Chapter XI

Emma was sitting in her room. “Harriet, poor Harriet!” Emma thought. Poor Harriet! To be a second time the dupe of her misconceptions and flattery.

Soon Harriet arrived. “Well, Miss Woodhouse!” cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room, “is not this the oddest news that ever was?”

“What news do you mean?” replied Emma, unable to guess.

“About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear anything so strange? Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to anybody but you, but he said you knew it.”

“What did Mr. Weston tell you?” said Emma, still perplexed.

“Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill are to be married. How odd!”

It was, indeed, so odd.

“Had you any idea,” cried Harriet, “of his being in love with her? You, perhaps, might. You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every body’s heart; but nobody else…”

“Upon my word,” said Emma, “I begin to doubt my having any such talent. I never had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank Churchill’s having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. If I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.”

“Me!” cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. “Why should you caution me? You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill.”

“I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,” replied Emma, smiling; “but you do not mean to deny that there was a time when you gave me reason to understand that you cared about him?”

“Him! Never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?”

“Harriet!” cried Emma, after a moment’s pause. “What do you mean? Good Heaven! What do you mean?”

“Is it possible,” said Harriet, “that you misunderstood me! Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I hope I have a better taste than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. But if you, who had been always acquainted with him – ”

“Harriet!” cried Emma, “Let us understand each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you speaking of Mr. Knightley?”

“Of course, I am. I never could have an idea of anybody else – and so I thought you knew.”

“I was sure,” returned Emma, with forced calmness, “that you had named Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the gypsies – ”

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No! Mr. Knightley’s coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room, that was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every other being upon earth.”

“Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley’s returning your affection?”

“Yes,” replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully, “I must say that I have.”

Emma’s eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating, for a few minutes. Why was it so much worse that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank Churchill? It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!

“Harriet, I can only to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his feeling for her more than he really does.”

The sound of her father’s footsteps was heard. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too much agitated to encounter him, she passed off through another door. Emma thought: “Oh God! I wish I had never seen her!”

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith! No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible. Harriet was less humble than formerly. But who but herself had taught her, that she was to elevate herself?

Chapter XII

The days were very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield. The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably comfortable by attention on his daughter’s side. It reminded her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-day. Alas! Hartfield will be deserted; and she will be left to cheer her father and to think of ruined happiness.

The child to be born at Randalls will become dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston’s heart and time would be occupied by it. They will lose her; and, probably, her husband also. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe. Mr. Knightley will no longer come there for his evening comfort. His visits will shortly be over.

Suddenly Emma saw Mr. Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her. He returned from London. There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. She asked after their mutual friends; they were all well. – When had he left them? – Only that morning. He must have had a wet ride. – Yes.

They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking at her. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for encouragement to begin. She began,

“You have some news to hear, that will rather surprize you.”

“Have I?” said he quietly, and looking at her; “of what nature?”

“Oh! the best nature in the world – a wedding.”

“If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that already.”

“How is it possible?” cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards him.

“I had a few lines from Mr. Weston this morning.”

Emma was quite relieved,

“You probably have been less surprized than any of us, for you have had your suspicions.”

“Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.” Her arm was pressed, as he added, “Indignation – Abominable scoundrel!” And in a louder tone, he concluded, “They will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for her. She deserves a better fate.”

“You are very kind – but you are mistaken. I was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased. But I have never been attached to him.”

He was silent. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said,

“I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill. I can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him. With such a woman he has a chance. I have no motive for wishing him ill, I shall certainly wish him well. He is a most fortunate man! He is a fortunate man indeed!”

“You speak as if you envied him.”

“And I do envy him, Emma.”

Emma could say no more.

“Emma, I refer myself to you as a friend. Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding? My dearest Emma, most beloved Emma, tell me at once. Say ‘No,’ if it is to be said.”

She could really say nothing.

“You are silent,” he cried; “absolutely silent! At present I ask no more.”

Emma was astonished.

“I cannot make speeches, Emma:” he soon resumed. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. But you understand me. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.”

While he spoke, Emma’s mind was most busy, to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole; to see that Harriet’s hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, that Harriet was nothing. She spoke then. What did she say? Just what she ought, of course.

When Mr. Knightley had arrived to Hartfield, he had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of Emma’s thoughts. He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of knowng it. He had come, in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill’s engagement, with no selfish view, no view at all, but to soothe or to counsel her. The rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. He was in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country. Frank Churchill was a villain. He heard her declare that she had never loved him. She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house.

Emma would have been very happy – but poor Harriet! Poor Harriet must be kept at a distance from Hartfield. She would be a loser in every way. In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten; but this could not be expected to happen very early. It was a very great relief to Emma to find that Harriet avoids their meetings, too.

Time passed on. One morning Mr. Knightley came in, and, in a grave tone, began with,

“I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.”

“Good or bad?” said she, quickly, looking up in his face.

“I do not know which it ought to be called.”

“Oh! good I am sure. You are trying not to smile.”

“I am afraid,” said he, “I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.”

“Indeed! but why so? I can hardly imagine that anything which pleases or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too.”

“There is one subject,” he replied, “on which we do not think alike.” He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face. “Do not you recollect? Harriet Smith.”

Her cheeks flushed at the name.

“Have you heard from her this morning?” cried he. “You have, I believe, and know everything.”

“No, I have not; I know nothing; tell me.”

“You are prepared for the worst, I see – and very bad it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin.”

Emma’s eyes, in eager gaze, said, “No, this is impossible!” but her lips were closed.

“It is so, indeed,” continued Mr. Knightley; “I learned it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago.”

She was still looking at him with the amazement.

“You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.”

“You mistake me, you quite mistake me,” she replied. “I cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility! You cannot mean that he has proposed to her again.”

“I mean that he has done it,” answered Mr. Knightley, “and been accepted.”

“Good God!” she cried. “How, where, when? Let me know it all. I never was more surprized – but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you. How has it been possible?”

“It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago. He found an opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak in vain. She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is deserving. This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer history when you see her. You know your friend best, but I should say she was not determined against any young man who told her he loved her.”

“I am perfectly satisfied,” replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, “and most sincerely wish them happy.”

“You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before.”

“I hope so – for at that time I was a fool.”

Emma’s joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be imagined. What had she to wish more?

The young man was treated liberally; and Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield. She had no doubt of Harriet’s happiness. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church. Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married.

Within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse joined. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton said “Very little white satin, very few lace veils!” But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.