For the fifth time that evening, Darcy recollected his thoughts, and tried to focus on the letter he was writing to his sister. It was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined, though he felt not the slightest ill will or resentment towards his friend for his choice. Indeed he had encouraged it, and had already given him his blessings and best wishes for his happiness before he quit Netherfield. Just this morning he had received the glad tidings of Bingley’s engagement, and it had been his first desire to share this news with his sister immediately. Unfortunately, his time had been otherwise occupied with business affairs, and his thoughts much to distracted, for him to attend to it until now.

Dearest Georgiana, he began,

It will be of no small delight to you to hear that Charles is to marry Miss Bennet. I know you will join me in sending them our heartfelt congratulations, and sincerest best wishes for their health and happiness.

‘My own, I cannot be too certain of,’ he thought with a sigh and put down his pen. Why was this letter so difficult to write? He was truly happy for them both, and nothing could have given him greater pleasure than to relate this news to his sister, yet no matter how often he tried, he could not think of Bingley without think of his bride to be, and thence his thoughts naturally progressed to Elizabeth. Repeatedly, her image would appear before him, to torment his soul and remind him of all he had lost.

He stood up in disgust and poured himself a glass of wine. The more he reflected on his time at Longbourn, the more he had convinced himself that Elizabeth held no particular affection for him. She had seemed so distant, so unreachable, that he knew he must endeavour to put her completely out of her mind; yet how to do so? For months he had struggled in vain to do just that; why was he to have any better success this time?

His thought were interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing a visitor.

‘Who could be calling at this hour?’ he pondered.

His questions were soon answered when Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered the room with a dignified air, yet looking more agitated than he had ever seen her.

“Lady Catherine,” he said, with concern. “What brings you to London at so late an hour? Is something wrong?”

“There most certainly is. You will forgive me, I hope, for calling on you so late in the evening, but what I have to say will not wait until the morrow.” She declined the seat he offered her. “I have received word, not two days ago, of a rumour, most vicious and vile in nature, concerning you, dear nephew. I do not doubt that it was devised and most vigorously circulated by those Bennet’s; they know no better than to attack the reputation of a most illustrious personage, who is not without connections of his own. I am convinced they have no decency, honour, or good breeding among them.”

“I have heard no such rumour concerning myself, save that I am not well liked in Hertfordshire. If it is to this that you refer, pray, do not distress yourself, for I care not what they think of me.”

‘Unless that person is Elizabeth Bennet,’ he added silently.

“That is as it should be, but if it were merely that, I should not have troubled myself to come all this way. No, it is a rumour of another nature that I speak, one that has vexed me greatly. I was informed, by Mr Collins himself, not two days ago, that the infamous Bennets expect to have a third daughter married, not long after the eldest has given up her name. I am certain the daughter in question, had some hand in it; I had believed her to be above such dealings, but in that, it seems I was most cruelly deceived. In short, nephew, I was informed that you would soon become engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

Mr Darcy could not conceal his astonishment, and coloured, a fact that did not escape Lady Catherine’s notice.

“I see that you share my sentiments. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom I had condescended to include in my invitations to Rosings. A girl, whose name I cannot bear to hear mentioned without thinking ill of her; that she should aspire to be associated with your family, is not to be borne. The infamy of it all. I was so alarmed on hearing such news, that I instantly resolved to journey to Longbourn at once, to see such a report universally contradicted, but I was most disappointed with her behaviour. To think that I once thought her agreeable, I shall not be so misled again.

“I was most seriously displeased with her behaviour towards me. At first, she denied all knowledge of such a report, but I know that to be a scandalous falsehood, for who would circulate such a rumour but her? I cannot conceive why she would devise such a scheme, nor why she would circulate it so vigorously. Eventually she owned, under muchduress, that there was no truth to it, but it was only through myinsistence on knowing the truth, that she finally acknowledged she was not presently engaged, but the manner in which she attempted to avoid my questioning, convinced me that she was not entirely honest in her dealings with me.” Her eyes narrowed in remembrance.

