again over the perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour, so

strikingly altered,—what could it mean? That he should even speak to

her was amazing!—but to speak with such civility, to inquire after her

family! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified,

never had he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting.

What a contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when

he put his letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, or how to

account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and

every step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer

reach of the woods to which they were approaching: but it was some time

before Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered

mechanically to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed

to direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she

distinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that

one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then

was. She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind; in

what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of everything,

she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only because he

felt himself at ease; yet there had been{311} that in his voice, which was

not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing

her, she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with

composure.
At length, however, the remarks of her companions on her absence of mind

roused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like herself.
They entered the woods, and, bidding adieu to the river for a while,

ascended some of the higher grounds; whence, in spots where the opening

of the trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming views of

the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods