Chapter: "Harriet, poor Harriet!"--Those were the words; in them lay the
tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted
the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had behaved very
ill by herself--very ill in many ways,--but it was not so much _his_
behaviour as her _own_, which made her so angry with him. It was the
scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet's account, that gave the
deepest hue to his offence.--Poor Harriet! to be a second time the
dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken
prophetically, when he once said, "Emma, you have been no friend
to Harriet Smith."--She was afraid she had done her nothing but
disservice.--It was true that she had not to charge herself, in this
instance as in the former, with being the sole and original author of
the mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might otherwise
never have entered Harriet's imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged
her admiration and preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever
given her a hint on the subject; but she felt completely guilty
of having encouraged what she might have repressed. She might have
prevented the indulgence and increase of such sentiments. Her influence
would have been enough. And now she was very conscious that she ought
to have prevented them.--She felt that she had been risking her friend's
happiness on most insufficient grounds. Common sense would have directed
her to tell Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him,
and that there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring
for her.--"But, with common sense," she added, "I am afraid I have had
little to do."

She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been angry
with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.--As for Jane
Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present
solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need
no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill-health
having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under cure.--Her
days of insignificance and evil were over.--She would soon be well, and
happy, and prosperous.--Emma could now imagine why her own attentions
had been slighted. This discovery laid many smaller matters open. No
doubt it had been from jealousy.--In Jane's eyes she had been a rival;
and well might any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be
repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the rack,
and arrowroot from the Hartfield storeroom must have been poison. She
understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage itself from
the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that
Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her
desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! There was little
sympathy to be spared for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful
that this second disappointment would be more severe than the first.
Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; and
judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet's mind, producing
reserve and self-command, it would.--She must communicate the painful
truth, however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy had
been among Mr. Weston's parting words. "For the present, the whole
affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of
it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost;
and every body admitted it to be no more than due decorum."--Emma had
promised; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty.

In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost
ridiculous, that she should have the very same distressing and delicate
office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by
herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her,
she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick
on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs.
Weston felt when _she_ was approaching Randalls. Could the event of
the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!--But of that, unfortunately,
there could be no chance.

"Well, Miss Woodhouse!" cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room--"is
not this the oddest news that ever was?"

"What news do you mean?" replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or
voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint.

"About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!--you
need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me
himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret;
and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you,
but he said you knew it."

"What did Mr. Weston tell you?"--said Emma, still perplexed.

"Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill
are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one
another this long while. How very odd!"

It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet's behaviour was so extremely odd,
that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared
absolutely changed. She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or
disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at
her, quite unable to speak.

"Had you any idea," cried Harriet, "of his being in love with her?--You,
perhaps, might.--You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every
body's heart; but nobody else--"

"Upon my word," said Emma, "I begin to doubt my having any such talent.
Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached
to another woman at the very time that I was--tacitly, if not
openly--encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?--I never
had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank
Churchill's having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very
sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly."

"Me!" cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. "Why should you caution
me?--You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill."

"I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject," replied
Emma, smiling; "but you do not mean to deny that there was a time--and
not very distant either--when you gave me reason to understand that you
did care about him?"

"Him!--never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?"
turning away distressed.

"Harriet!" cried Emma, after a moment's pause--"What do you mean?--Good
Heaven! what do you mean?--Mistake you!--Am I to suppose then?--"

She could not speak another word.--Her voice was lost; and she sat down,
waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.

Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from
her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was
in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma's.

"I should not have thought it possible," she began, "that you could have
misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him--but considering
how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have
thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person.
Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in
the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of
Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And that you should
have been so mistaken, is amazing!--I am sure, but for believing that
you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I
should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost,
to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that more
wonderful things had happened; that there had been matches of greater
disparity (those were your very words);--I should not have dared to
give way to--I should not have thought it possible--But if _you_, who
had been always acquainted with him--"

"Harriet!" cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely--"Let us understand
each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you
speaking of--Mr. Knightley?"

"To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else--and so
I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as
possible."

"Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness, "for all that you then
said, appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost
assert that you had _named_ Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service
Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the
gipsies, was spoken of."

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"

"My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said on
the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment;
that considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely
natural:--and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to
your sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sensations had
been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.--The impression of it is
strong on my memory."

