Chapter: "I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth," said her uncle, as they
drove from the town; "and really, upon serious consideration, I am much
more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the
matter. It appears to me so very unlikely, that any young man should
form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or
friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel's family, that I
am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends
would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the
regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is
not adequate to the risk."

"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.

"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I begin to be of your uncle's
opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and
interest, for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of
Wickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe
him capable of it?"

"Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect
I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not
hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the
case?"

"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "there is no absolute proof
that they are not gone to Scotland."

"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney coach is such a
presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the
Barnet road."

"Well, then--supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though
for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose. It is
not likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it
might strike them that they could be more economically, though less
expeditiously, married in London, than in Scotland."

"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their
marriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely. His most particular
friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending
to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He
cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she
beyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him for her sake,
forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what
restraint the apprehension of disgrace in the corps might throw on a
dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know
nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your
other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no
brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's
behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever
seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that _he_ would
do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in
such a matter."

"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to every thing but love of him,
as to consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?"

"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed," replied Elizabeth, with
tears in her eyes, "that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such
a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say.
Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never
been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half year,
nay, for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing but amusement
and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle
and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way.
Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love,
flirtation, and officers, have been in her head. She has been doing
every thing in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give
greater--what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are
naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of
person and address that can captivate a woman."

"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does not think so ill of
Wickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt."

"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be
their former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt,
till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what
Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every
sense of the word. That he has neither integrity nor honour. That he is
as false and deceitful, as he is insinuating."

"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity
as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.

"I do, indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you the other day,
of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when last at
Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man, who had behaved
with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other
circumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to
relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From
what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud,
reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He
must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found
her."

"But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant of what you
and Jane seem so well to understand?"

"Oh, yes!--that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw
so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was
ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire
was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the
case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it
necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could it
apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the
neighbourhood had of him, should then be overthrown? And even when it
was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of
opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That _she_ could
be in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a
consequence as _this_ should ensue, you may easily believe was far
enough from my thoughts."

"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I
suppose, to believe them fond of each other."

"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either
side; and had any thing of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware
that ours is not a family, on which it could be thrown away. When first
he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all
were. Every girl in, or near Meryton, was out of her senses about him
for the first two months; but he never distinguished _her_ by any
particular attention, and, consequently, after a moderate period of
extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others
of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her
favourites."

       *       *       *       *       *

It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added
to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject, by
its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during
the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent.
Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self reproach, she could find
no interval of ease or forgetfulness.

They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on
the road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a
comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied
by long expectations.

The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing
on the steps of the house, as they entered the paddock; and when the
carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their
faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of
capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.

Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an hasty kiss,
hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs
from her mother's apartment, immediately met her.

Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the
eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether any thing had been
heard of the fugitives.

"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope
every thing will be well."

"Is my father in town?"

"Yes, he went on Tuesday as I wrote you word."

"And have you heard from him often?"

"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say
that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I
particularly begged him to do. He merely added, that he should not write
again, till he had something of importance to mention."

"And my mother--How is she? How are you all?"

"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly
shaken. She is up stairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you
all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank
Heaven! are quite well."

"But you--How are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale. How much you
must have gone through!"

Her sister, however, assured her, of her being perfectly well; and their
conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were
engaged with their children, was now put an end to, by the approach of
the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and
thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.

When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth
had already asked, were of course repeated by the others, and they soon
found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good,
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 villanous
conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage;
blaming every body 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 of going to Brighton,
with all my family, _this_ would not 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
may gain some news of them, and till we know that they are not married,
and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as
lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him
come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may consult
together as to what is to be done."

"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is exactly what I
could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,
wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them
marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but
tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chuses, to buy them,
after they are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from
fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in,--that I am frightened
out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me,
such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at
heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear
Lydia, not to give any directions about her clothes, till she has seen
me, for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother,
how kind you are! I know you will contrive it all."

But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours
in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in
her hopes as her fears; and, after talking with her in this manner till
dinner was on table, they left her to vent all her feelings on the
housekeeper, who attended, in the absence of her daughters.

Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real
occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to
oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her
tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it
better that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could
most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the
subject.

In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been
too busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their
appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her
toilette. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change
was visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or
the anger which she had herself incurred in the business, had given
something more of fretfulness than usual, to the accents of Kitty. As
for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth
with a countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at
table,

"This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be much talked of.
But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of
each other, the balm of sisterly consolation."

Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,
"Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful
lesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable--that one false
step involves her in endless ruin--that her reputation is no less
brittle than it is beautiful,--and that she cannot be too much guarded
in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."

Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to
make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such
kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.

