Volume III, Chapter XIX

CHAPTER XIX

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her eldest daughter. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley and talked of the attention that continued to be shewn to Edward by Mr. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children, produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and invariably silly.

Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to his easy temper, or her affectionate heart. The darling wish of his sisters was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and Jane and Edward, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.

Edward was soon fixed at Pemberley. He had renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Mayhew, the apothecary in Lambton; and once his studies were complete, became his apprentice. Darcy had insisted on his bearing the cost of Edward's studies, while again leaving the credit of it, to his aunt and uncle, with whom he stayed in London during his period of learning. In Lambton he maintained modest lodgings; but the best part of his time was spent with Darcy at Pemberley.

Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with Edward and Jane. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia, and, removed from the influence of Lydia's example, she became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia's society she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going.

Mr. Bennet missed his son exceedingly; his affection for him drew him oftener from home than any thing else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.

Mary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet's being quite unable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but she could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she was no longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters' beauty and her own, it was suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without much reluctance.

As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from the situations of her brother and sister. He bore with philosophy the conviction that Edward must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to him; and in spite of every thing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on to make his fortune. The letter which Edward received from Lydia on his removing to Lambton, explained to him that, by his wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to this effect:

'My dear Edward,
'What a stroke of luck, your becoming apothecary in that town of all towns! It is a great comfort to have you so close to Mr. Darcy; and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will persuade him to think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but, however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you had rather not.
'Your's, &c.'

As it happened that Edward had much rather not, he endeavoured in his answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however, as it was in his power to afford, by the practice of what might be called economy in his own private expences, he frequently sent them. It had always been evident to him that such an income as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or himself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. Wickham's affection for her soon sunk into indifference; Lydia's lasted a little longer; and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.

Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Edward's sake, he assisted him farther in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently staid so long, that even Bingley's good humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.

Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's love for Edward; but as she thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, and the hope that he may yet one day deem it necessary to marry, she dropt all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as attentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility to Edward.

Pemberley was now Georgiana's home; and her attachment to Edward was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each other, even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Edward; though at first she often listened with an astonishment, bordering on alarm, at his lively, sportive, manner of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Edward's instructions she began to comprehend that a woman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother will not always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the conduct of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in her reply to the letter which announced his intentions, she sent him language so very abusive, especially of Edward, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Edward's persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little farther resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity to see how Edward conducted himself; and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such a man, but the visits of his uncle and aunt from the city.

With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Edward, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing him into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.

FINIS

Volume III, Chapter XVIII

CHAPTER XVIII

Edward's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, he wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with him. 'How could you begin?' said he. 'I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?'

'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'

'My behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?'

'For the liveliness of your mind, I did.'

'You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with those who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.'

'Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill at Netherfield?'

'Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?'

'Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.'

'But I was embarrassed.'

'And so was I.'

'You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.'

'A man who had felt less, might.'

'How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the subject? This will never do.'

'You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.'

'Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? or had you intended any more serious consequence?'

'My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.'

'Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall her and her daughter?'

'I am more likely to want time than courage, Edward. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.'

'And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as a certain young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.'

From an unwillingness to confess how much his intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Edward had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's long letter, but now, having that to communicate which he knew would be most welcome, he was almost ashamed to find, that his uncle and aunt had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as follows:

'I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. But now suppose as much as you chuse; give a loose rein to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford; you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise D. a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the park every day. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. D. sends you all the love in the world, that can be spared from me. You are all to come to P. at Christmas. Yours, &c.'

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different style; and still different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mrs. Lucas, in reply to her last.

'Dear Madam,
'I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Mr. Darcy has confirmed to me personally, that he and Edward are now the firmest of friends. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.
'Your's sincerely, &c.'

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving information from her brother, that Edward was to become a regular visitor to Pemberly, was as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of being loved by her brother's favourite.

Before any answer could arrive from Mrs. Lucas, or any congratulations to Edward, from her husband, the Longbourn family heard that the Lucases were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by her nephew's letter, that Charles, really rejoicing in the match, which he surmised to be the source of her ladyship's vexation, was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of his friend was a sincere pleasure to Edward, though in the course of their meetings he must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when he saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of his cousin. He bore it however with admirable calmness. He could even listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on his friend's carrying away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater tax on Darcy's forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more elegant. Edward did all he could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him to himself, and to those of his family with whom he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and he looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of Pemberley.

