in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced

you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the

sake of discovering them.”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone.

That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other

inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your

family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought

only of you.”
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,

her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your

feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My

affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence

me on this subject for ever.”
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of

his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not

very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone

so material a change since the period to which he alluded, as to make

her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The

happiness which this reply produced was such as he had probably never

felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as

warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth

been able to encounter his eyes, she might have seen how well the

expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face became him: but

though she could not look she could listen; and he told her of{451} feelings

which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection

every moment more valuable.
They walked on without knowing in what direction. There was too much to

be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She

soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding

to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through