Her pause allowed Darcy to collect his thoughts somewhat. “And was this all she said?”

“By no means. She continued to the last to defy me, full of abominable pride, and did not speak but to contradict and give offence. I attempted to reason with her, and appeal to her and better judgement to own that such an engagement was impossible, yet she flatly refused to accommodate me. She became most obstinate and unreasonable, and refused to consent to my wishes. No persuasion of mine could sway her on this point, and I declare that girl has a most perverse nature. With such a decided temper, it is impossible to believe that anyone but the most reckless man would own her. Not honour, not duty, nor gratitude for my kindness to her; even the knowledge that you were intended to marry my daughter would influence her on this point. Such impertinence and conceit; her behaviour to me was unforgivable. She is merely concerned with her own welfare, and cares not for how her wild allegations might affect your reputation, or those around you. She is entirely insensible to the disgrace that such an alliance would bring and is determined to ruin you, I am sure. I am heartily ashamed to have known her. The abominable conceit of it all; that she should presume to marry you.”

Lady Catherine continued at some length on the subject, and the indignant silence by which her nephew withstood the attack on the woman he loved, led her to the mistaken conclusion that hefelt all the aversion of such an alliance, as deeply as she did.

Mr Darcy, however, was feeling nothing of the sort. His mind was all in confusion. Surprise, love, hope, bewilderment; all these passed through his heart in the space of a few moments, and it was some time before he could fully attend to what his aunt was saying. It was a wonder, when he thought on it later, that he could think at all, much less speak without emotion.

“Selfish, unfeeling girl. Your mother would never have allowed it, I am sure, and when I think of her younger sister’s infamous elopement; that the son of your father’s steward should be your brother? It is not to be borne. You, I am sure could not allow such a report to go unchecked, and seeing that she would not oblige me by denying such an engagement as impossible, I determined to come straight to you.”

He coloured again, because he had long since entertained the idea she now expected him to refute, and given such information, how could he ever hope to? Miss Bennet had refused to give his aunt assurances that she would not marry him, were she asked, implying that it was a possibility. Could that mean she did not dislike him as much as he had feared; had he misinterpreted her feelings for him? What could he say that would satisfy Lady Catherine? It was certain that he could not maintain that an engagement to Elizabeth was impossible, yet still remain true to himself. His answer, however, was not immediately required, as Lady Catherine continued.

“How is such a vicious rumour to be silenced? I cannot hope to appeal to that girl’s parents, since I am sure it was they who encouraged it, yet if they cannot be applied to, I do not know how it is to be checked. What should be done, nephew, to instantly and irrevocably silence all talk of the matter? I know how I would act in this instance, but since this affair affects you, I thought to consult you as to what should be done.”

Her words stirred Darcy from his internal turmoil, and he paused for a moment to calm himself and consider what to say that would be acceptable to her.

“Since I am the one most affected by these reports,” replied he, “it is only right that I should be the judge of how best to deal with them; if I do not give credit to these reports, it cannot be long before it is considered to be but idle gossip. They will soon have nothing to talk of but the marriage of the eldest Miss Bennet, and all talk of me will cease.”

“But what will you do? What course of action are you to take against this vile slander?”

“Perhaps it is best that nothing should be done. Were I to attempt to deny these rumours, they would construe that I had something to conceal from them, lending substance to their suspicions. No, let them speak of me what they will. I care not what the general conception of me is in Hertfordshire, good or ill; I have friends enough of my own, without seeking their society.”

‘All but Miss Bennet,’ he amended silently. ‘For your society, I would move heaven and earth to obtain.’