Volume III, Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII

'My dear Edward, where can you have been walking to?' was a question which Edward received from Jane as soon as he entered the hall, and from all the others when they sat down to table. He had only to say in reply, that they had wandered about, till he was beyond his own knowledge. He coloured as he spoke; but neither that, nor any thing else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.

The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth; and Edward, agitated and confused, rather knew that he was happy than felt himself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment, there were other evils before him. He was aware that no one but Jane liked Mr. Darcy; he anticipated what would be felt by his father when his situation became known; and even feared that his was a dislike which not all the gentleman's fortune and consequence might do away.

At night he opened his heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.

'You are joking, Edward. This cannot be!—Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible.'

'This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and I love him.'

Jane looked at him doubtingly. 'Oh, Edward! it cannot be. I know how much you dislike him.'

'You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.'

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Edward again, and more seriously assured her of its truth.

'Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you,' cried Jane. 'My dear, dear Edward, I would—I do congratulate you—but are you certain? forgive the question—are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?'

'There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother-in-law?'

'Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible.'

'Then Mr. Bingley is not insensible of Mr. Darcy's attachment to me?'

'He is as sensible of it, as Charles Lucas must be of your's to Mr. Darcy. But, Edward, do you really love him quite well enough? Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?'

'Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do, when I tell you all.'

'What do you mean?'

'Why, I must confess, that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry.'

'My dear brother, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?'

'It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.'

Another entreaty that he would be serious, however, produced the desired effect; and he soon satisfied Jane by his solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish.

'Now I am quite happy,' said she, 'for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your lover, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. And we shall be so often together! But Edward, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know of it, to another, not to you.'

Edward told her the motives of his secrecy. He had been unwilling to mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of his own feelings had made him equally avoid the name of his friend. But now he would no longer conceal from her, Mr. Darcy's share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation.

__________

'Good gracious!' cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next morning, 'if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he would go a shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? Edward, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way.'

Edward could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet was really vexed that his mother should be always giving him such an epithet.

As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at him so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information; and he soon afterwards said aloud, 'Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Edward may lose his way again to-day?'

'I advise Mr. Darcy, and Edward, and Kitty,' said Mrs. Bennet, 'to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view.'

'It may do very well for the others,' replied Mr. Bingley; 'but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Wont it, Kitty?'

Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Edward silently consented. As he went up stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed him, saying,

'I am quite sorry, Edward, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to inconvenience.'

During their walk, Edward resolved that Mr. Bennet should be apprised of their intentions towards one another in the course of the evening. Mr. Darcy's face betrayed his surprise.

'Your father is aware of your inclinations? Does not he censure them?'

'No indeed;' said Edward, 'for we are too much alike, he and I, to question love's providence. He is as resigned to my situation, as he is to his own.' He did not wish to say more; but Darcy's expression shewed, that he need not be more explicit.

'And I am to make this application, am I?'

'Oh! yes, certainly,' replied Edward, smiling, 'for if I were I to make it, he would think me teazing him, and not believe a word of it; but, coming from you, he can have no reason to doubt it.'

Edward reserved to himself the application to his mother. He could not tell her the whole of it; but he could, and must, make her see, how much the entire family owed to Mr. Darcy's goodness. Nor could he determine how his mother would take it; sometimes doubting whether the generosity of his actions would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she were violently set against his interference, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to her sense; and Edward 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 withdrew to the library, he saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and his agitation on seeing it was extreme. He did not fear his father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy, and that it should be through his means, that he, his favourite child, should be distressing him by his choice, was a wretched reflection, and he sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, he was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where Edward was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire his sister's work, said to Edward in a whisper, 'Go to your father, he wants you in the library.' He was gone directly.

His father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. 'Edward,' said he, 'what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?'

How earnestly did he then wish that his former opinions had been more reasonable, his expressions more moderate! It would have spared him from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and he assured his father with some confusion, of his attachment to Mr. Darcy.

'Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure. But will that make you happy?'

'Have you any other objection,' said Edward, '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 nothing if you really liked him.'

'I do, I do like him,' he replied, 'I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.'

'Edward,' said his father, 'I have given him my approval, for what it is worth. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Edward. I know that you could not be happy, unless you truly esteemed your lover; unless you looked on him as an equal. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal relationship. You could scarcely escape misery. My son, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about.'

Edward, deeply affected, was earnest and solemn in his reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of his choice, by explaining the gradual change which his estimation of him had undergone, relating his absolute certainty that the gentleman's affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, he did conquer his father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.

'Well,' said he, when his son ceased speaking, 'I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, Edward, to any one less worthy.'

To complete the favourable impression, Edward then told him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard him with astonishment.

