CHAPTER 44. Elizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit her the very day after her reaching Pemberley, and was consequently resolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning. But her conclusion was false, for on the very morning after their arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking about the place with some of their new friends, and were just returning to the inn to dress themselves for dining with the same family, when the sound of a carriage drew them to the window, and they saw a gentleman and a lady in a caracal driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately recognizing the livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small degree of her surprise to her relations, by acquainting them with the honour which she expected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement, and the embarrassment of her manner as she spoke joined to the circumstance itself, and many of the circumstances of the preceding day, opened to them a new idea on the business. Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they felt that there was no other way of accounting for such attentions from such a quarter than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While these newly born notions were passing in their heads, the perturbation of Elizabeth's feelings was at every moment increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure, but amongst other causes of disquiet she dreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much in her favour, and more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would fail her. She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen, and as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks of inquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt as made everything worse. Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction took place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see that her new acquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her being at Lampton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud, but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable. Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth, and though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much relieved by discerning such different feelings. They had not long been together before Mr. Darcy told her that Bingley was also coming to wait on her, and she had barely time to express her satisfaction and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All Elizabeth's anger against him had been long done away, but had she still felt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected cordiality with which she expressed himself on seeing her again. He inquired in a friendly, though general way, after her family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever done. To Mr. and Mrs. Gardner he was scarcely a less interesting personage than to herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party before them indeed excited a lively attention. The suspicions, which had just arisen of Mr. Darcy and their niece, directed their observation towards each with an earnest, though guarded inquiry, and they soon drew from those inquiries the full conviction that one of them at least knew what it was to love. Of the ladies' sensations they remained a little in doubt, but that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration was evident enough. Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the feelings of each of her visitors. She wanted to compose her own, and to make herself agreeable to all, and in the latter object, where she feared most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to whom she endeavored to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley was ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined to be pleased. In seeing Bingley her thoughts naturally flew to her sister, and, oh, how ardently did she long to know whether any of his were directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy that he talked less than on former occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that, as he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But though this might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour to Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival to Jane. No look appeared on either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing occurred between them that could justify the hopes of his sister. On this point she was soon satisfied, and two or three little circumstances occurred ere they parted, which in her anxious interpretation denoted a recollection of Jane not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying more that might lead to the mention of her had he dared. He observed to her, at a moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which had something of real regret, that, it was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her. And before she could reply, he added, it is above eight months, we have not met since the twenty-sixth of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield. Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact, and he afterwards took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest, whether all her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding remark, but there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning. It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself, but whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general complacence, and in all that he said she heard an accent so removed from a tour or disdain of his companions, as convinced her that the improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed, however temporary its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day. When she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance and courting the good opinion of people, with whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been a disgrace, when she saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the very relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Huntsford Parsonage, the difference, the change was so great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could hardly restrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even in the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from self-consequence or unbending reserve, as now, when no importance could result from the success of his endeavours, and when even the acquaintance of those to whom his attentions were addressed, would draw down the ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and Rosings. Their visitors stayed with them above half an hour, and when they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardner and Miss Bennet to dinner at Pemberley before they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a diffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations, readily obeyed. Mrs. Gardner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing how she, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed as to its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Presuming, however, that this studied avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment than any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who was fond of society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she ventured to engage for their attendance, and the day after the next was fixed on. Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth again, having still a great deal to say to her, and many inquiries to make after all their heart-friture friends. Elizabeth, construing all this into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased, and on this account, as well as some others, found herself when their visitors left them, capable of considering the last half-hour with some satisfaction, though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been little. Eager to be alone, and fearful of inquiries or hints from her uncle and aunt, she stayed with them only long enough to hear their favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress. But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardner's curiosity. It was not their wish to force her communication. It was evident that she was much better acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of. It was evident that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to interest, but nothing to justify inquiry. Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well, and as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could not be untouched by his politeness, and had they drawn his character from their own feelings and his servant's report, without any reference to any other account, the circle in heart-friture to which he was known, would not have recognized it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest, however, in believing the housekeeper, and they soon became sensible that the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred in the intelligence of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen its weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride—pride, he probably had—and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small market town where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor. With respect to Wickham, the traveller soon found that he was not held there in much estimation, for though the chief of his concerns with the son of his patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well-known fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind him, which Mr. Darcy had afterwards discharged. As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the last, and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards one in that mansion, and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She certainly did not hate them. No! Hatred had vanished long ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him, that could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feeling, and it was now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light, which yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude—gratitude not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner and rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He, who, she had been persuaded would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed on this accidental meeting most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a change in a man of so much pride, exciting not only astonishment but gratitude, for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed. And as such, its impression on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his welfare, and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on her the renewal of his addresses. It had been settled in the evening between the aunt and the niece, that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's in coming to see them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a late breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be equaled, by some exertion of politeness on their side, and consequently, that it would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following morning. They were therefore to go. Elizabeth was pleased, though when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say and reply. Mr. Gardner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. CHAPTER 45 Convinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's delight of her had originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with how much civility on that lady's side the acquaintance would now be renewed. On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows opening to the ground admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn. In this house they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil, but attended with all the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness in the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardner and her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her. By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsy, and on their being seated, a pause—awkward, as such pauses must always be—succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annasley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the others, and between her and Mrs. Gardner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in it, and sometimes did venture a short sentence when there was least danger of its being heard. Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance, but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished—she feared—that the master of the house might be amongst them, and whether she wished or feared at most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold inquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal indifference and brevity, and the others said no more. The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits in season. But this did not take place till after many a significant look and smile from Mrs. Annisley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole party, for though they could not all talk, they could all eat, and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table. While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy by the feelings which prevailed on his entering the room, and then, though but a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to regret that he came. He had been some time with Mr. Gardner, who, with two or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him only on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to Georgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed, a resolution the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them, and that there was scarcely an eye which did not watch his behaviour when he first came into the room. In no countenance was a tend of curiosity so strongly marked, as in Miss Bingley's, in spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its objects, for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded as much as possible every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss Bingley saw all this likewise, and in the imprudence of anger took the first opportunity of saying with sneering civility, Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the blank chameleisha removed from Merriton? They must be a great loss to your family. In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's name, but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts, and the various recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress, but exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered the question in a tolerably detached tone. While she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint, but she had merely intended to discompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed her partial, and to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in Darcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that core. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement, to no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth, and from all Bingley's connections her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from the very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of there becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his endeavour to separate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern for the welfare of his friend. Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion, and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eyes she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth, seemed to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully. Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above mentioned, and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage, Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress, but Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour, his judgment could not err, and as he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable, when Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister. How very ill Miss Eliza Bennett looks this morning, Mr. Darcy! she cried. I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She's grown so brown and coarse. Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again. However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented himself with Cooley replying that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer. For my own part, she rejoined, I must confess that I never saw any beauty in her. Her face is too thin, her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character, there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way. And as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look which I do not like at all, and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion which is intolerable. Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending herself. But angry people are not always wise, and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettle'd, she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, and from a determination of making him speak she continued. I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty, and I particularly recollect your saying one night after they had been dining at Netherfield— She! a beauty! I should have soon called her mother a witt! But afterward she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time. Yes! replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer. But that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance. He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself. Mrs. Gardner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested them both. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit—of everything, but himself. Yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardner would have been highly gratified by her nieces beginning the subject. End of CHAPTER 45 Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton, and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there. But on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill. They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in, and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one missent must first be attended to, it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded, but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect. Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature—but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland, with one of his officers, to own the truth, with Wickham. Imagine our surprise! To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry—so imprudent to match on both sides. But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him. But this step—and let us rejoice over it—marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing.  My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against him! We must forget it ourselves. They were offset at a night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us! Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from our poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written. Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth, on finishing this letter, instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows. It had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first. By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter. I wish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured that it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny, expressing his belief that W never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F, who instantly taking the alarm set off from B, intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no further, for on entering that place they removed into a hackney-coach, and dismissed the shares that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London Road. I know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that side of London, Colonel F came on into Hartfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and all the inns in Barnett and Hatfield, but without any success. No such people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us and a man most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F, but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzie, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town, than to pursue their first plan, and even if he could form such a design against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything? Impossible. I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F is not disposed to depend upon their marriage. He shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W was not a man to be trusted.  Could she exert herself it would be better? But this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment, but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dear Lizzie, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes. But now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu. I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not, but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly to try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure I know not, but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world. He will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness. Oh! where—where is my uncle? cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing a moment of time so precious. But as she reached the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed. I have not an instant to lose." Good God! what is the matter? cried he, with more feeling than politeness, then recollecting himself, I will not detain you a minute, but let me or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. You are not well enough. You cannot go yourself." Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent has made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home instantly. On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so miserably ill that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine. Shall I get you one? You are very ill." No, I thank you. She replied, endeavouring to recover herself. There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn. She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke again. I have just had a letter from Jane with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My younger sister has left all her friends, has eloped, has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that contempt him. She is lost forever." Darcy was fixed in astonishment. When I consider—she added in a yet more agitated voice—that I might have prevented it—I who knew what he was—had I but explained some part of it only, some part of what I learnt to my own family—had his character been known this could not have happened—but it is all—all too late now. I am grieved indeed, cried a Darcy. Grieved, shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain? Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond. They are suddenly not gone to Scotland. And what has been done? What has been attempted to recover her? My father has gone to London, and Jane is written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance. Had we shall be off, I hope in half an hour. But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible." Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. When my eyes were opened to his real character—oh, had I known what I ought, what I dared to do—but I knew not. I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake! Darcy made no answer. He schemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation. His brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking. Everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes, and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him as now, when all love must be in vain. But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her.  Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else, and after a pause of several minutes was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion. Who, in a manner which, though its fake compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, I am afraid you have long been desiring my absence. Nor have I anything to plead an excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to such distress. But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sisters having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day. Oh, yes! be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say, that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long. He readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion that there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious parting look, went away. As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality, as had marked their several meanings in Derbyshire, and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would have now promoted its continuance, and would formally have rejoiced in its termination. If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise, if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a first interview with its object, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might perhaps authorise her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go with regret, and in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business. Never since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first letter remained in her mind, she was all surprised—all astonishment that Wickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money—and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient charms, and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an allotment without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling and easy prey. She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hartfordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him. But she was convinced that Lydia wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been fluctuating, but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards such a girl—oh, how acutely did she now feel it? She was wild to be at home, to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance. And though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardner had hurried back an alarm, supposing by the servant's account that their niece was taken suddenly ill. But satisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the post-script of the last with trembling energy, though Lydia had never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner could not be but deeply afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it, and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardner promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked him with tears of gratitude, and all three being actuated by one spirit, everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to be off as soon as possible. But what is to be done about Pemberley? cried Mrs. Gardner. John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us. Was it so? Yes, and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. That is all settled. What is all settled? repeated the other as she ran into her room to prepare. And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was! But wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was impossible to one so wretched as herself, but she had her share of business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest were notes to be written to all their friends at Lampton with false excuses for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed, and Mr. Gardner, meanwhile, having settled his account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go. And Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself in a shorter space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn. Guide and Prejudice by Jane Austen. CHAPTER 47 I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth, said her uncle as they drove from the town. And really, upon serious consideration, I am much more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does on the matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who is actually staying in his colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the regiment after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk. Do you really think so? cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment. Upon my word, said Mrs. Gardner, I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour and interest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzie, so wholly give him up, as to believe him capable of it? Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest, but of every other neglect I can believe him capable, if indeed it should be so. But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go unto Scotland, if that had been the case? In the first place, replied Mr. Gardner, there is no absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland. Oh! but they are removing from the shares into a hackney-coach's such a presumption, and besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnett Road. Well, then, supposing them to be in London—they may be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptional purpose—it is not likely that money should be very abundant on either side, and it might strike them that they could be more economically, though less expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland. But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh, no, no, this is not likely. His most particular friend, you see, by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. But what claims has Lydia? What attraction has she beyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake, forgo every chance of benefitting himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the call might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge, for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward, and he might imagine, for my father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do his little, and think as little about it as any father could do in such a matter. But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him, as to consent to live with him in any terms other than marriage? It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed, replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes. That a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such a point could admit of doubt. But really I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young. She has never been taught to think on serious subjects, and for the last half-year, nay, for a twelve-month, she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the blank show were first quartered in Meriton, nothing but love, flirtation, and offices have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater—what shall I call it—susceptibility to her feelings, which are naturally lively enough, and we all know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman. But you see that Jane, said her aunt, does not think so very ill of Wickham as to believe him capable of the attempt. Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be their former conduct, that she would think capable of such an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word, that he is neither integrity nor honour, that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. And do you really know all this? cried Mrs. Gardner, whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive. I do indeed, replied Elizabeth, colouring. I told you the other day of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy, and you yourself, when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him, and there are other circumstances which I am not at liberty, which it is not worth while to relate. But his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found her. But does Lydia know nothing of this?  Oh, yes! that is the worst of it all! Till I was in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself, and when I returned home, the blank show was to leave Maritain a week or fortnight's time, as that was the case neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I thought it necessary to make our knowledge public. For of what use could it apparently be to any one that the good opinion which all the neighbourhood had of him should then be overthrown, and even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me, that she could be in any danger from the deception never entered my head, that such a consequent as this could ensue, you may easily believe was far enough from my thoughts. When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each other. Not the slightest! I can remember no symptom of affection on either side, and had any thing of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first he entered the core, she was ready enough to admire him, but so we all were. Every girl in or near Maritain was out of her senses about him for the first two months, but he never distinguished her by any particular attention, and consequently after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites. It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures on this interesting subject by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-approach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness. They travelled as expeditiously as possible, and sleeping one night on the road, reached long-born by dinnertime the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long expectations. The little gardeners, attracted by the sight of a shez, were standing on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock, and when the carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome. Elizabeth jumped out, and after giving each of them a hasty kiss, hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down from her mother's apartment, immediately met her. Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been heard of the fugitives. "'Not yet,' replied Jane, "'but now that my dear uncle has come, I hope everything will be well?'—'Is my father in town?'—'Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote to word. And have you heard from him often?'—'We have heard only twice. He wrote to me a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I particularly begged him to do. He merely added that he should not write again till he had something of importance to mention.' "'And my mother, how is she?  She is upstairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty thank Kevin quite well.' "'But you! How are you?' cried Elizabeth. "'You look pale! How much she must have gone through.' Her sister, however, assured her of being perfectly well, and their conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardner were engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both with alternate smiles and tears. When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had not yet deserted her, she still expected that it would all end well, and that every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explain their proceedings, and perhaps announce their marriage. Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired after a few minutes' conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected, with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage, blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must principally be owing. If I had been able, said she, to carry my point in going to Brighton with all my family, this would not have happened. But poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the foresters ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her, but I was overruled as I always am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what is to become of us all? The Collins's will turn us out before he is cold in his grave, and if you were not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do." They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas, and Mr. Gardner, after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia. Do not give way to useless alarm! added he. Though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on at his certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more we may gain some news of them, and till we know that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not let us give over the matter as lost. As soon as I get to town I shall go to my brother, and make him come home with me to Grace Church Street, and then we may consult together as to what is to be done. Oh! my dear brother! replied Mrs. Bennet, that is exactly what I could most wish for, and now do when you shall get to town find them out wherever they may be, and if they are not married already, make them marry, and as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them after they are married. And above all keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frightened out of my wits, and have such trembling, such flutterings all over me, such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night or day. And tell my dear Lydia not to give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother! how kind you are! I know you will contrive it all. But Mr. Gardner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in her hopes as her fear, and after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters. Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of the household, and the one whom they could most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subject. In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm, and no change was visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger which she had herself incurred in this business, had given more of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with the countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table. This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation. Then, perceiving Elizabeth had no intention of replying, she added, Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson, that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable, that one false step involves her in endless ruin, that reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful, and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex. Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them. In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for a half-hour by themselves, and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity of making any inquiries which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued the subject by saying, But tell me all and everything about it which I have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement took place? They must have seen them together for ever. Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so grieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to us in order to assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of then not being gone to Scotland, when that apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey. And was Denny convinced that Wiccan would not marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself? Yes. But when questioned by him, Denny denied knowing anything of their plans, and would not give his real opinion about it, he did not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying. And from that, I am inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before. And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married. How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt a little uneasy, a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in marriage, because I know that his conduct had not been always quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that. They only felt how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned with very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last letter she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their being in love with each other many weeks. But not before they went to Brighton. No, I believe not. And did Colonel Forster appear to think well of Wiccan himself? Does he know his real character? I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wiccan as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt. But I hope this may be false. Oh, Jane! Had we been less secret, had we told we would be new of him, this could not have happened. Perhaps it would have been better, replied her sister. But to expose the form of faults of any person without knowing what their present feelings were seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions. Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his wife? He brought it with him for us to see. Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Lydia. These were the contents. My dearest Harriet, you will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton. But there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him. So think it, no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater, when I write to them and sign my name, Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all. And tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn. But I wish she would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked buzz and gown before they are packed up. Goodbye! Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey. Your affectionate friend, Lydia Bennet." Oh! Thoughtless! Thoughtless, Lydia! cried Elizabeth when she had finished it. What a letter is this to be written at such a moment! But at least it shows that she was serious on the subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. My poor father! How he must have felt it! I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in such confusion. Oh, Jane! cried Elizabeth. Was there a servant belonging to it who did not know the whole story before the end of the day? I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavored to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much as I might have done. But the horror of what might possibly happen almost took from me my faculties. Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh, that I had been with you. You have had every care and anxiety upon yourself alone. Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every fatigue I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much that her hours of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn on Tuesday after my father went away, and was so good as to stay till Thursday with me, she was of great use and comfort to us all. Aunt Lady Lucas has been very kind. She walked here on Wednesday morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters, if they should be of any use to us. She had better have stayed at home, cried Elizabeth. Perhaps she meant well, but under such a misfortune as this one cannot see too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible. Condolence insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied." She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had intended to pursue while in town for the recovery of his daughter. He meant, I believe, replied Jane, to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses, see the pastillions, and try if anything could be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the number of the Hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come with a fare from London, and as he thought that the circumstance of a gentleman and ladies removing from one carriage into another might be remarked, he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow discover it what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any other design that he had formed, but he was in such a hurry to be gone, and his spirit so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding out even so much as this. CHAPTER 48 The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him. His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and dilatory correspondent, but at such a time they had hoped for exertion. They were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence to send, but even of that they would have been glad to be certain. Mr. Gardner had waited only for the letters before he set off. When he was gone they were certain at least of receiving constant information of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting, to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could, to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only security for her husband's not being killed in a duel. Mrs. Gardner and the children were to remain in Hartfordshire a few days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also visited them frequently, and as always, as she said, with the design of cheering and heartening them up, though, as she never came without reporting some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance or irregularity, she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found them. All maritones seemed striving to blacken the man, who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world, and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of her sister's ruin more certain, and even Jane, who believed still less of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come when, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some news of them. Mr. Gardner left long-born on Sunday. On Tuesday his wife received a letter from him. It told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Grace Church Street, that Mr. Bennett had been to Epsom and Clapham before his arrival, but without gaining any satisfactory information, and that he was now determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennett thought it possible that they might have gone to one of them, on their first coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardner himself did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added that Mr. Bennett seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London, and promised to write again very soon. There is also a post-script to this effect. I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if possible, from some of the young man's intimates in the regiment, whether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be likely to know in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there were any one that one could apply to you with the probability of gaining such a clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare, say, do everything in his power to satisfy us on this head. But on second thoughts, perhaps, Lizzie could tell us what relations he has now living better than any other person. Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference to her authority proceeded, but it was not in her power to give any information of so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved.  It was possible, however, that some of his companions in the blanksure might be able to give more information, and though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application was a something to look forward to. Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety, but the most anxious part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was the grand object of every morning's impatience. Through letters, whatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and every succeeding day was expected to bring some news of importance. But before they heard again from Mr. Gardner, a letter arrived for their father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins, which, as Jane had received directions to open all that came for him in his absence, she accordingly read, and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his letters always were, looked over her and read it likewise. It was as follows. My dear sir, I feel myself called upon by our relationship, and by situation in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from Hartfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in your present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding from a cause which no time can remove, no arguments shall be wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune, or that may comfort you under a circumstance that must be of all others the most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this, and it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose, as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence, though, at the same time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennett, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you are grievously to be pitied, in which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others, for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family? And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event of last November, for had it been otherwise I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace.  