Chapter One

Posted on January 6, 2010

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a young woman who unites the blessings of fortune and consequence, has no just pretension to be melancholy. However little known the private experience of such a woman may be on her first entering society, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of her friends that she is considered the necessary, rightful object of their malice and envy.

And yet so unaccountable this world! -- No one who had ever seen Georgiana Darcy in her awkward, unblooming infancy would have supposed her in possession of thirty thousand pounds. Whatever happy star danced at the hour of her birth, perhaps a little time extinguished it; for whether rationally or otherwise, she was a melancholy-humoured girl.

She felt the distinction of her rank very keenly, but so far from creating vanity or pride in her, its consciousness weighed on her baby soul like a sin. By temperament she wanted the liveliness that might have buoyed her spirits amid the awful grandeur of her early life. What superiority of virtue, manner, conduct, intellect, &c., ought to be hers; how strenuously she must endeavour to merit the dignity of her name,--such were her first childish reflections. Nor was this sense of importance misplaced, for her father was a Mr Darcy of Pemberley, one of the five or six pre-eminent private gentlemen in the kingdom, and her mother had been Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, an earl's daughter. "Remember who you are" was the favourite charm of the nursery-maids: they uttered it, and whatever iniquity Miss Darcy might be engaged in--whether fidgeting at table or skipping in the passage--it ceased instantly, sunk in confused blushes and a lisped apology.

Such was the state of affairs when Miss Lee entered the family, a governess, to begin fitting her up with brilliance and accomplishment. Miss Lee had been engaged on the advice of Georgiana's aunt Catherine.

"You know I always speak my mind," said Lady Catherine to Lady Anne one day, when they were both in town, "even to my most intimate friends. Frankness and sincerity are the cachet of my disposition. It ever was my motto, that those who see clearest are bound in common charity to contribute of their judgment and information. Am I not my sister's keeper?--and shall I therefore scruple to advise you, my dear sister, about a certain point of conduct in which you have been acting wrong? Such an instance of--negligence, I shall call it, I hope it may deserve no worse a name--has come to my attention, as I had not thought possible. My dear, you omit your foremost duty: I allude, of course, to the condition of your daughter."

Lady Anne was much astonished.

"My daughter! Oh Cathy, whatever do you mean?"

"What, truly, could be more pernicious, to a delicate mind, than the influence of low companions? Consider only of her time of life, how impressible, how tender! And yet do you entrust her, day after day, to the care of the illiterate and perverse--your servants and your rustics and I know not what. It is like permission to run wild."

"Dear me!" cried Lady Anne, with great enthusiasm. "Dear Cathy! What had I better do?"

"By all means," replied she, "engage a governess at once. Who else but a governess to form the mind of a Miss Darcy? A gentlewoman dependent, as I have often observed, is the politest creature in the world. Nine times out of ten her address is sweeter, and her expressions more correct, than your usual woman of fortune now-a-days can boast. Ah sister! this is an impudent century, and I do not know where it will end. Nothing shall please me more, however, than to see your daughter turn out as modest as my own."

Lady Catherine's sister thanked her from her soul.

"One cannot be too cautious where the education of young women is concerned. I am a wonderful advocate for female education, I assure you. My own little Anne, if her health had permitted it, should have been a very slave to her books and music by the time she reached Georgiana's age. I dare say she would have learnt French and German--Italian, too, most likely." And here Lady Catherine withdrew her handkerchief, and wiped from her eye a tear of maternal solicitude, for her daughter Anne de Bourgh was a sickly creature, as well as an ignorant one.

Lady Anne Darcy, most tenderly affected, and as ready to assist with her compliance as her salts, would suffer the subject to continue no longer. She pretended to no cleverness herself--was the reader only of novels, never able to guess the new fashions till actually seen in the pages of Le Beau Monde--but the sharp mind of her sister both delighted and awed; there was nothing to which Cathy might not have persuaded her. With many sweet looks therefore (in her youth she had been painted as a shepherdess, by a very eminent artist),--she protested that she had no thought but of getting Georgiana a governess; yet where was such a creature to be found? Lady Catherine instantly revived.

Well, putting away her handkerchief, she was rejoiced to hear her speak so sensibly.

"And indeed I am at no loss for a name," she said. "For I have just had a letter from an old acquaintance, a woman of some importance in the country about Northampton. What do you think, sister?--she actually talks now of parting with her governess. There is no reason to keep her any more, she says, else they would not have parted for the world, for Lady Bertram is extremely attached to this young person! My own experience in these matters is by no means small. Just before I came away, you know, I referred Mary Jenkinson in that capacity to some friends; and I do not know what would become of her if it had not been for me, for she is as ugly and empty-headed as you please. Her own aunt says the same, and swears I am quite the angel of the family. She would thank me so--! Even to the close of the carriage door . . . . This Miss Lee, at any rate, has brought up several daughters of Lady Bertram--wonderfully sweet girls, all, by common report--and upon my word, sister, I believe you cannot do better. You will be quite delighted. You cannot do better, sister, than to send for Miss Lee at once."

This imprimatur once received was not likely to be disregarded--and Lady Anne obliged Cathy even so far as to find herself quite delighted with the little odd young woman.

Miss Lee, alas, was far from being delighted with her new charge. She found her thoroughly unprepossessing--and not without true cause. Georgiana, just eight years old and immoderately tall of her age, with monstrous large hands and feet, had no peculiar graces to recommend her to a stranger. She was awkward; she was inaudible. Her timidity bespoke the shame and dishonour of a dependent cousin, rather than that ease and polish Miss Lee had been wont to admire in rich young ladies. Miss Lee was no mere commercial hack; she had intended doting on Miss Darcy, and it vexed her to discover that the child was unlovable.

Such scruples notwithstanding, however, instruction commenced. Georgiana was eager, and not unintelligent, and before many weeks had passed away she could recite the names of some half dozen kings of England, and was fair on her way to pronouncing "Pythagoras." Miss Lee added daily to her store of information, with only occasional, home-sick digressions in praise of the Miss Bertrams of Northamptonshire. A short observation assured her that Miss Darcy was not half so clever as Miss Bertram or Miss Julia. And whenever she got her sampler in a snarl, which was tolerably often, owing to her great hands,--the governess was certain to harangue her.

"How I wonder at you!" she often said. "I am sure Maria Bertram was never so ignorant in her life, and her grandfather (as I have it from a good authority) was actually a glove-maker in Huntingdon! One might expect you to be the most proficient of the two, in light of your great connexions." This being greeted with a blush, and a quivering of the lip, Miss Lee felt moved to add, in a more conciliatory tone: "Well, well, my dear Miss Darcy. You had better not. It is hardly becoming in a person of your height."