'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, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.'

He then recollected Edward's embarrassment a few days before, on his reading Mrs. Lucas's letter; and after laughing at him some time, allowed him at last to go—saying, as he quitted the room, 'If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure.'

Edward's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after half an hour's quiet reflection in his own room, he was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer any thing material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

When his mother went up to her dressing-room at night, he followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes, that she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.

'Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! Such a charming man!—Oh, my dear Edward! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Oh, Lord! What will become of me, if he does not! I shall go distracted.'

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and Edward, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by himself, soon went away. But before he had been three minutes in his own room, his mother followed him.

'I can think of nothing else!' she cried. 'He is as good a man, as you could ever wish to meet! But Edward, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it to-morrow.'

This was a sad omen of what his mother's behaviour to the gentleman himself might be; and Edward found, that though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of the approval of his father and sister, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than he expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of Mr. Darcy, that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion.

Edward had the satisfaction of seeing his father taking pains to get acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured him that he was rising every hour in his esteem.

'I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,' said he. 'Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your fellow quite as well as Jane's.'

Volume III, Chapter XVI

CHAPTER XVI

Instead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Edward half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her son sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking, Mary could never spare time, but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Edward, Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was too much afraid of the gentleman to talk; Edward was secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.

They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria; and as Edward saw no occasion for making it a general concern, when Kitty left them, he went boldly on with Darcy alone. Now was the moment for his resolution to be executed, and, while his courage was high, he 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 your's. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.'

'I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,' replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, 'that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.'

'You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.'

'If you will thank me,' he replied, 'let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you.'

Edward was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, his companion added, 'You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.'

Edward feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of Darcy's situation, now forced himself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand, that his sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make him receive with gratitude and pleasure, his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as Darcy had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Edward saw how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; and Darcy told him of feelings, which, in proving of what importance he was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. Edward soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of Mr. Darcy's aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Edward; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter, which, in her ladyship's apprehension, peculiarly denoted his perverseness and assurance, in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew, which he had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

'It taught me to hope,' said Darcy, 'as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.'

Edward coloured and laughed as he replied, 'Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.'

'What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time, had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.'

'We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,' said Edward. 'The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.'

'I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: “had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.” Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.'

'I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.'

'I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way, that would induce you to accept me.'

'Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.'

Darcy mentioned his letter. 'Did it,' said he, 'did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?'

Edward explained what its effect on him had been, and how gradually all his former prejudices had been removed.

'I knew,' said Darcy, 'that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.'

'The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.'

'When I wrote that letter,' replied Darcy, 'I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.'

'The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.'

'I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them, is not of philosophy, but what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only child) I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Edward! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a man worthy of being pleased.'

'Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?'

'Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.'

'My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?'

'Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.'

'I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me; when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?'

'No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.'

'Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.'

'My object then,' replied Darcy, 'was to shew you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.'

He then told Edward of Georgiana's delight in his acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, he soon learnt that Mr. Darcy's resolution of following him from Derbyshire in quest of his sister, had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there, had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.

Edward expressed his gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing 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 discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.

'I must ask whether you were surprised?' said Edward.

'Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.'

'That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.' And though he exclaimed at the term, Edward found that it had been pretty much the case.

'On the evening before my going to London,' said Darcy, 'I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs, absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.'

Edward could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.

'Did you speak from your own observation,' said he, 'when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?'

'From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection.'

'And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.'

'It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine, made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had 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 doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.'

Edward longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but he checked himself. He remembered that Mr. Darcy had yet to learn to be laught at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, the gentleman continued the conversation till they reached the house.

Volume III, Chapter XV

CHAPTER XV

The discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw Edward into, could not be easily overcome; nor could he for many hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it appeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings, for the sole purpose of breaking off his supposed attachment to Mr. Darcy. It was a rational scheme to be sure! but from what the report of such an attachment could originate, Edward was at a loss to imagine; till he recollected that Darcy’s being the intimate friend of Bingley, and his being the brother of Jane, was perhaps enough to supply the idea. Her ladyship, it appeared, was fully sensible of her nephew’s proclivities; it was probable that she had noted Mr. Darcy’s not uncivil attentions to himself, while at Rosings; and Edward had not himself forgotten to feel that the marriage of his sister must bring them more frequently together.

In revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, he could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting in this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to prevent their connection, it occurred to Edward that she must meditate an application to her nephew; and how he might take a similar representation of the evils attached to a connection with him, he dared not pronounce. He knew not the exact degree of Mr. Darcy’s affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her ladyship than he could do; and it was certain, that in enumerating the miseries of an alliance with one, whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would address him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would probably feel that the arguments, which to Edward had appeared weak and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.

