Chapter 13

IF Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not
expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no
expectation at all of its contents.  But such as they were, it may
be well supposed how eagerly she went through them, and
what a contrariety of emotion they excited.  Her feelings as
she read were scarcely to be defined.  With amazement did she
first understand that he believed any apology to be in his
power; and stedfastly was she persuaded that he could have
no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not
conceal.  With a strong prejudice against  Her ng he might
say, she began his account of what had happened at Netherfield.  
She read, with an eagerness which hardly left her power
of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the
next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the
sense of the one before her eyes.  His belief of her sister's
insensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account
of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too
angry to have any wish of doing him justice.  He expressed no
regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style was
not penitent, but haughty.  It was all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. 
Wickham, when she read with somewhat clearer attention,
a relation of events, which, if true, must overthrow every
cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming
an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet
more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.  Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her.  She
wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This
must be false!  This cannot be!  This must be the grossest
falsehood!" -- and when she had gone through the whole letter,
though scarcely knowing any thing of the last page or two,
put it hastily away, protesting that she would not regard it,
that she would never look in it again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could
rest on nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a
minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as
well as she could, she again began the mortifying perusal of
all that related to Wickham, and commanded herself so far
as to examine the meaning of every sentence.  The account of
his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactly what
he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. 
Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed
equally well with his own words.  So far each recital confirmed
the other: but when she came to the will, the difference was
great.  What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her
memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible
not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the
other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her
wishes did not err.  But when she read, and re-read with the
closest attention, the particulars immediately following of
Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living, of his
receiving in lieu, so considerable a sum as three thousand
pounds, again was she forced to hesitate.  She put down the
letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be
impartiality -- deliberated on the probability of each statement -- 
but with little success.  On both sides it was only assertion.  
Again she read on.  But every line proved more clearly
that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any
contrivance could so represent, as to render Mr. Darcy's
conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which
must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled
not to lay to Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her;
the more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice.  She
had never heard of him before his entrance into the -- shire
Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the
young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had
there renewed a slight acquaintance.  Of his former way of life,
nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told
himself.  As to his real character, had information been in her
power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring.  His countenance, voice, and manner, had established him at once in
the possession of every virtue.  She tried to recollect some
instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or
benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. 
Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for
those casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class,
what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of
many years continuance.  But no such recollection befriended
her.  She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of
air and address; but she could remember no more substantial
good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and
the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.
After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once
more continued to read.  But, alas!  the story which followed
of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation
from what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself 
only the morning before; and at last she was referred for
the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself --
from whom she had previously received the information of
his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character 
she had no reason to question.  At one time she had almost
resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the
awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished
by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded
such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his cousin's
corroboration.
She perfectly remembered  everything that had passed in
conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first
evening at Mr. Philips's.  Many of his expressions were still
fresh in her memory.  She was now struck with the impropriety 
of such communications to a stranger, and wondered
it had escaped her before.  She saw the indelicacy of putting
himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his
professions with his conduct.  She remembered that he had
boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy -- that Mr. 
Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his
ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next
week.  She remembered also, that till the Netherfield family
had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but
herself; but that after their removal, it had been every where
discussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking
Mr. Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect
for the father, would always prevent his exposing the son.
How differently did every thing now appear in which he
was concerned!  His attentions to Miss King were now the
consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary; and the
mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation
of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing.  His
behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive;
he had either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had
been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference
which she believed she had most incautiously shewn.  Every
lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and
in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow
that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago
asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive 
as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course
of their acquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly
brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy
with his ways, seen any thing that betrayed him to be unprincipled 
or unjust -- any thing that spoke him of irreligious
or immoral habits.  That among his own connections he
was esteemed and valued -- that even Wickham had allowed
him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him
speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable
of some amiable feeling.  That had his actions been what
Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of every
thing right could hardly have been concealed from the world;
and that friendship between a person capable of it, and such
an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. -- Of neither Darcy
nor Wickham could she think, without feeling that she had
been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.
"How despicably have I acted!" she cried. -- "I, who have
prided myself on my discernment! -- I, who have valued myself on my abilities!  who have often disdained the generous
candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in useless or
blameable distrust. -- How humiliating is this discovery! --
Yet, how just a humiliation! -- Had I been in love, I could
not have been more wretchedly blind.  But vanity, not love,
has been my folly. -- Pleased with the preference of one, and
offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of
our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance,
and driven reason away, where either were concerned.  Till
this moment, I never knew myself."
From herself to Jane -- from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts
were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. 
Darcy's explanation there, had appeared very insufficient;
and she read it again.  Widely different was the effect of a
second perusal. -- How could she deny that credit to his assertions, 
in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in
the other? -- He declared  himself to have been totally unsuspicious 
of her sister's attachment; -- and she could not
help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.
 -- Neither could she deny the justice of his description of
Jane. -- She felt that Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little
displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her
air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter in which her family
were mentioned, in terms of such mortifying, yet merited
reproach, her sense of shame was severe.  The justice of the
charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances
to which he particularly alluded, as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could
not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.
The compliment to herself and her sister, was not unfelt.
It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt
which had been thus self-attracted by the rest of her family; --
and as she considered that Jane's disappointment had in fact
been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how
materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing she
had ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way
to every variety of thought; re-considering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself as well as she
could, to a change so sudden and so important, fatigue, and
a recollection of her long absence, made her at length return
home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing
cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections 
as must make her unfit for conversation.
She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from
Rosings had each called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only
for a few minutes to take leave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam
had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for her
return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be
found. -- Elizabeth could but just affect concern in missing
him; she really rejoiced at it.  Colonel Fitzwilliam was no
longer an object.  She could think only of her letter.