CHAPTER XIII

Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas

only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good

deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing

Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever

in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him, and

quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he was, how were

his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to

Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit

herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed

for employment than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and,

pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; and

farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or

working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close

of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing

elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his

side was that she _refused_ _him_. Their affection was always to subside

into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to mark their

parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible of this,

it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of

her previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, never

to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle

than she could foresee in her own feelings.

"I do not find myself making any use of the word _sacrifice_," said

she.--"In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is

there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not

really necessary to my happiness. So much the better. I certainly will

not persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I

should be sorry to be more."

Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.

"_He_ is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes it--very

much in love indeed!--and when he comes again, if his affection

continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage it.--It would be most

inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I

imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he

had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been

so wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and

language at parting would have been different.--Still, however, I must

be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment continuing

what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will; I do not look

upon him to be quite the sort of man--I do not altogether build upon

his steadiness or constancy.--His feelings are warm, but I can imagine

them rather changeable.--Every consideration of the subject, in short,

makes me thankful that my happiness is not more deeply involved.--I

shall do very well again after a little while--and then, it will be a

good thing over; for they say every body is in love once in their lives,

and I shall have been let off easily."

When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of it; and

she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which made her

at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she had

undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving

the particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all the

affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable,

and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposed

attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes now of

apology or concern; it was the language of real feeling towards Mrs.

Weston; and the transition from Highbury to Enscombe, the contrast

between the places in some of the first blessings of social life was

just enough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how much more

might have been said but for the restraints of propriety.--The charm

of her own name was not wanting. _Miss_ _Woodhouse_ appeared more than

once, and never without a something of pleasing connexion, either a

compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had said; and in

the very last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by any

such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of

her influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all

conveyed. Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these

words--"I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss

Woodhouse's beautiful little friend. Pray make my excuses and adieus

to her." This, Emma could not doubt, was all for herself. Harriet was

remembered only from being _her_ friend. His information and prospects

as to Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated;

Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even in his own

imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again.

Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material

part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned

to Mrs. Weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she could

still do without the writer, and that he must learn to do without her.

Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only grew more

interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consolation

and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the words which

clothed it, the "beautiful little friend," suggested to her the

idea of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections. Was it

impossible?--No.--Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in

understanding; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness

of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner; and all the

probabilities of circumstance and connexion were in her favour.--For

Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful indeed.

"I must not dwell upon it," said she.--"I must not think of it. I know

the danger of indulging such speculations. But stranger things have

happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do now, it

will be the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested

friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure."

It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, though it

might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that quarter

was at hand. As Frank Churchill's arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton's

engagement in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest

had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill's

disappearance, Mr. Elton's concerns were assuming the most irresistible

form.--His wedding-day was named. He would soon be among them again; Mr.

Elton and his bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter

from Enscombe before "Mr. Elton and his bride" was in every body's

mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Emma grew sick at the sound.

She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet's

mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength.

With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of

insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had

not attained such a state of composure as could stand against the actual

approach--new carriage, bell-ringing, and all.

Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the

reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could

give. Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had

a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work

to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed

to, without being able to make their opinions the same. Harriet listened

submissively, and said "it was very true--it was just as Miss Woodhouse

described--it was not worth while to think about them--and she would not

think about them any longer" but no change of subject could avail, and

the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as

before. At last Emma attacked her on another ground.

"Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr.

Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can make _me_.

You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake I fell into.

It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure

you.--Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you--and it will

be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not imagine me in danger of

forgetting it."

Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager

exclamation. Emma continued,

"I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake; think less, talk

less of Mr. Elton for my sake; because for your own sake rather, I

would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more important than my

comfort, a habit of self-command in you, a consideration of what is your

duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the suspicions of

others, to save your health and credit, and restore your tranquillity.

These are the motives which I have been pressing on you. They are very

important--and sorry I am that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act

upon them. My being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration.

I want you to save yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes

have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due--or rather what

would be kind by me."

This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea of

wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really

loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when the violence

of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to

what was right and support her in it very tolerably.

"You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life--Want

gratitude to you!--Nobody is equal to you!--I care for nobody as I do

for you!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!"

Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and

manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so

well, nor valued her affection so highly before.

"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart," said she afterwards to

herself. "There is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and tenderness

of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all the

clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will. It

is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally

beloved--which gives Isabella all her popularity.--I have it not--but

I know how to prize and respect it.--Harriet is my superior in all the

charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet!--I would not change

you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female

breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!--Harriet is worth a

hundred such--And for a wife--a sensible man's wife--it is invaluable. I

mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!"