CHAPTER XLVI.

1ELIZABETH 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 mis-sent elsewhere. 2Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.

3They 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. 4The one mis-sent must be first attended to; it had been written five days ago. 5The 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. 6It was to this effect:—

7“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. 8What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. 9An 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! 10Imagine our surprise. 11To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. 12I am very, very sorry. 13So imprudent a match on both sides! 14But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. 15Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. 16His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. 17Our poor mother is sadly grieved. 18My father bears it better. 19How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. 20They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. 21The express was sent off directly. 22My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. 23Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. 24Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. 25I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. 26I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written.”

27Without 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.

28“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. 29Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. 30Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. 31Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. 32Though 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. 33He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no farther; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney-coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. 34All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. 35I know not what to think. 36After making every possible inquiry on that side of London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success,—no such people had been seen to pass through. 37With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. 38I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F.; but no one can throw any blame on them. 39Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. 40My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. 41Many 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! 42I 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. 43My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. 44Could 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. 45Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. 46I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, 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? 47I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. 48Adieu! 49I 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. 50I 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. 51My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. 52What 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 to-morrow evening. 53In 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.”

54“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 the time so precious; but as she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. 55Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself enough to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia’s situation, hastily exclaimed, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. 56I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.”

57“Good God! 58what 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. Gardiner. 59You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”

60Elizabeth hesitated; but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. 61Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home instantly.

62On 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. 63Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? 64A glass of wine; shall I get you one? 65You are very ill.”

66“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. 67“There is nothing the matter with me. 68I am quite well, I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”

69She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. 70Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. 71At length she spoke again. 72“I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. 73It cannot be concealed from anyone. 74My youngest sister has left all her friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. 75They are gone off together from Brighton. 76You know him too well to doubt the rest. 77She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost for ever.”

78Darcy was fixed in astonishment.

79“When I consider,” she added, in a yet more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it! 80I who knew what he was. 81Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! 82Had his character been known, this could not have happened. 83But it is all, all too late now.”

84“I am grieved, indeed,” cried Darcy: “grieved—shocked. 85But is it certain, absolutely certain?”

86“Oh, yes! 87They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond: they are certainly not gone to Scotland.”

88“And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?”

89“My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle’s immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. 90But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. 91How is such a man to be worked on? 92How are they even to be discovered? 93I have not the smallest hope. 94It is every way horrible!”

95Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

96“When my eyes were opened to his real character, oh! 97had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! 98But I knew not—I was afraid of doing too much. 99Wretched, wretched mistake!”

100Darcy made no answer. 101He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. 102Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. 103Her power was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. 104She could neither wonder nor condemn; but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. 105It 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 vain.

106But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. 107Lydia—the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all—soon swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said,—

108“I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. 109Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress! 110But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. 111This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day.”

112“Oh, yes! 113Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. 114Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. 115Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. 116I know it cannot be long.”

117He readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope, and, leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious parting look, went away.

118As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have rejoiced in its termination.

119If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth’s change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. 120But if otherwise, if the 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, authorize her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. 121Be 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. 122Never since reading Jane’s second letter had she entertained a hope of Wickham’s meaning to marry her. 123No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. 124Surprise was the least of all her feelings on this development. 125While the contents of the first letter remained on her mind, she was all surprise, 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. 126But now it was all too natural. 127For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement, without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.

128She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia had wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. 129Sometimes one officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in her opinion. 130Her affections had been continually fluctuating, but never without an object. 131The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards such a girl—oh! how acutely did she now feel it!

132She 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 the misery of her impatience was severe. 133Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing, by the servant’s account, that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy. 134Though Lydia had never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply affected. 135Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readily promised every assistance in his power. 136Elizabeth, 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. 137They were to be off as soon as possible. 138“But what is to be done about Pemberley?” cried Mrs. Gardiner. 139“John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us;—was it so?”

140“Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. 141That is all settled.”

142“What is all settled?” repeated the other, as she ran into her room to prepare. 143“And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth? 144Oh, that I knew how it was!”

145But wishes were vain; or, at best, could serve only to amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. 146Had 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 there were notes to be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. 147An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner, 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.