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

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

every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,

to explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes’

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

tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous

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

blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the

errors of her daughter must be principally owing.
“If I had been able,” said she, “to carry my point in going to Brighton

with all my family, this would not{352} have happened: but poor dear Lydia

had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out

of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their

side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had

been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have

the charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always am. Poor, dear

child! And now here’s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight

Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what is

to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out, before he is cold

in his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what

we shall do.”
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after

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

that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr.

Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he: “though it is right to be

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

It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more, we