XLIX
The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at HartfieldвБ†вАФbut in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a softer quarter; the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer again. With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm, been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they might gradually introduce; and on Mr.¬†PerryвАЩs coming in soon after dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time in hurrying into the shrubbery.вБ†вАФThere, with spirits freshened, and thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr.¬†Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her.вБ†вАФIt was the first intimation of his being returned from London. She had been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant.вБ†вАФThere was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. The вАЬHow dвАЩye doвАЩsвАЭ were quiet and constrained on each side. She asked after their mutual friends; they were all well.вБ†вАФWhen had he left them?вБ†вАФOnly that morning. He must have had a wet ride.вБ†вАФYes.вБ†вАФHe meant to walk with her, she found. вАЬHe had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out of doors.вАЭвБ†вАФShe thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had been received.
They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to give. And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for encouragement to begin.вБ†вАФShe did not, could not, feel equal to lead the way to any such subject. He must do it all himself. Yet she could not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural. She consideredвБ†вАФresolvedвБ†вАФand, trying to smile, beganвБ†вАФ
вАЬYou have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather surprise you.вАЭ
вАЬHave I?вАЭ said he quietly, and looking at her; вАЬof what nature?вАЭ
вАЬOh! the best nature in the worldвБ†вАФa wedding.вАЭ
After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, he replied,
вАЬIf you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that already.вАЭ
вАЬHow is it possible?вАЭ cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards him; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might have called at Mrs.¬†GoddardвАЩs in his way.
вАЬI had a few lines on parish business from Mr.¬†Weston this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened.вАЭ
Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more composure,
вАЬYou probably have been less surprised than any of us, for you have had your suspicions.вБ†вАФI have not forgotten that you once tried to give me a caution.вБ†вАФI wish I had attended to itвБ†вАФbutвБ†вАФ(with a sinking voice and a heavy sigh) I seem to have been doomed to blindness.вАЭ
For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of having excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great sensibility, speaking low,
вАЬTime, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.вБ†вАФYour own excellent senseвБ†вАФyour exertions for your fatherвАЩs sakeвБ†вАФI know you will not allow yourselfвБ†вАФ.вАЭ Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued accent, вАЬThe feelings of the warmest friendshipвБ†вАФIndignationвБ†вАФAbominable scoundrel!вАЭвБ†вАФAnd in a louder, steadier tone, he concluded with, вАЬHe will soon be gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for her. She deserves a better fate.вАЭ
Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied,
вАЬYou are very kindвБ†вАФbut you are mistakenвБ†вАФand I must set you right.вБ†вАФI am not in want of that sort of compassion. My blindness to what was going on, led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other reason to regret that I was not in the secret earlier.вАЭ
вАЬEmma!вАЭ cried he, looking eagerly at her, вАЬare you, indeed?вАЭвБ†вАФbut checking himselfвБ†вАФвАЬNo, no, I understand youвБ†вАФforgive meвБ†вАФI am pleased that you can say even so much.вБ†вАФHe is no object of regret, indeed! and it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment of more than your reason.вБ†вАФFortunate that your affections were not farther entangled!вБ†вАФI could never, I confess, from your manners, assure myself as to the degree of what you feltвБ†вАФI could only be certain that there was a preferenceвБ†вАФand a preference which I never believed him to deserve.вБ†вАФHe is a disgrace to the name of man.вБ†вАФAnd is he to be rewarded with that sweet young woman?вБ†вАФJane, Jane, you will be a miserable creature.вАЭ
вАЬMr.¬†Knightley,вАЭ said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confusedвБ†вАФвАЬI am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot let you continue in your error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave such an impression, I have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been at all attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse.вБ†вАФBut I never have.вАЭ
He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would not. She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion. She went on, however.
вАЬI have very little to say for my own conduct.вБ†вАФI was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased.вБ†вАФAn old story, probablyвБ†вАФa common caseвБ†вАФand no more than has happened to hundreds of my sex before; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up as I do for understanding. Many circumstances assisted the temptation. He was the son of Mr.¬†WestonвБ†вАФhe was continually hereвБ†вАФI always found him very pleasantвБ†вАФand, in short, for (with a sigh) let me swell out the causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at lastвБ†вАФmy vanity was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, howeverвБ†вАФfor some time, indeedвБ†вАФI have had no idea of their meaning anything.вБ†вАФI thought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side. He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me. I have never been attached to him. And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He never wished to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real situation with another.вБ†вАФIt was his object to blind all about him; and no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded than myselfвБ†вАФexcept that I was not blindedвБ†вАФthat it was my good fortuneвБ†вАФthat, in short, I was somehow or other safe from him.вАЭ
She had hoped for an answer hereвБ†вАФfor a few words to say that her conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said,
вАЬI have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.вБ†вАФI can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him. My acquaintance with him has been but trifling.вБ†вАФAnd even if I have not underrated him hitherto, he may yet turn out well.вБ†вАФWith such a woman he has a chance.вБ†вАФI have no motive for wishing him illвБ†вАФand for her sake, whose happiness will be involved in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him well.вАЭ
вАЬI have no doubt of their being happy together,вАЭ said Emma; вАЬI believe them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached.вАЭ
вАЬHe is a most fortunate man!вАЭ returned Mr.¬†Knightley, with energy. вАЬSo early in lifeвБ†вАФat three-and-twentyвБ†вАФa period when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, has before him!вБ†вАФAssured of the love of such a womanвБ†вАФthe disinterested love, for Jane FairfaxвАЩs character vouches for her disinterestedness; everything in his favourвБ†вАФequality of situationвБ†вАФI mean, as far as regards society, and all the habits and manners that are important; equality in every point but oneвБ†вАФand that one, since the purity of her heart is not to be doubted, such as must increase his felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only advantages she wants.вБ†вАФA man would always wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her from; and he who can do it, where there is no doubt of her regard, must, I think, be the happiest of mortals.вБ†вАФFrank Churchill is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. Everything turns out for his good.вБ†вАФHe meets with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treatmentвБ†вАФand had he and all his family sought round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found her superior.вБ†вАФHis aunt is in the way.вБ†вАФHis aunt dies.вБ†вАФHe has only to speak.вБ†вАФHis friends are eager to promote his happiness.вБ†вАФHe had used everybody illвБ†вАФand they are all delighted to forgive him.вБ†вАФHe is a fortunate man indeed!вАЭ
вАЬYou speak as if you envied him.вАЭ
вАЬAnd I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy.вАЭ
Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan; she would speak of something totally differentвБ†вАФthe children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr.¬†Knightley startled her, by saying,
вАЬYou will not ask me what is the point of envy.вБ†вАФYou are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.вБ†вАФYou are wiseвБ†вАФbut I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment.вАЭ
вАЬOh! then, donвАЩt speak it, donвАЩt speak it,вАЭ she eagerly cried. вАЬTake a little time, consider, do not commit yourself.вАЭ
вАЬThank you,вАЭ said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed.
Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in herвБ†вАФperhaps to consult her;вБ†вАФcost her what it would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.вБ†вАФThey had reached the house.
вАЬYou are going in, I suppose?вАЭ said he.
вАЬNo,вАЭвБ†вАФreplied EmmaвБ†вАФquite confirmed by the depressed manner in which he still spokeвБ†вАФвАЬI should like to take another turn. Mr.¬†Perry is not gone.вАЭ And, after proceeding a few steps, she addedвБ†вАФвАЬI stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr.¬†Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.вБ†вАФBut if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of anything that you may have in contemplationвБ†вАФas a friend, indeed, you may command me.вБ†вАФI will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think.вАЭ
вАЬAs a friend!вАЭвБ†вАФrepeated Mr.¬†Knightley.вБ†вАФвАЬEmma, that I fear is a wordвБ†вАФNo, I have no wishвБ†вАФStay, yes, why should I hesitate?вБ†вАФI have gone too far already for concealment.вБ†вАФEmma, I accept your offerвБ†вАФExtraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend.вБ†вАФTell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?вАЭ
He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her.
вАЬMy dearest Emma,вАЭ said he, вАЬfor dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hourвАЩs conversation, my dearest, most beloved EmmaвБ†вАФtell me at once. Say вАШNo,вАЩ if it is to be said.вАЭвБ†вАФShe could really say nothing.вБ†вАФвАЬYou are silent,вАЭ he cried, with great animation; вАЬabsolutely silent! at present I ask no more.вАЭ
Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.
вАЬI cannot make speeches, EmmaвАЭ he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.вБ†вАФвАЬIf I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.вБ†вАФYou hear nothing but truth from me.вБ†вАФI have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.вБ†вАФBear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.вБ†вАФBut you understand me.вБ†вАФYes, you see, you understand my feelingsвБ†вАФand will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.вАЭ
While he spoke, EmmaвАЩs mind was most busy, and, with all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been ableвБ†вАФand yet without losing a wordвБ†вАФto catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole; to see that HarrietвАЩs hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her ownвБ†вАФthat Harriet was nothing; that she was everything herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all received as discouragement from herself.вБ†вАФAnd not only was there time for these convictions, with all their glow of attendant happiness; there was time also to rejoice that HarrietвАЩs secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not, and should not.вБ†вАФIt was all the service she could now render her poor friend; for as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the twoвБ†вАФor even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and forever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet, with pain and with contrition; but no flight of generosity run mad, opposing all that could be probable or reasonable, entered her brain. She had led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her forever; but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.вБ†вАФShe spoke then, on being so entreated.вБ†вАФWhat did she say?вБ†вАФJust what she ought, of course. A lady always does.вБ†вАФShe said enough to show there need not be despairвБ†вАФand to invite him to say more himself. He had despaired at one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed every hope;вБ†вАФshe had begun by refusing to hear him.вБ†вАФThe change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;вБ†вАФher proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!вБ†вАФShe felt its inconsistency; but Mr.¬†Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no farther explanation.
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.вБ†вАФMr.¬†Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.
He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He had come, in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank ChurchillвАЩs engagement, with no selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her.вБ†вАФThe rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The delightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain her affection himself;вБ†вАФbut it had been no present hopeвБ†вАФhe had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach her.вБ†вАФThe superior hopes which gradually opened were so much the more enchanting.вБ†вАФThe affection, which he had been asking to be allowed to create, if he could, was already his!вБ†вАФWithin half an hour, he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name.
Her change was equal.вБ†вАФThis one half-hour had given to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.вБ†вАФOn his side, there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill.вБ†вАФHe had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country.вБ†вАФThe Box Hill party had decided him on going away. He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted, encouraged attentions.вБ†вАФHe had gone to learn to be indifferent.вБ†вАФBut he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic happiness in his brotherвАЩs house; woman wore too amiable a form in it; Isabella was too much like EmmaвБ†вАФdiffering only in those striking inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before him, for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.вБ†вАФHe had stayed on, however, vigorously, day after dayвБ†вАФtill this very morningвАЩs post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.вБ†вАФThen, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.
He had found her agitated and low.вБ†вАФFrank Churchill was a villain.вБ†вАФHe heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank ChurchillвАЩs character was not desperate.вБ†вАФShe was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow.