country.

One morning, soon after their arrival, as shewas sitting with her two elder sisters, she saidto Elizabeth:

"Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wed-ding, I believe. You were not by, when I toldmamma and the others all about it. Are not youcurious to hear how it was managed?"

"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think therecannot be too little said on the subject."

"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you howit went off. We were married, you know, at St.Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were inthat parish. And it was settled that we shouldall be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle andaunt and I were to go together; and the otherswere to meet us at the church. Well, Mondaymorning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was

so afraid, you know, that something wouldhappen to put it off, and then I should havegone quite distracted. And there was my aunt,all the time I was dressing, preaching and tal-king away just as if she was reading a sermon.However, I did not hear above one word in ten,for I was thinking, you may suppose, of mydear Wickham. I longed to know whether hewould be married in his blue coat."

"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; Ithought it would never be over; for, by the bye,you are to understand, that my uncle and auntwere horrid unpleasant all the time I was withthem. If you'll believe me, I did not once putmy foot out of doors, though I was there a fort-night. Not one party, or scheme, or anything.To be sure London was rather thin, but, howe-ver, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and sojust as the carriage came to the door, my unclewas called away upon business to that horridman Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when

once they get together, there is no end of it.Well, I was so frightened I did not know whatto do, for my uncle was to give me away; and ifwe were beyond the hour, we could not be ma-rried all day. But, luckily, he came back againin ten minutes' time, and then we all set out.However, I recollected afterwards that if he hadbeen prevented going, the wedding need not beput off, for Mr. Darcy might have done aswell."

"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter ama-zement.

"Oh, yes!—he was to come there with Wic-kham, you know. But gracious me! I quite for-got! I ought not to have said a word about it. Ipromised them so faithfully! What will Wic-kham say? It was to be such a secret!"

"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not anot-her word on the subject. You may depend uponmy seeking no further."

"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burningwith curiosity; "we will ask you no questions."

"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, Ishould certainly tell you all, and then Wickhamwould be angry."

On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth wasforced to put it out of her power, by runningaway.

But to live in ignorance on such a point wasimpossible; or at least it was impossible not totry for information. Mr. Darcy had been at hersister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, andexactly among people, where he had apparen-tly least to do, and least temptation to go. Con-jectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild,hurried into her brain; but she was satisfiedwith none. Those that best pleased her, as pla-cing his conduct in the noblest light, seemedmost improbable. She could not bear such sus-pense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,

wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request anexplanation of what Lydia had dropt, if it werecompatible with the secrecy which had beenintended.

"You may readily comprehend," she added,"what my curiosity must be to know how aperson unconnected with any of us, and (com-paratively speaking) a stranger to our family,should have been amongst you at such a time.Pray write instantly, and let me understand it—unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remainin the secrecy which Lydia seems to think ne-cessary; and then I must endeavour to be satis-fied with ignorance."

"Not that I shall, though," she added to herself,as she finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, ifyou do not tell me in an honourable manner, Ishall certainly be reduced to tricks and strata-gems to find it out."

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allowher to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Ly-dia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it;—till itappeared whether her inquiries would receiveany satisfaction, she had rather be without aconfidante.

Chapter 52

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving ananswer to her letter as soon as she possiblycould. She was no sooner in possession of itthan, hurrying into the little copse, where shewas least likely to be interrupted, she sat downon one of the benches and prepared to be hap-py; for the length of the letter convinced herthat it did not contain a denial.

"Gracechurch street, Sept. 6.

"MY DEAR NIECE,

"I have just received your letter, and shall devo-te this whole morning to answering it, as I fore-see that a little writing will not comprise what Ihave to tell you. I must confess myself surpri-sed by your application; I did not expect it fromyou. Don't think me angry, however, for I onlymean to let you know that I had not imaginedsuch inquiries to be necessary on your side. Ifyou do not choose to understand me, forgivemy impertinence. Your uncle is as much surpri-sed as I am—and nothing but the belief of yourbeing a party concerned would have allowedhim to act as he has done. But if you are reallyinnocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit.

"On the very day of my coming home fromLongbourn, your uncle had a most unexpectedvisitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up withhim several hours. It was all over before I arri-ved; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully rac-

ked as yours seems to have been. He came totell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out whereyour sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that hehad seen and talked with them both; Wickhamrepeatedly, Lydia once. From what I can collect,he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves,and came to town with the resolution of hun-ting for them. The motive professed was hisconviction of its being owing to himself thatWickham's worthlessness had not been so wellknown as to make it impossible for any youngwoman of character to love or confide in him.He generously imputed the whole to his mista-ken pride, and confessed that he had beforethought it beneath him to lay his private actionsopen to the world. His character was to speakfor itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to stepforward, and endeavour to remedy an evilwhich had been brought on by himself. If hehad another motive, I am sure it would neverdisgrace him. He had been some days in town,before he was able to discover them; but he had

something to direct his search, which was morethan we had; and the consciousness of this wasanother reason for his resolving to follow us.

"There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, whowas some time ago governess to Miss Darcy,and was dismissed from her charge on somecause of disapprobation, though he did not saywhat. She then took a large house in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by let-ting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew,intimately acquainted with Wickham; and hewent to her for intelligence of him as soon as hegot to town. But it was two or three days beforehe could get from her what he wanted. Shewould not betray her trust, I suppose, withoutbribery and corruption, for she really did knowwhere her friend was to be found. Wickhamindeed had gone to her on their first arrival inLondon, and had she been able to receive theminto her house, they would have taken up theirabode with her. At length, however, our kind

friend procured the wished-for direction. Theywere in —— street. He saw Wickham, and af-terwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first ob-ject with her, he acknowledged, had been topersuade her to quit her present disgracefulsituation, and return to her friends as soon asthey could be prevailed on to receive her, offe-ring his assistance, as far as it would go. But hefound Lydia absolutely resolved on remainingwhere she was. She cared for none of herfriends; she wanted no help of his; she wouldnot hear of leaving Wickham. She was surethey should be married some time or other, andit did not much signify when. Since such wereher feelings, it only remained, he thought, tosecure and expedite a marriage, which, in hisvery first conversation with Wickham, he easilylearnt had never been his design. He confessedhimself obliged to leave the regiment, on ac-count of some debts of honour, which werevery pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly

alone. He meant to resign his commission im-mediately; and as to his future situation, hecould conjecture very little about it. He must gosomewhere, but he did not know where, and heknew he should have nothing to live on.

"Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not marriedyour sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was notimagined to be very rich, he would have beenable to do something for him, and his situationmust have been benefited by marriage. But hefound, in reply to this question, that Wickhamstill cherished the hope of more effectually ma-king his fortune by marriage in some othercountry. Under such circumstances, however,he was not likely to be proof against the temp-tation of immediate relief.

"They met several times, for there was much tobe discussed. Wickham of course wanted morethan he could get; but at length was reduced tobe reasonable.

"Every thing being settled between them, Mr.Darcy's next step was to make your uncle ac-quainted with it, and he first called in Grace-church street the evening before I came home.But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and Mr.Darcy found, on further inquiry, that your fat-her was still with him, but would quit town thenext morning. He did not judge your father tobe a person whom he could so properly consultas your uncle, and therefore readily postponedseeing him till after the departure of the former.He did not leave his name, and till the next dayit was only known that a gentleman had calledon business.

"On Saturday he came again. Your father wasgone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before,they had a great deal of talk together.

"They met again on Sunday, and then I sawhim too. It was not all settled before Monday:as soon as it was, the express was sent off toLongbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate.

I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defectof his character, after all. He has been accusedof many faults at different times, but this is thetrue one. Nothing was to be done that he didnot do himself; though I am sure (and I do notspeak it to be thanked, therefore say nothingabout it), your uncle would most readily havesettled the whole.

"They battled it together for a long time, whichwas more than either the gentleman or ladyconcerned in it deserved. But at last your unclewas forced to yield, and instead of being allo-wed to be of use to his niece, was forced to putup with only having the probable credit of it,which went sorely against the grain; and I rea-lly believe your letter this morning gave himgreat pleasure, because it required an explana-tion that would rob him of his borrowed feat-hers, and give the praise where it was due. But,Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, orJane at most.

"You know pretty well, I suppose, what hasbeen done for the young people. His debts areto be paid, amounting, I believe, to considera-bly more than a thousand pounds, anotherthousand in addition to her own settled uponher, and his commission purchased. The reasonwhy all this was to be done by him alone, wassuch as I have given above. It was owing tohim, to his reserve and want of proper conside-ration, that Wickham's character had been somisunderstood, and consequently that he hadbeen received and noticed as he was. Perhapsthere was some truth in this; though I doubtwhether his reserve, or anybody's reserve, can beanswerable for the event. But in spite of all thisfine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest per-fectly assured that your uncle would neverhave yielded, if we had not given him credit foranother interest in the affair.

"When all this was resolved on, he returnedagain to his friends, who were still staying at

Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should bein London once more when the wedding tookplace, and all money matters were then to re-ceive the last finish.

"I believe I have now told you every thing. It isa relation which you tell me is to give you greatsurprise; I hope at least it will not afford youany displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wic-kham had constant admission to the house. Hewas exactly what he had been, when I knewhim in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell youhow little I was satisfied with her behaviourwhile she staid with us, if I had not perceived,by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her con-duct on coming home was exactly of a piecewith it, and therefore what I now tell you cangive you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeated-ly in the most serious manner, representing toher all the wickedness of what she had done,and all the unhappiness she had brought on herfamily. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for

I am sure she did not listen. I was sometimesquite provoked, but then I recollected my dearElizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes had pa-tience with her.

"Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and asLydia informed you, attended the wedding. Hedined with us the next day, and was to leavetown again on Wednesday or Thursday. Willyou be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if Itake this opportunity of saying (what I wasnever bold enough to say before) how much Ilike him. His behaviour to us has, in every res-pect, been as pleasing as when we were in Der-byshire. His understanding and opinions allplease me; he wants nothing but a little moreliveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, hiswife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever mentioned your name. But sly-ness seems the fashion.

"Pray forgive me if I have been very presu-ming, or at least do not punish me so far as to

exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happytill I have been all round the park. A low phae-ton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would bethe very thing.

"But I must write no more. The children havebeen wanting me this half hour.

"Yours, very sincerely,"M. GARDINER."