If the gentleman had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy, as dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.

'If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should come to his friend within a few days,' he added, 'I shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might have obtained my affections, I shall soon cease to regret him at all.'

__________

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same kind of supposition, which had appeased Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and Edward was spared from much teazing on the subject.

The next morning, as he was going down stairs, he was met by his father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

'Edward,' said he, 'I was going to look for you; come into my room.'

He followed him thither; and his curiosity to know what he had to tell him, was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck him that it might be from lady Catherine; and he anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.

He followed his father to the fire place, and they both sat down. Mr. Bennet then said,

'I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had two children on the brink of such connubial felicity. Let me congratulate you, on a very important conquest.'

The colour now rushed into Edward's cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt; and he was undetermined whether most to be pleased that Mr. Darcy explained himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to himself; when his father continued,

'You look conscious. Young people have great penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from Mrs. Lucas.'

'From Mrs. Lucas! and what can she have to say?'

'Something very much to the purpose of course. She begins with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what she says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows. 'Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations of Mr. Lucas and myself on this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another; of which I have been advertised by the same authority; to wit, my dear cousin Edward’s recent letter to Mr. Lucas, which I happened upon some days ago.'

Edward blushed deeper from shock and vexation, but said nothing. His father continued,

'On no account did I wish to intrude on the privacy of such a communication; but my eye being immediately caught by mention of one of the most illustrious personages in this land, with whom, I am honoured to say, I myself am also acquainted, you will forgive me for indulging my curiosity.'

'Can you possibly guess, Edward, who is meant by this?' 'This young gentleman is blessed in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of mortal can most desire,—splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage; with which, it would appear, your son now enjoys a remarkable degree of familiarity. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Edward, and yourself, my good Sir, of what evils you may incur, by an association with this gentleman, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.'

'Have you any idea, Edward, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out.'

'My motive for cautioning you, is as follows. We have reason to imagine that his aunt, lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the connection with a friendly eye.'

'Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Edward, I think I have surprised you. Could she have pitched on any man, within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at anybody but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is admirable!'

Edward tried to join in his father's pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant smile. His mind was in tumult: aggrieved at the effrontery of Mrs. Lucas, first in her violating the privacy of his correspondence, then in her making its contents known to Lady Catherine; relieved that his cousin had none of the perspicacity, that her patroness demonstrated, and that he was thus spared the worst of her disapprobration; angry with Charles Lucas for his want of care, in allowing his letter to be read by any one other than himself; pleased with himself, that he had been sufficiently guarded in his report, and had not left Mr. Darcy in a more delicate position, as a result of its becoming known; and pained by the awkwardness of hearing the gentleman described in such a way by his father. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little agreeable to him.

'But Edward, are you not diverted?'

'Oh! yes;' forcing another smile.—'Pray read on.'

'After mentioning the growing amity between Edward and Mr. Darcy to her ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she felt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cousin, she would never approve what she termed so disgraceful a connection. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that he may be aware of what he is about, and not pursue a friendship which has not been properly sanctioned.' 'Mrs. Lucas moreover adds,' 'I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living together before the marriage took place, should be so generally known. I must, however, declare my amazement at hearing that you received the young couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an encouragement of vice. You ought certainly to forgive them as a christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.' 'That is her notion of christian forgiveness! and probably obtained direct from her brother. The rest of her letter is only about her dear Charles's situation, and her expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Edward, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be priggish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?'

'Oh!' cried Edward, 'I am excessively diverted. But it is so strange!'

'Yes—that is what makes it amusing. Had our dear cousin fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up Mrs. Lucas's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of her's, I cannot help giving her the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Edward, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?'

To this question his son replied only with a laugh; and as it had been asked teazingly, without the least suspicion, he was not distressed by his repeating it. Edward had never been more at a loss to make his feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when he would rather have cried. His father had most cruelly mortified him, by what he said of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and he could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of his father seeing too little, he might have fancied too much.

Volume III, Chapter XIV

CHAPTER XIV

One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been formed, as he and the family were sitting together in the dining room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open, and their visitor entered. It was lady Catherine de Bourgh.

They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what Edward felt.

She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Edward's salutation, than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Edward had mentioned her name to his mother, on her ladyship's entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.

Mrs. Bennet all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, lady Catherine said very stiffly to Edward,

'I see you are well, Mr. Bennet. That lady I suppose is your mother.'