Lady Catherine appeared satisfied with this, however she was my no means finished. “Then you must consider giving up your friendship with Bingley. Were you to visit Netherfield, with Mr Bingley the husband of Miss Bennet, people will mistake your association with Bingley as a regard for the sister. It cannot be seen that you allow yourself to be connected with her family, in any way, not if you wish to silence these rumours, therefore let me most strenuously advise you to think the better of it, and discontinue your friendship, or in the very least continue it from afar.”

Such advice roused Darcy out of his preoccupation somewhat. That she should presume to dictate with whom he should associate angered him, however, with an effort he controlled his indignance, and with such small assurances as he could give, informed her that he would consider her advice. With this, she would have to be content, as he would be drawn no further on the subject.

The rest of her visit was a trial to his composure. His aunt owned that she was most vexed with the whole affair, and would not rest until the matter was properly settled. He assured her as best he could that it would be speedily attended to, and with such vague assertions, Darcy was able to withstand the rest of her stay, though he knew not what else was said. Already his thoughts were busy making plans and noting what arrangements would need his attention before he might leave London.

Lady Catherine could see that her news had affected him much more than he had claimed, noticing that he was more silent than usual, - if that were possible, and, satisfied that her visit had the intended result, she did not stay overly long, saying she would much rather return to her house in town, as she had travelled much that day and needed several days rest to recover.

Eventually Darcy found himself alone and able to think in peace. His aunt’s appearance this evening with such news, instead of disgusting him as she intended, had achieved the complete opposite. A few hours ago, he had reconciled himself that there was no hope of him ever winning Elizabeth’s admiration, yet, had his aunt known the effect her visit had made on him, she would never have left Rosings with such a undertaking in mind.

That the rumour existed was not so surprising, considering Mrs Bennet’s character and her love of match making where her daughters were concerned; it had been apparent from the moment of the Assembly ball, that Mrs Bennet had her eye set on Bingley, but that Lady Catherine should have given it enough credit, that she should feel obliged - nay, driven to seek confirmation of its being false, was beyond wonderment.

Even more of a revelation was that it had not been given. Though he had only his aunt’s account of what had transpired, he had not known her to be one prone to exaggeration, even when distressed. Under much duress, it seemed, Elizabeth had admitted she was not engaged, but her very unwillingness to do so, her emphatic refusal to promise that such an alliance could never be, had given him cause for hope. Hope, where no other hope had existed before. If she had utterly and irrevocably decided against him, she would willingly have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, yet she had not.

His aunt was known to be intimidating and was not accustomed to being crossed, and Elizabeth’s directness in giving her opinions with such decidedness would easily have provoked her, yet, by his aunt’s own account, she had refused to give such assurances as Lady Catherine sought, however hard she had been pressed. Though her obstinacy could have resulted from her resentment to his aunt’s direct and brusque manner, he did not believe Elizabeth of the sort to be easily intimidated. Had she not once said that her courage always rises at every attempt?

Lady Catherine’s appearance had determined his course of action so decisively, that only the knowledge of her absolute refusal, could have prevented him from journeying to Longbourn without delay, to determine her true feelings towards him. As soon as he had concluded one or two small, but important, items of business, nothing but the most urgent news could delay him from leaving on the morrow. He already regretted the necessity that prevented him from leaving as soon as it was light; if it had not been so late in the evening, he would be sorely tempted to leave immediately, however it could not be helped. He had already spent several days in London, a few more hours would not signify much, except to increase his anxiety. With such a wait, he was convinced that he would not sleep a wink that night, but having previously spent many restless nights agonising over the loss of the woman he loved, and with the decision made to leave on the morrow as soon as he was able, sleep had no difficulty in claiming him.

He awoke early the next morning, charged and refreshed, having slept better than he had in months. His sudden animation caused no little comment among the servants, who had found him restless and agitated ever since his arrival. With such renewed vigour, he was able to conclude his business shortly before noon, a good hour earlier than expected, and after a short luncheon, he set off for Hertfordshire. His impatience to reach Netherfield knew no bounds, but impatience alone could not speed his return.

