Chapter 11

WHEN they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate
herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her
employment the examination of all the letters which Jane
had written to her since her being in Kent.  They contained
no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, 
or any communication of present suffering.  But in all,
and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that
cheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style,
and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with
itself, and kindly disposed towards every one, had been
scarcely ever clouded.  Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had
hardly received on the first perusal.  Mr. Darcy's shameful
boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a
keener sense of her sister's sufferings.  It was some consolation
to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after
the next, and a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she
should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute
to the recovery of her spirits, by all that affection could do.
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 agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy
about him.
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the
sound of the door bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered
by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had
once before called late in the evening, and might now come
to enquire particularly after her.  But this idea was soon
banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when,
to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the
room.  In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry
after her hearecommx imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that
she were better.  She answered him with cold civility.  He sat
down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about
the room.  Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word.  After
a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated
manner, and thus began,
"In vain have I struggled.  It will not do.  My feelings will
not be repressed.  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, and the avowal of all that he felt
and had long felt for her, immediately followed.  He spoke
well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be
detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of
tenderness than of pride.  His sense of her inferiority -- of its
being a degradation -- of the family obstacles which judgment
had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a
warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, 
but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be
insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and
though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at
first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment 
by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in
anger.  She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him
with patience, when he should have done.  He concluded with
representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in
spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer;
and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded
by her acceptance of his hand.  As he said this, she could easily
see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer.  He spoke of
apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real
security.  Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther,
and when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and
she said,
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode
to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,
however unequally they may be returned.  It is natural that
obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would
now thank you.  But I cannot -- I have never desired your good
opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.
I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one.  It has been most
unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short
duration.  The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented
the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty
in overcoming it after this explanation."
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with
his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no
less resentment than surprise.  His complexion became pale
with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in
every feature.  He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself
to have attained it.  The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings
dreadful.  At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting!  I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with
so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected.  But it is of
small importance."
"I might as well enquire," replied she, "why with so
evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose
to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your
reason, and even against your character?  Was not this
some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?  But I have other
provocations.  You know I have.  Had not my own feelings
decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had
they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration 
would tempt me to accept the man, 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, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you.  No
motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted
there.  You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the
principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each
other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice
and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,
and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was
listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by
any feeling of remorse.  He even looked at her with a smile of
affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "I have no wish
of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my
friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.
Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil
reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to
conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which
my dislike is founded.  Long before it had taken place, my
opinion of you was decided.  Your character was unfolded in
the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham.  On this subject, what can you have to say?  In what
imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?  or
under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon
others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,"
said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened
colour.
 "Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help
feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes,
his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy.  "You
have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative
poverty.  You have withheld the advantages, which you must
know to have been designed for him.  You have deprived the
best years of his life, of that independence which was no less
his due than his desert.  You have done all this!  and yet you
can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and
ridicule."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps
across the room, "is your opinion of me!  This is the estimation
in which you hold me!  I thank you for explaining it so fully.
My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!
But perhaps," added he, uch a wying in his walk, and tall iltowards her, "these offences might have been overlooked, had
not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the
scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious
design.  These bitter accusations might have been suppressed,
had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered
you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything.
But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.  Nor am I ashamed
of the feelings I related.  They were natural and just.  Could you
expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?
To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition 
in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment;
yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when
she said,
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode
of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it
spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing
you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she
continued,
"You could not have made me the offer of your hand
in any possible way that would have tempted me to
accept it."
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her
with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification,
She went on.
"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may
almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners
impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your
conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were
such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which
succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I
had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last
man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to
marry."
"You have said quite enough, madam.  I perfectly comprehend 
your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of
what my own have been.  Forgive me for having taken up so
much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health
and happiness."
And with these words he hastily versatioe room, and Elizabeth 
heard him the next moment open the front door and quit
the house.
The tumult of her mind was now painfully great.  She knew
not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat
down and cried for half an hour.  Her astonishment, as she
reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review
of it.  That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. 
Darcy!  that he should have been in love with her for so many
months!  so much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all
the objections which had made him prevent his friend's
marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal
force in his own case, was almost incredible!  it was gratifying
to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection.  But his
pride, his abominable pride, his shameless avowal of what he
had done with respect to Jane, his unpardonable assurance in
acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham,
his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon
overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment
had for a moment excited.
She continued in very agitating reflections till the sound of
Lady Catherine's carriage made her feel how unequal she was
to encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried her away
to her room.