Edward replied very concisely that she was.

'And that I suppose is one of your sisters.'

'Yes, madam,' said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a lady Catherine. 'She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all, is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man, who I believe will soon become a part of the family.'

'You have a very small park here,' returned lady Catherine after a short silence.

'It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say; but I assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's.'

'This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in summer; the windows are full west.'

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then added,

'May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. Collins and Mrs. Lucas well.'

'Very well. I saw them the night before last.'

Edward now expected that she would produce a letter for him from Charles; he had yet to receive a reply to his own letter of a week hence, and it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no letter appeared, and he was completely puzzled.

Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating any thing; and then rising up, said to Edward,

'Mr. Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company.'

'Go, Edward,' cried his mother, 'and shew her ladyship about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.'

Edward obeyed, and attended his noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent looking rooms, walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Edward saw that her waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the copse; Edward was determined to make no effort for conversation with a woman, who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

'How could I ever think her like her nephew?' said he, as he looked in her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner:—

'You can be at no loss, Mr. Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.'

Edward looked with unaffected astonishment.

'Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.'

'Mr. Bennet,' replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, 'you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told, that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Mr. Edward Bennet, intended a union with my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood; though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.'

'If you believed it impossible to be true,' said Edward, colouring with astonishment and disdain, 'I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?'

'At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.'

'That your nephew should be inclined to look favourably on any union of its kind, or on such an union as involved myself?' said Edward, coolly. Lady Catherine observed him narrowly, but ventured no reply; which, to Edward, was all the reply that he required. 'In either case,' he continued, 'your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family, will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.'

'If! do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourself? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?'

Edward was perplexed;—by whom would such a report be made? He could hardly believe, that Mr. Darcy would be so provoking; and Charles Lucas would not betray his confidence. At length he replied, 'I never heard that it was.'

'And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?'

'I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions, which I shall not choose to answer.'

'This is not to be borne. Mr. Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, formed an attachment with you?'

'Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.'

'It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in.'

'If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.'

'Mr. Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.'

'But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as this, ever induce me to be explicit.'

'Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is engaged—to my daughter. Now what have you to say?'

'Only this; that if he was so, and was so of his own choosing, you could have no reason to suppose he would turn his attentions to me.'

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,

'The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of his mother, as well as of her's. While in their cradles, we planned the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, in their marriage, to be prevented by a young man, of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his tacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say, that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?'

'Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there were no other objection to my forming an attachment with your nephew, I should certainly not be kept from it, by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could, in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour, nor inclination, confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?'

'Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Mr. Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us.'

'These are heavy misfortunes,' replied Edward. 'But whomsoever is loved by Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to his situation, that he could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.'

'Obstinate, headstrong boy! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? You are to understand, Mr. Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.'

'That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me.'

'I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young man without family, connections, or fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere, in which you have been brought up.'

'In securing the affections of your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's son; so far we are equal.'

'You are nothing but a gentleman's nephew!' cried Lady Catherine. 'Who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.'

'Whatever my circumstances and connections may be,' said Edward, with some discomposure, 'if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.'

'Tell me once and for all, are you attached to him?'

Though Edward would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question; he could not but say, after a moment's deliberation,

'I am not.'

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

'And will you promise me, never to presume to such an attachment?'

'I will make no promise of the kind.'

'Mr. Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young man. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away, till you have given me the assurance I require.'

'And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise, make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing him make him wish to bestow his affection on his cousin?'

'Understand me, Mr. Bennet;' her ladyship interjected—'I shall not hesitate to expose your iniquity, should you persist with such a scheme as this.'

Edward was unmoved. 'Such a threat could only carry, if your ladyship were truly disinterested in the consequences of doing so; and since the disgrace it would bring on yourself, would be at least equal to that suffered by your nephew, you would hardly dare.'

'Is there no end to your impudence! to your disdain for all that is right and virtuous!'

'Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application, have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject.'

'Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her, was a patched-up business, at the expence of your father and uncles. And is such a girl to be among my nephew's acquaintance? Is such a man, the son of his late father's steward, to be once again admitted to his circle? Heaven and earth!—of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?'

'You can now have nothing farther to say,' Edward resentfully answered. 'You have insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house.'

And he turned as he spoke. Lady Catherine followed, highly incensed.

'You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish boy! Do you not consider that a connection with you, must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?'

'Lady Catherine, I have nothing farther to say. You know my sentiments.'

'You are then resolved to have him?'

'I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.'

'It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.'

'Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,' replied Edward, 'have any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either, would be violated by my returning Mr. Darcy's affections. And with regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by his honouring me, it would not give me one moment's concern—and the world in general, were it ever to discover it, would have too much sense to join in the scorn.'

'And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Mr. Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point.'

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of the carriage, when turning hastily round, she added,

'I take no leave of you, Mr. Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.'

Edward made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it himself. He heard the carriage drive away as he proceeded up stairs. His mother impatiently met him at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.

'She did not choose it,' said Edward, 'she would go.'

'She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us our cousins were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you?'

Edward was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.

Volume III, Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII

A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.

'Next time you call,' said she, 'I hope we shall be more lucky.'

He should be particularly happy at any time, &c. &c.; and if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them.

'Can you come to-morrow?'

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was accepted with alacrity.

He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,

'My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come—Mr. Bingley is come.—He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss Catherine's hair.'

'We will be down as soon as we can,' said Jane; 'but I dare say Edward is forwarder than either of us, for he went up stairs half an hour ago.'

'Oh! hang Edward! what has he to do with it? Come be quick, be quick! where is your sash my dear?'

But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down without one of her sisters.

The same anxiety to get them by themselves, was 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 Edward and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any impression on them. Edward would not observe her; and when at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, 'What is the matter mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?'

'Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you.' She then sat still five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,

'Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,' took her out of the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Edward, which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her entreaty that he would not give in to it. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,

'Edward, my dear, I want to speak with you.'

Edward was forced to go.

'We may as well leave them by themselves you know;' said his mother as soon as he was in the hall. 'Kitty and I are going up stairs to sit in my dressing room.'

Edward made no attempt to reason with his mother, but remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned into the drawing room.

Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was every thing that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance, particularly grateful to the daughter.

He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs. Bennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.

After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed between herself and her brother concerning Bingley; but Edward went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, he felt tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman's concurrence.

Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in Bingley, that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with 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. Edward, who was desirous of acquainting Charles Lucas with recent events, went into the breakfast room to write a letter to his friend soon after tea; for as the others were all going to sit down to cards, he could not be wanted to counteract his mother's schemes.

But on returning to the drawing-room at last, when his letter was finished, he saw, to his infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that his mother had been too ingenious for him. On opening the door, he perceived his sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both as they hastily turned round, and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but his he thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and Edward was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering a few words to his sister, ran out of the room.

Jane could have no reserves from Edward, where confidence would give pleasure; and instantly embracing him, acknowledged, with the liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.

''Tis too much!' she added, 'by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! why is not every body as happy?'

Edward's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not allow herself to stay with her brother, or say half that remained to be said, for the present.

'I must go instantly to my mother;' she cried. 'I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it from any one but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh! Edward, to know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear so much happiness!'

She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the card party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.

Edward, who was left by himself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.

'And this,' said he, 'is the end of all his friend's anxious circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!'

In a few minutes he was joined by Bingley, whose conference with his father had been short and to the purpose.

'Where is your sister?' said he hastily, as he opened the door.

'With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment I dare say.'

He then shut the door, and coming up to him, claimed the good wishes and affection of a brother. Edward honestly and heartily expressed his delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with great cordiality; and then till his sister came down, he had to listen to all Bingley had to say, of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections; and in spite of his being a lover, Edward really believed all his expectations of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself.

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly shewed how really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he turned to his daughter and said,

'Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.'

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.

'You are a good girl;' he replied, 'and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income.'

'I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters, would be unpardonable in me.'

'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 very likely more.' Then addressing her daughter, 'Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh! he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!'

Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her favourite child. At that moment, she cared for no other. Her younger sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness which she might in future be able to dispense.

Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough detested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought himself obliged to accept.

Edward delayed in sending his letter to Charles Lucas, so as to impart the good news. He found himself at liberty to sit and write, since he had now but little time for conversation with his sister; for while Mr. Bingley was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on any one else. But he found himself considerably useful to both of them, in those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, the gentleman always attached himself to Edward, for the pleasure of talking of her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.

'He has made me so happy,' said she, one evening, 'by telling me, that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed it possible.'

'I suspected as much,' replied Edward. 'But how did he account for it?'

'It must have been his sister's doing. They were certainly no friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again; though we can never be what we once were to each other.'

'That is the most unforgiving speech,' said Edward, 'that I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard.'

'Would you believe it, Edward, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent, would have prevented his coming down again!'

'He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit of his modesty.'

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities.

Edward was pleased to find, that Mr. Bingley had not betrayed the interference of his friend, for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, he knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.

'I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!' cried Jane. 'Oh! Edward, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!'

'If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Miss Collins in time.'

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away, they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.

Volume III, Chapter XII

CHAPTER XII

As soon as they were gone, Edward walked out to recover his spirits; or in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed him.

'Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,' said he, 'did he come at all?'

He could settle it in no way that gave him pleasure.

'He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teazing man! I will think no more about him.'

His resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of his sister, who joined him with a cheerful look, which shewed her better satisfied with their visitors, than Edward.

'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 his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen, that on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance.'

'Yes, very indifferent indeed,' said Edward, laughingly. 'Oh, Jane, take care.'

'My dear Edward, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now.'

'I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever.'

__________

They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good humour, and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had revived.

On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two, who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the dining-room, Edward eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place, which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by his sister. His prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to invite the gentleman to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her.

Edward, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and Edward would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had he not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm.

His behaviour to his sister was such, during dinner time, as shewed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded Edward, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured. Though he dared not depend upon the consequence, he yet received pleasure from observing Mr. Bingley's behaviour. It gave him all the animation that his spirits could boast; for he was in no cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from him, as the table could divide them. He was on one side of his mother. Edward knew how little such a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to advantage. He was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but he could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and cold was their manner, whenever they did. His mother's ungraciousness, made the sense of what they owed him more painful to Edward's mind; and he would, at times, have given any thing to be privileged to tell him, that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the family.

He was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy, the period which passed, before they joined the ladies, was wearisome and dull to a degree, that almost made him uncivil to Mr. Bingley, whose addresses made intercourse with Mr. Darcy impossible. He looked forward to their retiring to the drawing-room, as the point on which all his chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.

'If he does not come to me, then,' said he, 'I shall give him up for ever.'

The time came; and he thought Mr. Darcy looked as if he would have answered his hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table, where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Catherine pouring out the coffee, in so close a confederacy, that there was not a single vacancy near him, which would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching the table, one of the girls said to the others, in a whisper,

'The men shan't come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them; do we?'

Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. Edward followed him with his eyes, envied every one to whom he spoke; and then was enraged against himself for being so silly!

'A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one, among either of the sexes, who would not protest against such a weakness as a second avowal to the same person? There is no indignity so abhorrent to a lover's feelings!'

He was a little revived, however, by the gentleman's bringing back his coffee cup himself; and he seized the 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 have been gone on to Scarborough, these three weeks.'

Edward could think of nothing more to say; but if Mr. Darcy wished to converse with him, he might have better success. He stood by him, however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young ladies' whispering to one another again, he walked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and the card-tables placed, the ladies all rose, and Edward was then hoping to be soon joined by him, when all his views were overthrown, by seeing him fall a victim to his mother's rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after seated with the rest of the party. He now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were confined for the evening at different tables, and he had nothing to hope, but that the gentleman's eyes were so often turned towards his side of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as himself.

Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.

'Well now,' said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, 'What say you to the day? I think every thing has passed off uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The venison was roasted to a turn—and everybody said, they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucas's last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges were remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And what do you think she said besides? “Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her at Netherfield at last.” She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good a creature as ever lived—and her nieces are very pretty behaved girls, and not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously.'

Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough of Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get him at last; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy humour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at not seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.

'It has been a very agreeable day,' said Miss Bennet to Edward. 'The party seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we may often meet again.'

Edward smiled.

'My dear brother, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an agreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish beyond it. I am perfectly satisfied from what his manners now are, that he never had any design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally pleasing than any other man.'

'You are very cruel,' said Edward, 'you will not let me smile, and are provoking me to it every moment.'

'How hard it is in some cases to be believed!'

'And how impossible in others!'

'But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I acknowledge?'

'That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive me; and if you persist in indifference, do not make me your confidante.'

Volume III, Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation, that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear brother, by introducing the subject of it; and Edward was pleased to find that he had said enough to keep him quiet.

The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.

'Oh! my dear Lydia,' she cried, 'when shall we meet again?'

'Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years perhaps.'

'Write to me very often, my dear.'

'As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do.'

Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.

'He is as fine a fellow,' said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, 'as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself, to produce a more valuable son-in-law.'

The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.

'I often think,' said she, 'that there is nothing so bad as parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without them.'

'This is the consequence you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter,' said Edward. 'It must make you better satisfied that your other three are single.'

'It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married; but only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.'

But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into, was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of news, which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, 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, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.

'Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,' (for Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news). 'Well, so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?'