It was dark by the time he arrived, as he knew it would be. His unexpected arrival had the servants in a flutter, having had no word of his sudden return, and on enquiry, he discovered that Bingley was dining with the Lucases tonight, but was not expected back very late, as he had an engagement with Miss Bennet in the morning. He nodded absently at this, and mentioned that he could be found in the drawing room.

Now that he had arrived at Netherfield, some of his impatience left him. He felt slightly foolish for having hurried all this way only to have to wait until morning, but at least now, he would have the whole day in which to find an opportunity to speak with Miss Bennet. It was a meeting he anticipated with both fear and hope. There was, however, nothing to be done about it until tomorrow; the morning would come soon enough.

Bingley arrived after a few hours had passed, and came directly to the drawing room when he heard that Darcy had arrived, beaming with much pleasure and enthusiasm.

“Well Darcy, I must say, this isa pleasant surprise. I take it your business in London was concluded quickly.”

“It was,” Darcy said with a smile. The prospect of marriage and not dampened Bingley’s naturally high spirits, indeed it had only heightened them.

“Yes, of course it was, else you would not be here. I thought you could not be here to congratulate me, as you gave me your blessing before you left, and I received you and your sister’s congratulations in the post two days ago.” He seated himself in a chair across from Darcy, who stood by the fireplace. “I did not think you would return until tomorrow. Do you enjoy my society that much, or rather is it Hertfordshire that agrees with you?”

“I can never tire of your company, Bingley,” replied he. “There are few whose company I would prefer above yours, and your friendship, I value more than most. Tell me, how is Miss Bennet?”

“She is more radiant and charming than ever, and grows lovelier every day. I must confess, I have never seen her looking more beautiful than she does at present. I spend much of my day at Longbourn, you know, however, I felt obliged to accept Sir Lucas’ invitation to dine with them tonight, else I would be there this very minute.”

“You do not find their company somewhat tiresome?”

“Not at all. Mr Bennet is quite an agreeable man, if you would take the trouble to know him. He has very graciously allowed me to shoot as many coveys on his estate as I please, and when I am not out shooting or with my dearest Jane, Miss Elizabeth’s company does very well.”

His heart quickened a pace. “I understand that you are to visit there tomorrow morning.”

“I am. Why don’t you join me, man? I know you take little pleasure in socialising when you are not intimate with the family, but it does you good to get out once in a while. The Bennets are not all that bad, you know, once you get used to them. I seem to recall you saying to me once, that Miss Elizabeth was not so disagreeable to you as she once was. If Jane is to be my wife you cannot avoid them, unless you mean to never visit us, and, if that were the case, I should be exceedingly sorry to lose your company. I own the mother has faults enough, but surely, you can overlook them if I can. I would dearly love for you to oblige me, just this once.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“You will?” Bingley appeared surprised by his ready agreement to the plan; he had been prepared to argue his case. “Well, that is splendid. What a day we shall have, then. However, I do hope you shall try to talk more, and not stand about in that awkward manner of yours. Honestly, Darcy, you should try to speak more; people are much pleasanter if you talk to them.”

Darcy assured him he would try, suggesting that if the weather remained fine, perhaps they could take a walk.

“An excellent idea, Darcy. Why did I not think of it?” He looked exceedingly pleased at his success at being able to persuade his friend to socialise more. “I did think you looked rather ill when I first saw you; the air in London must not agree with you so well as the country.” He then proceeded to relate the rest of his news, the larger part of it pertaining to his upcoming wedding; adding, almost as an afterthought, that they had been surprised to see Lady Catherine de Bourgh yesterday.

“Yes, she called on me in London and informed me of her visit.”

“She did? And did she tell you her reasons for the visit? Jane and I could not imagine what would bring her to Hertfordshire, but we supposed that, as she was passing this way, she thought to bring word of Mrs Collins to Elizabeth. However we both thought it strange that her appearance should be so abrupt, as I do not believe she stayed longer than half an hour.”

