Pride and Prejudice - Vol 3, Chapters 3-5

Chapter 3 Convince as Elizabeth Now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her had originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how very unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley must be to her and was curious to know with how much civility on that lady's side, the acquaintance would now be renewed. On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Miss Windows, opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn. In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley and the lady with whom she lived in London. Georgianna's reception of them was very civil, but attended with all that embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior, the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardner and her niece, however, did her justice and pityed her. By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsy and on there being seated a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments. She was first broken by Miss Ainsley, a gentile, agreeable looking woman, whose endeavor to introduce some kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the others. And between her and Mrs. Gardner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in it, and sometimes did venture a short sentence when there is least danger of its being heard. Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance. But she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished she feared that the master of the house might be amongst them, and whether she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour, without hearing Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold inquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal indifference and gravity, and the others said no more. The variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits and season. But this did not take place till after many a significant look and smile, for Mrs. Ainsley, to Miss Darcy, had been given, to remind her of her post. There is now employment for the whole party. For though they could not all talk, they could all eat. And the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them around the table. While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on his entering the room. And then, though but a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to regret that he came. He had been some time with Mr. Gardner, who, with two or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him only on learning that the ladies of family intended, a visit to Georgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarassed. A resolution the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them. That there was scarcely an eye which don't watch his behavior when he first came into the room. And no countenance was attentive curiosity, so strongly marked as in misbinglies, in spite of the smiles which overspred her face, whenever she spoke to one of its objects. Frigelice had not yet made her desperate, and her tensions Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Mr. Darcy, on her brother's entrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted and forwarded as much as possible every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss Bingley saw all the likewise and in the imprudence of anger took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility. Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the militia removed from Maryton. They must be great loss to your family. In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wyckham's name, but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts, and the various recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress. But exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered the question in a tolerably disengaged tone. While she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with confusion and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint. But she had merely intended to discompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in Darcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that core. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's mediated allotment. To no creature had it been revealed whose secrecy was possible except to Elizabeth, and from all Bingley's connections her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from that very wish Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him of their becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his endeavor to separate him from Miss Bennett, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern for the welfare of his friend. Elizabeth's collected behavior, however, soon quieted his emotion, and as Miss Bingley vexed and disappointed dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak anymore. Her brother, whose eyes she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully. Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above mentioned, and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage, Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person's behavior and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favor. His judgment could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise then lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister. How very ill Eliza Bennett looks this morning, Mr. Darcy, she cried. I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She has grown so brown and coarse. Louise and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again. However, little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented himself with a coolly replying that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of traveling in the summer. From my own part, she rejoined, I must confess that I never could say any beauty in her. Her face is too thin, her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character. There is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable but not out of the common way, and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I never could perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, sure-ish look, which I do not like at all. In her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable. Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending herself. But angry people are not always wise, and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettold, she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, and from a determination of making him speak, she continued, I remember when we first knew her in her torture, how amazed we all were to find that she was her appuded beauty. And I particularly recollect, you're saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, she a beauty. I should as soon call her mother a wit. But afterwards, she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time. Yes, replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, but that was only when I first knew her, for as many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomeest women of my acquaintance. He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction, of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself. Mrs. Gardner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested them both. The looks and behavior of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked of a sister, his friends, his house, his fruit of everything but himself. Yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardner would have been highly gratified by her nieces beginning the subject. Chapter 4 Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane, on their first arrival at Lampton. And this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there. But on the third, her repining was over, and her sister justified by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missced elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill. They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in, and her uncle-in-aunt leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one missced must be first attended to, it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded. But the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect. Since writing the above, dearest Lizzie, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature. But I am afraid of amarming you. Be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. When Express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers, to own the truth with Wycombe. Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides. But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Helpless and indiscreet, I can easily believe him, but this step, and let us rejoice over it, marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested, at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him. We must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as it conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The Express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzie, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot belong from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written. Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth, on finishing this letter, instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience read as follows. It had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first. By this time my dear sister, you have received my hurried letter. I wish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dear, Lizzie, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Improoted as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured to take in place. For there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. No forester came yesterday, having left Brighten the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F gave them to understand that they were going to threaten a green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that Wickham never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel Forester, who instantly taken the alarm, set off, intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to clap them, but no further. Not entering the place they were moved into a hackney-coach and dismissed the shades that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that side, London, Colonel Forester came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the ends and barn and hatfield, but without any success. No such people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came onto Longborn, and broke his apprehensions to us in the manner most credible to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. Forester, but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzie, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Any young woman of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose are so lost to everything? Impossible. I grieved to find, however, that Colonel Forester is not disposed to depend upon their marriage. He shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared Wickham was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill and keeps her room. Could she exert herself it would be better, but this is not to be expected, and as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has angered for having concealed their attachment, but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dear, Lizzie, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes. But now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? Now, I am not so selfish, however, as to press forward, if inconvenient. Ado. I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not, but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forester instantly to try to discover her. What he means to do, I am sure I know not. But his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way. And Colonel Forester is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an exegence, my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world. He will immediately comprehend what I must feel and I rely upon his goodness. Oh, where is my uncle, Cradleysbeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter in eagerness to follow him without losing a moment of the time so precious. But as she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself enough to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardner this moment on business that cannot be delayed. I have not an instant to lose. Good God, what is the matter, Cradleysbeth, with more feeling than politeness, then recollecting himself, I will not detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. You are not well enough. You cannot go yourself. Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him. So and so breathless and accent, as made her almost unintelligible to fetch his master and Mr.'s home instantly. On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so miserably ill that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, let me call you're made. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine shall I get you one? You are very ill. No I thank you, she replied, endeavoring to recover herself. There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from mongborn. She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy and wretched suspense could only say something indistinctly of his concern and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke again. I have just had a letter from Jane with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends, has aloved, has thrown herself into the power of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that contempt him, she has lost forever. Darcy was fixed in astonishment. When I consider she added, and he get more agitated voice, that I might have prevented it, I who knew what he was, had I but explain some part of it only, some part of what I learned to my own family. Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all too late now. I am grieved indeed, cried Darcy, grieved, shocked, but it is certain, absolutely certain. Oh yes, they left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond. They are certainly not gone to Scotland. And what has been done, what has been attempted to recover her? My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? Have I not the smallest hope? It is every way horrible. Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. When my eyes were open to his real character, oh had I known what I ought, what I dared to do, but I knew not. I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake. Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the Roman earnest meditation. His brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking. Everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wander nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consultatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes, and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him as now. And all love must be vain. But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia, the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on the mall, soon swallowed up every private care, and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth, was soon lost to everything else. And after a pause of several minutes was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who in a manner, which though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise, her strength said, I'm afraid you've been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead an excuse of my stay, but real though unavailing concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress? But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposefully to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sisters having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today. Oh, yes, be so kind as to apologize for us to Ms. Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long. He readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations with only one serious parting look went away. As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again, on such terms of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire. And as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance and would formally have rejoiced in its termination. If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty, but if otherwise. If the regards springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a first interview with its object, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defense, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might perhaps authorize her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go with regret. And in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business. Never since reading Jane's second letter had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first letter remained on her mind, she was all surprised, all astonishment that Wickham should marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry for money. And how Lydia could ever have attached him, had appeared incomprehensible. By now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient charms. And though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an allotment, without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling in easy prey. She had never perceived, while the regiment was in hurt for sure, that Lydia had any partiality for him. But she was convinced that Lydia had wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one officer, sometimes another, had been her favorite. As their attentions raised them in her opinion. Her affections had been continually fluctuating, but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence toward such a girl. Oh, how acutely did she now feel it. She was wild to be at home, to hear, to see, to be upon the spot, to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged. A father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance. And though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance. Until he entered the room, the misery of her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardner had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant's account that their niece was taken suddenly ill. But satisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the calls of their summons, reading the two letters aloud and dwelling on the post-script of the last, with trembling energy. Though Lydia had never been a favorite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner could not but be deeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it. And after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardner readily promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less thanked him with tears of gratitude, and all three being actuated by one's spirit, everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to be off as soon as possible. But what is to be done about Pemberley, Mrs. Gardner? John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us. Was it so? Yes, and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. That