prompt:
Chapter: Elizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit
her, the very day after her reaching Pemberley; and was consequently
resolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning.
But her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after their own
arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking about the
place with some of their new friends, and were just returned to the inn
to dress themselves for dining with the same family, when the sound of a
carriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman and lady in a
curricle, driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately recognising the
livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small degree of surprise
to her relations, by acquainting them with the honour which she
expected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement; and the embarrassment
of her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance itself, and many
of the circumstances of the preceding day, opened to them a new idea on
the business. Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they now felt
that there was no other way of accounting for such attentions from such
a quarter, than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While these
newly-born notions were passing in their heads, the perturbation of
Elizabeth's feelings was every moment increasing. She was quite amazed
at her own discomposure; but amongst other causes of disquiet, she
dreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much in
her favour; and more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally
suspected that every power of pleasing would fail her.

She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked
up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks
of enquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt, as made every thing worse.

Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction
took place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see, that her new
acquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her
being at Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud;
but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her, that she was
only exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from
her beyond a monosyllable.

Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though
little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance
womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there
was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly
unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as
acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much
relieved by discerning such different feelings.

They had not been long together, before Darcy told her that Bingley was
also coming to wait on her; and she had barely time to express her
satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's quick step
was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All
Elizabeth's anger against him had been long done away; but, had she
still felt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the
unaffected cordiality with which he expressed himself, on seeing her
again. He enquired in a friendly, though general way, after her family,
and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever
done.

To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting personage
than to herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party before
them, indeed, excited a lively attention. The suspicions which had just
arisen of Mr. Darcy and their niece, directed their observation towards
each with an earnest, though guarded, enquiry; and they soon drew from
those enquiries the full conviction that one of them at least knew what
it was to love. Of the lady's sensations they remained a little in
doubt; but that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration was
evident enough.

Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the
feelings of each of her visitors, she wanted to compose her own, and to
make herself agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where she
feared most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to whom she
endeavoured to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley
was ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased.

In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and oh!
how ardently did she long to know, whether any of his were directed in a
like manner. Sometimes she could fancy, that he talked less than on
former occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that
as he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But, though
this might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour
to Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival of Jane. No look appeared
on either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing occurred between
them that could justify the hopes of his sister. On this point she was
soon satisfied; and two or three little circumstances occurred ere they
parted, which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted a recollection of
Jane, not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying more that
might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed to her, at a
moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which had
something of real regret, that it "was a very long time since he had had
the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before she could reply, he added, "It
is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when
we were all dancing together at Netherfield."

Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards
took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest,
whether _all_ her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the
question, nor in the preceding remark, but there was a look and a manner
which gave them meaning.

It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself; but,
whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general
complaisance, and in all that he said, she heard an accent so far
removed from hauteur or disdain of his companions, as convinced her that
the improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed, however
temporary its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day. When
she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance, and courting the good opinion
of people, with whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been a
disgrace; when she saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the
very relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last
lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage, the difference, the change was so
great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could hardly
restrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even in the company
of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at
Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from
self-consequence, or unbending reserve as now, when no importance could
result from the success of his endeavours, and when even the
acquaintance of those to whom his attentions were addressed, would draw
down the ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and
Rosings.

Their visitors staid with them above half an hour, and when they arose
to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing
their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner
at Pemberley, before they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a
diffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations,
readily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing
how _she_, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed as to its
acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Presuming, however,
that this studied avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment, than
any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who was fond of
society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she ventured to engage for
her attendance, and the day after the next was fixed on.

Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth
again, having still a great deal to say to her, and many enquiries to
make after all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, construing all
this into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased; and on
this account, as well as some others, found herself, when their visitors
left them, capable of considering the last half hour with some
satisfaction, though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been
little. Eager to be alone, and fearful of enquiries or hints from her
uncle and aunt, she staid with them only long enough to hear their
favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress.

But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's curiosity; it was
not their wish to force her communication. It was evident that she was
much better acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of;
it was evident that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to
interest, but nothing to justify enquiry.

Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far
as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could
not be untouched by his politeness, and had they drawn his character
from their own feelings, and his servant's report, without any reference
to any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known,
would not have recognised it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest,
however, in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became sensible,
that the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four
years old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be
hastily rejected. Neither had any thing occurred in the intelligence of
their Lambton friends, that could materially lessen its weight. They
had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if
not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small
market-town, where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged,
however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.

With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held
there in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns, with the
son of his patron, were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well known
fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind
him, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than
the last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not
long enough to determine her feelings towards _one_ in that mansion; and
she lay awake two whole hours, endeavouring to make them out. She
certainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she
had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him,
that could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his
valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some
time ceased to be repugnant to her feelings; and it was now heightened
into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his
favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light,
which yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem,
there was a motive within her of good will which could not be
overlooked. It was gratitude.--Gratitude, not merely for having once
loved her, but for loving her still well enough, to forgive all the
petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the
unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been
persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this
accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without
any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where
their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion
of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a
change in a man of so much pride, excited not only astonishment but
gratitude--for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed; and as such
its impression on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means
unpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined. She respected, she
esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his
welfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to
depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both
that she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still
possessed, of bringing on the renewal of his addresses.

