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"I HAVE been thinking

it over again, Elizabeth," said her uncle as they drove from the town;

"and really, upon serious consideration, I am much more inclined than

I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the matter. It appears to

me so very unlikely that any young man should form such a design against

a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was actually

staying in his colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to hope the

best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he

expect to be noticed again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel

Forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk."

"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.

"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I begin to be of your uncle's

opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and

interest, for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of

Wickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up as to believe

him capable of it?" .

"Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect

I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not

hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the

case?" .

"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "there is no absolute

proof that they are not gone to Scotland." .

"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney coach is

such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found

on the Barnet road." .

"Well, then -- supposing them to be in London. They may be there,

though, for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose.

It is not likely that money should be very abundant on either side;

and it might strike them that they could be more economically, though

less expeditiously, married in London, than in Scotland." .

"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their

marriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely. His most particular

friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending

to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He

cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she

beyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him, for her

sake, forgo every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As

to what restraint the apprehension of disgrace in the corps might throw

on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I

know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to

your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has

no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's

behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed

to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as

little, and think as little about it, as any father could do in such

a matter." .

"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to every thing but love

of him, as to consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?"

.

"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed," replied Elizabeth,

with tears in her eyes, "that a sister's sense of decency and virtue

in such a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what

to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she

has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last

half year, nay, for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing

but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time

in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that

came in her way. Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton,

nothing but love, flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She

has been doing every thing in her power, by thinking and talking on

the subject, to give greater -- what shall I call it? -- susceptibility

to her feelings, which are naturally lively enough. And we all know

that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate

a woman." .

"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does not think so ill

of Wickham as to believe him capable of the attempt." .

"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might

be their former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt,

till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what

Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every

sense of the word. That he has neither integrity nor honour. That he

is as false and deceitful, as he is insinuating." .

"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity

as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive. .

"I do, indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you the other

day, of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when

last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had

behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there

are other circumstances which I am not at liberty -- which it is not

worth while to relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family

are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared

to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary

himself. He must know that she was amiable and unpretending as we have

found her." .

"But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant of what

you and Jane seem so well to understand?" .

"Oh, yes! -- that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent,

and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam,

I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire

was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the

case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary

to make our knowledge public; for of what use could it apparently be

to any one that the good opinion which all the neighbourhood had of

him should then be overthrown? And even when it was settled that Lydia

should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his

character never occurred to me. That she could be in any danger from

the deception never entered my head. That such a consequence as this

should ensue, you may easily believe was far enough from my thoughts."

.

"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason,

I suppose, to believe them fond of each other." .

"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either

side; and had any thing of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware

that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first

he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we

all were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about

him for the first two months; but he never distinguished her by any

particular attention, and consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant

and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment

who treated her with more distinction again became her favourites."

.

It may be easily believed that, however little of novelty could be

added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject

by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long,

during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never

absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she

could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness. .

They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and, sleeping one night

on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a

comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied

by long expectations. .

The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing

on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and when the

carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their

faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies in a variety of

capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.

.

Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an hasty kiss,

hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs

from her mother's apartment, immediately met her. .

Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled

the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether any thing had

been heard of the fugitives. .

"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is come, I

hope every thing will be well." .

"Is my father in town?" .

"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word." .

"And have you heard from him often?" .

"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to

say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which

I particularly begged him to do. He merely added that he should not

write again till he had something of importance to mention." .

"And my mother -- How is she? How are you all?" .

"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly

shaken. She is up stairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing

you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank

Heaven! are quite well." .

"But you -- How are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale. How

much you must have gone through!" .

Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and

their conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner

were engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach

of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and

thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears. .

When they were all in the drawing room, the questions which Elizabeth

had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon

found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good,

however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted

her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that every morning

would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explain

their proceedings, and perhaps announce the marriage. .

Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes

conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with

tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous

conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage;

blaming every body but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the

errors of her daughter must be principally owing. .

"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point of going to

Brighton, with all my family, this would not have happened; but poor

dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever

let her go out of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect

or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a

thing, if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were

very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always

am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know

he will fight Wickham wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed,

and what is to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out, before

he is cold in his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do

not know what we shall do." .