is all settled. That is all settled, repeated the other, as she ran into her room to prepare. And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was. But wishes were vain, or best could serve only to amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was possible to one's so wretched as herself. But she had her share of business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to all their friends at Lampton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed. And Mr. Gardner, meanwhile, having settled as a count at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go. And Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself in a shorter space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longborn. Chapter V I've been thinking it over again, Elizabeth, said her uncle, as they drove from the town, and really upon serious consideration, I much more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel's family, that I'm strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the regiment after such an affront or colonel forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk. You really think so, Cradle Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment. Upon my words, said Mrs. Gardner, I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honor, and interest for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Can you hear self-lossy, so wholly give him up as to believe him capable of it? Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest, but of every other neglect I can believe him capable. If indeed it should be so, but I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that had been the case? In the first place replied Mr. Gardner, there is no absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland. Oh, but they were moving from the shades into a hackney coach is such a presumption, and besides no traces of them were to be found on the Barnett Road. Well then, supposing them to be in London, they may be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more acceptable purpose. It is not likely that money should be very abundant on either side, and it might strike them that they could be more economically, though less expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland. But why all the secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh, no, no, this is not likely. His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, and what attractions, as she beyond youth, health and good humor, that could make him for her sake, for go every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehension of disgrace in the core might throw on a dishonorable allotment with her, I'm not able to judge, for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But ask your other objection, I'm afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward, and he might imagine from my father's behavior, from his indolence, and the little attention he's ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do his little and think his little about it, as any father could do in such a matter. But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him, as to consent to live with him on any other terms and marriage? It does seem, and it is most shocking, indeed, reply to Lisbeth with tears in her eyes. The distrace of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. But really I know not what to say. Perhaps I'm not doing her justice. But she is very young. She has never been taught to think on serious subjects, and for the last half year, nay for a twelve-month, she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since they were first quartered in Mariton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater, which I call it, susceptibility to her feelings, which are naturally, lively enough. And we all know that Wickham is every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman. But you see that Jane, that are on, does not think so ill of Wickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt. Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there? Whatever might be their former conduct that she would believe capable of such an attempt, that were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word, that he has neither integrity nor honor, that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. And do you really know all this, Cried Mrs. Gardner, whose curiosity is to the mode of her intelligence was still alive? I do indeed reply to Liz with coloring. I told you the other day of his infamous behavior to Mr. Darcy, and you yourself, when last at Longborn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man, who had behaved with such four barons, the liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances, which I am not at liberty, which it is not worthwhile to relate. But his lies about the whole pebbily family are endless. From what he said of Mr. Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He must know that she is as amiable and unpretending as we have found her. But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant of what you and Jane seem so well to understand? Oh, yes, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent and saw so much of Mr. Darcy in his relation, Colonel Fitzwayam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the regiment was to leave Maritan in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the case, neither Jane, or whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public. For of what use could it apparently be to anyone? The good opinion, which all the neighborhood had at him, should then be overthrown. And even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. The cheek would be in any danger from the deception never entered my head. And such a consequence is this should ensue, you may easily believe was far enough for my thoughts. When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each other. Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either side, and had anything of the kind been perceptible. You must be aware that ours is not a family, and which you could be thrown away. When first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him. But so we all were. Every girl in or near Mariton was out of her senses about him for the first two months. But he never distinguished her by any particular attention, and consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment who treated her with more distinction, again became her favorites. It may be easily believed that however little of novelty could be added to their fears, hopes and conjectures on this interesting subject by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent, fixed to there, by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness. They traveled as expeditiously as possible, and sleeping one night on the road reached long-born by dinner time the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been weiried by long expectations. The little gardeners attracted by the sight of the shades were standing on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock, and when the carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces and displayed itself over their whole bodies in a variety of capers and frisks was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome. Elizabeth jumped out, and after giving each of them a hasty kiss hurried into the vestibule, her Jane, who came running downstairs from her mother's apartment, immediately met her. Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, while tears filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been heard of the fugitives. Not yet replied Jane, but now that my dear uncle has come, I hope everything will be well. It's my father in town. Yes, he went on Tuesdays, I wrote you word. And if he heard from him often, we have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I particularly begged him to do. He merely added that he should not write again till he had something of importance to mention. And my mother, how is she? How are you all? My mother is tolerably well. I trust, though her spirits are greatly shaken. She's upstairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing room. Mary and Kitty thank heaven are quite well. But you, how are you, Cradle-is-butt? You look pale. How much you must have gone through. Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well, and their conversation, which have been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardner were engaged with their children, was now put into the approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed them and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears. When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted her. She still expected that it would all end well, and that every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explain their proceedings, and perhaps announce the marriage. Mrs. Bennett, whose apartment they all repaired after a few minutes' conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected, with tears and lamentations of regrets, invictives against the villainous conduct of Wycombe and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage, blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter might be principally owing. If I had been able, said she, to carry my point of going to Brighton with all my family, this would not have happened. Poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. What the foresters ever let her go out of their sight! I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well-looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her, but I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear girl, and now here's Mr. Bennett gone away, and I know he will fight Wycombe whenever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what has become of us all. The callances will turn us out before he is cold in 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. Gardner, after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr. Bennett in every endeavor for recovering Lydia. Do not give way to useless alarm, atty, though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain. It is not quite a week since I left Brighton. In a few days more, we may gain some news of them, until we know that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him come home with me to Grace Church Street, and then we may consult together as to what is to be done. Oh, my dear brother replied Mrs. Bennett, that is exactly what I could most wish for, and now do, when you get to town, find them out, wherever they may be, and if they are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia, she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them after they are married. And above all things, keep Mr. Bennett from fighting, tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frightened out of my wits, and if such trembling, such fluttering, all over me, such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night or by day. And tell my dear Lydia, not to give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are, I know you will contrive it all. But Mr. Gardner, though he has shurred her again of his earnest endeavors in the cause, but not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well as in her hopes as her fears, and after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on the table, the left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters. Though our brethren's sister were persuaded that there is no real occasion for such seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of the household and the one whom they could most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subject. In the dining-room, they were soon joined by Marion Kitty, who had been too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance before. One came from her books and the other from her toilet. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm, and no change was visible in either, except that the loss of her favorite sister, or the anger which she had herself incurred in the business, had given something more fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth with accountants of grave reflection, soon after they receded at table. This is the most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talkative. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the ball of sisterly consolation. In perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added, unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson, that we'll also virtue in a female is irretrievable, that one fall step involves her an endless ruin, that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful, and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behavior towards the undeserving of the other sex. Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them. In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Benetz were able to be for half an hour by themselves, and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity of making many inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining in general amantations over the dreadful sequel of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss Benet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued the subject by saying, but tell me all and everything about it, which I have not already heard, gives me farther particulars. What did Colonel Forrester say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the allotment took place? They must have seen them together forever. Colonel Forrester did own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so grieved for him. His behavior was attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of there not being gone to Scotland. When that apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey. And was Denny convinced that Wicken would not marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forrester seen Denny himself? Yes, but when questioned by him, Denny denied knowing anything of their plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying, and from that, I am inclined to hope he might have been misunderstood before. Until Colonel Forrester came himself, not one of you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of there being really married. How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt a little uneasy, a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that. They only felt how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of us. The delidious last letter she had prepared her for such a step. She had known it seems of there being in love with each other many weeks. But not before they went to Brighton. No, I believe not. And did Colonel Forrester appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he know his real character? I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since the sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Mariton greatly in debt. But I hope this may be false. Oh, Jane, had we been less secret? Had we told what we knew of him, this could not have happened. Perhaps it would have been better, reply to her sister. But to expose the former faults of any person without knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions. Could Colonel Forrester repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his wife? He brought it with him for us to see. Jane then took it from our pocketbook and gave it to Elizabeth. These were the contents. My dear Harriet, you will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise tomorrow morning as soon as I am missed. I'm going to threaten a green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton. For there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him. So think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at longborn of my going, if you do not like it. For it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them, and sign my name Lydia Wickham, what a good joke it will be. I can hardly write for laughing. Pray, make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him tonight. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him in the next ball we meet with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to longborn, but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked Muslim gown before they are packed up. Goodbye. Give my loved Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey. Your affectionate friend, Lydia Bennett. O thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia, cry to Elizabeth when she had finished it. What a letter is this to be written at such a moment. But at least it shows that she was serious in the object of her journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. I'm more father, how he must have felt it. I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately in the whole house in such confusion. Oh, Jane, cry to Elizabeth, was there a servant belonging to it who did not know the whole story before the end of the day? I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavored to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much as I might have done. But the horror of what might possibly happen almost took from me my faculties. Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh, that I had been with you. You have had every care and anxiety upon yourself alone. Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty has slightened delicate and merry studies so much that her hours of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longborn on Tuesday after my father went away, and was so good as to stay till Thursday with me. She is of great use and comfort to us all, and Lady Lucas has been very kind. She walked here on Wednesday morning to condole with us and offered her services, or any of her daughters if they could be of use to us. She had better have stayed at home, quite Elizabeth. Perhaps she meant well, but under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too little of one's neighbors. Assistance is impossible, condolence and sufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance and be satisfied. She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter. He meant, I believe, replied Jane to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses, see the postulons, and try if anything could be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the number of the Hackney Coach, which took them from Clapham. It had come with a fair from London, and as he thought the circumstance of a gentleman and ladies removing from one carriage into another might be remarked, he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow discover at what house the Coachman had before set down his fair, he determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible to find out the standard number of the Coach. I do not know of any other designs that he had formed, but he was in such a hurry to be gone, and his spirit so greatly discomposed that I had difficulty in finding out even so much as this.