Chapter 4

ELIZABETH had been a good deal disappointed in not finding 
a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and
this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings 
that had now been spent there; but on the third, her
repining was over, and her sister justified by the receipt of two
letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it
 had been missent elsewhere.  Elizabeth was not surprised at
it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came
in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet,
set off by themselves.  The one missent must be first attended
to; it had been written five days ago.  The beginning contained
an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such
news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was
dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more
important intelligence.  It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has
occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am
afraid of alarming you -- be assured that we are all well.  What
I have to say relates to poor Lydia.  An express came at twelve
last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel
Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with
one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! -- Imagine
our surprise.  To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly
unexpected.  I am very, very sorry.  So imprudent a match on
both sides! -- But I am willing to hope the best, and that his
character has been misunderstood.  Thoughtless and indiscreet 
I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us
rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart.  His choice is
disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her
nothing.  Our poor mother is sadly grieved.  My father bears it
better.  How thankful am I, that we never let them know what
has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves.  They
were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but
were not missed till yesterday morning at eight.  The express
was sent off directly.  My dear Lizzy, they must have passed
within ten miles of us.  Colonel Forster gives us reason to
expect him here soon.  Lydia left a few lines for his wife, 
informing her of their intention.  I must conclude, for I cannot
be long from my poor mother.  I am afraid you will not be able
to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written."
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and
scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this
letter, instantly seized the other, and opening it with the
utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been written a day
later than the conclusion of the first.
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my
hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but
though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that
I cannot answer for being coherent.  Dearest Lizzy, I hardly
know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and
it cannot be delayed.  Improdent as a marriage between Mr. 
Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious
to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason
to fear they are not gone to Scotland.  Colonel Forster came
yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many
hours after the express.  Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F.
gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna
Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his
belief that W.  never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia
at all, which was repeated to Colonel F.  who instantly taking
the alarm, set off from B.  intending to trace their route.  He
did trace them easily to Clapham, but no farther; for on 
entering that place they removed into a hackney-coach and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom.  All that
is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the
London road.  I know not what to think.  After making every
possible enquiry on that side London, Colonel F.  came on
into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any
success, no such people had been seen to pass through.  With
the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his
apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart.
I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F.  but no one can
throw any blame on them.  Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is
very great.  My father and mother believe the worst, but I 
cannot think so ill of him.  Many circumstances might make it
more eligible for them to be married privately in town than
to pursue their first plan; and even if he could form such a
design against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which
is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to every thing? --
Impossible.  I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F.  is not
disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head
when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W.  was not
a man to be trusted.  My poor mother is really ill and keeps
her room.  Could she exert herself it would be better, but this
is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in my life
saw him so affected.  Poor kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence
one cannot wonder.  I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you
have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but
 now as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your
return?  I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if
inconvenient.  Adieu.  I take up my pen again to do, what I
have just told you I would not, but circumstances are such,
that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here, as
soon as possible.  I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that
I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something
more to ask of the former.  My father is going to London with
Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her.  What he
means to do, I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress
 will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest
way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again
to-morrow evening.  In such an exigence my uncle's advice
and assistance would be every thing in the world; he will
immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon
his goodness."
"Oh!  where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting
from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow
him, without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as
she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr. 
Darcy appeared.  His pale face and impetuous manner made
him start, and before he could recover himself enough to
speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by
Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg your pardon, but
I must leave you.  I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on
business that cannot be delayed; I have not a moment to lose."
"Good God!  what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling 
than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I will not
detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant, go after
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.  You are not well enough; -- you 
cannot go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and
she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue
them.  Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned
him, though in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home, instantly.
On his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support
herself, and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible
for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone
of gentleness and commiseration, "Let me call your maid.
Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief? --
A glass of wine; -- shall I get you one? -- You are very ill."
"No, I thank you;' she replied, endeavouring to recover
herself.  "There is nothing the matter with me.  I am quite well.
I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just
received from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few
minutes could not speak another word.  Darcy, in wretched
suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern,
and observe her in compassionate silence.  At length, she spoke
again.  "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful
news It cannot be concealed from any one.  My youngest
sister has left all her friends -- has eloped; -- has thrown herself 
into the power of -- of Mr. Wickham.  They are gone off
together from Brighton.  You know him too well to doubt the
rest.  She has no money, no connections, nothing that can
tempt him to -- she is lost for ever."
Darcy was fixed in astonishment.  "When I consider," she
added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented 
it! -- I who knew what he was.  Had I but explained
some part of it only -- some part of what I learnt, to my own
family!  Had his character been known, this could not have
happened.  But it is all, all too late now."
"I am grieved, indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved -- shocked.
But is it certain, absolutely certain?"
"Oh yes! -- They left Brighton together on Sunday night,
and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are
certainly not gone to Scotland."
 "And what has been done, what has been attempted, to
recover her?"
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg
my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope,
in half an hour.  But nothing can be done; I know very well
that nothing can be done.  How is such a man to be worked
on?  How are they even to be discovered?  I have not the
smallest hope.  It is every way horrible!"
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiesence.
"When my eyes were opened to his real character. -- Oh!
had I known what I ought, what I dared, to do!  But I knew
not -- I was afraid of doing too much.  Wretched, wretched,
mistake!  "
Darcy made no answer.  He seemed scarcely to hear her,
and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation; 
his brow contracted, his air gloomy.  Elizabeth soon
observed, and instantly understood it.  Her power was sinking; every thing must sink under such a proof of family
weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace.  She should
neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-
conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded
no palliation of her distress.  It was, on the contrary, exactly
calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never
had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now,
when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her.
Lydia -- the humiliation, the misery, she was bringing on
them all, soon swallowed up every private care; and covering
her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to
every thing else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was
only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her
companion, who, in a manner, which though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "I am afraid you have
been long desiring my absence, nor have I any thing to plead
in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing, concern.
Would to heaven that any thing could be either said or done
on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress. --
But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem
purposely to ask for your thanks.  This unfortunate affair will,
I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you
at Pemberley to day."
"Oh, yes.  Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy.
Say that urgent business calls us home immediately.  Conceal
the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. -- I know it cannot
be long."
He readily assured her of his secrecy -- again expressed his
sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than
there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his 
compliments for her relations, with only one serious, parting,
look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it
was that they should ever see each other again on such terms
of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole
of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties,
sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now
have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have
rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection,
Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable
nor faulty.  But if otherwise, if the regard springing from such
sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what
is so often described as arising on a first interview with its
object, and even before two words have been exchanged,
nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given
somewhat of a trial to the latter method, in her partiality for
Wickham, and that its ill-success might perhaps authorise her
to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment.  Be that
as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early
example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business.
Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertained
a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her.  No one but Jane,
she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation.
Surprise was the least of her feelings on this developement.
While the contents of the first letter remained on her mind,
she was all surprise -- all astonishment that Wickham should
marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry for
money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him, had
appeared incomprehensible.  But now it was all too natural.
For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient
charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement, without the intention of
marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her
virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling
an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in 
Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him, but she was
convinced that Lydia had wanted only encouragement to
attach herself to any body.  Sometimes one officer, sometimes
another had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them
in her opinion.  Her affections had been continually fluctuating,
but never without an object.  The mischief of neglect and 
mistaken indulgence towards such a girl. -- Oh!  how acutely did
she now feel it.
She was wild to be at home -- to hear, to see, to be upon the
spot, to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly
upon her, in a family so deranged; a father absent, a mother
incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and
though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for
Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered the room, the misery ofher impatience
was severe.  Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm,
supposing, by the servant's account, that their niece was taken
suddenly ill; -- but satisfying them instantly on that head, she
eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading
the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the
last, with trembling energy. -- Though Lydia had never been
a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but
be deeply affected.  Not Lydia only, but all were concerned
in it; and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror,
Mr. Gardiner readily promised every assistance in his power.
 -- Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked him with
tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit,
every thing relating to their journey was speedily settled.
They were to be off as soon as possible.  "But what is to be done
about Pemberley?" cried Mrs. Gardiner.  "John told us Mr. 
Darcy was here when you sent for us; -- was it so?"
"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our
engagement.  That is all settled."
"That is all settled;' repeated the other, as she ran into her
room to prepare.  "And are they upon such terms as for her to
disclose the real truth!  Oh, that I knew how it was!"
But wishes were vain; or at best could serve only to amuse
her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour.  Had
Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained
certain that all employment was impossible to one so wretched
as herself; but she had her share of business as well as her
aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to
all their friends in Lambton, with false excuses for their
sudden departure.  An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having settled his
account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go;
and Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself, 
in a shorter space of time than she could have supposed,
seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.