Poor Miss Lee! The governess's plight is a lonely one. She had lived at Northampton above ten years. To be sent away from everything and everybody she had been used to--divided from Lady Bertram's interesting helplessness, from the affable vulgarity of Mrs Norris, from the conceit and confusion of the whole Bertram family--to be cast off, banished into all the faultless elegance of Pemberley House, with only an oafish infant for her companion! -- It was hard indeed. Poor Miss Lee was nearly thirty. There was little chance of her marrying now.

Chapter Two

Posted on January 10, 2010

Misfortunes seldom have come singly, or so tradition admonishes us, and in favour of its veracity,--the governess's introduction at Pemberley was followed shortly by a second disaster, one yet more sorrowful. Georgiana's mother died in the course of the following spring.

Lady Anne's husband mourned sincerely yet in perplexity, with feelings divided between regret for her death and regret for the long infelicity of his union with her. It was a wonder to Mr Darcy that he should have been so faulty in his choice. He did not err (as certain of his set at Cambridge had done) in getting drawn in by a pretty face--he was far too conscious of what he owed his station to be run away with by any selfish passion. He had been deliberate, even tardy, in the process of courtship, even as it became apparent that every circumstance was in its favour! Lady Anne was the eldest daughter of Lord __________, whose seat was in Derbyshire; and himself the principal son in one of the oldest and richest houses of that same county. What could be more natural, more just than that they should marry? What was to the advantage of one was to the advantage of each.

He did not fault Anne, exactly, for their actual unhappiness. On no point had she deceived him. Her principles were decent, her manners elegant, her temper remarkably complaisant; there were the charms, too, of a womanly figure and a pretty ignorant mind. That she was spoilt and proud did not admit of a doubt,--but hers was a harmless, feminine sort of pride, without ill will in it. She united every quality that ought to be pleasant in a woman and a wife, and yet Mr Darcy never was pleased. Not even vanity befriended him, for all investigation read no love in her countenance. Their mutual indifference was never to be conquered. They did not happen to suit.

He was inclined to blame himself after all,--but indeed which part of his conduct deserved it? Had he not courted her in due form, considered the matter thoroughly before speaking, consulted with the heads of the families (his own father, and her's, and his uncle the judge), &c.?--and after they were married, had his behaviour ever been unkind or undutiful? Very often he was meditating on the subject without ever being enlightened; try what he might, he could not name the error. A very clever young woman once asserted that "happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance," and Mr Darcy was, at length, obliged to agree. His disappointed heart learnt to spend itself only in generosity to the poor, in justice to his tenants and servants, and in steady affection for his godchild,--the steward Mr Wickham's son.

Mr Darcy did have a son of his own, who would perhaps have been a more proper object for such paternal notice,--but he was too much used to consider the boy as Anne's property. Lady Anne cherished her first-born with all the ardour that an essentially indolent and trivial nature can ever comprehend, and her husband did not like to interfere. Young Fitzwilliam Darcy was for many years an only child. -- Not until his thirteenth was it anywise apparent that the family circle meant to increase again. -- The absolute joy of Mr Darcy, when he discovered it, is impossible to describe. His fancy took fire with the sweet, sweet hope of getting a child for himself. He saw it in idea the perfect model of its father. Younger sons require professions, and Mr Darcy was just deliberating whether the greater share of happiness and prosperity belonged to an M P or a bishop,--when Anne delivered a healthy female.

The event cost him some misery, but he resolved to love the little thing as well as ever he could. And indeed, the precocity of Georgiana's character as she grew up did not escape her papa's observation. That she was serious and unobtrusive, and untouched by the girlish weaknesses of giddiness and volubility, did inspire him with a quiet regard.

Miss Lee gave her pupil a special half-holiday in honour of Lady Anne's demise, which she herself spent in writing a long letter to Mrs Norris, and then walking into the village to post it. Georgiana--unattended amidst such confusion as then swallowed up the Pemberley household, and scarcely able to endure the poignance of her own feelings when one of the laundry-maids told her what had happened--hid up in the housekeeper's room, to shiver and quake out her despair underneath the tea-table. The housekeeper found her there an hour or two later.

"Oh, lady!" cried she whose agitation was really almost equal to that of her young mistress. "Poor lamb!" And taking her on her lap, she said warmly, "Come here now, my love, and have your cry out with me. I do not know when I was ever so grieved in my life, not since the time of my losing Mr Reynolds, which is nigh onto seventeen years past now! Will you not drink a dish of tea to warm your belly?" And, pouring it,--"I think your great brother shall come to us now, as soon as ever he may. And will ye not like to see Mr Fitzwilliam, pretty lady? You are a good girl--you shall like it, I fancy. Drink this. Yes, I believe your great brother shall come, and set us all to rights."
George Wickham and Fitzwilliam Darcy drove together through two days of fickle rain and fast silence. May was now waning apace, but the skies had more than a touch of April still in them, now streaming tranquil sunshine, now watery and dim; and the contrasts of the season were not less decided than those between one gentlemen and the other. Wickham's spirits were indeed all brightness and gaiety; he saw the hand of Providence in this crisis, which took them away from Cambridge two or three weeks before the end of the term, thus relieving him from examinations and from the burthen of some significant debts. Darcy only mourned.

The funeral was solemn and correct. Georgiana stood beside her brother in her new jet-coloured spencer and wept while Dr Davies read the service. A bitter mizzle hung upon the church-yard, exactly as it ought to do; and when it was all over, the inhabitants of three villages ate sweet biscuits and drank to the dead lady till they were quite sick.

Hot-pressed letters of condolence flew from every corner of the country. That of Lady Catherine contained minute instructions as to crepe and bombazine, and the precise shade of the footmen's livery; she should have been there to superintend it herself, had not an ill-timed indisposition on the part of Miss de Bourgh staid her in Kent. The good earl sent a few lines to his sister's survivors, though he owned himself very much occupied just then by some business at the House of Lords; and his heir likewise contrived a short note, in spite of his being very much occupied just then by the business of making love to Lord Morton's daughter.

There was, to be sure, one member of the family who did not write,--but Captain Fitzwilliam's epistolary remissness was speedily vindicated by his actual appearance among them. His regiment was at Derby when the tidings came. Personally affectionate, and particularly attached to his Pemberley relations, Fitzwilliam was most eager to be with them at such a time. He applied to his commanding officer for a leave of absence; after the customary delay, it was granted. He set out northward and reached the noble estate on the same morning. Young Darcy was the first to meet him,--young Darcy had observed the horse and rider from an upper window as they crossed into the valley, and run down to the stables to wait for them. The greeting of the cousins was not effusive--indeed little more than a quiet "How d'ye do?" passed as they shook hands,--but the sentiment between them was as fond as it could be. Darcy looked very pale. Captain Fitzwilliam muttered something about suddenness, to which his companion did not directly reply.

At length, "Fitzwilliam, you must advise me. It concerns my sister. My sister--. They tell me it is a variety of nervous shock. She does not speak. She has not said a word to anybody since my mother died."