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into aflutter of spirits, in which it was difficult todetermine whether pleasure or pain bore thegreatest share. The vague and unsettled suspi-cions which uncertainty had produced of whatMr. Darcy might have been doing to forwardher sister's match, which she had feared to en-courage as an exertion of goodness too great tobe probable, and at the same time dreaded tobe just, from the pain of obligation, were pro-ved beyond their greatest extent to be true! Hehad followed them purposely to town, he had

taken on himself all the trouble and mortifica-tion attendant on such a research; in whichsupplication had been necessary to a womanwhom he must abominate and despise, andwhere he was reduced to meet, frequently me-et, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, theman whom he always most wished to avoid,and whose very name it was punishment tohim to pronounce. He had done all this for agirl whom he could neither regard nor esteem.Her heart did whisper that he had done it forher. But it was a hope shortly checked by otherconsiderations, and she soon felt that even hervanity was insufficient, when required to de-pend on his affection for her—for a womanwho had already refused him—as able to over-come a sentiment so natural as abhorrenceagainst relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must re-volt from the connection. He had, to be sure,done much. She was ashamed to think howmuch. But he had given a reason for his interfe-

rence, which asked no extraordinary stretch ofbelief. It was reasonable that he should feel hehad been wrong; he had liberality, and he hadthe means of exercising it; and though shewould not place herself as his principal indu-cement, she could, perhaps, believe that remai-ning partiality for her might assist his endea-vours in a cause where her peace of mind mustbe materially concerned. It was painful, excee-dingly painful, to know that they were underobligations to a person who could never receivea return. They owed the restoration of Lydia,her character, every thing, to him. Oh! howheartily did she grieve over every ungracioussensation she had ever encouraged, every sau-cy speech she had ever directed towards him.For herself she was humbled; but she wasproud of him. Proud that in a cause of compas-sion and honour, he had been able to get thebetter of himself. She read over her aunt'scommendation of him again and again. It washardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even

sensible of some pleasure, though mixed withregret, on finding how steadfastly both she andher uncle had been persuaded that affectionand confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcyand herself.

She was roused from her seat, and her reflec-tions, by some one's approach; and before shecould strike into another path, she was overta-ken by Wickham.

"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble,my dear sister?" said he, as he joined her.

"You certainly do," she replied with a smile;"but it does not follow that the interruptionmust be unwelcome."

"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We werealways good friends; and now we are better."

"True. Are the others coming out?"

"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia aregoing in the carriage to Meryton. And so, mydear sister, I find, from our uncle and aunt, thatyou have actually seen Pemberley."

She replied in the affirmative.

"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I be-lieve it would be too much for me, or else Icould take it in my way to Newcastle. And yousaw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Rey-nolds, she was always very fond of me. But ofcourse she did not mention my name to you."

"Yes, she did."

"And what did she say?"

"That you were gone into the army, and shewas afraid had—not turned out well. At such adistance as that, you know, things are strangelymisrepresented."

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabethhoped she had silenced him; but he soon after-wards said:

"I was surprised to see Darcy in town lastmonth. We passed each other several times. Iwonder what he can be doing there."

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Missde Bourgh," said Elizabeth. "It must be somet-hing particular, to take him there at this time ofyear."

"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you we-re at Lambton? I thought I understood from theGardiners that you had."

"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."

"And do you like her?"

"Very much."

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonlyimproved within this year or two. When I lastsaw her, she was not very promising. I am veryglad you liked her. I hope she will turn outwell."

"I dare say she will; she has got over the mosttrying age."

"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"

"I do not recollect that we did."

"I mention it, because it is the living which Iought to have had. A most delightful place!—Excellent Parsonage House! It would have sui-ted me in every respect."

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

"Exceedingly well. I should have considered itas part of my duty, and the exertion would so-on have been nothing. One ought not to repi-ne;—but, to be sure, it would have been such a

thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such alife would have answered all my ideas of hap-piness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hearDarcy mention the circumstance, when youwere in Kent?"

"I have heard from authority, which I thoughtas good, that it was left you conditionally only,and at the will of the present patron."

"You have. Yes, there was something in that; Itold you so from the first, you may remember."

"I did hear, too, that there was a time, whensermon-making was not so palatable to you asit seems to be at present; that you actually de-clared your resolution of never taking orders,and that the business had been compromisedaccordingly."

"You did! and it was not wholly without foun-dation. You may remember what I told you onthat point, when first we talked of it."

They were now almost at the door of the house,for she had walked fast to get rid of him; andunwilling, for her sister's sake, to provoke him,she only said in reply, with a good-humouredsmile:

"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sis-ter, you know. Do not let us quarrel about thepast. In future, I hope we shall be always of onemind."

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affec-tionate gallantry, though he hardly knew howto look, and they entered the house.

Chapter 53

Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied withthis conversation that he never again distressedhimself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,by introducing the subject of it; and she waspleased to find that she had said enough tokeep him quiet.

The day of his and Lydia's departure soon ca-me, and Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to aseparation, which, as her husband by no meansentered into her scheme of their all going toNewcastle, was likely to continue at least atwelvemonth.

"Oh! my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall wemeet again?"

"Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or threeyears, perhaps."

"Write to me very often, my dear."

"As often as I can. But you know married wo-men have never much time for writing. Mysisters may write to me. They will have nothingelse to do."

Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affec-tionate than his wife's. He smiled, looked hand-some, and said many pretty things.

"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soonas they were out of the house, "as ever I saw.He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to usall. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy evenSir William Lucas himself to produce a morevaluable son-in-law."

The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennetvery dull for several days.

"I often think," said she, "that there is nothingso bad as parting with one's friends. One seemsso forlorn without them."

"This is the consequence, you see, Madam, ofmarrying a daughter," said Elizabeth. "It mustmake you better satisfied that your other fourare single."

"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave mebecause she is married, but only because herhusband's regiment happens to be so far off. Ifthat had been nearer, she would not have goneso soon."

But the spiritless condition which this eventthrew her into was shortly relieved, and hermind opened again to the agitation of hope, byan article of news which then began to be incirculation. The housekeeper at Netherfield hadreceived orders to prepare for the arrival of hermaster, who was coming down in a day or two,to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet

was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, andsmiled and shook her head by turns.

"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is comingdown, sister," (for Mrs. Phillips first broughther the news). "Well, so much the better. Notthat I care about it, though. He is nothing to us,you know, and I am sure I never want to seehim again. But, however, he is very welcome tocome to Netherfield, if he likes it. And whoknows what may happen? But that is nothing tous. You know, sister, we agreed long ago neverto mention a word about it. And so, is it quitecertain he is coming?"

"You may depend on it," replied the other, "forMrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night; I sawher passing by, and went out myself on purpo-se to know the truth of it; and she told me thatit was certain true. He comes down on Thurs-day at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. Shewas going to the butcher's, she told me, onpurpose to order in some meat on Wednesday,

and she has got three couple of ducks just fit tobe killed."

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of hiscoming without changing colour. It was manymonths since she had mentioned his name toElizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alonetogether, she said:

"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when myaunt told us of the present report; and I know Iappeared distressed. But don't imagine it wasfrom any silly cause. I was only confused forthe moment, because I felt that I should be loo-ked at. I do assure you that the news does notaffect me either with pleasure or pain. I amglad of one thing, that he comes alone; becausewe shall see the less of him. Not that I amafraid of myself, but I dread other people's re-marks."

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Hadshe not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have

supposed him capable of coming there with noother view than what was acknowledged; butshe still thought him partial to Jane, and shewavered as to the greater probability of hiscoming there with his friend's permission, orbeing bold enough to come without it.

"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "thatthis poor man cannot come to a house which hehas legally hired, without raising all this specu-lation! I will leave him to himself."

In spite of what her sister declared, and reallybelieved to be her feelings in the expectation ofhis arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive thather spirits were affected by it. They were moredisturbed, more unequal, than she had oftenseen them.

The subject which had been so warmly canvas-sed between their parents, about a twelve-month ago, was now brought forward again.

"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,"said Mrs. Bennet, "you will wait on him ofcourse."

"No, no. You forced me into visiting him lastyear, and promised, if I went to see him, heshould marry one of my daughters. But it en-ded in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool'serrand again."

His wife represented to him how absolutelynecessary such an attention would be from allthe neighbouring gentlemen, on his returningto Netherfield.

"'Tis an etiquette I despise," said he. "If hewants our society, let him seek it. He knowswhere we live. I will not spend my hours inrunning after my neighbours every time theygo away and come back again."

"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominablyrude if you do not wait on him. But, however,

that shan't prevent my asking him to dine here,I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long andthe Gouldings soon. That will make thirteenwith ourselves, so there will be just room attable for him."

Consoled by this resolution, she was the betterable to bear her husband's incivility; though itwas very mortifying to know that her neigh-bours might all see Mr. Bingley, in consequenceof it, before they did. As the day of his arrivaldrew near:

"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," saidJane to her sister. "It would be nothing; I couldsee him with perfect indifference, but I canhardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talkedof. My mother means well; but she does notknow, no one can know, how much I sufferfrom what she says. Happy shall I be, when hisstay at Netherfield is over!"

"I wish I could say anything to comfort you,"replied Elizabeth; "but it is wholly out of mypower. You must feel it; and the usual satisfac-tion of preaching patience to a sufferer is de-nied me, because you have always so much."

Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through theassistance of servants, contrived to have theearliest tidings of it, that the period of anxietyand fretfulness on her side might be as long asit could. She counted the days that must inter-vene before their invitation could be sent; hope-less of seeing him before. But on the third mor-ning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she sawhim, from her dressing-room window, enter thepaddock and ride towards the house.

Her daughters were eagerly called to partake ofher joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at thetable; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, wentto the window—she looked,—she saw Mr. Dar-cy with him, and sat down again by her sister.

"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," saidKitty; "who can it be?"

"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppo-se; I am sure I do not know."

"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that manthat used to be with him before. Mr. what's-his-name. That tall, proud man."

"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!—and so it does, Ivow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will al-ways be welcome here, to be sure; but else Imust say that I hate the very sight of him."

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and con-cern. She knew but little of their meeting inDerbyshire, and therefore felt for the awk-wardness which must attend her sister, in se-eing him almost for the first time after receivinghis explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncom-fortable enough. Each felt for the other, and ofcourse for themselves; and their mother talked

on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolu-tion to be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley'sfriend, without being heard by either of them.But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness whichcould not be suspected by Jane, to whom shehad never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardi-ner's letter, or to relate her own change of sen-timent towards him. To Jane, he could be only aman whose proposals she had refused, andwhose merit she had undervalued; but to herown more extensive information, he was theperson to whom the whole family were indeb-ted for the first of benefits, and whom she re-garded herself with an interest, if not quite sotender, at least as reasonable and just as whatJane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at hiscoming—at his coming to Netherfield, to Long-bourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, wasalmost equal to what she had known on firstwitnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.

The colour which had been driven from herface, returned for half a minute with an addi-tional glow, and a smile of delight added lustreto her eyes, as she thought for that space oftime that his affection and wishes must still beunshaken. But she would not be secure.

"Let me first see how he behaves," said she; "itwill then be early enough for expectation."

She sat intently at work, striving to be compo-sed, and without daring to lift up her eyes, tillanxious curiosity carried them to the face of hersister as the servant was approaching the door.Jane looked a little paler than usual, but moresedate than Elizabeth had expected. On thegentlemen's appearing, her colour increased;yet she received them with tolerable ease, andwith a propriety of behaviour equally free fromany symptom of resentment or any unnecessa-ry complaisance.

Elizabeth said as little to either as civility wouldallow, and sat down again to her work, with aneagerness which it did not often command. Shehad ventured only one glance at Darcy. He loo-ked serious, as usual; and, she thought, more ashe had been used to look in Hertfordshire, thanas she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhapshe could not in her mother's presence be whathe was before her uncle and aunt. It was a pain-ful, but not an improbable, conjecture.