In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an
hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the
opportunity of making many enquiries, which Jane was equally eager to
satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel
of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible; the former continued
the subject, by saying, "But tell me all and every thing about it, which
I have not already heard. Give me farther particulars. What did Colonel
Forster say? Had they no apprehension of any thing before the elopement
took place? They must have seen them together for ever."

"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,
especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so
grieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He
_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had
any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension
first got abroad, it hastened his journey."

"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of
their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"

"Yes; but when questioned by _him_ Denny denied knowing any thing of
their plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not
repeat his persuasion of their not marrying--and from _that_, I am
inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before."

"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a
doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?"

"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains! I felt a
little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in
marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite
right. My father and mother knew nothing of that, they only felt how
imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural
triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last
letter, she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems,
of their being in love with each other, many weeks."

"But not before they went to Brighton?"

"No, I believe not."

"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he
know his real character?"

"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly
did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad
affair has taken place, it is said, that he left Meryton greatly in
debt; but I hope this may be false."

"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,
this could not have happened!"

"Perhaps it would have been better;" replied her sister. "But to expose
the former faults of any person, without knowing what their present
feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions."

"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his
wife?"

"He brought it with him for us to see."

Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These
were the contents:

     "MY DEAR HARRIET,

     "You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help
     laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am
     missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with
     who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the
     world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without
     him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at
     Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the
     surprise the greater, when I write to them, and sign my name Lydia
     Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for
     laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my
     engagement, and dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will
     excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at
     the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my
     clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally
     to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown, before they are
     packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster, I hope you
     will drink to our good journey.

     "Your affectionate friend,

     "LYDIA BENNET."

"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth when she had
finished it. "What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment. But
at least it shews, that _she_ was serious in the object of her journey.
Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a
_scheme_ of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it!"

"I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten
minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in
such confusion!"

"Oh! Jane," cried Elizabeth, "was there a servant belonging to it, who
did not know the whole story before the end of the day?"

"I do not know.--I hope there was.--But to be guarded at such a time, is
very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to
give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much
as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen,
almost took from me my faculties."

"Your attendance upon her, has been too much for you. You do not look
well. Oh! that I had been with you, you have had every care and anxiety
upon yourself alone."

"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every
fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them.
Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much, that her hours
of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Philips came to Longbourn
on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till
Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all, and lady
Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to
condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters, if
they could be of use to us."

"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth; "perhaps she
_meant_ well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too
little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence,
insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied."

She then proceeded to enquire into the measures which her father had
intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.

"He meant, I believe," replied Jane, "to go to Epsom, the place where
they last changed horses, see the postilions, and try if any thing could
be made out from them. His principal object must be, to discover the
number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come
with a fare from London; and as he thought the circumstance of a
gentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into another, might be
remarked, he meant to make enquiries at Clapham. If he could any how
discover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he
determined to make enquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible
to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any
other designs that he had formed: but he was in such a hurry to be gone,
and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding
out even so much as this."





The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next
morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.
His family knew him to be on all common occasions, a most negligent and
dilatory correspondent, but at such a time, they had hoped for exertion.
They were forced to conclude, that he had no pleasing intelligence to
send, but even of _that_ they would have been glad to be certain. Mr.
Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.

When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant
information of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,
to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could, to
the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only
security for her husband's not being killed in a duel.

Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few
days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable to
her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a
great comfort to them, in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also
visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of
cheering and heartening them up, though as she never came without
reporting some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance or irregularity,
she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found
them.

All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man, who, but three months
before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt
to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with
the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family.
Every body declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;
and every body began to find out, that they had always distrusted the
appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above
half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of
her sister's ruin still more certain; and even Jane, who believed still
less of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now
come, when if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before
entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some
news of them.

Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday, his wife received a
letter from him; it told them, that on his arrival, he had immediately
found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch street.
That Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but
without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now
determined to enquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet
thought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first
coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself
did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was
eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added, that Mr.
Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present, to leave London, and
promised to write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this
effect.

"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if
possible, from some of the young man's intimates in the regiment,
whether Wickham has any relations or connections, who would be likely to
know in what part of the town he has now concealed himself. If there
were any one, that one could apply to, with a probability of gaining
such a clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we
have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do every
thing in his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts,
perhaps Lizzy could tell us, what relations he has now living, better
than any other person."

Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference for
her authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any
information of so satisfactory a nature, as the compliment deserved.

She had never heard of his having had any relations, except a father and
mother, both of whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however,
that some of his companions in the ----shire, might be able to give more
information; and, though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the
application was a something to look forward to.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious
part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was
the first grand object of every morning's impatience. Through letters,
whatever of good or bad was to be told, would be communicated, and every
succeeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.