Fitzwilliam exclaimed in astonishment, grief, eagerness,--"What, Georgiana? But surely she is ill. What will you have me do? A physician! Shall I ride to London for a physician? Let my horse bait and I will be off in half an hour. -- Or let me have one of yours, I will be gone at once. -- Only tell me directly what I shall do."

"No, no, I thank you," Darcy replied. "I do not believe that she is ill, or rather, I do not believe that her ailment is of the body." After a pause, "If you judge it right, cousin, I would have you go to her yourself. Sit and talk to her. I am worse than useless in this instance. I cannot 'heave my heart into my mouth', you know, I never could,--and my presence seems only to aggravate her oppression--." He ceased abruptly and turned away his head.

"Dear good fellow!"

Darcy composed himself. "I shall not tire you out with pathos, my friend. In short, know that I consider your confiding manners as the most likely remedy of Miss Darcy's distress, and will take it as a favour if you are good enough to apply them."

Fitzwilliam agreed and they went in-doors together, where Darcy instructed him to seek her in the school-room.

He did not expect to find George Wickham in it with her,--yet there he was, among the inkstands, and the huswifes, and the copybooks; dressed in a dark coat,--and pressing the little girl's hand most tenderly. He seemed to have been whispering something to her, but what it was Fitzwilliam did not hear; for Wickham jumped up instantly, to make a little neat bow at him. A hale and active military man, such as Captain Fitzwilliam was, shall not generally be expected to prize the niceness of a Mr Wickham; and indeed, he did not love his uncle's protegé or take any pleasure in his society,--but Fitzwilliam's mind was a singularly generous one; he abhorred injustice even more than he did coxcombs. Unwilling therefore to let the manners prejudice him against the man, he wound up giving Wickham far more credit for decency than the poor villain deserved. Once or twice, to be sure, Darcy had hinted of Wickham's getting into some scrapes or nonsense at Cambridge, but he never condescended to give particulars; and Fitzwilliam--familiar as he was with the very strict notions of integrity, as well as the rather brooding disposition, of his dear friend--attributed nothing to Wickham beyond the ordinary college pranks. Perhaps he ought to have relied on Darcy's greater knowledge of Wickham's character, as one who had known him from a boy; probably he would have, had not the superiority of his own thee-and-twenty years to his young cousin's twenty, persuaded him that he himself was rather the fairest judge of the ways of the world.

"My dear captain," said Wickham, smiling, "you are quite welcome to Pemberley I am sure. As you see, I have been attempting to entertain my little friend here,--though I do not get on very well, I assure you. Dear innocent girl!--she is quite knocked up. It grieves me to the soul to see her in such a state. Please allow me to offer my sincerest condolences upon the death of your dear aunt." Fitzwilliam thanked him. "Well, sir, and how does your corps? And what do you think of the war? Pray, shall it last much longer? I confess, I envy you, for I have betimes indulged a secret desire of being a soldier myself. What blessed fortitude, what strength and firmness of character you fellows possess! Pain, self-denial, suffering,--everything that is good and great in mankind fall to your lot. Oh, surely it is a very fine thing to be a soldier; but after all, I shan't dislike the church." He went on for a moment more in the same civil fashion, and then abruptly, "But of course I am in the way. This is a family party and I am certainly unwanted." There was a moment's pause, during which he was not pressed to remain; and so Wickham coloured, smiled, and quitted the room.

Miss Darcy sat motionless, big hands nestled down in her lap like a pair of doves, while her cousin sallied on with all the expressive good-will of his excellent heart. He reasoned, consoled, entreated in vain. She could not answer and she did not answer. Without any extraordinary talent or ability, a girl of eight years and a half will have nothing like the command of diction that might do justice to the feelings of recent orphanage,--and a feeling, reflecting, inward kind of girl, who has never been high-spirited, who discovers all at once that there is more heartache in the world than even she had thought possible,--is it miraculous that her brain should suffer a period of disorder? She was scarcely conscious. All her strength for living fled. The best part of a fortnight passed off in the same way--too fleeting, too brief a time--and Fitzwilliam had to go back to his regiment without accomplishing any of that success which his cousin Darcy had so sanguinely anticipated.

The pensioners returned no more to Cambridgeshire that spring, nor all the following year. Darcy did not like to be away from home during the period of mourning, and gradually--delightedly--he found that he might be useful to his father, as an assistant in the several duties of the landholder. Wickham meanwhile, however nominally installed at the steward's cottage, was so frequent a visitor at Pemberley House as to be counted almost an inmate in it. -- It was he at last who delivered Georgiana from the throes of her depression.

He hit upon the very thing, one morning after breakfasting at Pemberley, malingering alone over cold coffee and pork bones,--why should not Gee take this opportunity of learning the piano-forte? There was a fine, pretty instrument in the house, though it had hardly ever been unlocked (Lady Anne, to his knowledge, never touched it); and the little ugly governess was supposed to play, so they need not be at the trouble even of getting a master. How particularly strange that it should not have occurred to him before! George Wickham knew what it was to lose a parent, for his own sweet mother had perished only the year before, and he remembered well the lesson--that some innocent dissipation is the quickest cure for a broken heart.

He found Mr Darcy in the library, a great thick portfolio spread over the table before him. The wig he still wore sat rather askew, and there was some powder spilt on the collar of his coat. He looked bent and drawn. -- But Wickham related his scheme with a catching enthusiasm.

"Certainly," replied his patron at the end of the speech. "It is a good notion, and I will leave it at your discretion, George." Then with anxious rapidity, "Well and before you go, dear boy, will you not look over this letter? It is from the miniaturist E , whom I have engaged to visit us in the course of the summer. I do hope you will be at home when he comes,--and sit to him? Please promise me to sit to him. It should be an indulgence to me, you see, to possess such portraits of all my dear children."?

Chapter Three

Posted on January 14, 2010

How delicious at last to conceive what those silly hands were meant for!-- For the great fingers that served Miss Darcy so ill as an embroideress were of course perfectly adapted to playing on the piano-forte. She was enchanted in her new pursuit; the music lighted her up like a flaring lamp. If she could not speak, yet she could play,--and ere long she did both. Her most ardent gratitude kindled towards George Wickham, who had arranged it all, and who multiplied the charm of the arrangement by submitting himself as her constant audience. The simplest tunes were first favourites with him. He seemed to think no pleasure more sublime than to sit in the saloon with her and Miss Lee, while they tinkled away at the nice old Broadwood. And as for Miss Lee!--here too was an improvement. Georgiana contemplated, unable to account for it, that her governess was always in such a good humour, so blushing and chatty, her language so mild, when George Wickham was by. He had a lovely voice, and was more than once prevailed on to join them in a three-part glee. Now and then after a lesson, he would propose Miss Darcy to take a walk with him, in the Pemberley Woods.