"Oh, dear," cried Harriet, "now I recollect what you mean; but I
was thinking of something very different at the time. It was not the
gipsies--it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No! (with some
elevation) I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance--of Mr.
Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not
stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room. That
was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that
was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every
other being upon earth."

"Good God!" cried Emma, "this has been a most unfortunate--most
deplorable mistake!--What is to be done?"

"You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood me? At
least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, if the
other had been the person; and now--it _is_ possible--"

She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak.

"I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse," she resumed, "that you should feel a
great difference between the two, as to me or as to any body. You must
think one five hundred million times more above me than the other. But
I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing--that if--strange as it may
appear--. But you know they were your own words, that _more_ wonderful
things had happened, matches of _greater_ disparity had taken place than
between Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as if such
a thing even as this, may have occurred before--and if I should be so
fortunate, beyond expression, as to--if Mr. Knightley should really--if
_he_ does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss Woodhouse, you will
not set yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way. But
you are too good for that, I am sure."

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look at
her in consternation, and hastily said,

"Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your affection?"

"Yes," replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully--"I must say that I
have."

Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating,
in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient
for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers,
once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched--she
admitted--she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse
that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank
Churchill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having
some hope of a return? It darted through her, with the speed of an
arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same
few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed
her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How
inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been
her conduct! What blindness, what madness, had led her on! It struck her
with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the
world. Some portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all
these demerits--some concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense
of justice by Harriet--(there would be no need of _compassion_ to the
girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley--but justice required
that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the
resolution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent
kindness.--For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost
extent of Harriet's hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done
nothing to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily
formed and maintained--or to deserve to be slighted by the person, whose
counsels had never led her right.--Rousing from reflection, therefore,
and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again, and, in a more
inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to the subject which
had first introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was
quite sunk and lost.--Neither of them thought but of Mr. Knightley and
themselves.

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very glad
to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, and
such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give
the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.--Emma's
tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than
Harriet's, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady; but her
mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such
a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing
emotions, must create.--She listened with much inward suffering, but
with great outward patience, to Harriet's detail.--Methodical, or well
arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it
contained, when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of
the narration, a substance to sink her spirit--especially with the
corroborating circumstances, which her own memory brought in favour of
Mr. Knightley's most improved opinion of Harriet.

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since
those two decisive dances.--Emma knew that he had, on that occasion,
found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at
least from the time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her to think of him,
Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he
had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a different manner
towards her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!--Latterly she had been
more and more aware of it. When they had been all walking together,
he had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very
delightfully!--He seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma knew it
to have been very much the case. She had often observed the change, to
almost the same extent.--Harriet repeated expressions of approbation
and praise from him--and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement
with what she had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for
being without art or affectation, for having simple, honest, generous,
feelings.--She knew that he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he
had dwelt on them to her more than once.--Much that lived in Harriet's
memory, many little particulars of the notice she had received from
him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compliment
implied, a preference inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected,
by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to half an hour's relation,
and contained multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed
undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two latest occurrences to
be mentioned, the two of strongest promise to Harriet, were not without
some degree of witness from Emma herself.--The first, was his walking
with her apart from the others, in the lime-walk at Donwell, where they
had been walking some time before Emma came, and he had taken pains (as
she was convinced) to draw her from the rest to himself--and at first,
he had talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever done
before, in a very particular way indeed!--(Harriet could not recall
it without a blush.) He seemed to be almost asking her, whether her
affections were engaged.--But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared
likely to join them, he changed the subject, and began talking about
farming:--The second, was his having sat talking with her nearly half
an hour before Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of
his being at Hartfield--though, when he first came in, he had said that
he could not stay five minutes--and his having told her, during their
conversation, that though he must go to London, it was very much against
his inclination that he left home at all, which was much more (as
Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to _her_. The superior degree of
confidence towards Harriet, which this one article marked, gave her
severe pain.

On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a
little reflection, venture the following question. "Might he not?--Is
not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought, into the state of
your affections, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin--he might have
Mr. Martin's interest in view? But Harriet rejected the suspicion with
spirit.

"Mr. Martin! No indeed!--There was not a hint of Mr. Martin. I hope I
know better now, than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it."

When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss
Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope.

"I never should have presumed to think of it at first," said she, "but
for you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour
be the rule of mine--and so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may
deserve him; and that if he does chuse me, it will not be any thing so
very wonderful."

The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings,
made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's side, to enable her to say
on reply,

"Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last
man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his
feeling for her more than he really does."

Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so
satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which
at that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her
father's footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too
much agitated to encounter him. "She could not compose herself--
Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed--she had better go;"--with most ready
encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another
door--and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of
Emma's feelings: "Oh God! that I had never seen her!"

The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her
thoughts.--She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had
rushed on her within the last few hours. Every moment had brought a
fresh surprize; and every surprize must be matter of humiliation to
her.--How to understand it all! How to understand the deceptions she had
been thus practising on herself, and living under!--The blunders, the
blindness of her own head and heart!--she sat still, she walked about,
she tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery--in every place, every
posture, she perceived that she had acted most weakly; that she had
been imposed on by others in a most mortifying degree; that she had
been imposing on herself in a degree yet more mortifying; that she
was wretched, and should probably find this day but the beginning of
wretchedness.

To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first
endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father's
claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind.

How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling
declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun?--
When had he succeeded to that place in her affection, which Frank
Churchill had once, for a short period, occupied?--She looked back;
she compared the two--compared them, as they had always stood in her
estimation, from the time of the latter's becoming known to her--and as
they must at any time have been compared by her, had it--oh! had it, by
any blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.--She
saw that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr.
Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not
been infinitely the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself,
in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a
delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart--and, in short, that she had
never really cared for Frank Churchill at all!

This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. This was
the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which
she reached; and without being long in reaching it.--She was most
sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed
to her--her affection for Mr. Knightley.--Every other part of her mind
was disgusting.

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every
body's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every
body's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken; and
she had not quite done nothing--for she had done mischief. She had
brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared, on Mr.
Knightley.--Were this most unequal of all connexions to take place, on
her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for his
attachment, she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of
Harriet's;--and even were this not the case, he would never have known
Harriet at all but for her folly.

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every
wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax
became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no
surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or
thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her
side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it
must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers,
the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and
disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--Could
it be?--No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from
impossible.--Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities
to be captivated by very inferior powers? Was it new for one, perhaps
too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who would seek him?--Was
it new for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent,
incongruous--or for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct
the human fate?

Oh! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where she
ought, and where he had told her she ought!--Had she not, with a
folly which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying the
unexceptionable young man who would have made her happy and respectable
in the line of life to which she ought to belong--all would have been
safe; none of this dreadful sequel would have been.

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to
Mr. Knightley!--How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such
a man till actually assured of it!--But Harriet was less humble, had
fewer scruples than formerly.--Her inferiority, whether of mind or
situation, seemed little felt.--She had seemed more sensible of Mr.
Elton's being to stoop in marrying her, than she now seemed of Mr.
Knightley's.--Alas! was not that her own doing too? Who had been at
pains to give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself?--Who but
herself had taught her, that she was to elevate herself if possible,
and that her claims were great to a high worldly establishment?--If
Harriet, from being humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too.

 It darted through her with the speed of an arrow that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself. Emma is filled with concern for Harriet. She is angrier at herself than she is at Frank, because she believes that she should have discouraged Harriet's attachment to him. Jane's behavior since her arrival in Highbury is also put into perspective. Emma realizes that Jane has been avoiding her because she has seen her as a rival. Emma dreads telling Harriet the news, but when Harriet arrives at Hartfield she has already heard the story from Mr. Weston. Emma is surprised at Harriet's composure, and it turns out that Harriet never cared for Frank; she has been harboring feelings for Mr. Knightley. Harriet knows that Mr. Knightley is of higher rank than she, but she affirms that Emma has given her hope that she may raise herself enough to be acceptable to him. Emma makes a startling discovery--she herself is in love with Mr. Knightley. She conceals her emotion from Harriet, asking Harriet whether she has reason to believe that Knightley returns her feelings. Harriet recounts a number of instances in which Knightley has shown her special attention, many of which Emma's memory corroborates. When Harriet departs, Emma is left to reflect that she has been wrong about everything, including her own heart. Now Knightley may debase himself by marrying Harriet, and she has made it all possible