Bingley, she had likewise seen for an instant,and in that short period saw him looking bothpleased and embarrassed. He was received byMrs. Bennet with a degree of civility whichmade her two daughters ashamed, especiallywhen contrasted with the cold and ceremo-nious politeness of her curtsey and address tohis friend.

Elizabeth, particularly, who knew that hermother owed to the latter the preservation ofher favourite daughter from irremediable in-

famy, was hurt and distressed to a most painfuldegree by a distinction so ill applied.

Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner did, a question which she could notanswer without confusion, said scarcely anyt-hing. He was not seated by her; perhaps thatwas the reason of his silence; but it had not be-en so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to herfriends, when he could not to herself. But nowseveral minutes elapsed without bringing thesound of his voice; and when occasionally,unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, sheraised her eyes to his face, she as often foundhim looking at Jane as at herself, and frequentlyon no object but the ground. More thoughtful-ness and less anxiety to please, than when theylast met, were plainly expressed. She was di-sappointed, and angry with herself for beingso.

"Could I expect it to be otherwise!" said she."Yet why did he come?"

She was in no humour for conversation withanyone but himself; and to him she had hardlycourage to speak.

She inquired after his sister, but could do nomore.

"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you wentaway," said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

"I began to be afraid you would never comeback again. People did say you meant to quitthe place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however,I hope it is not true. A great many changes havehappened in the neighbourhood, since youwent away. Miss Lucas is married and settled.And one of my own daughters. I suppose youhave heard of it; indeed, you must have seen itin the papers. It was in The Times and TheCourier, I know; though it was not put in as itought to be. It was only said, 'Lately, George

Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,' withoutthere being a syllable said of her father, or theplace where she lived, or anything. It was mybrother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I won-der how he came to make such an awkwardbusiness of it. Did you see it?"

Bingley replied that he did, and made his con-gratulations. Elizabeth dared not lift up hereyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, shecould not tell.

"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have adaughter well married," continued her mother,"but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is veryhard to have her taken such a way from me.They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quitenorthward, it seems, and there they are to stay Ido not know how long. His regiment is there;for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the——shire, and of his being gone into the regu-lars. Thank Heaven! he has some friends,though perhaps not so many as he deserves."

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr.Darcy, was in such misery of shame, that shecould hardly keep her seat. It drew from her,however, the exertion of speaking, which not-hing else had so effectually done before; andshe asked Bingley whether he meant to makeany stay in the country at present. A few we-eks, he believed.

"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr.Bingley," said her mother, "I beg you will comehere, and shoot as many as you please on Mr.Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastlyhappy to oblige you, and will save all the bestof the covies for you."

Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unneces-sary, such officious attention! Were the samefair prospect to arise at present as had flatteredthem a year ago, every thing, she was persua-ded, would be hastening to the same vexatiousconclusion. At that instant, she felt that years of

happiness could not make Jane or herselfamends for moments of such painful confusion.

"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself,"is never more to be in company with either ofthem. Their society can afford no pleasure thatwill atone for such wretchedness as this! Let menever see either one or the other again!"

Yet the misery, for which years of happinesswere to offer no compensation, received soonafterwards material relief, from observing howmuch the beauty of her sister re-kindled theadmiration of her former lover. When first hecame in, he had spoken to her but little; butevery five minutes seemed to be giving hermore of his attention. He found her as handso-me as she had been last year; as good natured,and as unaffected, though not quite so chatty.Jane was anxious that no difference should beperceived in her at all, and was really persua-ded that she talked as much as ever. But her

mind was so busily engaged, that she did notalways know when she was silent.

When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs.Bennet was mindful of her intended civility,and they were invited and engaged to dine atLongbourn in a few days time.

"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,"she added, "for when you went to town lastwinter, you promised to take a family dinnerwith us, as soon as you returned. I have notforgot, you see; and I assure you, I was verymuch disappointed that you did not come backand keep your engagement."

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection,and said something of his concern at havingbeen prevented by business. They then wentaway.

Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to askthem to stay and dine there that day; but,

though she always kept a very good table, shedid not think anything less than two coursescould be good enough for a man on whom shehad such anxious designs, or satisfy the appeti-te and pride of one who had ten thousand ayear.

Chapter 54

As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walkedout to recover her spirits; or in other words, todwell without interruption on those subjectsthat must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's be-haviour astonished and vexed her.

"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, andindifferent," said she, "did he come at all?"

She could settle it in no way that gave her plea-sure.

"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to myuncle and aunt, when he was in town; and whynot to me? If he fears me, why come hither? Ifhe no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing,teasing, man! I will think no more about him."

Her resolution was for a short time involuntari-ly kept by the approach of her sister, who joi-ned her with a cheerful look, which showed herbetter satisfied with their visitors, than Eliza-beth.

"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over,I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength,and I shall never be embarrassed again by hiscoming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. Itwill then be publicly seen that, on both sides,we meet only as common and indifferent ac-quaintance."

"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said Elizabeth,laughingly. "Oh, Jane, take care."

"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak,as to be in danger now?"

"I think you are in very great danger of makinghim as much in love with you as ever."

They did not see the gentlemen again till Tues-day; and Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, wasgiving way to all the happy schemes, which thegood humour and common politeness of Bin-gley, in half an hour's visit, had revived.

On Tuesday there was a large party assembledat Longbourn; and the two who were mostanxiously expected, to the credit of their punc-tuality as sportsmen, were in very good time.When they repaired to the dining-room, Eliza-beth eagerly watched to see whether Bingleywould take the place, which, in all their former

parties, had belonged to him, by her sister. Herprudent mother, occupied by the same ideas,forbore to invite him to sit by herself. On ente-ring the room, he seemed to hesitate; but Janehappened to look round, and happened to smi-le: it was decided. He placed himself by her.

Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, lookedtowards his friend. He bore it with noble indif-ference, and she would have imagined thatBingley had received his sanction to be happy,had she not seen his eyes likewise turned to-wards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm.

His behaviour to her sister was such, duringdinner time, as showed an admiration of her,which, though more guarded than formerly,persuaded Elizabeth, that if left wholly to him-self, Jane's happiness, and his own, would bespeedily secured. Though she dared not de-pend upon the consequence, she yet receivedpleasure from observing his behaviour. It gave

her all the animation that her spirits could bo-ast; for she was in no cheerful humour. Mr.Darcy was almost as far from her as the tablecould divide them. He was on one side of hermother. She knew how little such a situationwould give pleasure to either, or make eitherappear to advantage. She was not near enoughto hear any of their discourse, but she could seehow seldom they spoke to each other, and howformal and cold was their manner wheneverthey did. Her mother's ungraciousness, madethe sense of what they owed him more painfulto Elizabeth's mind; and she would, at times,have given anything to be privileged to tell himthat his kindness was neither unknown norunfelt by the whole of the family.

She was in hopes that the evening would affordsome opportunity of bringing them together;that the whole of the visit would not pass awaywithout enabling them to enter into somethingmore of conversation than the mere ceremo-

nious salutation attending his entrance.Anxious and uneasy, the period which passedin the drawing-room, before the gentlemencame, was wearisome and dull to a degree thatalmost made her uncivil. She looked forward totheir entrance as the point on which all herchance of pleasure for the evening must de-pend.

"If he does not come to me, then," said she, "Ishall give him up for ever."

The gentlemen came; and she thought he loo-ked as if he would have answered her hopes;but, alas! the ladies had crowded round thetable, where Miss Bennet was making tea, andElizabeth pouring out the coffee, in so close aconfederacy that there was not a single vacancynear her which would admit of a chair. And onthe gentlemen's approaching, one of the girlsmoved closer to her than ever, and said, in awhisper:

"The men shan't come and part us, I am deter-mined. We want none of them; do we?"

Darcy had walked away to another part of theroom. She followed him with her eyes, enviedeveryone to whom he spoke, had scarcely pa-tience enough to help anybody to coffee; andthen was enraged against herself for being sosilly!

"A man who has once been refused! How couldI ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal ofhis love? Is there one among the sex, whowould not protest against such a weakness as asecond proposal to the same woman? There isno indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!"

She was a little revived, however, by his brin-ging back his coffee cup himself; and she seizedthe opportunity of saying:

"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"

"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others havebeen gone on to Scarborough, these three we-eks."

She could think of nothing more to say; but ifhe wished to converse with her, he might havebetter success. He stood by her, however, forsome minutes, in silence; and, at last, on theyoung lady's whispering to Elizabeth again, hewalked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and thecard-tables placed, the ladies all rose, and Eli-zabeth was then hoping to be soon joined byhim, when all her views were overthrown byseeing him fall a victim to her mother's rapacityfor whist players, and in a few moments afterseated with the rest of the party. She now lostevery expectation of pleasure. They were confi-

ned for the evening at different tables, and shehad nothing to hope, but that his eyes were sooften turned towards her side of the room, as tomake him play as unsuccessfully as herself.

Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Net-herfield gentlemen to supper; but their carriagewas unluckily ordered before any of the others,and she had no opportunity of detaining them.

"Well girls," said she, as soon as they were leftto themselves, "What say you to the day? Ithink every thing has passed off uncommonlywell, I assure you. The dinner was as well dres-sed as any I ever saw. The venison was roastedto a turn—and everybody said they never sawso fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times betterthan what we had at the Lucases' last week;and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that thepartridges were remarkably well done; and Isuppose he has two or three French cooks atleast. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you lookin greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I

asked her whether you did not. And what doyou think she said besides? 'Ah! Mrs. Bennet,we shall have her at Netherfield at last.' She didindeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good a crea-ture as ever lived—and her nieces are verypretty behaved girls, and not at all handsome: Ilike them prodigiously."

Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits;she had seen enough of Bingley's behaviour toJane, to be convinced that she would get him atlast; and her expectations of advantage to herfamily, when in a happy humour, were so farbeyond reason, that she was quite disappointedat not seeing him there again the next day, tomake his proposals.

"It has been a very agreeable day," said MissBennet to Elizabeth. "The party seemed so wellselected, so suitable one with the other. I hopewe may often meet again."

Elizabeth smiled.

"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not sus-pect me. It mortifies me. I assure you that Ihave now learnt to enjoy his conversation as anagreeable and sensible young man, withouthaving a wish beyond it. I am perfectly satis-fied, from what his manners now are, that henever had any design of engaging my affection.It is only that he is blessed with greater sweet-ness of address, and a stronger desire of gene-rally pleasing, than any other man."

"You are very cruel," said her sister, "you willnot let me smile, and are provoking me to itevery moment."

"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!"

"And how impossible in others!"

"But why should you wish to persuade me thatI feel more than I acknowledge?"

"That is a question which I hardly know how toanswer. We all love to instruct, though we canteach only what is not worth knowing. Forgiveme; and if you persist in indifference, do notmake me your confidante."

Chapter 55

A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley calledagain, and alone. His friend had left him thatmorning for London, but was to return home inten days time. He sat with them above an hour,and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Ben-net invited him to dine with them; but, withmany expressions of concern, he confessedhimself engaged elsewhere.

"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shallbe more lucky."

He should be particularly happy at any time,etc. etc.; and if she would give him leave,would take an early opportunity of waiting onthem.

"Can you come to-morrow?"