"Her health has suffered dreadfully of the late shock," said he to the governess, in the interest of his cause, one morning. "Ah! my dear Miss Lee! if only there were such roses to be seen in her cheeks, as those that bloom so freshly to-day in your's."

His dear Miss Lee was rather wishing to be asked herself, but she took comfort in such gallantry. -- Forbearance was ever her way, by nature as well as by necessity. -- With a very decent grace therefore, and only the hint of a sigh, she consigned her bonneted charge to the protection of their mutual friend.

They set out,--from the hall to the threshold, from the gravel to the lawn. August lay before them in all its triumphal verdure, the stately oaks and Spanish chesnuts bursting with violent greenery. The day was hot and close, and they walked at a slow pace. One of the gardeners happened to glimpse them from some distant beds; he rose to pay his respects with a sweaty bow. Not until gaining the wood did Wickham speak.

"I will own, dear little Gee, it has been most gratifying to me to observe your progress on the piano-forte. Such a degree of feeling and execution in one so young; it is almost incredible! Such taste--may I not call it--genius? I am perfectly delighted to have put you in the way of finding it out."

Miss Darcy very gently disclaimed, attempting likewise to give her opinion of his own kind behaviour towards herself; and if she was not very fluent in the expressions of thanks and obligation, her companion did not seem to mind it. His best smiles shone down upon her.

"It is not often in this weary world, that one meets with so sophisticated a mind blent in a single nature with such artless simplicity of heart," was the solemn rejoinder, and, "what is your present age, my dear?"

She told it him.

"Well! you will be quite a little woman, one of these days."

George Wickham certainly intended to marry Miss Darcy, as he had intended it almost from the earliest hour of there being a Miss Darcy. This was no peculiar kind of interest in the child itself, merely the wholesome attractions of her fortune and family. -- For however pleasant it was to be Mr Darcy's godson, anyone would prefer to be his son in fact, and young Wickham, with the all the resplendent virtues of an handsome countenance and a captivating manner, must hold himself cheap indeed if he did not aspire to the last. The old man being so fond, he was not likely to make much fuss against the match; and Wickham's only object now was to secure the lady's affections before anybody else could. Already he flattered himself with having made reasonable headway in whatever scrap of a heart so small a girl can be said to have. -- His courage warmed at the thought,--and suddenly--fearlessly--he caught up her hand, and pressed it with a kiss! A tremulous thrill fluttered down through her nerves, and there was a glance of consciousness that put him altogether in the highest spirits.

"If I ever had a little sister," he cried gaily, "I should wish her to turn out exactly like you!"

Wickham was too far engrossed, at that moment, by his own intrepidity, to be thinking of any other person. -- And so it never entered his head that somebody might just be situated so as to view the cordial performance. Oh, but the best laid schemes of mice and men--! A portion of the ha-ha had broken down, on the opposite side of the water, allowing one or two spring lambs to wander from their pasture into the coppice-wood; and the young master was just examining the breach,--attempting to determine whether it were the work of nature or of man and how best to instruct his carpenter to repair it,--when he saw them, a little way off, and above. Though the noise of the stream and his own indifferent power of hearing might conceal the exact language of the tête-à-tête, its intimacy was self-evident. He followed their winding passage down the bank, and Wickham's smirk.

"A man may smile and smile and be a villain," Darcy said.

It was insupportable. If hopelessness and time had hardened him to view the authority of that one upon his father with a tolerable composure, no like influence could apply in the sister's case. Forming a sudden resolution, the young man went quickly across the lawn. -- In one moment he gained his room, and in the next he was cutting his pen, dating his paper, and relating the whole to his cousin Fitzwilliam.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for neglecting to thank you properly for the kindness of your visit to us in the spring. On my own account it ought to have been done long ago, for your presence was a powerful support to me during that period, and I am still more deeply indebted to you on account of Georgiana. Your attempt there, your good-hearted compliance with my wishes, was really more grateful than I can say. Fitzwilliam, you must pardon me soon as ever you can, for I find myself once more in need of your counsel and assistance. Once more, that I have to tell regards my sister. I do not properly know how to begin. You are acquainted, I believe, in some degree, with my opinion of Mr George Wickham. Suffice it then, that he is totally unfit to associate with a woman of character. -- No! no! it will not suffice. I require a confidant and am determined that you shall do for me. You see, you are to have no choice in the matter.

"Wickham is, to my certain knowledge, a prodigal, a liar and a vicious libertine." With considerable bitterness now poured forth the many instances of profligacy and unrestraint; so many times as Darcy had been approached by desperate tradesmen to honour a bill for Wickham; so frequently he had seen him in liquor and at cards; so many immodest females as Wickham was known to have visited, so many modest ones he was known to have offended,--a pitiful enough history for a person not yet of age. "Guess my sensations, Fitzwilliam, as I find him now befriending my own young sister. That his corruption should influence her character, that such grossness might infect her, at this present and most susceptible time of life! If she should in any way resemble him--! The notion is repugnant. If I could forbid his access to her, I would do it, but my father loves him; I am not master here. You will ask why I do not make W's conduct known to Mr Darcy. I have often thought of it, and have sometimes convinced myself that I ought, but I am a coward. I fear lest he should attribute the intelligence to--jealousy. You will understand me. Such a low creature as W is! Oh, why was he ever brought among us? He ought to have been left at his own level.

"Possibly it is too great, it is asking too much, for you to give advice on so distressing a topic. Do not, then, if you do not like it. Only believe me grateful for the liberty of communication, which in itself brings no small relief to my mind. You are everything that is good, and I remain obliged, &c. -- F G D"

He sent it to the post immediately, and neither did he wait long for the reply. Almost before it was looked for, the well-known hand had made its appearance on the footman's silver tray.

"Upon my word, Darcy, I am very sorry for what you have told me. In my idea the best you can do is to forestall it--confide in her, go and make a friend of her yourself. I believe she has got a warm heart, for all of that cold forbidding taciturnity--in which respect, dear fellow, she is not unlike yourself--if you can permit the observation. I wish I was there. Bear up, old man--and God bless you, &c., &c. -- Fitzwilliam"

Chapter Four

Posted on January 18, 2010

Mr Darcy's property consisted in several estates, all prosperous, and all managed capably by the elder Mr Wickham. Pemberley alone, with its flocks and plantations, was known to yield no less than £10,000 per annum; then, there was another manor in the west of Ireland that had belonged to the Fitzwilliams till settled on Lady Anne, and any subsequent children, at the time of her marriage; there were various interests in the colonies; and a find old abbey at Cornwall that had been a gift of the sovereign to Sir Mowbray Darcy, during the period of the Reformation.

