PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 58

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INSTEAD of receiving
any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth half expected
Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before
many days had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemen arrived
early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen
his aunt, of which her daughter sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted
to be alone with Jane, proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to.
Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking; Mary could never spare time;
but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon
allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth,
Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said by
either; Kitty was too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly
forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.


They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria;
and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern, when
Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the moment
for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was high, she
immediately said,

"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving
  relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding your's.
  I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my
  poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to
  acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest
  of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."

"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise
  and emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken
  light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was
  so little to be trusted."

"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed
  to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could
  not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again,
  in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced
  you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the
  sake of discovering them."

"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone.
  That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other
  inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family
  owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of
  you."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,
  her companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your
  feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My
  affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence
  me on this subject for ever."

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety
  of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though
  not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone
  so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make
  her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The
  happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never
  felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and
  as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth
  been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression
  of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though
  she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which,
  in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every
  moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much
  to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.
  She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding
  to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through
  London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the
  substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically
  on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship's apprehension,
  peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that
  such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from
  her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship,
  its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed
  myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain
  that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would
  have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough
  of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so
  abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all
  your relations."

"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your
  accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour
  to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable.
  I cannot think of it without abhorrence."

"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that
  evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined,
  will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved
  in civility."

"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of
  what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the
  whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful
  to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: "had
  you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner." Those were your words.
  You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;
  -- though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough
  to allow their justice."

"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an
  impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in
  such a way."

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper
  feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never
  forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible
  way that would induce you to accept me."

"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not
  do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed
  of it."

Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon make
  you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its
  contents?"

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all
  her former prejudices had been removed.

"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it
  was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part
  especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the
  power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might
  justly make you hate me."

"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential
  to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to
  think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite
  so easily changed as that implies."

"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly
  calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful
  bitterness of spirit."

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so.
  The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings
  of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so
  widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance
  attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy.
  Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections
  must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from
  them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But
  with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot,
  which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my
  life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught
  what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given
  good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately
  an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents,
  who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent
  and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and
  overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think
  meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly
  of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight
  to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest,
  loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson,
  hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly
  humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me
  how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of
  being pleased."

"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"

"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to
  be wishing, expecting my addresses."

"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure
  you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me
  wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"

"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began
  to take a proper direction."

"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met
  at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"

"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."

"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by
  you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness,
  and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."

"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to shew you, by every civility
  in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped
  to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you
  see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes
  introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half
  an hour after I had seen you."

He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of
  her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading
  to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution
  of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed
  before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there
  had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject
  to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to
  know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches,
  that it was time to be at home.

"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which
  introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with
  their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information
  of it.

"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.

"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."

"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much."
  And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty
  much the case.

"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I made a
  confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I
  told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in
  his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never
  had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself
  mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent
  to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was
  unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his
  friend.

"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you
  told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last
  spring?"

"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits
  which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection."

"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction
  to him."

"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had
  prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but
  his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess
  one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could
  not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three
  months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from
  him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than
  he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily
  forgiven me now."

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful
  friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked
  herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and
  it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley,
  which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the
  conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.

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1. Ebooks list page : 81
2. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 53
3. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 37
4. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 36
5. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 35
6. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 31
7. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 30
8. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 34
9. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 29
10. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 27
11. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 28
12. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 26
13. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 38
14. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 39
15. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 52
16. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 51