Pride and Prejudice - Vol 2, Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10 More than once did Elizabeth and her ramble within the park unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought, and to prevent it ever happening again took care to inform him at first that it was the favorite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd. Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like willful ill nature or a voluntary penance. For all these occasions, it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much. But it struck her in the course of their third meeting that he was asking some odd, disconnected questions about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins' happiness, and that in speaking of rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again, she would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he must mean an illusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the parsinage. She was engaged one day as she walked in repursuing Jane's last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits. When instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw in looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her, putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said, I did not know before that you ever walked this way. I have been making the tour of the park, he replied, as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the parsinage. Are you going much farther? No, I should have turned in a moment, and accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the parsinage together. Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday, said she? Yes, if Darcy does not put it off again, but I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases. And if it not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy. He likes that his own way very well, replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, but so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly, a younger son you know must be an orde to self-denial independence. In my opinion, the younger son of an oral can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial independence? One of you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you choose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for. Those are home questions, and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature, but in matters of greater weight I may suffer from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like. In less 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 who can afford to marry without some attention to money. Is this, thought Elizabeth meant for me? And she colored at the idea. But recovering herself said an alively tone, and pray, what is the usual price of an oral's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask about fifty thousand pounds. He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her, effective with what had passed, she soon afterward said, I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But perhaps his sister does as well for the present, and as she's under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her. No, said Colonel Fitzwilliam, that is an advantage which you must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy. Are you indeed? And pray, what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way. As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and the manner in which she immediately asked her why she's opposed Miss Darcy, likely to give them any ineasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. She directly replied, You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her, and I dare say, she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great favorite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Bingley. I think I've heard you say that you know them. I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentleman like man. He is a great friend of Darcy's. Oh, yes, Settlers with dryly. Mr. Darcy is uncommonly calling to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him. Care of him? Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey, Hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him, but I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture. What does it you mean? It is a circumstance which Darcy, of course, would not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the ladies' family, it would be an unpleasant thing. You may depend on me not mentioning it. And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this, that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars. And I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer. Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference? I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady. And what arts did he use to separate them? He did not talk to me of his own art, said Fitzwilliam smiling. He only told me what I have now told you. Elizabeth made no answer and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. And you're watching her a little, if it's William Aster, why she was so thoughtful. I am thinking of what you've been telling me, said she. Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge? You are rather disposed to call his interference aficious. I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why upon his own judgment alone he was to determine and direct in what manner that his friend was to be happy. But she continued recollecting herself. As we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case. That is not an unnatural surmise, said Fitzwilliam. But it is lessening the honor of my cousin's triumph very sadly. This was spoken, gestingly. But it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy that you would not trust yourself with an answer. And therefore a abruptly changing the conversation talked on in different matters till they reached the percentage. There, shutting to her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. But he had been concerned and the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted. But she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause. His pride and caprice were the cause of all that Jane had suffered and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness, for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world, and no one could say how lasting and evil he might have inflicted. There were some very strong objections against the lady, where Colonel Fitzwilliam's words. And those strong objections probably were her having one uncle who was a country attorney and another who was in business in London. To Jane herself, she exclaimed, there could be no possibility of objection. All loveliness and goodness as she is. Her understanding, excellent, her mind improved and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach. When she thought of her mother, indeed her confidence gave way a little, but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride she was convinced would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance and his friend's connections, than from their want of sense. And she was quite decided at last that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister. The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a headache, and it grew so much worse towards the evening that added her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy. It determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as possible, prevented her husband from pressing her. But Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home. Chapter 11 When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering. But in all, in an almost every line of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style, and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind it ease with itself, and kindly disposed towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict gave her keener sons for sister sufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next, and still a greater that in less than a fortnight she should herself be with Jane again, and enable to contribute to the recovery of her spirits by all that affection could do. She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin must go with him. But Crown Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him. While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the doorbell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected. When her utter amazement she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. And in heried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began, In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. He must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowl of all that he felt and had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. The sense of her inferiority, of its being a degradation, of the family obstacles which judgment it always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on, with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit. In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the complement of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive. Till roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion and anger. She tried, however, to compose herself, to answer him with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment, which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer, and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther, and when he ceased, the color rose into her cheeks, and she said, in such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments of out. However, unequally, they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you, but I cannot. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which you tell me have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation. Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice of force, calmness, he said, �And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting. I might perhaps wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor in civility, I am thus rejected, but it is of small importance. I might as well inquire, replied she, why was so evident a design of offending and insulting me?� You chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character. Was not the sum excuse for incivility if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations, you know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable? Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps, forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister? As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed color, but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued. �I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not. You cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its division for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutus kind. She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of effected incredulity. Can you deny that you have done it, sure, repeated? With assumed tranquility he then replied, �I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.� Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her. But it is not merely the sephair she continued, on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you has decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you hear defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you hear impose upon others? You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns, said Darcy in a less tranquil tone and with a heightened color. Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him? His misfortunes repeated Darcy contemptuously. Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. And of your inflection, cried Elizabeth with energy, �You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this, and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule. And this, cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, is your opinion of me. This is the estimation in which you hold me. I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed. But perhaps, at a tea, stopping in his walk and turning towards her, these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattened you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination, by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sword is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own. Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment. Yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said, You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, then as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. She saw I'm start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued. You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. Again, his astonishment was obvious, and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disappropriation on which succeeding events have built so unmovable a dislike. And I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry. You have said quite enough, Madam, I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house. The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for half an hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by ever a review of it. That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy, that he should have been in love with her for so many months. So much in love has to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friends marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his own case was almost incredible. It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection, but his pride, his abominable pride, his shameless avowl of what he had done with respect to Jane, has unpartenable assurance that acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited. She continued in very agitating reflections to the sound of Lady Catherine's carriage, how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried her away to her room. Chapter 12 Elizabeth the Woke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. She could not ever cover from the surprise of what had happened. It was impossible to think of anything else, and totally indisposed for employment, she resolves soon after breakfast to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favorite walk when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park she turned up the lane, which led her farther down the turnpike road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground. After walking two or three times along that part of the lane she was tempted by the pleasantness of the morning to stop at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day it was adding to the verder of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the park. He was moving that way, and fearful of it being Mr. Darcy, she was directly retreating, but the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness pronounced her name. She had turned away, but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and holding out a letter which she instinctively took, said with a look of haughty composure, I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter? And then with a slight bow turned again into the plantation and was soon out of sight. With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter, and to her still increasing wonder perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter paper, written quite through in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated from Rosings, it ate a clock in the morning, and was as follows. He not alarmed Madame on receiving this letter by the apprehension of it containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of painting you or humbling myself by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. And the effort which the formation and the prousal of this letter must occasion should have been spared had not my character required it to be written in red. You must therefore pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention. Your feelings I know will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice. Two offenses of a very different nature and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was that regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister and the other that I had in defiance of various claims, and defiance of honor and humanity ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favorite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity to which the separation of two young persons whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in future secured when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read. If in the explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and a farther apology would be absurd. I had not been long in hurtful chur before I saw in common with others that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball while I had the honor of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted by Sir William Lucas' accidental information that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behavior attentively, and I could then perceive that his partiality from his Bennett was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her lulkin manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever. But without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny that those who received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister's countenance and error was such, as might as given the most acute observer, a conviction that, however amiable, her temper, her heart, was not likely to be easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, but I will venture to say that my investigation and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it. I believed it on an impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last not acknowledged, to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside in my own case. The want of connection could not be so great and evil to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugnance, causes which, though still existing and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavored to forget, because they were not immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though, briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety, so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you, but admits your concern for the defects of your nearest relations and your displeasure at this representation of them. Let it give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of that like-sensure, is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister than it is honorable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say farther that from what past that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London on the day following, as you I am certain remember with the design of soon returning, the part which I acted is now to be explained. His sister's uneasiness had been equally excited with my own. Our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered, and alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved in joining him directly in London. We accordingly went, and there I readily engage in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described and enforced them earnestly. But however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance which I hesitated not in giving of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection was sincere if not with equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. It convinced him therefore that he had deceived himself with no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire when that conviction had been given was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is one part of my conduct and the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction. It is that icon descended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sisters being in town. I knew it myself as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is perhaps probable, but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguish for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealment this disguise was beneath me. It is done however and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings it was unknowingly done. And though the motives which governed me made to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them. With respect to that other more weighty accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant. But of the truth of what I shall relate I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley of states and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him. And on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school and afterwards at Cambridge. Most important assistants as his own father always poor from the extravagance of his wife would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of the Sengman society whose manners were always engaging. He had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, the want of principle which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself and to it opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain to what degree you can only tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent 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 the last so steady that in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and if he took orders desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There is also a legacy of 1,000 pounds. His own father did not survive mine, and within half a year from those events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecunary advantage in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention he added of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of 1,000 pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wish them believed him to be sincere, but at any rate he was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church, where it was possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it and accept it in return 3,000 pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought to ill of him to invite him to Pemberley or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him, but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it were exceedingly bad. He found the law a most unprofitable study and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained. If I would present him to the living in question of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this in treaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances, and he was doubtless as violent and as abusive to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not, but last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said this much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago she was taken from school and an establishment formed for her in London, and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it to Ramsgate, and Thither, so what Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design. For there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Young, and whose character we were most unhappily deceived, and by her conveyance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affection at heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child that she was persuaded to believe herself in love and to consent to an allotment. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse. And after stating her in prudence, I am happy to add that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended allotment, and then Georgiana unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom Shalmus looked up to as a father acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I heard from my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Young was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief's object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds, but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revinging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed. This madam is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together, and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you, but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night, but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything he related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your importance of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin, and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you. Fitzwilliam Darcy.