Mr Wickham began life as a country attorney, busy and respectable in that line for about a dozen years before Mr Darcy met him and offered the appointment. Moved in part by a wish of giving pleasure to his wife (for Mrs Wickham was an elegant woman, who longed to be connected with great families) he agreed and took his place on the next quarter day. They removed from Bakewell to the cottage at Pemberley,--chose wall-papers, hired a man-servant, and lived very comfortably for some time. The labour was not disagreeable, the employer decidedly affable,--so affable indeed that the Wickhams ventured to ask him, at the end of half a year's acquaintance, to sponsor their first baby at its christening. Mr Darcy consented, spring smiled, and the soul of the infant was duly reclaimed.

More than twenty years were gone since that bright day. -- Time had erased the sanguine, well-disposed young lawyer of the past and drawn him again a low and lonely old man. No hardy crops of daughters and sons would ever follow little George into the world. The wife whom he had loved was dead, and Mr Wickham had not even the satisfaction of believing that he made her happy; an association with consequence that had promised once so fairly, was proved to give her much more pain than pleasure; it created envy, and inspired schemes of grandeur which outran her husband's income, and which led them, inevitably, into debt. And now even so grateful as was Mr Wickham for the continual kind treatment of the Darcys toward his son, still there was an impulse within him that would have kept his own boy to himself, and let him eat his mutton at home instead of going hither and thither to the great house at all hours of day and night. Mr Wickham was fond of society, not a reader, nor a lover of any sedentary pursuits but what bore on his profession. He had not resources to endure his solitude in comfort, yet neither did a great good-nature permit him to regret what notice the darling child received.

That he was not quite alone in lamenting such attachment between godfather and godson has formerly been related,--and had Fitzwilliam Darcy been more in the habit of considering other people's feelings, he might very well have guessed what those of the steward were. As it was they suffered each in ignorant independence. No bond of sympathy was ever to console them, no diminution of loneliness to ensue. Darcy was of course by no means so much to be pitied as the other, having the advantage not only in health, education, and money, but in the presence of one great new hobby,--the cultivation of Georgiana.

He took his resolution immediately upon receipt of Captain Fitzwilliam's note. On the very evening of that day, after watching George Wickham safely out of the house, he paid a little visit to his sister in her school-room. She was alone, doing her best to spoil nice muslin, with sitting on the floor.

"Georgiana," said he in a very grave voice, "how are you?"

Miss Darcy with timidity replied that she was well, and it appeared to her brother that she really was quite handsome, when one came to look at her. Her eyes might indeed have been benefited by a greater quantity of brightness, yet they were nicely shaped and had a sensible expression. Something seemed to suggest a primrose,--but his mind was discomposed, too much so to afford him any power of analogising cogently. There was the ever furious desire of doing right, mixed up with vexatious doubts as to how it ought to be done, and he felt himself constrained, awkward, even dull.

"Pray do not get up. I do not like to interrupt you. What book have you there?"

It was a volume of Mr Crabbe's. She told him as much and shewed the pretty binding.

With profound resolution,--"I have been thinking, Georgiana, that I should wish for us to become better acquainted. We are brother and sister, you know, yet never for so many as six weeks together have you and I been living under the same roof. I was at Westminster when you were born."

She made a noise or motion of consent and nothing more, and her brother could think of nothing else to say. For, in truth, Captain Fitzwilliam was not without acuity in his assessment of the younger Darcys. In temper and disposition, in speech and silence, in every essential gift of nature, the two were very much alike. Two similar and unattractive polarities,--it will not be reckoned remarkable that the first fraternal interview should pass off without much variety or éclat. They sat in silence for a moment or two, and the brother was nearly in despair of finding another subject, till at last striking out the happy thought of asking her to read aloud from her book. With blushes she demurred--"she did not read well, she had much rather not, &c."--but the spirit of obedience that was in her could not stand out against him long. With accents tremulous and solemn she began:

Sir Edward Archer is an amorous knight,
And maidens chaste and lovely shun his sight;--&c.

Even after the first awkwardness was over, books remained a predominant subject. Georgiana had not been taught very thoroughly to read, or think, or analyse, or reflect, yet there was a clarity and simplicity in her speech that seemed to promise of a well-arranged mind. The plays and stories that had charmed her brother's infancy were sought again from cabinets, spare rooms, attics, closet shelves,--and lain at her feet like birds. He studied to reverse the traces of his enemy, to wipe from the slate Wickham's terrible impression. He would notice her; he would improve her; he would fortify her beyond corruption.

The success of the project was doubtful at first, for the attentions of the other never abated, and after a few struggles, Darcy really gave up the idea of unfolding Wickham's character to his parent; whether or not he ought, to do it was not quite in his power. He dedicated himself instead to the battle-ground of her mind. -- Not many evenings afterwards passed without a meeting of the brother and sister; by degrees they progressed in friendship; and on one occasion, sharing sweetmeats and sonnets in honour of her ninth birthday, they were even almost merry together. -- Darcy arranged thereafter that Georgiana should dine as one of the family, instead of eating alone, or with a servant, in her school-room. At the broad table she acquired another education, hearing the men talking over the politics of the day. She witnessed in turn their delight of a glorious victory and their grief of a glorious defeat.

Soon , by way of doing something, young Darcy began to teach his schoolboy's Latin to her,--to teaze her brain with locatives and vocatives and absolute ablatives. Georgiana did not at all approve of the Roman emperors, having heard from her governess about one or two of their worst excesses, but she was very soon taught to think their language a pretty one. She was a model scholar, impressible, ready instantly to absorb whatever her brother told, to adopt his precepts without argument or hesitation; and Darcy was so well satisfied with his campaign that, at the end of a twelvemonth, when it appeared to him rather right than pleasant that he should return to Cambridge and take his degree, he might prepare for the departure without material fear for her intellect or her character.

His sister's feelings on the occasion were less than sanguine.

"Must you indeed be leaving us?" she said.

He averred, and spoke of duty.

"Ah, then I suppose it ought to be, but--oh dear!--I am sure I shall miss you very much."

"You shall not, Georgiana. It is barely three months until the Christmas holidays, when you and I shall be together again; and I flatter myself your time will be spent in the pleasantest manner possible. Upon my word, I would change places if I could! You will sit at home, surrounded by every comfort, secure of your rational tranquillity; whilst I am labouring to write in a draughty parlour, or mingling with sizars in the public rooms. Dear girl, I am depending upon your correspondence! It is the greatest satisfaction to me, I own, to consider how much improved you will be when I return. See here, I have drawn up this list of books for you to read. Promise me you will read them, and keep on with your studies?"

Miss Darcy promised, hiding her tears. Then, attempting to sound cheerful,--"Yes, Fitzwilliam," she added, "and I shall practise, too. I will practise the piano-forte a great deal whilst you are away, and learn new songs for you." For reasons best known to himself, this declaration did not seem particularly pleasing to her companion. A momentary expression of chagrin crossed his face,--but swiftly it was swept away, and again he regarded her tenderly. Mr Darcy's and George Wickham's adieux, when they entered the room, were made without much emotion. Wickham talked on about the fine weather, while Mr Darcy politely hoped that the young man would pass on his compliments to Lord Longtown, if the two should happen to meet.