It had been settled in the evening, between the aunt and niece, that
such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's, in coming to them on the very
day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a late
breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be equalled, by
some exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it
would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following
morning. They were, therefore, to go.--Elizabeth was pleased, though,
when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.

Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been
renewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting
some of the gentlemen at Pemberley by noon.

Convinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her had
originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how very unwelcome
her appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with
how much civility on that lady's side, the acquaintance would now be
renewed.

On reaching the house, they were shewn through the hall into the saloon,
whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows
opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody
hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chesnuts
which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.

In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there
with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in
London. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil; but attended with
all that embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the
fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves
inferior, the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and
her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.

By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsey; and
on their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be,
succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a
genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind
of discourse, proved her to be more truly well bred than either of the
others; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from
Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she
wished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a
short sentence, when there was least danger of its being heard.

Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley,
and that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without
calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her
from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an
inconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity
of saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every
moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she
feared that the master of the house might be amongst them; and whether
she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After
sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour, without hearing Miss
Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold
enquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal
indifference and brevity, and the other said no more.

The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the
entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the
finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many a
significant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been
given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole
party; for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and the
beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches, soon collected
them round the table.

While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether
she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the
feelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though but
a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to
regret that he came.

He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two or three other
gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him
only on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to
Georgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear, than Elizabeth wisely
resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed;--a resolution the more
necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she
saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them,
and that there was scarcely an eye which did not watch his behaviour
when he first came into the room. In no countenance was attentive
curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's, in spite of the
smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its
objects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions
to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's
entrance, exerted herself much more to talk; and Elizabeth saw that he
was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded,
as much as possible, every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss
Bingley saw all this likewise; and, in the imprudence of anger, took the
first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility,

"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ----shire militia removed from Meryton?
They must be a great loss to _your_ family."

In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's name; but Elizabeth
instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and the
various recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress;
but, exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she
presently answered the question in a tolerably disengaged tone. While
she spoke, an involuntary glance shewed her Darcy with an heightened
complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with
confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what
pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have
refrained from the hint; but she had merely intended to discompose
Elizabeth, by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed
her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in
Darcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and
absurdities, by which some part of her family were connected with that
corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated
elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secresy was
possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her
brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from that very wish
which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their becoming
hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without
meaning that it should affect his endeavour to separate him from Miss
Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern
for the welfare of his friend.

Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion; and
as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to
Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able
to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely
recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which
had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth, seemed to have
fixed them on her more, and more cheerfully.

Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer
above-mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their
carriage, Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on
Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join
her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour: his
judgment could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth, as
to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than
lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley
could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to
his sister.

"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I
never in my life saw any one so much altered as she is since the winter.
She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we
should not have known her again."

However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented
himself with coolly replying, that he perceived no other alteration than
her being rather tanned,--no miraculous consequence of travelling in the
summer.

"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I never could see
any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no
brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants
character; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are
tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which
have sometimes been called so fine, I never could perceive any thing
extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not
like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency
without fashion, which is intolerable."

Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not
the best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always
wise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the
success she expected. He was resolutely silent however; and, from a
determination of making him speak, she continued,

"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all
were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect
your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, '_She_
a beauty!--I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she
seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at
one time."

"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, "but _that_
was only when I first knew her, for it is many months since I have
considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of
having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.

Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred, during
their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested
them both. The looks and behaviour of every body they had seen were
discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention.
They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit, of every
thing but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner
thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by
her niece's beginning the subject.

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.
     Imprudent 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. Her 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 an instant 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 could 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 of her 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Darcy is exceedingly polite, and clearly in his own territory he is full of confidence, and is the perfect host. Of course the Gardiners represent the respectable and sane branch of the Bennett family. They meet with Darcy's younger sister and she is totally different from Wickham's description of her. Bingley and his sisters arrive, and Elizabeth notices through the conversations the odd wistful reference to her sister Jane. The Gardiners, unlike Elizabeth, soon sense Darcy's love for Elizabeth. Elizabeth too experiences uncertainty concerning Darcy, and is unable to sleep. She is also pleased that there is no sign of romance between Bingley and Darcy's sister. There is still tension between Elizabeth and Caroline Bingley, and Elizabeth can now smugly attribute this to jealousy. Caroline's attempts to drive a wedge between Darcy and Elizabeth are now desperate. She even makes reference to Wickham, but this just compounds to make her look foolish, and Elizabeth's calm response highlights Caroline's jealousy. When Darcy makes the remark that Elizabeth is "one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance", Caroline realizes that her cause is lost. Elizabeth receives letters from Jane revealing that Lydia has run away with Wickham to London, and they are not married. Mr. Bennett has gone in pursuit. Elizabeth is horrified, and she goes to her uncle for comfort, but is met my Darcy. She breaks down and tells him what has happened. Instead of disapproving, he is supportive and Elizabeth realizes that she loves him, but this scandal will ruin everything. She departs with the Gardiners for Longbourn.