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- pride-and-prejudice
- text
- little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded;
but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident
agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:--
“Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a
most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you--be
assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia.
An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed,
from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland
with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our
surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am
very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing
to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood.
Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and
let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is
disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing.
Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How
thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against
him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about
twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at
eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have
passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect
him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of
their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor
mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly
know what I have written.”
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing
what she felt, Elizabeth, on finishing this letter, instantly seized the
other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it
had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.
“By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I
wish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my
head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest
Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you,
and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham
and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has
taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone
to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the
day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia’s short
letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna
Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W.
never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated
to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B.,
intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but
no farther; for on entering that place, they removed into a
hackney-coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom.
All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the
London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible
inquiry on that side of London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire,
anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet
and Hatfield, but without any success,--no such people had been seen to
pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and
broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart.
I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F.; but no one can throw any
blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and
mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many
circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married
privately in town than to pursue their first plan; and even if _he_
could form such a design against a young woman of Lydia’s connections,
which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything?
Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed
to depend upon their marriage: he shook his head when I expressed my
hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother
is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be
better, but this is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in
my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed
their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot
wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared
something of these distressing scenes; but now, as the first shock is
over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish,
however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take up my pen
again to do, what I have just told you I would not; but circumstances
are such, that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as
soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not
afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of
the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly,
to try to discover her. What he means to do, I am sure I know not; but
his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the
best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton
again to-morrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle’s advice and
assistance would be everything in the world; he will immediately
comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness.”
“Oh! where, where is my uncle?” cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat
as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing a
moment of the time so precious; but as she reached the door, it was
opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and
impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself
enough to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia’s
situation, hastily exclaimed, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you.
I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed;
I have not an instant to lose.”
“Good God! what is the matter?” cried he, with more feeling than
politeness; then recollecting himself, “I will not detain you a minute;
but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are
not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”
Elizabeth hesitated; but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how
little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back
the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an
accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and
mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support herself, and
looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her,
or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,
“Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you
present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill.”
“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There
is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well, I am only distressed by
some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could
not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say
something indistinctly of his
[Illustration:
“I have not an instant to lose”
]
concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke
again. “I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It
cannot be concealed from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her
friends--has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of--of Mr.
Wickham.