That afternoon was to Georgiana inexpressibly sad. Her brother's absence was felt not as a temporary estrangement, but a complete cutting up of her faith and philosophy. Love was a commodity not often to be had, and when one obtained it, it was forever going away. She visited his empty bedroom, she watched the time,--had he changed horses yet?--did he eat?--how long until he might be supposed at the university? Georgiana's notions of speed and distance were entirely unfixed; although well able to put the map of Europe together, English geography eluded her; she had never travelled in her life, and nobody spoke to her about the journey; whether it were a matter of hours or of weeks, therefore, she could not very well have guessed. She removed the sheet of paper from her pocket, and read all through the list. -- Sir Charles Grandison and Millenium Hall were first among the works. Well, if the hour would not be a happy one, it might at any rate be productive of good.

Some comfort returned as the days grew cool. The dear, good, sympathetic friendship of George Wickham did something,--as did the principle of zealous self-government adopted from her brother. Miss Darcy was able to make a tolerable account of herself in her letters to Fitzwilliam. "We are all well here," was the accustomary salutation; very often qualified however by news that such and such a servant had a cold, or that Miss Lee complained of head-ache, or yet more frequently, that "my father is so weariful" and "my father appears fatigued."

Taken all in all, the events of October and November were greatly to the advantage of the post-office revenue, for the young Darcys wrote one another incessantly,--and Miss Lee, who remained in general Pemberley's most prolific correspondent, was to author even an extraordinary quantity of letters at that time, the engagement and nuptials of a former pupil requiring several rounds of warm congratulation. "My dear Mrs Norris," one of these began, , "I have this moment received most gratifying news about your niece. What words can express my present sentiments so justly as those of the poet? The marriage of true minds, and exactly what our sweet Miss B deserves. I am in raptures that Sir T did not see fit to put it off. Mr Rushworth appears an excellent young man, a very beau geste. The weather is vile here. We have not had one really fine day since September began, and have been frequently disappointed in our exercise. Yours most affectionately,--&c."

As she had foretold, Georgiana Darcy did practise a great deal. What had begun as a talisman against mental suffering, or perhaps as one of the usual stock of accomplishments, was now her chiefest comfort and delight. Her eagerness repaid itself in--if not genius--truly, a small budding proficiency. It was not two years since she began to play; her progress was swift from nursery songs, to country dances, and the lighter pieces of our best composers. Owing to the singular distraction of Miss Lee's thoughts during this present autumn, her charge was often left alone, to practise, to write letters, or to read. The prince of every story was her brother.

And where was George Wickham in all this time? Was he not inclined to seize so fair an opportunity of attaching himself to his bride-elect? Alas,--in spite of many wise resolutions on the side of industry and economy,--his warm, unguarded temper got the better of him. He had found, for the moment, a woman better worth flattering, one whose amusement could contribute more immediately to his own. Nevertheless absolute in determination to marry Miss Darcy at last, he persuaded himself of there being no hurry, that there would be time enough for tender gallantry when she was twelve or thirteen, and that he might keep the flame of love alive without more exertion than a few benevolent glances, and a few brisk walks, required. There is a fine old saying, which every reader is of course familiar with,--"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

It was a maxim which Fitzwilliam Darcy might have done well to observe. Immured at Cambridge, mathematics and philosophy preoccupied him to a large extent; and instead of devoting what leisure he commanded, to recreation, or to repose, Darcy was rather prone to burn the candle at both ends. -- There was no moderation in the exercise of his genius. -- Having taken his sister so fruitfully in hand, he thought, Mentor-like, to do the same office by another young person, a particular unfledged freshman of his own college, who had come very lately out of Scarborough. Though it figured no part in the correspondence with Miss Darcy, the sad fact was, that poor Charles Bingley loved a milliner. "He is amiable enough," Darcy wrote, "with a very open temper. You will like him if you ever meet. I invited him to Pemberley for the Christmas holidays, but he is unluckily engaged with his sisters in town." The same letter closed in a solemn injunction that Georgiana would write next in ink,--as her pencil often faded in the post, compounding all the evils of an imperfect orthography. She did as she was bid, and wore the black liquor afterwards on her hands.

It was an attractive season, perhaps wetter than usual. The footpaths in the woods were crowned with leaves, yellow and slick, and pressed into the dirt. Middle November had not yet wrought its frosts when Miss Lee saw the line that she was waiting for,--"Mr and Mrs Rushworth are man and wife." With hotly blotched cheeks, with eyes that swam, she perused the minute account of her kind friend, committing each particular to memory of ornament, equipage, weather, and wine. O Love!--cried Miss Lee's heart in French and Italian. L'amour toujours!

Chapter Five

Posted on January 23, 2010

Christmas arrived at the usual time, to rattle the Pemberley House from its graceful sleep. The young master was at home, and certain near relations of the family were approaching,--Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter. They meant to spend a few weeks with their Derbyshire connexions, the loss of Lady Anne not having altered the former good understanding between the families. Mr Darcy, naturally warm and hospitable, was always glad to fill his house with Fitzwilliams and de Bourghs; for the Darcys had no equals in their own neighbourhood, nobody within twenty miles who could be invited to share in their pleasures,--not even a clergyman, since Dr Davies retired to the seaside, and the curate who presided was not at all genteel. It pleased Lady Catherine likewise to maintain the relationship, for the sake of her own dear Anne,--whose father had been only an affluent knight, with no family to speak of.

The twenty-third of December was originally fixed for their arrival, yet it closed on Pemberley with no addition but of a servant, sent ahead to say his mistress intended sleeping another night at an inn. Travel did not agree with Anne de Bourgh, and her mother would not have her health or her looks spoilt by needless exertion. The very new barouche that conveyed the ladies was also to be looked after; it must not be scratched,--and John coachman, unaccustomed to the tortuous mountain roads of the north country, had much better make haste slowly. From Reynolds's manner of speaking about "her little cousin Miss de Bourgh," Georgiana had imagined that it was a child her own age who would be visiting. That her new cousin turned out to be a woman, therefore, a grown woman, even of an age with brother Fitzwilliam, disappointed; and it was small consolation to Georgiana to consider that Anne was little, in size and stature; indeed scarcely taller than herself, delicate, and extremely thin.

They were just five sitting down to dinner on the twenty-fourth, George Wickham having good-naturedly determined on spending Christmas eve with his own father. It was a quiet table, consisting as it did in principal of shy people. The soup was handed round, the meat was carved, a number of creditable dishes tasted, and a certain quantity of old wine drunk, before reserve were worn through or any but the common civilities spoken. Lady Catherine de Bourgh indeed was not diffident, and not often silent,--yet she admired Pemberley to such a degree that, entering it again after a long absence, the first half-hour must be given up to complaisant inspection of its furniture.

During the second course, Fitzwilliam Darcy began to describe an errand of charity, made to a worthy tenant family, whom his father had recommended.