I am, dear sir, et cetera, et cetera. Mr. Gardner did not write again till he had received an answer from Colonel Forster, and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send. It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no one near living. His former acquaintances had been numerous, but since he had been in the militia it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore, who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him, and in the wretched state of his own finances there was a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton. He owed a great deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more formidable. Mr. Gardner did not attempt to conceal these particulars from the long-born family. Jane heard them with horror. A game-ster! she cried. This is wholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it. Mr. Gardner added in his letter that they might expect to see their father at home on the following day, which was Saturday, rendered spiritless by the ill success of all their endeavours. He had yielded to his brother-in-law's entreaty that he would return to his family, and leave it to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for continuing their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did not express so much satisfaction as her children expected, considering what her anxiety for his life had been before. What! Is he coming home? And without poor Lydia? she cried. Sure he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight, wick him, and make him marry her, if he comes away? As Mrs. Gardner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she and the children should go to London at the same time that Mr. Bennet came from it. The coach therefore took them at the first stage of their journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn. Mrs. Gardner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend that had attended her from that part of the world. His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece, and the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardner had formed, of there being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing. Elizabeth had received none since her return that could come from Pemberley. The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of her spirit's unnecessary. Nothing therefore could be fairly conjectured from that, though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two. When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the habit of saying, made no mention of the business that had taken him away, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of it. It was not till the afternoon, when he enjoined them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject. And then, on her briefly expressing her sorrow from what he must have endured, he replied, Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it. You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied Elizabeth. You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it. No, Lizzie, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough. Do you suppose them to be in London? Yes. Where else can they be so well concealed? And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty. She is happy, then," said her father, dryly, and her residence there will probably be of some duration. Then, after a short silence, he continued, Lizzie, I bear you no ill will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, show some greatness of mind. They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's tea. This is a parade," he cried, which does one good. It gives such an elegance to misfortune. Another day I will do the same. I will sit in my library and my night-cap and powdering-gown, and give as much trouble as I can. Or perhaps I may defer it till Kitty runs away. I am not going to run away, papa," said Kitty fratfully. If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia. You go to Brighton? I would not trust you so near it is east-born for fifty pounds. No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Bulls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters, and you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner. Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry. Well, well," said he, do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them. Two days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and concluding that she came to call them to their mother, went forward to meet her. But instead of the expected summons when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes that you might have had some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask. What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town. Dear madam, cried Mrs. Hill in great astonishment, don't you know there is an express come for Master for Mr. Gardner? He's been here this half hour, and Master has had a letter. Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room, from thence to the library—their father was in neither—and they were on the point of seeking him upstairs with their mother, when they were met by the butler, who said, If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards the little cops. Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock. Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath, came up with him, and eagerly cried out, Oh, Papa, what news! What news! Have you heard from my uncle? Yes, I have had a letter from him by express. Well, and what news does it bring, good or bad? What is there of good to be expected? said he, taking the letter from his pocket. But perhaps he would like to read it. Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up. Read it aloud, said their father, for I hardly know myself what it is about. Grace-Church Street, Monday, August 2. My dear brother, at last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfaction. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet. It is enough to know they are discovered. I have seen them both." Then it is as I always hoped! cried Jane. They are married! Elizabeth read on. I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find those any intention of being so. But if you are willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is required of you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after the decease of yourself and my sister, and moreover to enter into an agreement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged for you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You will easily comprehend from these particulars that Mr. Wickham's circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has been deceived in that respect, and I am happy to say there will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune. If, as I can include will be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I will immediately give directions to Hagerston for preparing a proper settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to town again. Therefore, stay quiet at long-born, and depend on my diligence and care. Send back your answer as fast as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best that my niece should be married from this house, of which I hope you will approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as anything more is determined on—yours, etc.—Edward Gardner." Is it possible? cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. Can it be possible that he will marry her? Wickham is not so undeserving then as we had thought him, said her sister. My dear father, I congratulate you." And have you answered the letter? cried Elizabeth. No, but it must be done soon. Most earnestly did she then entreat him to lose no more time before he wrote. Oh, my dear father!" she cried, come back and write immediately, consider how important every moment is in such a case. Let me write for you," said Jane, if you dislike the trouble yourself. I dislike it very much," he replied, but it must be done. And so saying, he turned back with them and walked towards the house. Asked Elizabeth, but the terms I suppose must be complied with. Complied with? I am only ashamed of his asking so little.  Yes, yes, they must marry, there is nothing else to be done, but there are two things that I want very much to know. One is, how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about, and the other, how am I ever to pay him? Money? My uncle? cried Jane. What do you mean, sir? I mean that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone. That is very true, said Elizabeth, though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged and some things still to remain. Oh, it must be my uncle's doings. Generous good man! I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this. No, said her father, wickens a fool if he takes so with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him in the very beginning of our relationship. Ten thousand pounds? Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid? Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued silent till they reached the house. My father then went on to the library to walk, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room. And they are really to be married, cried Elizabeth, as soon as they were by themselves. How strange this is! And for this we are to be thankful, that they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice. Lydia. I comfort myself with thinking, replied Jane, that he suddenly would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced. He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten thousand pounds? If he were ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been, said Elizabeth, and how much has settled on his side on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardner has done for them, because Wickham has not a sixpence of his own. The kindness of why uncle and aunt can never be requited. They are taking her home, and affording her their personal protection and countenance is such a sacrifice to her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is actually with them. If such goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy. What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt. We must endeavour to forget all that is past on either side, said Jane. I hope and trust they will yet be happy. He is consenting to marry her as a proof, I will believe, that he has come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them, and I flatter myself they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational manner, as may in time make their past imprudence forgotten. Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, as neither you nor I nor anybody can ever forget, it is useless to talk of it.  They went to the library therefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to make it known to her. He was writing, and without raising his head, coolly replied, just as you please. May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?  Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-table, and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet. One communication would therefore do for all. After a slight preparation for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardner's hope of Lydia's being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from delight as she had ever been fidgety from alarm and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct. My dear, dear Lydia! she cried. This is delightful indeed. She will be married. I shall see her again. She will be married at sixteen. My good kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her, and to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes! The wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardner about them directly. Lizzie, my dear, run down to your father and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay. I will go myself. Bring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia, how merry we shall be together when we meet! Her eldest daughter endeavored to give some relief to the violence of these transports by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardner's behaviour laid them all under. For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, in a great measure to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money. Well!" cried her mother. It is all very right. Who should do it but her own uncle?  Well! I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter married—Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter that I am sure I can't write, so I will dictate and you will write for me. We will set up with your father about the money afterwards, but the thing should be ordered immediately." She was then proceeding to all the particulars of Calico, Muslim, and Cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till her father was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay she observed would be of small importance, and her mother was too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into her head. I will go to Merriton," said she, as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips, and as soon as I come back I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty run down and order the carriage, and airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Merriton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married, and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make Mary at her wedding. Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her congratulations among the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom. Poor Lydia's situation must at best be bad enough, but that it was no worse she had need to be thankful. She felt it so, and though in looking forward neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity could be justly expected for her sister in looking back to what they had feared only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had gained. CHAPTER FIFTY Mr. Bennet had very often wished before this period of his life that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his children and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be her husband might then have rested in its proper place. He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to any one should be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could. When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless, for, of course, they were to have a son. The son was to join in cutting off the entail as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successfully entered the world, but yet the son was to come, and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her husband's love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income. Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and the children, but in what proportions it should be divided amongst the latter, depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In terms of grateful acknowledgement for the kindness of his brother, though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfill the engagement that had been made for him. He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by the hundred that was to be paid them, for what with her board and pocket allowance, and the continual presence and money which passed to her through her mother's hands, Lydia's expenses had been very little within that sum. That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side too, was another very welcome surprise, for his wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dispatched, for though dilatory in undertaking business, he was quick in its execution. He begged to know further particulars of what he was indebted to his brother, but was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her. The good news spread quickly through the house, and with proportionate speed, through the neighbourhood. It was born in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of conversation had Miss Lydia Bennett come upon the town, or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world in some distant farmhouse. But there was much to be talked of in marrying her, and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing which had preceded before from all the spiteful old ladies in Maritain, lost but a little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such a husband her misery was considered certain. It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennett had been downstairs, but on this happy day she again took her seat at the head of the table, and in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of her wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants. She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a proper situation for her daughter, and without knowing or considering what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and importance. "'Hey, Park might do,' said she, if the Goldings could quit it, or the Great House at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger, but Ashworth is too far off. I could not bear to have her ten miles from me, and as for Pulvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.' Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption while the servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "'Mrs. Bennett, before you take any or all of those houses for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighbourhood they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either by receiving them at Longbourn.' A long dispute followed this declaration, but Mr. Bennett was firm. It soon led to another, and Mrs. Bennett found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of affection whatever on the occasion. Mrs. Bennett could hardly comprehend it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable resentment as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all she could believe possible. She was more alive to the disgrace which her want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight, before they took place. Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of the moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister. For since her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavourable beginning from all those who were not immediately on the spot. She had no fear of its spreading farther through his means. There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended, but at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister's frailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself, for at any rate there seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with the family where, to every other objection, would now be added an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned. From such a connection she could not wonder that he would shrink. The wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not, in rational expectation, survive such a blow as this. She was humbled. She was grieved. She repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him when it was no longer likely they should meet. What a triumph for him, as she often thought! Could he know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been most gladly and gratefully received? He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal there must be a triumph. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both, by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what cannubial felicity really was, and union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their family. How wicca mentalidia were to be supported in tolerable independence she could not imagine, but how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture. Mr. Gardner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurance of his eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his family, and concluded within treaties that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal purport of his letter was to inform them that Mr. Wickham had resolved on quitting the militia. It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, as soon as his marriage was fixed on, and I think you will agree with me in considering the removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on his account and my nieces. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go into the regulars, and among his former friends there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the promise of an entancy in General Blank's regiment, now quartered in the north. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly, and I hope among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster to inform him of our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors in Merriton, of whom I shall subjoin a list according to his information? He has given in all his debts. I hope at least he has not deceived us. Hagiston has our directions, and all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to Longbourn, and I understand from Mrs. Gardner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves the south.  Yours, etc. E. Gardner. Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal from the blanksure, as clearly as Mr. Gardner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the north, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in Hartfordshire, was a severe disappointment. And besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites. She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, it will be quite shocking to send her away. And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in general blanks regiment. His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being admitted into her family again before she set off for the north, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing for the sake of their sister's feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally, and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at long-born as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing that she would be able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to the north. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission for them to come, and it was settled that as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to long-born. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme, and had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him would have been the last object of her wishes. CHAPTER 51 Their sister's wedding-day arrived, and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them at Blank, and they were to return in it by dinnertime. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennet's, and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself had she been the culprit, and was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure. They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast-room to receive them.  Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule, the door was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture, gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy with an alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness. Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity, and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple indeed was enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still, untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and observed with a laugh that it was a great while since she had been there. Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners were always so pleasing that had his character and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address while he claimed their relationship would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance, but she sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed, but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour. There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither of them talk fast enough, and Wickham, who happened to sit near Elizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good humoured ease which she felt very unable to equal in her replies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain, and led Lydia involuntarily to subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for the world. Only think of its being three months! she cried, since I went away. It seems but a fortnight, I declare, and yet there have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again. There I thought it would be very good fun if I was." Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia. But she, who never heard or saw anything of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, Oh, mamma, do the people hereabouts know I am married today? I was afraid they might not, and we overtook William Golding in his curicle, so I was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass next to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything. Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up and ran out of the room, and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to the dining-parlor.  It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called Mrs. Wickham by each of them, and in the meantime she went after dinner to show her ring, and boast of being married to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids. Well, Mama," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast-room, and what do you think of my husband? Is he not a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, Mama, we did not all go. Very true, and if I had my will we should. But, my dear Lydia, I don't at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so? Oh, Lord, yes, there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all things. You and Papa and my sisters must come down and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some balls, and I will take good care to get partners for them all. I should like it beyond anything," said her mother, and then, when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters behind you, and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over. I thank you for my share of the veva," said Elizabeth, but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands. Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight. No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short, and she made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter and having very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to all, to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did think, than such as did not. Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it, not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love, rather than by his, and she would have wondered why, without violently caring for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances, and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity of having a companion. Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion. No one was to be put in competition with him. He did everything best in the world, and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September than anybody else in the country. One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth, Lizzie, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by when I told Maman the others all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed? Not really, replied Elizabeth. I think there cannot be too little said on the subject. La, you were so strange, but I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clements, because Wickham's lodgings were in that parish, and it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together, and the others were to meet us at the church.  There was my aunt all the time I was dressing, preaching, and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat. Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual. I thought it would never be over, for by the by you are to understand that my uncle and aunt were horrid, unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight, not one party, or scheme, or anything. To be sure, London was rather thin, but, however, the little theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that horrid man, Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they got together, there is no end of it. I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away, and if we were beyond the hour we could not be married all day. But luckily he came back again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well. Mr. Darcy! repeated Elizabeth in utter amazement. Oh, yes! he was to come there with Wickham, you know. Oh, but gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully. What will Wickham say?  If it was to be a secret, said Jane, say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further. Oh, certainly! said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity. We will ask you no questions. Thank you! said Lydia, for if you did I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry. On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power by running away. But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible, or at least it was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene and exactly among people where he had apparently least to do and least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain, but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her as placing his conduct in the noblest light seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense, and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropped if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been intended. You may readily comprehend," she added, what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with any of us, and comparatively speaking a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray right instantly and let me understand it, unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary, and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with ignorance. Not that I shall, though," she added to herself as she finished the letter, and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable manner, I shall suddenly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out. Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall. Elizabeth was glad of it. Till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidant.