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The next morning Elizabeth could not recover from the surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything else. Soon after breakfast she went for a walk.
After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she stopped at the gates and looked into the park. Suddenly she noticed a gentleman which was moving that way. It was Mr. Darcy, he was near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. He said, “I have been walking in the park in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?” And then, with a slight bow, was soon out of sight.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter. It was written at eight o’clock in the morning, and was as follows: —
“I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself. You must pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention, but I demand it of your justice.
Two offenses of a very different nature you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was, that I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had ruined the immediate prosperity of Mr. Wickham. I can only say that I am sorry. I will try to explain everything.
In Hertfordshire, I saw that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. Everybody spoke of it as a certain event. From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard. So I thought she was not serious. But of course, your superior knowledge of your sister is true. So I can understand I made a terrible error to inflict pain on her. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. Indeed, I preserved my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember.
In London I tried to tell my friend the certain evils of his choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, please forgive me.
With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, connected with Mr. Wickham, I can only tell the story of my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but I will tell you everything.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct inclined my father to do him something good. George Wickham was his godson. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge – most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, was unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father had the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, which he was carefully hiding from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself. Here again I shall give you pain – to what degree you only can tell.
My beloved father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement – and desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also an amount of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that he decided not to become a clergyman. He wanted to receive money. So Mr. Wickham received three thousand pounds from me. All connection between us dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. His life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him. When the money was over, he wrote, that he decided to became a priest and asked me about the place that would suit him. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty. So he was violent in his abuse of me to others. How he lived I know not. But last summer he again most painfully appeared in my life.
I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself. My sister, who is more than ten years younger than me, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school. Last summer she went with the lady to Ramsgate; and there also went Mr. Wickham. He had evil intentions: he offered her to run away with him. My sister was fifteen only, which must be her excuse. I am happy to add, that I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended escape, and then Georgiana told me everything. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately. Mr. Wickham was interested in my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I am sure he was thinking of revenging himself on me.
For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam. I shall find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands this morning. I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy”
When Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth the letter, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents. But she read with eagerness. Mr. Darcy expressed no regret for what he had done; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.
When she was reading about Mr. Wickham, she wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, “This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!”
She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance – but with little success. Again she read on; but every line told her that she was wrong about Mr. Wickham. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips’s. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory.
How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.
“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Till this moment I never knew myself.”
She could not deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings were little displayed.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought – re-considering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, she entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual.
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. Elizabeth could think only of her letter.
The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins hastened to console Lady Catherine and her daughter.
Elizabeth looked at Lady Catherine and thought that she might be her future niece. “What would she have said? how would she have behaved?” were questions with which she amused herself.
“I assure you, no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do,” said Lady Catherine; “I am particularly attached to these young men, and I know how they are attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go!”
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits. So she said:
“You must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”
“I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”
“Why, I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no need for your going so soon.”
“But my father wrote last week to hurry my return. You are all kindness, madam; but I believe I must return home.”
Lady Catherine said, “Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two men-servants go with her. I am excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins.”
“My uncle will send a servant for us.”
“Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change horses? Oh! Bromley, of course.”
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask concerning their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary.
Elizabeth studied every sentence of Mr. Darcy’s letter; and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. His attachment deserved gratitude, his general character respect; but she could not approve him. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret.
Anxiety on Jane’s behalf was another concern. How grievous was her fate!
When to these recollections was added the development of Wickham’s character, it may be easily understood that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so alarming.
When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year; and Miss de Bourgh held out her hand to both.
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