"Smith, sir. We were talking of them the other day. I have called, sir, and I believe you are quite right about the little boy."

Mr Darcy looked vague and said nothing; but his sister-in-law caught at the subject immediately. Enquiries were made into the situation and character of the Smiths, and Lady Catherine civilly hoped that there might be no illness in the case.

"Nothing of contagion, thank heaven," young Darcy replied, "but there is scoliosis, probably, in one of the children. We will send the surgeon."

"If it is so," said Lady Catherine, "then you must allow Anne to accompany you when you visit them again. There is nothing Anne likes better than the poor. She should be among them constantly, I believe, if it were not for her peculiar constitution, which obliges her to avoid bad air and infection. As to inclination, however, she is extremely charitable. You will bring Anne, the next time you are visiting that family. Anne, Anne,--why do not you eat? Take some of the fish."

Her nephew would be very happy of his cousin's company, although he did not at present anticipate such a visit. His time in the country was limited, and he had rather spend it among his own family, unless it were otherwise of necessity claimed.

"Oh! as to that," cried her ladyship, "there are few people who have a higher value for the pleasures of domestic life than Anne or myself. We are forever sitting at home! We might have dined with Sir Henry and Lady Metcalf, you know, on Thursday. 'Oh no!' said I, 'to depart from the comforts of one's own fire-side and get into a crowd, gathered exclusively for the purpose of eating and drinking,--no, certainly not!' And Anne said just the same. It is entirely a matter of inclination, I assure you. We prefer a comfortable evening at home to anything, with perhaps just some near neighbours walking over for tea and cards after dinner. Annesley is a respectable person, and very fond of a nice round game. You have heard me mention the Reverend Mr Annesley, Darcy. Poor man!--his wife is a pert, conceited creature,--not at all the sort of woman I like, and not the least bit handsome. -- Coarse, common features, entirely without elegance. -- There is, as you may perceive, a something of peculiar elegance in Anne's features that seems to mark her of distinguished birth. I am considered to be an excellent judge of beauty, though it belong to my own sex, and I am sure I never saw Anne's equal in point of true elegance. She has the Fitzwilliam chin. -- And the shape of her eye rather favours her grandmother, the late countess. There is a certain picture at Rosings Park, an admirable resemblance of my late mother, the countess, and her eyes do look very much like Anne's. -- My mother was of course born a Carteret, and I believe Anne to have inherited some of the Carteret partiality for the life of retirement. She has at any rate been brought up to know the value of domestic comfort, and she will be a superior kind of wife, whenever she marries, precisely for that reason."

The person at whom these congratulations were directed made no answer. Her ladyship turned the subject.

"I declare, Darcy, I think your daughter quite a charming little thing. You and I do not care much for the woman of this age. Young women had better be modest and quiet. If there is one thing, indeed, which I dislike more than another, it is confidence in a woman. My daughter Anne is just such another well bred young girl, as you may yourself perceive. She hardly ever speaks a word, even to me."

Soon afterwards the table-cloth vanished, and dessert and wine emerged with such graceful dispatch as bespoke the rehearsal of many generations. It had grown quite thoroughly night now, but the moon was up and bright, and a number of beautiful objects still visible out the great window,--a neat valley and a high wooded hill. Georgiana wavered between the landscape and her china plate. Once she ventured a glance across the table at her cousin,--and oh, the miraculous composure of Anne de Bourgh! Nothing like confusion distinguished her little countenance. Whether elegant or not, its serenity was indubitable.

Fleetly the last taste of tart and custard passed away, Lady Catherine and her daughter moved to the drawing room, and Miss Darcy, by consensus, was sent to bed. Her brother accompanied her up stairs as far as the second landing-place. In parting he shook hands with her, and wished her a happy Christmas, and gave her his candle; and as he turned down again towards the lighted hall he said: "Another year, Georgiana, and we shall have Charles Bingley here. My friend Bingley is both lively and pleasant; more so, I believe, than any of our own relations. You will like him very well. Good night, my dearest,--good night."

Every new year brings fresh hopes and fresh schemes of felicity. Miss Lee found her's in surveying the Times and the Courier for news of her married pupil, who (it was reported) promised to become a particularly brilliant leader in the fashionable world. Smile after smile of secret delight stole over Miss Lee's face as she regarded the charming effects of her own tuition and recalled Mrs Rushworth's many early talents,--her aptitude at memorisation, and at carpet-work. Georgiana meanwhile read great books and learnt concertos like a fury; while her father took to scattering silver spoons and forks about the dirty gardens of the neighbouring poor, deliberately, like a farmer or a saint. Mrs Reynolds and the butler, united in allegiance to the family plate, went afterwards by night to purchase those items from the cottagers, at very inflated prices.

"My dear brother," Miss Darcy frequently wrote, "we are all well here."

Come spring there was a strange revelation. Pupil and governess were seated together one morning, each separately reading, when the latter gave a violent start,--and fainted away on the sofa! There was a quick flurry of alarm. Her companion rang instantly for help, and after a moment's consideration, she also took the liberty of searching Miss Lee's reticule for the salts that were supposed to be in it. These revived the poor creature in part. -- Her eyelashes fluttered, only to be filled up with tears. Weakly, she gestured towards the floor, upon whose gleaming surfaces the fatal newspaper had fallen. . . .

Georgiana had often heard Miss Lee mention Wimpole street, in London, as the address of her beautiful young friend. She knew not what a "matrimonial fracas" was, yet that it was something disagreeable might be inferred from the preceding line. With caution she read on,--and enlightenment came at last,--after it was told that "Mrs R had quitted her husband's roof in company with the well-known and captivating Mr C"! Georgiana Darcy certainly qualified for an ignorant girl, but even she was not so perfectly ignorant as to surmise, from such language, that the two were gone out for a stroll in the park.

The embarrassment attached to a correct idea was necessarily most acute,--until it sank under a stronger instinct of compassion. Perceiving Miss Lee's suffering, it was not long before Georgiana set about trying whether by lavender water or sweetmeats she could relieve her. The unhappy woman was at length induced to sit upright; and though she stormed, and blushed, and wept,--and indeed, executed the suits and trappings of her passion with all the felicity of a Mrs Siddons,--her charge had soon every hope of a complete recovery. It was somehow or other determined that wine would be of use to her. The servant was dispatched for a decanter of Constantia.

"May there not after all be a little mistake?" interposed Georgiana during the interval that followed. "Perhaps there is another family of the same initial, who are living in that street?"

Miss Lee was spared the trouble of replying; for just at that moment George Wickham entered the room, coming as was his custom to enquire whether there would not be a music-lesson that day. They each turned to look at him with shameful faces.

"Hey day!" cried he, "what mischief is this? My dear Mar--my dear Miss Lee, what in heaven is the matter?"