'You may depend on it,' replied the other, 'for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks, just fit to be killed.'

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming, without changing colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Edward; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,

'I saw you look at me to-day, Edward, when my aunt told us of the present report; and I know I appeared distressed. But don't imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you, that the news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other people's remarks.'

Edward did not know what to make of it. Had he not seen Mr. Bingley in Derbyshire, he might have supposed him capable of coming there, with no other view than what was acknowledged; but he still thought him partial to Jane, and he wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there with his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come without it.

'Yet it is hard,' he sometimes thought, 'that this poor man cannot come to a house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation! I will leave him to himself.'

In spite of what his sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Edward could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than he had often seen them.

The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

'As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,' said Mrs. Bennet, 'you will wait on him of course.'

'No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again.'

His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to Netherfield.

''Tis an etiquette I despise,' said he. 'If he wants our society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away, and come back again.'

'Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude 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 and the Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for him.'

Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband's incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley in consequence of it, before they did. As the day of his arrival drew near,

'I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,' said Jane to her brother. 'It would be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well; but she does not know, no one can know how much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield is over!'

'I wish I could say anything to comfort you,' replied Edward; 'but it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because you have always so much.'

Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side, might be as long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent; hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window, enter the paddock, and ride towards the house.

Her children were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table; but Edward, to satisfy his mother, went to the window—he looked,—he saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by his sister.

'There is a gentleman with him, mamma,' said Kitty; 'who can it be?'

'Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not know.'

'La!' replied Kitty, 'it looks just like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. what's his name. That tall, proud man.'

'Good gracious! Mr. Darcy—and so it does I vow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here to be sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him.'

Jane looked at Edward with surprise and concern. She knew but little of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness which must attend her brother, in seeing him almost for the first time after receiving his explanatory letter. Both were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and their mother talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being heard by either of them. But Edward had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom he had never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardiner's letter, or to relate his own change of sentiment towards the gentleman. To Jane, he could be only a man whose affection he had spurned, and whose merit he had undervalued; but to his own more extensive information, he was the person, to whom the whole family were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom he regarded himself with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as what Jane felt for Bingley. His astonishment at Mr. Darcy's coming—at his coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking him again, was almost equal to what he had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.

The colour which had been driven from his face, returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to his eyes, as he thought for that space of time, that Mr. Darcy’s affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But he would not be secure.

'Let me first see how he behaves,' said he; 'it will then be early enough for expectation.'

He sat intently reading, striving to be composed, and without daring to lift up his eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of his sister, as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but more sedate than Edward had expected. On the gentlemen's appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any symptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance.

Edward said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down again. He had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and he thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as he had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in Mrs. Bennet's presence be what he was before Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.

Bingley, he had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs. Bennet with a degree of civility, which made her eldest children ashamed, especially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her curtsey and address to his friend.

Edward particularly, who knew that his mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill applied.

Darcy, after inquiring of him how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question which he could not answer without confusion, said scarcely any thing. He was not seated by him; perhaps that was the reason of his silence; but it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to his friends, when he could not to Edward. But now several minutes elapsed, without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, Edward turned his eyes to his face, he as often found him looking at Jane, as at himself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness, and less anxiety to please than when they last met, were plainly expressed. He was disappointed, and angry with himself for being so.

'Could I expect it to be otherwise!' said he. 'Yet why did he come?'

He was in no humour for conversation with any one but Mr. Darcy; and to him he had hardly courage to speak.

He inquired after Miss Darcy, but could do no more.

'It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,' said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

'I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood, since you went away. Mr. Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, “Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,” without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or any thing. It was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?'

Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Edward dared not lift up his eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, he could not tell.

'It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,' continued his mother, 'but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay, I do 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 regulars. Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves.'

Edward, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery of shame, that he could hardly keep his seat. It drew from him, however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually done before; and he asked Bingley, whether he meant to make any stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.

'When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,' said Mrs. Bennet, 'I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please, on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.'

Edward's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present, as had flattered them a year ago, every thing, he was persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant he felt, that years of happiness could not make Jane or himself amends, for moments of such painful confusion.

'The first wish of my heart,' said he to himself, 'is never more to be in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure, that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either one or the other again!'

Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no compensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from observing how much the beauty of his sister re-kindled the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little; but every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded that she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged, that she did not always 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 at Longbourn in a few days time.

'You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,' she added, 'for when you went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement.'

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of his concern, at having been prevented by business. They then went away.

Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there, that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did not think anything less than two courses, could be good enough for a man, on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a-year.