CHAPTER X.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, as

soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than

hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be

interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be

happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not

contain a denial.

"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.

"MY DEAR NIECE,

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole

morning to answering it, as I foresee that a _little_ writing will

not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself

surprised by your application; I did not expect it from _you_.

Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,

that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on _your_

side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my

impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am--and nothing

but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed

him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and

ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming

home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.

Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all

over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked

as _your's_ seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that

he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that

he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia

once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day

after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting

for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being

owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well

known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,

to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his

mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath

him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character

was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step

forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on

by himself. If he _had another_ motive, I am sure it would never

disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to

discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was

more than _we_ had; and the consciousness of this, was another

reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a

Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was

dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though

he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,

and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.

Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he

went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But

it was two or three days before he could get from her what he

wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery

and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be

found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in

London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they

would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our

kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ----

street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.

His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade

her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her

friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,

offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia

absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none

of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of

leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or

other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her

feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a

marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he

easily learnt, had never been _his_ design. He confessed himself

obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,

which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the

ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He

meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future

situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go

somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have

nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your

sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,

he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation

must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to

this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more

effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.

Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof

against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,

for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more

than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.

Every thing being settled between _them_, Mr. Darcy's next step was

to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in

Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner

could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that

your father was still with him, but would quit town the next

morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could

so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed

seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not

leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a

gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your

father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they

had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and

then _I_ saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon

as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor

was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real

defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many

faults at different times; but _this_ is the true one. Nothing was

to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do

not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your

uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it

together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman

or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced

to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,

was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,

which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your

letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an

explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give

the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther

than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,

what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,

amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,

another thousand in addition to her own settled upon _her_, and his

commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him

alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his

reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character

had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been

received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in

_this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve, or _anybody's_

reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this

fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that

your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit

for _another interest_ in the affair. When all this was resolved

on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at

Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more

when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to

receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.

It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I

hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to

us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. _He_ was

exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I

would not tell you how little I was satisfied with _her_ behaviour

while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter

last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a

piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no

fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,

representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and

all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,

it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was

sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth

and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was

punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the

wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again

on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear

Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold

enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,

in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.

His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but

a little more liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_, his

wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;--he hardly ever

mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive

me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so

far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I

have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little

pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.

The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very

sincerely,

"M. GARDINER."

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,

in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the

greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had

produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's

match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too

great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the

pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true!

He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the

trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which

supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and

despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with,

persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to

avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had

done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her

heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope

shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her

vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for

her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a

sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.

Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the

connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how

much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no

extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel

he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising

it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement,

she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might

assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be

materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that

they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a

return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing

to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation

she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed

towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.

Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get

the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him

again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even

sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how

steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and

confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's

approach; and before she could strike into another path, she was

overtaken by Wickham.

"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?" said he,

as he joined her.

"You certainly do," she replied with a smile; "but it does not follow

that the interruption must be unwelcome."

"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. _We_ were always good friends;

and now we are better."

"True. Are the others coming out?"

"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to

Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt, that

you have actually seen Pemberley."

She replied in the affirmative.

"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much

for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the

old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of

me. But of course she did not mention my name to you."

"Yes, she did."

"And what did she say?"

"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had--not turned

out well. At such a distance as _that_, you know, things are strangely

misrepresented."

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had

silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,

"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other

several times. I wonder what he can be doing there."

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said

Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there at this

time of year."

"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I

understood from the Gardiners that you had."

"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."

"And do you like her?"

"Very much."

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year

or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad

you liked her. I hope she will turn out well."

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."

"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"

"I do not recollect that we did."

"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A

most delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited

me in every respect."

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and

the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to

repine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The

quiet, the retirement of such a life, would have answered all my ideas

of happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the

circumstance, when you were in Kent?"

"I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was

left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."

"You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the

first, you may remember."

"I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not so

palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually

declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business

had been compromised accordingly."

"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember

what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it."

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast

to get rid of him; and unwilling for her sister's sake, to provoke him,

she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,

"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us

quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one

mind."

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though

he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.