Chapter 34

Elizabeth began to reread all the letters which Jane had written to her. They contained no actual complaint. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a lack of something.

She could not think of Darcy’s leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and she did not mean to be unhappy about him.

Suddenly she heard the door-bell, she thought that it could be Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening. But, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but did not say a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement. He spoke well; but he was not more eloquent on the subject of love than of pride.

In spite of her deep dislike, Elizabeth could feel the compliment of such a man’s affection. But when he stopped, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said:

“I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to pain anyone.”

Mr. Darcy caught her words with surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. The pause was dreadful to Elizabeth’s feelings. Finally, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

“And this is all the reply! I want to know, why I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”

“Shall I accept the man,” replied she, “who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short. She continued:

“I have every reason to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted. You cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other.”

She paused. He looked at her with a smile.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: “I have no wish to deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister.”

“But it is not merely this affair,” continued Elizabeth, “on which my dislike is founded. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. What can you say? Who knows what his misfortunes have been?”

“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. This is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I am not ashamed of the feelings I have. They are natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is beneath my own?”

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to speak calmly:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, I would refuse anyway.”

Again his astonishment was obvious. She went on:

“From the very beginning – from the first moment – of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry.”

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. Forgive me for taking so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

Elizabeth sat down and cried for half-an-hour. She received an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! He is in love with her! But his pride, his abominable pride, and the manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards Jane tell more than his words of love.

Chapter 35

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”