A sweet babble of words rushed from Georgiana's mouth,--which her governess at once stopped, and made intelligible, in a few quick syllables. Wickham, all horror, dropped to his knees beside the sofa to stammer out half-sentences of pity and dismay. There was a kind of religious expression in his soft eyes as he comforted these distressed; and neither lady had ever seen him to greater advantage than during his subsequent peroration on the villainy of man by woman. He wound up the subject with a decided shake of the head, and the assertion that he himself would propose having satisfaction of her seducer, if indeed he were acquainted with the woman in question. -- Georgiana then reverted hopefully to the likelihood of its being some other citizens of Wimpole street, and not any friends of dear Miss Lee, who were concerned in the ugly business; but nobody seemed to hear her.

The balance of probability may or may not have lain with our heroine in this interesting question. That the fact was not upon her side, however, was shortly proved. A week passed and no letter arrived from Mrs Norris; by which event, catastrophe was communicated as plainly as the very best-chosen language could have done; for in seasons of normal happiness, Mrs Norris wrote like the clock. -- Her late correspondent was utterly wretched. She grieved for those persons from whom she was estranged, almost as keenly as if she had loved them when united; even as keenly as she might, some years hence, grieve perhaps for Georgiana, whom at present she only envied and despised. Georgiana continued her ministrations,--attending Miss Lee with all that sacrificing tenderness for which her sex is so justly famous.

Matters of vice and infamy ought not to pass in dialogue between a sister and a brother. Therefore while Georgiana's letters to Cambridge expressed concern for the health and well being of her governess, she gave no intimation of the cause; and her brother advised her not to fret about it. His own letters were full of Charles Bingley: "Bingley teazes me for my slowness in writing, and also for the length of my letters to you. He declares that he should not waste half so many syllables on a sister. Do not believe him uncharitable, however; it was spoken in jest, and I tell him that he would not speak so if he were acquainted with you. Truly, there are few young men of my acquaintance here with so much heart as Charles Bingley has. I think you will like him very well." Whether by distributing such praise of his sister to his friend, or of his friend to his sister, Fitzwilliam Darcy had any thought that they might some day or other be induced to form one another's happiness,--it is perhaps too early to enquire.

Even as Georgiana hastened towards maturity, her poor papa was hastening towards the end. He was subject to fits of wild generosity; once he got very near presenting his Cornish estate, with its glittering stannaries, and compliments, to Farmer Green. In spite of such infirmity, however, the gentleman lingered on till middle June, when his son and heir was returned into the country. All three of his children were collected round the final bed.

What remains to be told? -- Major Fitzwilliam was summoned to the place as an executor of his uncle's will. -- Georgiana thought it right to take out her old jet spencer for the funeral-day, however the heat, and the smallness of the sleeves, might contribute to her distress. -- Mrs Reynolds lamented soundly, the chorus in an Attic tragedy.

"There is one circumstance out of all this misery," said young Darcy to Fitzwilliam, in the library that was now his own, "which is likely to be of comfort to me. My anxiety in one quarter must hereafter be diminished. -- Do you understand? -- As long as Mr Wickham remains in our employ (which in all probability will be some years, as I perceive him most regardful and exact in all his offices), the son will have a claim on us. Yet I think the connexion never can be what it was. George Wickham will much be oftener in his own home now."

Darcy had no more luck at prophesy, however, than men and women usually do. In one article he was sadly mistaken; for old Mr Wickham departed this world not six weeks after his employer did. He was alone, his child having repaired to town immediately upon receiving the thousand pounds that were the bequest of Mr Darcy. Nobody knew what caused Mr Wickham to die, though apoplexy was suspected. -- And thus Georgiana had just reached her eleventh year when another person took up residence in the steward's cottage. This Mr Stone was a plain-spoken, civil, elderly man, without family and without pretension; circumstances which no doubt delivered him as heartily to the good opinion of Pemberley's new master, as any the most illustrious history or warmest testimonial could ever have done.

No word was received of George Wickham from the time of his departure. Even the governess, whom some persons might suppose to possess intimate knowledge of him, pleaded a perfect ignorance as to his direction, which the forlornness of her entire aspect seemed ready to confirm; and Wickham was not able to notified of his father's decease. The young Mr Darcy asked himself whether or not he ought to go and hunt for him in London, but London to be sure was vast, and he knew not where to begin. Miss Darcy at the time was reading Goldsmith; and in the silence of her great chamber, the terrier that was her bedfellow now and again overheard the restless effusion, "O why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility?"

Her governess might probably have effused the same, if ever that eloquence had entered her head. There was nothing from Wickham, nothing at all from her Northamptonshire connexions, and for a period of some months, no participant in her feelings or confidence but the childish Georgiana. She had nearly given over hope of better company, when a letter arrived that appeared to renew friendship in one quarter at least. It was from Mrs Norris, who wrote as follows:

"__________, near Newcastle, Northumberland,

"I know you will pardon my silence, Margaret, for I really have not had a moment these several weeks for writing. You are perfectly aware what continual claims have generally been made upon my time by the household cares of my brother and sister. There are some people, between you and me, who the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves. I never complain,--but I will just hint to you, confident as I am of your discretion, that I think the behaviour of my brother-in-law perfectly abominable towards our poor Maria. For as it happens, Margaret, there has been a slight unpleasantness in our circle since you and I last communicated. My niece is used shamefully by the greatest part of her family; she and I have removed to a separate establishment, whence this letter shall be posted. The country here is pleasing and quiet, exactly what we wish for after all our tribulations. Our mutual affection consoles us for the spiteful treatment we have received."

The author next went on to relate that, while naturally blessed with the very sweetest temper in the universe, Mrs Rushworth's spirits had lately been a little clouded by the perverseness of her fate.

"I have been thinking whether or not there is any trifling amusement that might be got up for her benefit, and it occurred to me that you might be disposed to come and stay with us a while, for you always were a great favourite with Maria. The housekeeper professes herself very fond of whist, and so she and my niece and you and I will just do to make a table. There is moreover a perfectly good spinet here, only a little in need of tuning, which was in the house when we took it, and I know that she will like you to play for her. Convey yourself as far as Newcastle, and I will send a cart for the remainder of the trip. Do come at once, if not inconvenient. Yours, &c. -- E Norris"

What laurels!--what honour was to be Miss Lee's at last. She went at once to young Mr Darcy, and shewing him the letter, she begged leave to be excused from her contract in consideration of that higher duty which called her now away. Darcy, not at all disinclined to be rid of the lady, in whose manners he saw much to censure, and whose methods as a teacher he thought seriously inferior to his own, released her with most good-humoured alacrity.

The parting moment, when it came, was not without its tear; for the sweets of recollection were beginning already; and in tenderly kissing Georgiana, or in giving a last bright glance over the grounds, it appeared to Miss Lee that Pemberley was a charming place, filled with delightful people, and that she had never been so happy in her life as when she dwelt in it.