But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for
their father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane
had received directions to open all that came for him in his absence,
she accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his
letters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as
follows:

     "MY DEAR SIR,

     "I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation
     in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now
     suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter
     from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear Sir, that Mrs. Collins and
     myself sincerely sympathise with you, and all your respectable
     family, in your present distress, which must be of the bitterest
     kind, because proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No
     arguments shall be wanting on my part, that can alleviate so severe
     a misfortune; or that may comfort you, under a circumstance that
     must be of all others most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death
     of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this.
     And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to
     suppose, as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness
     of behaviour in your daughter, has proceeded from a faulty degree
     of indulgence, though, at the same time, for the consolation of
     yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own
     disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of
     such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you
     are grievously to be pitied, in which opinion I am not only joined
     by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by lady Catherine and her daughter,
     to whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in
     apprehending that this false step in one daughter, will be
     injurious to the fortunes of all the others, for who, as lady
     Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves
     with such a family. And this consideration leads me moreover to
     reflect with augmented satisfaction on a certain event of last
     November, for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in
     all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me advise you then, my dear Sir,
     to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy
     child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the
     fruits of her own heinous offence.

     "I am, dear Sir, &c. &c."

Mr. Gardiner did not write again, till he had received an answer from
Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send.
It was not known that Wickham had a single relation, with whom he kept
up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one living.
His former acquaintance had been numerous; but since he had been in the
militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship
with any of them. There was no one therefore who could be pointed out,
as likely to give any news of him. And in the wretched state of his own
finances, there was a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to
his fear of discovery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired
that he had left gaming debts behind him, to a very considerable
amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would
be necessary to clear his expences at Brighton. He owed a good deal in
the town, but his debts of honour were still more formidable. Mr.
Gardiner did not attempt to conceal these particulars from the Longbourn
family; Jane heard them with horror. "A gamester!" she cried. "This is
wholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it."

Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see their
father at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered
spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded to
his brother-in-law's intreaty that he would return to his family, and
leave it to him to do, whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable
for continuing their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did
not express so much satisfaction as her children expected, considering
what her anxiety for his life had been before.

"What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia!" she cried. "Sure he
will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham,
and make him marry her, if he comes away?"

As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she
and her children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet
came from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their
journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.

Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her
Derbyshire friend, that had attended her from that part of the world.
His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece;
and the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of
their being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing.
Elizabeth had received none since her return, that could come from
Pemberley.

The present unhappy state of the family, rendered any other excuse for
the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be
fairly conjectured from _that_, though Elizabeth, who was by this time
tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware,
that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of
Lydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought,
one sleepless night out of two.

When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual
philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the
habit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him
away, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of
it.

It was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that
Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly
expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, "Say
nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing,
and I ought to feel it."

"You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied Elizabeth.

"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to
fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have
been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression.
It will pass away soon enough."

"Do you suppose them to be in London?"

"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"

"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.

"She is happy, then," said her father, drily; "and her residence there
will probably be of some duration."

Then, after a short silence, he continued, "Lizzy, I bear you no
ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which,
considering the event, shews some greatness of mind."

They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's
tea.

"This is a parade," cried he, "which does one good; it gives such an
elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in
my library, in my night cap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble
as I can,--or, perhaps, I may defer it, till Kitty runs away."

"I am not going to run away, Papa," said Kitty, fretfully; "if _I_
should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia."

"_You_ go to Brighton!--I would not trust you so near it as East Bourne
for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and
you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house
again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely
prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are
never to stir out of doors, till you can prove, that you have spent ten
minutes of every day in a rational manner."

Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.

"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good
girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of
them."





Two days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking
together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper
coming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their
mother, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons,
when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, "I beg your pardon,
madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some
good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask."

"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town."

"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, "don't you know
there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here
this half hour, and master has had a letter."

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They
ran through the vestibule into the breakfast room; from thence to the
library;--their father was in neither; and they were on the point of
seeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the
butler, who said,

"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards the
little copse."

Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more,
and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately
pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.

Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as
Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath,
came up with him, and eagerly cried out,

"Oh, Papa, what news? what news? have you heard from my uncle?"

"Yes, I have had a letter from him by express."

"Well, and what news does it bring? good or bad?"

"What is there of good to be expected?" said he, taking the letter from
his pocket; "but perhaps you would like to read it."

Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.

"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardly know myself what it is
about."

     "Gracechurch-street, Monday,

     August 2.