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was accepted withalacrity.

He came, and in such very good time that theladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs.Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressinggown, and with her hair half finished, cryingout:

"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. Heis come—Mr. Bingley is come. He is, indeed.Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to

Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on withher gown. Never mind Miss Lizzy's hair."

"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane;"but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either ofus, for she went up stairs half an hour ago."

"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it?Come be quick, be quick! Where is your sash,my dear?"

But when her mother was gone, Jane would notbe prevailed on to go down without one of hersisters.

The same anxiety to get them by themselveswas visible again in the evening. After tea, Mr.Bennet retired to the library, as was his custom,and Mary went up stairs to her instrument.Two obstacles of the five being thus removed,Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at Eliza-beth and Catherine for a considerable time,without making any impression on them. Eli-

zabeth would not observe her; and when at lastKitty did, she very innocently said, "What is thematter mamma? What do you keep winking atme for? What am I to do?"

"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you."She then sat still five minutes longer; but una-ble to waste such a precious occasion, she sud-denly got up, and saying to Kitty, "Come here,my love, I want to speak to you," took her outof the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Eliza-beth which spoke her distress at such premedi-tation, and her entreaty that she would not givein to it. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half-opened the door and called out:

"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you."

Elizabeth was forced to go.

"We may as well leave them by themselves youknow;" said her mother, as soon as she was in

the hall. "Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit inmy dressing-room."

Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with hermother, but remained quietly in the hall, till sheand Kitty were out of sight, then returned intothe drawing-room.

Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were inef-fectual. Bingley was every thing that wascharming, except the professed lover of herdaughter. His ease and cheerfulness renderedhim a most agreeable addition to their eveningparty; and he bore with the ill-judged offi-ciousness of the mother, and heard all her sillyremarks with a forbearance and command ofcountenance particularly grateful to the daugh-ter.

He scarcely needed an invitation to stay sup-per; and before he went away, an engagementwas formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs.

Bennet's means, for his coming next morning toshoot with her husband.

After this day, Jane said no more of her indiffe-rence. Not a word passed between the sistersconcerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bedin the happy belief that all must speedily beconcluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned withinthe stated time. Seriously, however, she felttolerably persuaded that all this must have ta-ken place with that gentleman's concurrence.

Bingley was punctual to his appointment; andhe and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together,as had been agreed on. The latter was muchmore agreeable than his companion expected.There was nothing of presumption or folly inBingley that could provoke his ridicule, or dis-gust him into silence; and he was more com-municative, and less eccentric, than the otherhad ever seen him. Bingley of course returnedwith him to dinner; and in the evening Mrs.Bennet's invention was again at work to get

every body away from him and her daughter.Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went intothe breakfast room for that purpose soon aftertea; for as the others were all going to sit downto cards, she could not be wanted to counteracther mother's schemes.

But on returning to the drawing-room, whenher letter was finished, she saw, to her infinitesurprise, there was reason to fear that her mot-her had been too ingenious for her. On openingthe door, she perceived her sister and Bingleystanding together over the hearth, as if engagedin earnest conversation; and had this led to nosuspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily tur-ned round and moved away from each other,would have told it all. Their situation wasawkward enough; but hers she thought was stillworse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; andElizabeth was on the point of going awayagain, when Bingley, who as well as the other

had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering afew words to her sister, ran out of the room.

Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth,where confidence would give pleasure; andinstantly embracing her, acknowledged, withthe liveliest emotion, that she was the happiestcreature in the world.

"'Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. Ido not deserve it. Oh! why is not everybody ashappy?"

Elizabeth's congratulations were given with asincerity, a warmth, a delight, which wordscould but poorly express. Every sentence ofkindness was a fresh source of happiness toJane. But she would not allow herself to staywith her sister, or say half that remained to besaid for the present.

"I must go instantly to my mother;" she cried. "Iwould not on any account trifle with her affec-

tionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it fromanyone but myself. He is gone to my fatheralready. Oh! Lizzy, to know that what I have torelate will give such pleasure to all my dearfamily! how shall I bear so much happiness!"

She then hastened away to her mother, whohad purposely broken up the card party, andwas sitting up stairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiledat the rapidity and ease with which an affairwas finally settled, that had given them so ma-ny previous months of suspense and vexation.

"And this," said she, "is the end of all hisfriend's anxious circumspection! of all his sis-ter's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest,wisest, most reasonable end!"

In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley,whose conference with her father had beenshort and to the purpose.

"Where is your sister?" said he hastily, as heopened the door.

"With my mother up stairs. She will be down ina moment, I dare say."

He then shut the door, and, coming up to her,claimed the good wishes and affection of a sis-ter. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressedher delight in the prospect of their relationship.They shook hands with great cordiality; andthen, till her sister came down, she had to listento all he had to say of his own happiness, andof Jane's perfections; and in spite of his being alover, Elizabeth really believed all his expecta-tions of felicity to be rationally founded, becau-se they had for basis the excellent understan-ding, and super-excellent disposition of Jane,and a general similarity of feeling and tastebetween her and himself.

It was an evening of no common delight tothem all; the satisfaction of Miss Bennet's mind

gave a glow of such sweet animation to herface, as made her look handsomer than ever.Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turnwas coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not giveher consent or speak her approbation in termswarm enough to satisfy her feelings, thoughshe talked to Bingley of nothing else for half anhour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them atsupper, his voice and manner plainly showedhow really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allu-sion to it, till their visitor took his leave for thenight; but as soon as he was gone, he turned tohis daughter, and said:

"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a veryhappy woman."

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, andthanked him for his goodness.

"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I havegreat pleasure in thinking you will be so happi-ly settled. I have not a doubt of your doing verywell together. Your tempers are by no meansunlike. You are each of you so complying, thatnothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, thatevery servant will cheat you; and so generous,that you will always exceed your income."

"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessnessin money matters would be unpardonable inme."

"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,"cried his wife, "what are you talking of? Why,he has four or five thousand a year, and verylikely more." Then addressing her daughter,"Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I amsure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. Iknew how it would be. I always said it must beso, at last. I was sure you could not be so beau-tiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever Isaw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire

last year, I thought how likely it was that youshould come together. Oh! he is the handso-mest young man that ever was seen!"

Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane wasbeyond competition her favourite child. At thatmoment, she cared for no other. Her youngersisters soon began to make interest with her forobjects of happiness which she might in futurebe able to dispense.

Mary petitioned for the use of the library atNetherfield; and Kitty begged very hard for afew balls there every winter.

Bingley, from this time, was of course a dailyvisitor at Longbourn; coming frequently beforebreakfast, and always remaining till after sup-per; unless when some barbarous neighbour,who could not be enough detested, had givenhim an invitation to dinner which he thoughthimself obliged to accept.

Elizabeth had now but little time for conversa-tion with her sister; for while he was present,Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else;but she found herself considerably useful toboth of them in those hours of separation thatmust sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane,he always attached himself to Elizabeth, for thepleasure of talking of her; and when Bingleywas gone, Jane constantly sought the same me-ans of relief.

"He has made me so happy," said she, one eve-ning, "by telling me that he was totally ignorantof my being in town last spring! I had not be-lieved it possible."

"I suspected as much," replied Elizabeth. "Buthow did he account for it?"

"It must have been his sister's doing. They werecertainly no friends to his acquaintance withme, which I cannot wonder at, since he mighthave chosen so much more advantageously in

many respects. But when they see, as I trustthey will, that their brother is happy with me,they will learn to be contented, and we shall beon good terms again; though we can never bewhat we once were to each other."

"That is the most unforgiving speech," said Eli-zabeth, "that I ever heard you utter. Good girl!It would vex me, indeed, to see you again thedupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard."

"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when hewent to town last November, he really lovedme, and nothing but a persuasion of my beingindifferent would have prevented his comingdown again!"

"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is tothe credit of his modesty."

This naturally introduced a panegyric fromJane on his diffidence, and the little value heput on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was

pleased to find that he had not betrayed theinterference of his friend; for, though Jane hadthe most generous and forgiving heart in theworld, she knew it was a circumstance whichmust prejudice her against him.

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature thatever existed!" cried Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am Ithus singled from my family, and blessed abo-ve them all! If I could but see you as happy! Ifthere were but such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I nevercould be so happy as you. Till I have your dis-position, your goodness, I never can have yourhappiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and,perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meetwith another Mr. Collins in time."

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn familycould not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet wasprivileged to whisper it to Mrs. Phillips, and

she ventured, without any permission, to dothe same by all her neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to bethe luckiest family in the world, though only afew weeks before, when Lydia had first runaway, they had been generally proved to bemarked out for misfortune.

Chapter 56

One morning, about a week after Bingley's en-gagement with Jane had been formed, as heand the females of the family were sitting to-gether in the dining-room, their attention wassuddenly drawn to the window, by the soundof a carriage; and they perceived a chaise andfour driving up the lawn. It was too early in the

morning for visitors, and besides, the equipagedid not answer to that of any of their neigh-bours. The horses were post; and neither thecarriage, nor the livery of the servant who pre-ceded it, were familiar to them. As it was cer-tain, however, that somebody was coming,Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet toavoid the confinement of such an intrusion, andwalk away with him into the shrubbery. Theyboth set off, and the conjectures of the remai-ning three continued, though with little satis-faction, till the door was thrown open and theirvisitor entered. It was Lady Catherine deBourgh.

They were of course all intending to be surpri-sed; but their astonishment was beyond theirexpectation; and on the part of Mrs. Bennet andKitty, though she was perfectly unknown tothem, even inferior to what Elizabeth felt.

She entered the room with an air more thanusually ungracious, made no other reply to

Elizabeth's salutation than a slight inclinationof the head, and sat down without saying aword. Elizabeth had mentioned her name toher mother on her ladyship's entrance, thoughno request of introduction had been made.

Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flatteredby having a guest of such high importance,received her with the utmost politeness. Aftersitting for a moment in silence, she said verystiffly to Elizabeth,

"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, Isuppose, is your mother."

Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.

"And that I suppose is one of your sisters."

"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet, delighted tospeak to Lady Catherine. "She is my youngestgirl but one. My youngest of all is lately ma-rried, and my eldest is somewhere about the

grounds, walking with a young man who, Ibelieve, will soon become a part of the family."

"You have a very small park here," returnedLady Catherine after a short silence.

"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, mylady, I dare say; but I assure you it is much lar-ger than Sir William Lucas's."

"This must be a most inconvenient sitting roomfor the evening, in summer; the windows arefull west."

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never satthere after dinner, and then added:

"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyshipwhether you left Mr. and Mrs. Collins well."

"Yes, very well. I saw them the night beforelast."

Elizabeth now expected that she would produ-ce a letter for her from Charlotte, as it seemedthe only probable motive for her calling. But noletter appeared, and she was completely puzz-led.

Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged herladyship to take some refreshment; but LadyCatherine very resolutely, and not very polite-ly, declined eating anything; and then, risingup, said to Elizabeth,

"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyishkind of a little wilderness on one side of yourlawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if youwill favour me with your company."

"Go, my dear," cried her mother, "and show herladyship about the different walks. I think shewill be pleased with the hermitage."

Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her ownroom for her parasol, attended her noble guest

downstairs. As they passed through the hall,Lady Catherine opened the doors into the di-ning-parlour and drawing-room, and pronoun-cing them, after a short survey, to be decentlooking rooms, walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Eliza-beth saw that her waiting-woman was in it.They proceeded in silence along the gravelwalk that led to the copse; Elizabeth was de-termined to make no effort for conversationwith a woman who was now more than usuallyinsolent and disagreeable.

"How could I ever think her like her nephew?"said she, as she looked in her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Cat-herine began in the following manner:—

"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to unders-tand the reason of my journey hither. Your own

heart, your own conscience, must tell you whyI come."

Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have notbeen at all able to account for the honour ofseeing you here."

"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angrytone, "you ought to know, that I am not to betrifled with. But however insincere you maychoose to be, you shall not find me so. My cha-racter has ever been celebrated for its sincerityand frankness, and in a cause of such momentas this, I shall certainly not depart from it. Areport of a most alarming nature reached metwo days ago. I was told that not only yoursister was on the point of being most advanta-geously married, but that you, that Miss Eliza-beth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soonafterwards united to my nephew, my ownnephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I know it must be a

scandalous falsehood, though I would not inju-re him so much as to suppose the truth of itpossible, I instantly resolved on setting off forthis place, that I might make my sentimentsknown to you."

"If you believed it impossible to be true," saidElizabeth, colouring with astonishment anddisdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of co-ming so far. What could your ladyship proposeby it?"

"At once to insist upon having such a reportuniversally contradicted."

"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and myfamily," said Elizabeth coolly, "will be rather aconfirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is inexistence."

"If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it?Has it not been industriously circulated by

yourselves? Do you not know that such a re-port is spread abroad?"

"I never heard that it was."

"And can you likewise declare, that there is nofoundation for it?"

"I do not pretend to possess equal franknesswith your ladyship. You may ask questionswhich I shall not choose to answer."

"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist onbeing satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, madeyou an offer of marriage?"

"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossi-ble."

"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retainsthe use of his reason. But your arts and allure-ments may, in a moment of infatuation, havemade him forget what he owes to himself andto all his family. You may have drawn him in."

"If I have, I shall be the last person to confessit."

"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I havenot been accustomed to such language as this. Iam almost the nearest relation he has in theworld, and am entitled to know all his dearestconcerns."

"But you are not entitled to know mine; nor willsuch behaviour as this, ever induce me to beexplicit."

"Let me be rightly understood. This match, towhich you have the presumption to aspire, cannever take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is enga-ged to my daughter. Now what have you tosay?"

"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no rea-son to suppose he will make an offer to me."

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, andthen replied:

"The engagement between them is of a peculiarkind. From their infancy, they have been inten-ded for each other. It was the favourite wish ofhis mother, as well as of hers. While in theircradles, we planned the union: and now, at themoment when the wishes of both sisters wouldbe accomplished in their marriage, to be pre-vented by a young woman of inferior birth, ofno importance in the world, and wholly una-llied to the family! Do you pay no regard to thewishes of his friends? To his tacit engagementwith Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to everyfeeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you notheard me say that from his earliest hours hewas destined for his cousin?"

"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is thatto me? If there is no other objection to mymarrying your nephew, I shall certainly not bekept from it by knowing that his mother and

aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. Youboth did as much as you could in planning themarriage. Its completion depended on others. IfMr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclinationconfined to his cousin, why is not he to makeanother choice? And if I am that choice, whymay not I accept him?"

"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, in-terest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; fordo not expect to be noticed by his family orfriends, if you wilfully act against the inclina-tions of all. You will be censured, slighted, anddespised, by everyone connected with him.Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name willnever even be mentioned by any of us."

"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Eliza-beth. "But the wife of Mr. Darcy must havesuch extraordinary sources of happiness neces-sarily attached to her situation, that she could,upon the whole, have no cause to repine."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed ofyou! Is this your gratitude for my attentions toyou last spring? Is nothing due to me on thatscore? Let us sit down. You are to understand,Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determi-ned resolution of carrying my purpose; nor willI be dissuaded from it. I have not been used tosubmit to any person's whims. I have not beenin the habit of brooking disappointment."

"That will make your ladyship's situation atpresent more pitiable; but it will have no effecton me."

"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence.My daughter and my nephew are formed foreach other. They are descended, on the mater-nal side, from the same noble line; and, on thefather's, from respectable, honourable, and an-cient—though untitled—families. Their fortuneon both sides is splendid. They are destined foreach other by the voice of every member oftheir respective houses; and what is to divide

them? The upstart pretensions of a young wo-man without family, connections, or fortune. Isthis to be endured! But it must not, shall not be.If you were sensible of your own good, youwould not wish to quit the sphere in which youhave been brought up."

"In marrying your nephew, I should not consi-der myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gen-tleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far weare equal."

"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But whowas your mother? Who are your uncles andaunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of theircondition."

"Whatever my connections may be," said Eliza-beth, "if your nephew does not object to them,they can be nothing to you."

"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?"

Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere pur-pose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answe-red this question, she could not but say, after amoment's deliberation:

"I am not."

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

"And will you promise me, never to enter intosuch an engagement?"

"I will make no promise of the kind."

"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. Iexpected to find a more reasonable young wo-man. But do not deceive yourself into a beliefthat I will ever recede. I shall not go away tillyou have given me the assurance I require."

"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not tobe intimidated into anything so wholly unrea-sonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to ma-rry your daughter; but would my giving you

the wished-for promise make their marriage atall more probable? Supposing him to be atta-ched to me, would my refusing to accept hishand make him wish to bestow it on his cou-sin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that thearguments with which you have supported thisextraordinary application have been as frivo-lous as the application was ill-judged. You havewidely mistaken my character, if you think Ican be worked on by such persuasions as these.How far your nephew might approve of yourinterference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but youhave certainly no right to concern yourself inmine. I must beg, therefore, to be importunedno farther on the subject."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no meansdone. To all the objections I have already ur-ged, I have still another to add. I am no stran-ger to the particulars of your youngest sister'sinfamous elopement. I know it all; that theyoung man's marrying her was a patched-up

business, at the expence of your father and un-cles. And is such a girl to be my nephew's sis-ter? Is her husband, is the son of his late father'ssteward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!—of what are you thinking? Are the shades ofPemberley to be thus polluted?"

"You can now have nothing further to say," sheresentfully answered. "You have insulted me inevery possible method. I must beg to return tothe house."

And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rosealso, and they turned back. Her ladyship washighly incensed.

"You have no regard, then, for the honour andcredit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Doyou not consider that a connection with youmust disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?"

"Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say.You know my sentiments."

"You are then resolved to have him?"

"I have said no such thing. I am only resolvedto act in that manner, which will, in my ownopinion, constitute my happiness, without refe-rence to you, or to any person so wholly uncon-nected with me."

"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. Yourefuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, andgratitude. You are determined to ruin him inthe opinion of all his friends, and make him thecontempt of the world."

"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude," re-plied Elizabeth, "have any possible claim onme, in the present instance. No principle ofeither would be violated by my marriage withMr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentmentof his family, or the indignation of the world, ifthe former were excited by his marrying me, itwould not give me one moment's concern—

and the world in general would have too muchsense to join in the scorn."

"And this is your real opinion! This is your finalresolve! Very well. I shall now know how toact. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that yourambition will ever be gratified. I came to tryyou. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, de-pend upon it, I will carry my point."

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, tillthey were at the door of the carriage, when,turning hastily round, she added, "I take noleave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compli-ments to your mother. You deserve no suchattention. I am most seriously displeased."

Elizabeth made no answer; and without at-tempting to persuade her ladyship to returninto the house, walked quietly into it herself.She heard the carriage drive away as she pro-ceeded up stairs. Her mother impatiently mether at the door of the dressing-room, to ask

why Lady Catherine would not come in againand rest herself.

"She did not choose it," said her daughter, "shewould go."

"She is a very fine-looking woman! and hercalling here was prodigiously civil! for she onlycame, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses werewell. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say,and so, passing through Meryton, thought shemight as well call on you. I suppose she hadnothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth was forced to give into a little false-hood here; for to acknowledge the substance oftheir conversation was impossible.

Chapter 57

The discomposure of spirits which this extraor-dinary visit threw Elizabeth into, could not beeasily overcome; nor could she, for manyhours, learn to think of it less than incessantly.Lady Catherine, it appeared, had actually takenthe trouble of this journey from Rosings, for thesole purpose of breaking off her supposed en-gagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a rationalscheme, to be sure! but from what the report oftheir engagement could originate, Elizabethwas at a loss to imagine; till she recollected thathis being the intimate friend of Bingley, and herbeing the sister of Jane, was enough, at a timewhen the expectation of one wedding madeeverybody eager for another, to supply theidea. She had not herself forgotten to feel thatthe marriage of her sister must bring them mo-re frequently together. And her neighbours atLucas Lodge, therefore (for through their com-

munication with the Collinses, the report, sheconcluded, had reached Lady Catherine), hadonly set that down as almost certain and im-mediate, which she had looked forward to aspossible at some future time.

In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions,however, she could not help feeling someuneasiness as to the possible consequence ofher persisting in this interference. From whatshe had said of her resolution to prevent theirmarriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she mustmeditate an application to her nephew; andhow he might take a similar representation ofthe evils attached to a connection with her, shedared not pronounce. She knew not the exactdegree of his affection for his aunt, or his de-pendence on her judgment, but it was naturalto suppose that he thought much higher of herladyship than she could do; and it was certainthat, in enumerating the miseries of a marriagewith one, whose immediate connections were so

unequal to his own, his aunt would addresshim on his weakest side. With his notions ofdignity, he would probably feel that the argu-ments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weakand ridiculous, contained much good sense andsolid reasoning.

If he had been wavering before as to what heshould do, which had often seemed likely, theadvice and entreaty of so near a relation mightsettle every doubt, and determine him at onceto be as happy as dignity unblemished couldmake him. In that case he would return no mo-re. Lady Catherine might see him in her waythrough town; and his engagement to Bingleyof coming again to Netherfield must give way.

"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping hispromise should come to his friend within a fewdays," she added, "I shall know how to unders-tand it. I shall then give over every expectation,every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfiedwith only regretting me, when he might have

obtained my affections and hand, I shall sooncease to regret him at all."

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hea-ring who their visitor had been, was very great;but they obligingly satisfied it, with the samekind of supposition which had appeased Mrs.Bennet's curiosity; and Elizabeth was sparedfrom much teasing on the subject.

The next morning, as she was going downs-tairs, she was met by her father, who came outof his library with a letter in his hand.

"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you;come into my room."

She followed him thither; and her curiosity toknow what he had to tell her was heightenedby the supposition of its being in some mannerconnected with the letter he held. It suddenlystruck her that it might be from Lady Catheri-

ne; and she anticipated with dismay all theconsequent explanations.

She followed her father to the fire place, andthey both sat down. He then said,

"I have received a letter this morning that hasastonished me exceedingly. As it principallyconcerns yourself, you ought to know its con-tents. I did not know before, that I had twodaughters on the brink of matrimony. Let mecongratulate you on a very important con-quest."

