CHAPTER XIII.

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to

contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of

its contents. But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerly

she went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited.

Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did

she first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power;

and steadfastly was she persuaded that he could have no explanation to

give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong

prejudice against every thing he might say, she began his account of

what had happened at Netherfield. She read, with an eagerness which

hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing

what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the

sense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's

insensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account of

the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have

any wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had

done which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It

was all pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, when

she read with somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events, which,

if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which

bore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings

were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.

Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished

to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This must be false!

This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!"--and when she had

gone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing any thing of the

last page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not

regard it, that she would never look in it again.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on

nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter

was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she

again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and

commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.

The account of his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactly

what he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy,

though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his

own words. So far each recital confirmed the other: but when she came to

the will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living

was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was

impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the

other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did

not err. But when she read, and re-read with the closest attention, the

particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions

to the living, of his receiving in lieu, so considerable a sum as three

thousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the

letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be

impartiality--deliberated on the probability of each statement--but with

little success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read on.

But every line proved more clearly that the affair, which she had

believed it impossible that any contrivance could so represent, as to

render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a

turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.

The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay to

Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could

bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his

entrance into the ----shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the

persuasion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town,

had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life,

nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to

his real character, had information been in her power, she had never

felt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner, had

established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to

recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of

integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr.

Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those

casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class, what Mr. Darcy

had described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no

such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before

her, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more

substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and

the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After

pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to

read. But, alas! the story which followed of his designs on Miss Darcy,

received some confirmation from what had passed between Colonel

Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she was

referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam

himself--from whom she had previously received the information of his

near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no

reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to

him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and

at length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never

have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his

cousin's corroboration.

She perfectly remembered every thing that had passed in conversation

between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Philips's.

Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was _now_

struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and

wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting

himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions

with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear

of seeing Mr. Darcy--that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that

_he_ should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball

the very next week. She remembered also, that till the Netherfield

family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but

herself; but that after their removal, it had been every where

discussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr.

Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for the

father, would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did every thing now appear in which he was concerned!

His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and

hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer

the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing.

His behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had

either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying

his vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most

incautiously shewn. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter

and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not

but allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago

asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive as

were his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their

acquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much

together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways, seen any thing

that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust--any thing that spoke him

of irreligious or immoral habits. That among his own connections he was

esteemed and valued--that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a

brother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of

his sister as to prove him capable of _some_ amiable feeling. That had

his actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of

every thing right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and

that friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man

as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself.--Of neither Darcy nor Wickham

could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial,

prejudiced, absurd.

"How despicably have I acted!" she cried.--"I, who have prided myself on

my discernment!--I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have

often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my

vanity, in useless or blameable distrust.--How humiliating is this

discovery!--Yet, how just a humiliation!--Had I been in love, I could

not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my

folly.--Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect

of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted

prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were

concerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself."

From herself to Jane--from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line

which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanation

_there_, had appeared very insufficient; and she read it again. Widely

different was the effect of a second perusal.--How could she deny that

credit to his assertions, in one instance, which she had been obliged to

give in the other?--He declared himself to have been totally

unsuspicious of her sister's attachment;--and she could not help

remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.--Neither could she

deny the justice of his description of Jane.--She felt that Jane's

feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a

constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great

sensibility.

When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were

mentioned, in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense

of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly

for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded, as

having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first

disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind

than on hers.

The compliment to herself and her sister, was not unfelt. It soothed,

but it could not console her for the contempt which had been thus

self-attracted by the rest of her family;--and as she considered that

Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest

relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt

by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing she

had ever known before.

After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every

variety of thought; re-considering events, determining probabilities,

and reconciling herself as well as she could, to a change so sudden and

so important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her

at length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of

appearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such

reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.

She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each

called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes to take

leave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least

an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her

till she could be found.--Elizabeth could but just _affect_ concern in

missing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no

longer an object. She could think only of her letter.