     "MY DEAR BROTHER,

     "At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such
     as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after
     you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what
     part of London they were. The particulars, I reserve till we meet.
     It is enough to know they are discovered, I have seen them
     both----"

"Then it is, as I always hoped," cried Jane; "they are married!"

     Elizabeth read on; "I have seen them both. They are not married,
     nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are
     willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on
     your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is
     required of you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her
     equal share of the five thousand pounds, secured among your
     children after the decease of yourself and my sister; and,
     moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your
     life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions, which,
     considering every thing, I had no hesitation in complying with, as
     far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by
     express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You
     will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham's
     circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to
     be. The world has been deceived in that respect; and I am happy to
     say, there will be some little money, even when all his debts are
     discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune.
     If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act
     in your name, throughout the whole of this business, I will
     immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper
     settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming
     to town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on
     my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can,
     and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best, that my
     niece should be married from this house, of which I hope you will
     approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as any
     thing more is determined on. Your's, &c.

     "EDW. GARDINER."

"Is it possible!" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. "Can it be
possible that he will marry her?"

"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him;" said her
sister. "My dear father, I congratulate you."

"And have you answered the letter?" said Elizabeth.

"No; but it must be done soon."

Most earnestly did she then intreat him to lose no more time before he
wrote.

"Oh! my dear father," she cried, "come back, and write immediately.
Consider how important every moment is, in such a case."

"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislike the trouble
yourself."

"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it must be done."

And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.

"And may I ask?" said Elizabeth, "but the terms, I suppose, must be
complied with."

"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little."

"And they _must_ marry! Yet he is _such_ a man!"

"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there
are two things that I want very much to know:--one is, how much money
your uncle has laid down, to bring it about; and the other, how I am
ever to pay him."

"Money! my uncle!" cried Jane, "what do you mean, Sir?"

"I mean, that no man in his senses, would marry Lydia on so slight a
temptation as one hundred a-year during my life, and fifty after I am
gone."

"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not occurred to me
before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh!
it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has
distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this."

"No," said her father, "Wickham's a fool, if he takes her with a
farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so
ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship."

"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be
repaid?"

Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued
silent till they reached the house. Their father then went to the
library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

"And they are really to be married!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as they
were by themselves. "How strange this is! And for _this_ we are to be
thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness,
and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!"

"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane, "that he certainly would
not marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind
uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten
thousand pounds, or any thing like it, has been advanced. He has
children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten
thousand pounds?"

"If we are ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been," said
Elizabeth, "and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall
exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has
not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be
requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal
protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage, as
years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is
actually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now,
she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she
first sees my aunt!"

"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side," said
Jane: "I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry
her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of
thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself
they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in
time make their past imprudence forgotten."

"Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, "as neither you, nor
I, nor any body, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it."

It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood
perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library,
therefore, and asked their father, whether he would not wish them to
make it known to her. He was writing, and, without raising his head,
coolly replied,

"Just as you please."

"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?"

"Take whatever you like, and get away."

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they went up
stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one
communication would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation
for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly
contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's
being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence
added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from
delight, as she had ever been fidgetty from alarm and vexation. To know
that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no
fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.

"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried: "This is delightful indeed!--She will
be married!--I shall see her again!--She will be married at sixteen!--My
good, kind brother!--I knew how it would be--I knew he would manage
every thing. How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the
clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about
them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how
much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell,
Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear
Lydia!--How merry we shall be together when we meet!"

Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of
these transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr.
Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.

"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, "in a great
measure, to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself
to assist Mr. Wickham with money."

"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do it but
her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children
must have had all his money you know, and it is the first time we have
ever had any thing from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy.
In a short time, I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well
it sounds. And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in
such a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you
write for me. We will settle with your father about the money
afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately."

She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and
cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had
not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait, till her
father was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay she observed,
would be of small importance; and her mother was too happy, to be quite
so obstinate as usual. Other schemes too came into her head.

"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed, and tell the
good, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call on
Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An
airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any
thing for you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you
heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and you shall
all have a bowl of punch, to make merry at her wedding."

Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her
congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took
refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.

Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was no
worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in
looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity,
could be justly expected for her sister; in looking back to what they
had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they
had gained.





Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that,
instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for
the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived
him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that
respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle, for whatever of
honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of
prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be
her husband, might then have rested in its proper place.

He was seriously concerned, that a cause of so little advantage to any
one, should be forwarded at the sole expence of his brother-in-law, and
he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his
assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.

When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly
useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join
in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow
and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters
successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs.
Bennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he
would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too
late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her
husband's love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their
income.

Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and
the children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the
latter, depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with
regard to Lydia at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet
could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In
terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though
expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect
approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the
engagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed
that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be
done with so little inconvenience to himself, as by the present
arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a-year the loser, by the
hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket
allowance, and the continual presents in money, which passed to her,
through her mother's hands, Lydia's expences had been very little within
that sum.

That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was
another very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present, was to
have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first
transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were
over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was
soon dispatched; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he was
quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he
was indebted to his brother; but was too angry with Lydia, to send any
message to her.

The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate
speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent
philosophy. To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of
conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the
happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farm
house. But there was much to be talked of, in marrying her; and the
good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before, from
all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit
in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her
misery was considered certain.

It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs, but on this
happy day, she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in
spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her
triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of
her wishes, since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of
accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those
attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and
servants. She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a
proper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering
what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and
importance.

"Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would quit it, or the
great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is
too far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for
Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful."

Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption, while the
servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "Mrs.
Bennet, before you take any, or all of these houses, for your son and
daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into _one_ house in this
neighbourhood, they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage
the impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn."

A long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet was firm: it
soon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror,
that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his
daughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of
affection whatever, on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend
it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable
resentment, as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without which her
marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all that she could believe
possible. She was more alive to the disgrace, which the want of new
clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense of
shame at her eloping and living with Wickham, a fortnight before they
took place.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of
the moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for
her sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give the proper
termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its
unfavourable beginning, from all those who were not immediately on the
spot.

She had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means. There were
few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;
but at the same time, there was no one, whose knowledge of a sister's
frailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of
disadvantage from it, individually to herself; for at any rate, there
seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been
concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that
Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family, where to every other
objection would now be added, an alliance and relationship of the
nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.

From such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink. The
wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his
feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a
blow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she
hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no
longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there
seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that
she could have been happy with him; when it was no longer likely they
should meet.

What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the
proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now
have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she
doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal,
there must be a triumph.

She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who, in
disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and
temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It
was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease
and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved,
and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must
have received benefit of greater importance.

But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what
connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and
precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their
family.

How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence,
she could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could
belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions
were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's
acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances of his eagerness to
promote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with intreaties
that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal
purport of his letter was to inform them, that Mr. Wickham had resolved
on quitting the Militia.

     "It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, "as soon
     as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me,
     in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both
     on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go
     into the regulars; and, among his former friends, there are still
     some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the
     promise of an ensigncy in General ----'s regiment, now quartered in
     the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of
     the kingdom. He promises fairly, and I hope among different people,
     where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be
     more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of
     our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the
     various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with
     assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And
     will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances
     to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list,
     according to his information. He has given in all his debts; I hope
     at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and
     all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment,
     unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from
     Mrs. Gardiner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all,
     before she leaves the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully
     remembered to you and her mother.--Your's, &c.

     "E. GARDINER."

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal
from the ----shire, as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs.
Bennet, was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the
North, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her
company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in
Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and besides, it was such a
pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted
with every body, and had so many favourites.

"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it will be quite shocking
to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she
likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ----'s
regiment."

His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being
admitted into her family again, before she set off for the North,
received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who
agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and
consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents,
urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her
and her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was
prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their
mother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she should be able to shew
her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to
the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he
sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon
as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth
was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme,
and, had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him
would have been the last object of her wishes.

 When the Gardiners and Elizabeth arrive at Longbourn they are brought up-to-date regarding Lydia's situation. Mr. Gardiner leaves to join Mr. Bennett in London, the latter retuning soon after, leaving Gardiner to manage the situation. Jane is running the household because Mrs. Bennett is indisposed in her room with hysterics. Mr. Bennett regrets not heeding Elizabeth's warning and resolves to be stricter with Kitty. The whole neighborhood is full of gossip concerning Lydia's shame, and what the future holds for her. In panic, Mr. Collins writes making useful remarks such as, "the death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison to this." "This false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family?" He advised Mr. Bennett to disown her in order to save the rest of the family. At last the suspense in the household is released with a letter from Mr. Gardiner saying the two are to be wed, provided that Wickham's debts are paid and Lydia receives a yearly stipend. Mr. Bennett agrees, but is now concerned that he will be in debt to Mr. Gardiner who has no doubt settled Wickham's bills. Mrs. Bennett undergoes a transformation from hysterical depression to exuberance and starts making plans for wedding clothes etc. Gardiner advises that Wickham has a commission in the north of England, and only Mrs. Bennett is despondent at the thought of the couple being so far away. Elizabeth sees no hope of a future with Darcy for he will not wish to marry into a family of which Wickham is a member.