The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeksin the instantaneous conviction of its being aletter from the nephew, instead of the aunt; andshe was undetermined whether most to bepleased that he explained himself at all, or of-fended that his letter was not rather addressedto herself; when her father continued:

"You look conscious. Young ladies have greatpenetration in such matters as these; but I thinkI may defy even your sagacity, to discover thename of your admirer. This letter is from Mr.Collins."

"From Mr. Collins! and what can he have tosay?"

"Something very much to the purpose of cour-se. He begins with congratulations on the ap-proaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, ofwhich, it seems, he has been told by some of thegood-natured, gossiping Lucases. I shall notsport with your impatience, by reading what hesays on that point. What relates to yourself, isas follows: 'Having thus offered you the sincerecongratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself onthis happy event, let me now add a short hinton the subject of another; of which we havebeen advertised by the same authority. Yourdaughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will notlong bear the name of Bennet, after her elder

sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner ofher fate may be reasonably looked up to as oneof the most illustrious personages in this land.'

"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meantby this?" 'This young gentleman is blessed, in apeculiar way, with every thing the heart ofmortal can most desire,—splendid property,noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet inspite of all these temptations, let me warn mycousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evilsyou may incur by a precipitate closure with thisgentleman's proposals, which, of course, youwill be inclined to take immediate advantageof.'

"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentlemanis? But now it comes out:

"'My motive for cautioning you is as follows.We have reason to imagine that his aunt, LadyCatherine de Bourgh, does not look on thematch with a friendly eye.'

"Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, Ithink I have surprised you. Could he, or theLucases, have pitched on any man within thecircle of our acquaintance, whose name wouldhave given the lie more effectually to what theyrelated? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at anywoman but to see a blemish, and who probablynever looked at you in his life! It is admirable!"

Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry,but could only force one most reluctant smile.Never had his wit been directed in a manner solittle agreeable to her.

"Are you not diverted?"

"Oh! yes. Pray read on."

"'After mentioning the likelihood of this ma-rriage to her ladyship last night, she immedia-tely, with her usual condescension, expressedwhat she felt on the occasion; when it becameapparent, that on the score of some family ob-

jections on the part of my cousin, she wouldnever give her consent to what she termed sodisgraceful a match. I thought it my duty togive the speediest intelligence of this to mycousin, that she and her noble admirer may beaware of what they are about, and not run has-tily into a marriage which has not been proper-ly sanctioned.' Mr. Collins moreover adds, 'I amtruly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad busi-ness has been so well hushed up, and am onlyconcerned that their living together before themarriage took place should be so generallyknown. I must not, however, neglect the dutiesof my station, or refrain from declaring myamazement at hearing that you received theyoung couple into your house as soon as theywere married. It was an encouragement of vice;and had I been the rector of Longbourn, Ishould very strenuously have opposed it. Youought certainly to forgive them, as a Christian,but never to admit them in your sight, or allowtheir names to be mentioned in your hearing.'

That is his notion of Christian forgiveness! Therest of his letter is only about his dear Charlot-te's situation, and his expectation of a youngolive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you didnot enjoy it. You are not going to be missish, Ihope, and pretend to be affronted at an idlereport. For what do we live, but to make sportfor our neighbours, and laugh at them in ourturn?"

"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diver-ted. But it is so strange!"

"Yes—that is what makes it amusing. Had theyfixed on any other man it would have beennothing; but his perfect indifference, and yourpointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd!Much as I abominate writing, I would not giveup Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consi-deration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I can-not help giving him the preference even overWickham, much as I value the impudence andhypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy,

what said Lady Catherine about this report?Did she call to refuse her consent?"

To this question his daughter replied only witha laugh; and as it had been asked without theleast suspicion, she was not distressed by hisrepeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at aloss to make her feelings appear what they we-re not. It was necessary to laugh, when shewould rather have cried. Her father had mostcruelly mortified her, by what he said of Mr.Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothingbut wonder at such a want of penetration, orfear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little,she might have fancied too much.

Chapter 58

Instead of receiving any such letter of excusefrom his friend, as Elizabeth half expected Mr.Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy withhim to Longbourn before many days had pas-sed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemenarrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had timeto tell him of their having seen his aunt, ofwhich her daughter sat in momentary dread,Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane,proposed their all walking out. It was agreedto. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking;Mary could never spare time; but the remai-ning five set off together. Bingley and Jane,however, soon allowed the others to outstripthem. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth,Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other.Very little was said by either; Kitty was toomuch afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secre-

tly forming a desperate resolution; and perhapshe might be doing the same.

They walked towards the Lucases, because Kit-ty wished to call upon Maria; and as Elizabethsaw no occasion for making it a general con-cern, when Kitty left them she went boldly onwith him alone. Now was the moment for herresolution to be executed, and, while her cou-rage was high, she immediately said:

"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and,for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings,care not how much I may be wounding yours. Ican no longer help thanking you for yourunexampled kindness to my poor sister. Eversince I have known it, I have been most anxiousto acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it.Were it known to the rest of my family, Ishould not have merely my own gratitude toexpress."

"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy,in a tone of surprise and emotion, "that youhave ever been informed of what may, in a mis-taken light, have given you uneasiness. I didnot think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trus-ted."

"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's though-tlessness first betrayed to me that you had beenconcerned in the matter; and, of course, I couldnot rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thankyou again and again, in the name of all my fa-mily, for that generous compassion which in-duced you to take so much trouble, and bear somany mortifications, for the sake of discoveringthem."

"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be foryourself alone. That the wish of giving happi-ness to you might add force to the other indu-cements which led me on, I shall not attempt todeny. But your family owe me nothing. Much asI respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say aword. After a short pause, her companion ad-ded, "You are too generous to trifle with me. Ifyour feelings are still what they were last April,tell me so at once. My affections and wishes areunchanged, but one word from you will silenceme on this subject for ever."

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than commonawkwardness and anxiety of his situation, nowforced herself to speak; and immediately,though not very fluently, gave him to unders-tand that her sentiments had undergone so ma-terial a change, since the period to which healluded, as to make her receive with gratitudeand pleasure his present assurances. The hap-piness which this reply produced, was such ashe had probably never felt before; and he ex-pressed himself on the occasion as sensibly andas warmly as a man violently in love can besupposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able toencounter his eye, she might have seen how

well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffusedover his face, became him; but, though shecould not look, she could listen, and he told herof feelings, which, in proving of what impor-tance she was to him, made his affection everymoment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what di-rection. There was too much to be thought, andfelt, and said, for attention to any other objects.She soon learnt that they were indebted fortheir present good understanding to the effortsof his aunt, who did call on him in her returnthrough London, and there relate her journeyto Longbourn, its motive, and the substance ofher conversation with Elizabeth; dwellingemphatically on every expression of the latterwhich, in her ladyship's apprehension, pecu-liarly denoted her perverseness and assurance;in the belief that such a relation must assist herendeavours to obtain that promise from hernephew which she had refused to give. But,

unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had beenexactly contrariwise.

"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarce-ly ever allowed myself to hope before. I knewenough of your disposition to be certain that,had you been absolutely, irrevocably decidedagainst me, you would have acknowledged itto Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied,"Yes, you know enough of my frankness to be-lieve me capable of that. After abusing you soabominably to your face, I could have no scru-ple in abusing you to all your relations."

"What did you say of me, that I did not deser-ve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, mybehaviour to you at the time had merited theseverest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannotthink of it without abhorrence."

"We will not quarrel for the greater share ofblame annexed to that evening," said Elizabeth."The conduct of neither, if strictly examined,will be irreproachable; but since then, we haveboth, I hope, improved in civility."

"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. Therecollection of what I then said, of my conduct,my manners, my expressions during the wholeof it, is now, and has been many months, inex-pressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so wellapplied, I shall never forget: 'had you behavedin a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those wereyour words. You know not, you can scarcelyconceive, how they have tortured me;—thoughit was some time, I confess, before I was reaso-nable enough to allow their justice."

"I was certainly very far from expecting them tomake so strong an impression. I had not thesmallest idea of their being ever felt in such away."

"I can easily believe it. You thought me thendevoid of every proper feeling, I am sure youdid. The turn of your countenance I shall neverforget, as you said that I could not have addres-sed you in any possible way that would induceyou to accept me."

"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These reco-llections will not do at all. I assure you that Ihave long been most heartily ashamed of it."

Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he,"did it soon make you think better of me? Didyou, on reading it, give any credit to its con-tents?"

She explained what its effect on her had been,and how gradually all her former prejudiceshad been removed.

"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must giveyou pain, but it was necessary. I hope you havedestroyed the letter. There was one part espe-

cially, the opening of it, which I should dreadyour having the power of reading again. I canremember some expressions which might justlymake you hate me."

"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you belie-ve it essential to the preservation of my regard;but, though we have both reason to think myopinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, Ihope, quite so easily changed as that implies."

"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "Ibelieved myself perfectly calm and cool, but Iam since convinced that it was written in a dre-adful bitterness of spirit."

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but itdid not end so. The adieu is charity itself. Butthink no more of the letter. The feelings of theperson who wrote, and the person who recei-ved it, are now so widely different from whatthey were then, that every unpleasant circums-tance attending it ought to be forgotten. You

must learn some of my philosophy. Think onlyof the past as its remembrance gives you plea-sure."

"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy ofthe kind. Your retrospections must be so totallyvoid of reproach, that the contentment arisingfrom them is not of philosophy, but, what ismuch better, of innocence. But with me, it is notso. Painful recollections will intrude whichcannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I havebeen a selfish being all my life, in practice,though not in principle. As a child I was taughtwhat was right, but I was not taught to correctmy temper. I was given good principles, butleft to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfor-tunately an only son (for many years an onlychild), I was spoilt by my parents, who, thoughgood themselves (my father, particularly, allthat was benevolent and amiable), allowed,encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish andoverbearing; to care for none beyond my own

family circle; to think meanly of all the rest ofthe world; to wish at least to think meanly oftheir sense and worth compared with my own.Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; andsuch I might still have been but for you, dea-rest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you!You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first,but most advantageous. By you, I was properlyhumbled. I came to you without a doubt of myreception. You showed me how insufficientwere all my pretensions to please a womanworthy of being pleased."

"Had you then persuaded yourself that Ishould?"

"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vani-ty? I believed you to be wishing, expecting myaddresses."

"My manners must have been in fault, but notintentionally, I assure you. I never meant todeceive you, but my spirits might often lead me

wrong. How you must have hated me after thatevening?"

"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but myanger soon began to take a proper direction."

"I am almost afraid of asking what you thoughtof me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamedme for coming?"

"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."

"Your surprise could not be greater than mine inbeing noticed by you. My conscience told methat I deserved no extraordinary politeness,and I confess that I did not expect to receivemore than my due."

"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to showyou, by every civility in my power, that I wasnot so mean as to resent the past; and I hopedto obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your illopinion, by letting you see that your reproofs

had been attended to. How soon any otherwishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell,but I believe in about half an hour after I hadseen you."

He then told her of Georgiana's delight in heracquaintance, and of her disappointment at itssudden interruption; which naturally leadingto the cause of that interruption, she soon learntthat his resolution of following her from Der-byshire in quest of her sister had been formedbefore he quitted the inn, and that his gravityand thoughtfulness there had arisen from noother struggles than what such a purpose mustcomprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it wastoo painful a subject to each, to be dwelt onfarther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely man-ner, and too busy to know anything about it,

they found at last, on examining their watches,that it was time to be at home.

"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!"was a wonder which introduced the discussionof their affairs. Darcy was delighted with theirengagement; his friend had given him the ear-liest information of it.

"I must ask whether you were surprised?" saidElizabeth.

"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that itwould soon happen."

"That is to say, you had given your permission.I guessed as much." And though he exclaimedat the term, she found that it had been prettymuch the case.

"On the evening before my going to London,"said he, "I made a confession to him, which Ibelieve I ought to have made long ago. I told

him of all that had occurred to make my formerinterference in his affairs absurd and imperti-nent. His surprise was great. He had never hadthe slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover,that I believed myself mistaken in supposing,as I had done, that your sister was indifferent tohim; and as I could easily perceive that his at-tachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubtof their happiness together."

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easymanner of directing his friend.

"Did you speak from your own observation,"said she, "when you told him that my sisterloved him, or merely from my information lastspring?"

"From the former. I had narrowly observed herduring the two visits which I had lately madehere; and I was convinced of her affection."

"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carriedimmediate conviction to him."

"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest.His diffidence had prevented his depending onhis own judgment in so anxious a case, but hisreliance on mine made every thing easy. I wasobliged to confess one thing, which for a time,and not unjustly, offended him. I could notallow myself to conceal that your sister hadbeen in town three months last winter, that Ihad known it, and purposely kept it from him.He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded,lasted no longer than he remained in any doubtof your sister's sentiments. He has heartily for-given me now."

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingleyhad been a most delightful friend; so easilyguided that his worth was invaluable; but shechecked herself. She remembered that he hadyet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rathertoo early to begin. In anticipating the happiness

of Bingley, which of course was to be inferioronly to his own, he continued the conversationtill they reached the house. In the hall they par-ted.

Chapter 59

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been wal-king to?" was a question which Elizabeth recei-ved from Jane as soon as she entered their ro-om, and from all the others when they satdown to table. She had only to say in reply, thatthey had wandered about, till she was beyondher own knowledge. She coloured as she spoke;but neither that, nor anything else, awakened asuspicion of the truth.

The evening passed quietly, unmarked byanything extraordinary. The acknowledgedlovers talked and laughed, the unacknowled-ged were silent. Darcy was not of a dispositionin which happiness overflows in mirth; andElizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knewthat she was happy than felt herself to be so;for, besides the immediate embarrassment, the-re were other evils before her. She anticipatedwhat would be felt in the family when her si-tuation became known; she was aware that noone liked him but Jane; and even feared thatwith the others it was a dislike which not all hisfortune and consequence might do away.

At night she opened her heart to Jane. Thoughsuspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's ge-neral habits, she was absolutely increduloushere.

"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!—engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall notdeceive me. I know it to be impossible."

"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My soledependence was on you; and I am sure nobodyelse will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, Iam in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. Hestill loves me, and we are engaged."

Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! itcannot be. I know how much you dislike him."

"You know nothing of the matter. That is all tobe forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him sowell as I do now. But in such cases as these, agood memory is unpardonable. This is the lasttime I shall ever remember it myself."

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Eliza-beth again, and more seriously assured her ofits truth.

"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now Imust believe you," cried Jane. "My dear, dearLizzy, I would—I do congratulate you—but are

you certain? forgive the question—are you qui-te certain that you can be happy with him?"

"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled bet-ween us already, that we are to be the happiestcouple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane?Shall you like to have such a brother?"

"Very, very much. Nothing could give eitherBingley or myself more delight. But we consi-dered it, we talked of it as impossible. And doyou really love him quite well enough? Oh,Lizzy! do anything rather than marry withoutaffection. Are you quite sure that you feel whatyou ought to do?"

"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than Iought to do, when I tell you all."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I must confess that I love him better thanI do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry."

"My dearest sister, now be serious. I want totalk very seriously. Let me know every thingthat I am to know, without delay. Will you tellme how long you have loved him?"

"It has been coming on so gradually, that Ihardly know when it began. But I believe Imust date it from my first seeing his beautifulgrounds at Pemberley."

Another entreaty that she would be serious,however, produced the desired effect; and shesoon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances ofattachment. When convinced on that article,Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish.

"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you willbe as happy as myself. I always had a value forhim. Were it for nothing but his love of you, Imust always have esteemed him; but now, asBingley's friend and your husband, there can beonly Bingley and yourself more dear to me. ButLizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved

with me. How little did you tell me of whatpassed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe allthat I know of it to another, not to you."

Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy.She had been unwilling to mention Bingley;and the unsettled state of her own feelings hadmade her equally avoid the name of his friend.But now she would no longer conceal from herhis share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknow-ledged, and half the night spent in conversa-tion.

"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she sto-od at a window the next morning, "if that disa-greeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here againwith our dear Bingley! What can he mean bybeing so tiresome as to be always coming here?I had no notion but he would go a-shooting, orsomething or other, and not disturb us with hiscompany. What shall we do with him? Lizzy,

you must walk out with him again, that he maynot be in Bingley's way."

Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so con-venient a proposal; yet was really vexed thather mother should be always giving him suchan epithet.

As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at herso expressively, and shook hands with suchwarmth, as left no doubt of his good informa-tion; and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs.Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts inwhich Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"

"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," saidMrs. Bennet, "to walk to Oakham Mount thismorning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcyhas never seen the view."

"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr.Bingley; "but I am sure it will be too much forKitty. Won't it, Kitty?" Kitty owned that she

had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a gre-at curiosity to see the view from the Mount,and Elizabeth silently consented. As she wentup stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followedher, saying:

"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should beforced to have that disagreeable man all toyourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it isall for Jane's sake, you know; and there is nooccasion for talking to him, except just now andthen. So, do not put yourself to inconvenience."

During their walk, it was resolved that Mr.Bennet's consent should be asked in the courseof the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself theapplication for her mother's. She could not de-termine how her mother would take it; some-times doubting whether all his wealth andgrandeur would be enough to overcome herabhorrence of the man. But whether she wereviolently set against the match, or violentlydelighted with it, it was certain that her manner

would be equally ill adapted to do credit to hersense; and she could no more bear that Mr.Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy,than the first vehemence of her disapprobation.

In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrewto the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also andfollow him, and her agitation on seeing it wasextreme. She did not fear her father's opposi-tion, but he was going to be made unhappy;and that it should be through her means—thatshe, his favourite child, should be distressinghim by her choice, should be filling him withfears and regrets in disposing of her—was awretched reflection, and she sat in misery tillMr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking athim, she was a little relieved by his smile. In afew minutes he approached the table where shewas sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending toadmire her work said in a whisper, "Go to your

father, he wants you in the library." She wasgone directly.

Her father was walking about the room, loo-king grave and anxious. "Lizzy," said he, "whatare you doing? Are you out of your senses, tobe accepting this man? Have not you alwayshated him?"

How earnestly did she then wish that her for-mer opinions had been more reasonable, herexpressions more moderate! It would have spa-red her from explanations and professionswhich it was exceedingly awkward to give; butthey were now necessary, and she assured him,with some confusion, of her attachment to Mr.Darcy.

"Or, in other words, you are determined tohave him. He is rich, to be sure, and you mayhave more fine clothes and fine carriages thanJane. But will they make you happy?"

"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth,"than your belief of my indifference?"

"None at all. We all know him to be a proud,unpleasant sort of man; but this would be not-hing if you really liked him."

"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears inher eyes, "I love him. Indeed he has no impro-per pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do notknow what he really is; then pray do not painme by speaking of him in such terms."

"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him myconsent. He is the kind of man, indeed, towhom I should never dare refuse anything,which he condescended to ask. I now give it toyou, if you are resolved on having him. But letme advise you to think better of it. I know yourdisposition, Lizzy. I know that you could beneither happy nor respectable, unless you trulyesteemed your husband; unless you looked upto him as a superior. Your lively talents would

place you in the greatest danger in an unequalmarriage. You could scarcely escape discreditand misery. My child, let me not have the griefof seeing you unable to respect your partner inlife. You know not what you are about."

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest andsolemn in her reply; and at length, by repeatedassurances that Mr. Darcy was really the objectof her choice, by explaining the gradual changewhich her estimation of him had undergone,relating her absolute certainty that his affectionwas not the work of a day, but had stood thetest of many months' suspense, and enumera-ting with energy all his good qualities, she didconquer her father's incredulity, and reconcilehim to the match.

"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceasedspeaking, "I have no more to say. If this be thecase, he deserves you. I could not have partedwith you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."

To complete the favourable impression, shethen told him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarilydone for Lydia. He heard her with astonish-ment.

"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so,Darcy did every thing; made up the match,gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, andgot him his commission! So much the better. Itwill save me a world of trouble and economy.Had it been your uncle's doing, I must andwould have paid him; but these violent younglovers carry every thing their own way. I shalloffer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant andstorm about his love for you, and there will bean end of the matter."

He then recollected her embarrassment a fewdays before, on his reading Mr. Collins's letter;and after laughing at her some time, allowedher at last to go—saying, as she quitted the ro-om, "If any young men come for Mary or Kitty,send them in, for I am quite at leisure."

Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a veryheavy weight; and, after half an hour's quietreflection in her own room, she was able to jointhe others with tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for gaiety, but the eveningpassed tranquilly away; there was no longeranything material to be dreaded, and the com-fort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her, and made theimportant communication. Its effect was mostextraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Ben-net sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable.Nor was it under many, many minutes that shecould comprehend what she heard; though notin general backward to credit what was for theadvantage of her family, or that came in theshape of a lover to any of them. She began atlength to recover, to fidget about in her chair,get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless her-self.

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dearme! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it!And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy!how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you willhave! Jane's is nothing to it—nothing at all. Iam so pleased—so happy. Such a charmingman!—so handsome! so tall!—Oh, my dearLizzy! pray apologise for my having dislikedhim so much before. I hope he will overlook it.Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thingthat is charming! Three daughters married! Tenthousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will becomeof me. I shall go distracted."

This was enough to prove that her approbationneed not be doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicingthat such an effusion was heard only by herself,soon went away. But before she had been threeminutes in her own room, her mother followedher.

"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think ofnothing else! Ten thousand a year, and verylikely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord! And a spe-cial licence. You must and shall be married by aspecial licence. But my dearest love, tell mewhat dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of,that I may have it to-morrow."

This was a sad omen of what her mother's be-haviour to the gentleman himself might be; andElizabeth found that, though in the certain pos-session of his warmest affection, and secure ofher relations' consent, there was still somethingto be wished for. But the morrow passed offmuch better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennetluckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him,unless it was in her power to offer him any at-tention, or mark her deference for his opinion.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her fat-her taking pains to get acquainted with him;

and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he wasrising every hour in his esteem.

"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," saidhe. "Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but Ithink I shall like your husband quite as well asJane's."

Chapter 60

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulnessagain, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for hishaving ever fallen in love with her. "How couldyou begin?" said she. "I can comprehend yourgoing on charmingly, when you had once madea beginning; but what could set you off in thefirst place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or thelook, or the words, which laid the foundation.It is too long ago. I was in the middle before Iknew that I had begun."

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as formy manners—my behaviour to you was at leastalways bordering on the uncivil, and I neverspoke to you without rather wishing to giveyou pain than not. Now be sincere; did youadmire me for my impertinence?"

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. Itwas very little less. The fact is, that you weresick of civility, of deference, of officious atten-tion. You were disgusted with the women whowere always speaking, and looking, and thin-king for your approbation alone. I roused, andinterested you, because I was so unlike them.Had you not been really amiable, you wouldhave hated me for it; but in spite of the pains

you took to disguise yourself, your feelingswere always noble and just; and in your heart,you thoroughly despised the persons who soassiduously courted you. There—I have savedyou the trouble of accounting for it; and really,all things considered, I begin to think it perfec-tly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actualgood of me—but nobody thinks of that whenthey fall in love."

"Was there no good in your affectionate be-haviour to Jane while she was ill at Nether-field?"

"Dearest Jane! who could have done less forher? But make a virtue of it by all means. Mygood qualities are under your protection, andyou are to exaggerate them as much as possi-ble; and, in return, it belongs to me to find oc-casions for teasing and quarrelling with you asoften as may be; and I shall begin directly byasking you what made you so unwilling to co-me to the point at last. What made you so shy

of me, when you first called, and afterwardsdined here? Why, especially, when you called,did you look as if you did not care about me?"

"Because you were grave and silent, and gaveme no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when youcame to dinner."

"A man who had felt less, might."

"How unlucky that you should have a reasona-ble answer to give, and that I should be so rea-sonable as to admit it! But I wonder how longyou would have gone on, if you had been left toyourself. I wonder when you would have spo-ken, if I had not asked you! My resolution ofthanking you for your kindness to Lydia hadcertainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for

what becomes of the moral, if our comfortsprings from a breach of promise? for I oughtnot to have mentioned the subject. This willnever do."

"You need not distress yourself. The moral willbe perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiableendeavours to separate us were the means ofremoving all my doubts. I am not indebted formy present happiness to your eager desire ofexpressing your gratitude. I was not in ahumour to wait for any opening of yours. Myaunt's intelligence had given me hope, and Iwas determined at once to know every thing."

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, whichought to make her happy, for she loves to be ofuse. But tell me, what did you come down toNetherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Long-bourn and be embarrassed? or had you inten-ded any more serious consequence?"

"My real purpose was to see you, and to judge,if I could, whether I might ever hope to makeyou love me. My avowed one, or what I avo-wed to myself, was to see whether your sisterwere still partial to Bingley, and if she were, tomake the confession to him which I have sincemade."

"Shall you ever have courage to announce toLady Catherine what is to befall her?"

"I am more likely to want more time than cou-rage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and ifyou will give me a sheet of paper, it shall bedone directly."

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, Imight sit by you and admire the evenness ofyour writing, as another young lady once did.But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longerneglected."

From an unwillingness to confess how muchher intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs.Gardiner's long letter; but now, having that tocommunicate which she knew would be mostwelcome, she was almost ashamed to find thather uncle and aunt had already lost three daysof happiness, and immediately wrote as fo-llows:

"I would have thanked you before, my dearaunt, as I ought to have done, for your long,kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but tosay the truth, I was too cross to write. You sup-posed more than really existed. But now suppo-se as much as you choose; give a loose rein toyour fancy, indulge your imagination in everypossible flight which the subject will afford,and unless you believe me actually married,you cannot greatly err. You must write againvery soon, and praise him a great deal morethan you did in your last. I thank you, again

and again, for not going to the Lakes. Howcould I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of theponies is delightful. We will go round the Parkevery day. I am the happiest creature in theworld. Perhaps other people have said so befo-re, but not one with such justice. I am happiereven than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr.Darcy sends you all the love in the world thathe can spare from me. You are all to come toPemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc."

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in adifferent style; and still different from eitherwas what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, inreply to his last.

"DEAR SIR,

"I must trouble you once more for congratula-tions. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr.Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as youcan. But, if I were you, I would stand by thenephew. He has more to give.

"Yours sincerely, etc."

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother,on his approaching marriage, were all that wasaffectionate and insincere. She wrote even toJane on the occasion, to express her delight, andrepeat all her former professions of regard. Janewas not deceived, but she was affected; andthough feeling no reliance on her, could nothelp writing her a much kinder answer thanshe knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on recei-ving similar information, was as sincere as herbrother's in sending it. Four sides of paper wereinsufficient to contain all her delight, and allher earnest desire of being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Co-llins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth fromhis wife, the Longbourn family heard that theCollinses were come themselves to Lucas Lod-ge. The reason of this sudden removal was so-

on evident. Lady Catherine had been renderedso exceedingly angry by the contents of hernephew's letter, that Charlotte, really rejoicingin the match, was anxious to get away till thestorm was blown over. At such a moment, thearrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure toElizabeth, though in the course of their mee-tings she must sometimes think the pleasuredearly bought, when she saw Mr. Darcy expo-sed to all the parading and obsequious civilityof her husband. He bore it, however, with ad-mirable calmness. He could even listen to SirWilliam Lucas, when he complimented him oncarrying away the brightest jewel of the coun-try, and expressed his hopes of their all mee-ting frequently at St. James's, with very decentcomposure. If he did shrug his shoulders, itwas not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Phillips's vulgarity was another, and per-haps a greater, tax on his forbearance; andthough Mrs. Phillips, as well as her sister, stood

in too much awe of him to speak with the fami-liarity which Bingley's good humour encoura-ged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must bevulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though itmade her more quiet, at all likely to make hermore elegant. Elizabeth did all she could toshield him from the frequent notice of either,and was ever anxious to keep him to herself,and to those of her family with whom he mightconverse without mortification; and though theuncomfortable feelings arising from all thistook from the season of courtship much of itspleasure, it added to the hope of the future; andshe looked forward with delight to the timewhen they should be removed from society solittle pleasing to either, to all the comfort andelegance of their family party at Pemberley.

Chapter 61

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the dayon which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two mostdeserving daughters. With what delighted pri-de she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, andtalked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish Icould say, for the sake of her family, that theaccomplishment of her earnest desire in theestablishment of so many of her children pro-duced so happy an effect as to make her a sen-sible, amiable, well-informed woman for therest of her life; though perhaps it was lucky forher husband, who might not have relished do-mestic felicity in so unusual a form, that shestill was occasionally nervous and invariablysilly.

Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter excee-dingly; his affection for her drew him oftenerfrom home than anything else could do. He

delighted in going to Pemberley, especiallywhen he was least expected.

Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfieldonly a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to hermother and Meryton relations was not desira-ble even to his easy temper, or her affectionateheart. The darling wish of his sisters was thengratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouringcounty to Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth,in addition to every other source of happiness,were within thirty miles of each other.

Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent thechief of her time with her two elder sisters. Insociety so superior to what she had generallyknown, her improvement was great. She wasnot of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia; and,removed from the influence of Lydia's example,she became, by proper attention and manage-ment, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insi-pid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia'ssociety she was of course carefully kept, and

though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her tocome and stay with her, with the promise ofballs and young men, her father would neverconsent to her going.

Mary was the only daughter who remained athome; and she was necessarily drawn from thepursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet'sbeing quite unable to sit alone. Mary was obli-ged to mix more with the world, but she couldstill moralize over every morning visit; and asshe was no longer mortified by comparisonsbetween her sisters' beauty and her own, it wassuspected by her father that she submitted tothe change without much reluctance.

As for Wickham and Lydia, their characterssuffered no revolution from the marriage of hersisters. He bore with philosophy the convictionthat Elizabeth must now become acquaintedwith whatever of his ingratitude and falsehoodhad before been unknown to her; and in spiteof every thing, was not wholly without hope

that Darcy might yet be prevailed on to makehis fortune. The congratulatory letter whichElizabeth received from Lydia on her marriage,explained to her that, by his wife at least, if notby himself, such a hope was cherished. Theletter was to this effect:

"MY DEAR LIZZY,

"I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half aswell as I do my dear Wickham, you must bevery happy. It is a great comfort to have you sorich, and when you have nothing else to do, Ihope you will think of us. I am sure Wickhamwould like a place at court very much, and I donot think we shall have quite money enough tolive upon without some help. Any place woulddo, of about three or four hundred a year; buthowever, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, ifyou had rather not.

"Yours, etc."

As it happened that Elizabeth had much rathernot, she endeavoured in her answer to put anend to every entreaty and expectation of thekind. Such relief, however, as it was in herpower to afford, by the practice of what mightbe called economy in her own private expences,she frequently sent them. It had always beenevident to her that such an income as theirs,under the direction of two persons so extrava-gant in their wants, and heedless of the future,must be very insufficient to their support; andwhenever they changed their quarters, eitherJane or herself were sure of being applied to forsome little assistance towards discharging theirbills. Their manner of living, even when therestoration of peace dismissed them to a home,was unsettled in the extreme. They were al-ways moving from place to place in quest of acheap situation, and always spending morethan they ought. His affection for her soon sunkinto indifference; hers lasted a little longer; andin spite of her youth and her manners, she re-

tained all the claims to reputation which hermarriage had given her.

Though Darcy could never receive him at Pem-berley, yet, for Elizabeth's sake, he assisted himfurther in his profession. Lydia was occasion-ally a visitor there, when her husband wasgone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; andwith the Bingleys they both of them frequentlystaid so long, that even Bingley's good humourwas overcome, and he proceeded so far as totalk of giving them a hint to be gone.

Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified byDarcy's marriage; but as she thought it advis-able to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley,she dropt all her resentment; was fonder thanever of Georgiana, almost as attentive to Darcyas heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civil-ity to Elizabeth.

Pemberley was now Georgiana's home; and theattachment of the sisters was exactly what

Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to loveeach other even as well as they intended. Geor-giana had the highest opinion in the world ofElizabeth; though at first she often listenedwith an astonishment bordering on alarm ather lively, sportive, manner of talking to herbrother. He, who had always inspired in herselfa respect which almost overcame her affection,she now saw the object of open pleasantry. Hermind received knowledge which had neverbefore fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's instruc-tions, she began to comprehend that a womanmay take liberties with her husband which abrother will not always allow in a sister morethan ten years younger than himself.

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on themarriage of her nephew; and as she gave wayto all the genuine frankness of her character inher reply to the letter which announced its ar-rangement, she sent him language so very abu-sive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time

all intercourse was at an end. But at length, byElizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed on tooverlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation;and, after a little further resistance on the partof his aunt, her resentment gave way, either toher affection for him, or her curiosity to seehow his wife conducted herself; and she conde-scended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spiteof that pollution which its woods had received,not merely from the presence of such a mis-tress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt fromthe city.

With the Gardiners, they were always on themost intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Eliza-beth, really loved them; and they were bothever sensible of the warmest gratitude towardsthe persons who, by bringing her into Derby-shire, had been the means of uniting them.