They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner,

after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family,

told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would

assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia. .

"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he; "though it is left

to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as

certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days

more, we may gain some news of them, and till we know that they are

not married, and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the

matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother

and make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may

consult together as to what is to be done." .

"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is exactly what

I could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,

wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, make them

marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but

tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chuses to buy them, after

they are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting.

Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, -- that I am frightened out

of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings all over me such

spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart,

that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia,

not to give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for

she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind

you are! I know you will contrive it all." .

But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours

in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well

in her hopes as her fears; and, after talking with her in this manner

till dinner was on table, they left her to vent all her feelings on

the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters. .

Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real

occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt

to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold

her tongue before the servants while they waited at table, and judged

it better that one only of the household, and the one whom they could

most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subject.

.

In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had

been too busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their

appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette.

The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible

in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger

which she had herself incurred in the business, had given something

more of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary,

she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance

of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table, .

"This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be much talked

of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms

of each other the balm of sisterly consolation." .

Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,

"Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful

lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable -- that one

false step involves her in endless ruin -- that her reputation is no

less brittle than it is beautiful, -- and that she cannot be too much

guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."

.

Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed

to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with

such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them. .

In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half

an hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the

opportunity of making many enquiries, which Jane was equally eager to

satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel

of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss

Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued

the subject by saying, "But tell me all and every thing about it which

I have not already heard. Give me farther particulars. What did Colonel

Forster say? Had they no apprehension of any thing before the elopement

took place? They must have seen them together for ever." .

"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,

especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am

so grieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost.

He was coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he

had any idea of their not being gone to Scotland; when that apprehension

first got abroad, it hastened his journey." .

"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know

of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"

.

"Yes; but when questioned by him, Denny denied knowing any thing

of their plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did

not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying -- and from that, I

am inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before." .

"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained

a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?" .

"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains! I

felt a little uneasy -- a little fearful of my sister's happiness with

him in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always

quite left. My father and mother knew nothing of that, they only felt

how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural

triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last letter

she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their

being in love with each other many weeks." .

"But not before they went to Brighton?" .

"No, I believe not." .

"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself?

Does he know his real character?" .

"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly

did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this

sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly

in debt; but I hope this may be false." .

"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,

this could not have happened!" .

"Perhaps it would have been better," replied her sister. "But to

expose the former faults of any person, without knowing what their present

feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions."

.

"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to

his wife?" .

"He brought it with him for us to see." .

Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth.

These were the contents: .

"MY DEAR HARRIET, .

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing

myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I

am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall

think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love,

and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it

no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going,

if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when

I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it

will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt,

for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him to night. Tell him

I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance

with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send

for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally

to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed

up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink

to our good journey. .

Your affectionate friend, .

LYDIA BENNET." .

"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth when she had

finished it. "What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment.

But at least it shews that she was serious in the object of her journey.

Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side

a scheme of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it!" .

"I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word for full

ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house

in such confusion!" .

"Oh! Jane!" cried Elizabeth, "was there a servant belonging to

it, who did not know the whole story before the end of the day?" .

"I do not know. -- I hope there was. -- But to be guarded at such

a time, is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I

endeavoured to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I

did not do so much as I might have done! But the horror of what might

possibly happen, almost took from me my faculties." .

"Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look

well. Oh! that I had been with you, you have had every care and anxiety

upon yourself alone." .

"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every

fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it left for either of them.

Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much, that her hours

of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn

on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till

Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all, and Lady

Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to condole

with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters, if they

could be of use to us." .

"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth; "perhaps

she meant well, but under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see

too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence,

insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied."

.

She then proceeded to enquire into the measures which her father had

intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.

.

"He meant, I believe," replied Jane, "to go to Epsom, the place

where they last changed horses, see the postilions, and try if any thing

could be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover

the number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had

come with a fare from London; and as he thought the circumstance of

a gentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into another might

be remarked, he meant to make enquiries at Clapham. If he could any

how discover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare,

he determined to make enquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible

to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any

other designs that he had formed: but he was in such a hurry to be gone,

and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding

out even so much as this." .

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