Darcy agreed that must have been the case, and owned that it was his aunt’s nature to call when she was least expected. It was to his relief that his answer seemed to satisfy Bingley, as he inquired no more about it. After talking further on inconsequentials, they bid each other goodnight and Bingley retired to his room.

Darcy remained a while longer in the drawing room. He did not feel overly tired, certainly not enough to sleep with ease, instead he poured another glass if wine, and stared absently into the fire. He had hardly dared hope to be included in his friend’s plans for the morrow; it was better than he had scarcely believed possible. The impatience that had driven him thither returned somewhat. How would she react to his presence? Had he come all this way on a fool’s errand? She had been most adamant in April, that he could not have made her the offer of his hand in any possible way that would have tempted her to accept it. The words rang all too clear in his memory. Was he supposing too much of his aunt’s account of what had transpired? It could all have been a horrid mistake, and if she refused him a second time, how was he to bear the agony of it all?

Yet, he argued, if she meant to refuse him, why had she not obliged Lady Catherine? If the rumour itself had offended her, she would have refuted it at the first possible opportunity, but if it had been his aunt’s demeanour and high-handedness that offended, she would have resisted replying with all the impertinence and perversity his aunt had related to him. Elizabeth could merely have objected to disclose information that she felt his aunt had no right to inquire after. What to do? How was he to proceed from here? Would that his heart was not in such confusion.

His tortured thoughts continued in this manner, until the chiming of the clock as it struck twelve, reminded him of the late hour. He would get no further with this tonight; all deliberation on the subject must wait until there was something that could be done about it, and he was thankful that the glass of wine had settled his nerves enough that he felt able to sleep. Sleep, however, was slow in coming.

Morning found him nervously anticipating the morning’s ride to Longbourn. It was with some difficulty that he restrained his impatience to be gone, however, they were eventually under way. They arrived presently at Longbourn, and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, Bingley proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was too much afraid of him to talk; Darcy was forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps she might be doing the same.

They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria, which suited Darcy plans, as it would provide him with the opportunity to apply to Elizabeth; yet, before he had a chance to speak, Elizabeth spoke up.

“Mr Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”

“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs Gardiner was so little to be trusted.” The last thing he had expected was to receive was her gratitude, indeed, he had taken great care that she know nothing of it.

“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortification’s, for the sake of discovering them.”

“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

A short pause followed, and Darcy, gathering his courage, now spoke. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Elizabeth, feeling all the more the common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances.

He was silent a moment, overcome with heartfelt delight, and a smile diffused across his face such as she had never seen before.

“Never have such words brought me more joy and delight, than those which those which you just spoke. Words cannot express, you cannot know, how happy you have made me; I scarcely give voice to the joy I now feel.”

“Indeed, sir,” she replied with a shy smile, “words often cannot do justice to a situation such as ours, however in cases such as these, I believe words are unnecessary. My happiness alone could suffice for the two of us; and if your feelings are anything at all similar to my own, then I can well imagine how you must feel.”

“We will neither of us quarrel as to who has the greater share of happiness, and let it be said that no two people in the world can feel happier than we.”

“Then it is agreed.”

They smiled as only lovers do, and walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. Eventually Darcy said:

“I must be allowed to express my relief at your acceptance of my proposal. After your words to me last April, I had scarcely dared hope my addresses would be so well received.”

“In that, I believe, your relief is as great as mine, for after I quitted the inn at Lambton, I did not suspect they would ever be renewed.”

“You held some hope, then of their being renewed?”

“Your civilities to myself at Pemberley convinced me of your wish of procuring my regard, however, the events that followed led me to believe otherwise, and I gave up all hope us ever meeting with such civility again.”

“Such it might have been, were it not for the timely intervention of my aunt.”

“Lady Catherine? What could she have said that would influence you? I had rather despaired that she would convince you of the evils of such a marriage, and that an alliance with me was beneath both your dignity and station in life.”

“That, I believe, was her motive for coming thence, but unfortunately, it had not the result she desired. She did, as you have most astutely guessed, point out to me the misery such a marriage with one whose connections were so unequal to my own, would bring, but these arguments held no sway with me, as I had long since discarded such objections. My admiration and love for you made it possible for me to overlook them, as was evinced by my addresses to you at Hunsford, but I shall not dwell on what gives little pleasure to either of us. My aunt informed me, in no uncertain terms, that she was most displeased to find an obstruction to her design, and was not very flattering in her appraisal of you.”

“I can well imagine,” said she. “Her words to me were very much the same, if I am to understand your account of it, but what was it she said that so decided you to renew your addresses to me? If it was not her abuse of my relations that affected you, dare I flatter myself that could it have been her abuse of my character that set you against her?”

“You may flatter yourself that I was affronted by her condemnation of you, however, I must point out that her abuse played but a little part in adding to my resolve. It was instead her very motive on coming to London that decided me. You were so determined not to accommodate her wishes, that she resolved to apply to me in the hopes being appeased, and it was your adamant refusal to give the assurances she sought, that convinced me that you were not so against me as I had feared. Your perverse and obstinate nature she dwelt on most emphatically, which, I suspect, was not the least of her objections; that she had more than my respect and position in society in mind when attempting to influence me, I am certain.”

“And how does Lady Catherine feel about your coming here? I can imagine she strongly objected to the scheme, and tried her utmost to dissuade you.”

“Again, you are correct in your assumptions. My aunt could see that any association with Bingley, and thus your sister, must bring us together often, to which end she most strenuously advised me to discontinue any relationship with him whatsoever.”

Elizabeth was alarmed. “And what was your reply? You cannot have agreed to it, else you would not have returned.”

“Indeed, I could not. Had I done that, it would have been in accordance with her wishes as far as they involved you, which I could not allow. I must confess that I was forced to deceive her somewhat on this, as she does not know I am in Hertfordshire, nor my reasons for being here. You must understand, that I had just learned of your refusal to acknowledge that a relationship between us was utterly impossible; my thoughts and feelings were in turmoil at the time, and it was all I could do to control my desire to leave at once. By the time I was aware of my deception, I judged it best to say nothing until I was sure of your reasons for denying her request. It taught me to hope, as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

“What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: “had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner” Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; - though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”

“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”

“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.”

“Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”

“And what of my letter? Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed. “My distress on reading the letter, especially with regards to Jane, did not easily fade, but I soon came to realise that my conception of Mr Wickham was ill-formed and based on ignorance and prejudice. I was blind in my dealings with him, and allowed myself to be grossly misled by his charm and flattery in his attentions to me. Yet, it was only after I believed it was no longer possible that you could have any regard for me, only then did I understand how grieved I was to lose it. I believed that for you to connect yourself with my family would have been the greatest abhorrence to you, and that it was no longer possible for us to meet on such agreeable terms. Much of the change in me was due to what you wrote in that letter; it was enlightening, yet humbling at the same time.”

He confessed that he knew that what he wrote must give her pain, but it had been necessary. He had believed himself perfectly calm and cool when he wrote that letter, but was now convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.

“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospection’s must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?”

“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”

“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?”

“Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.”

“I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”

“No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.”

“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”

“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you. The rest you know. My sister was most delighted to become acquainted with you. She had long since been wanting to meet you, and, when I told her you were not five miles away, she expressed an earnest desire to meet with you at once; it was her particular wish that you be invited to dinner that evening.”

“I was looking forward to it, but it seems it was not to be. Now, however, I shall be able dine with her as much as she chooses.”

“I am glad to hear it. She was exceedingly disappointed that your visit was cut short.”

“As was I.” She sighed in remembrance. “There was a time when I regretted your happening on so soon after I read Jane’s letter, but that was before I learnt of your unselfish kindness and generosity in dealing with my younger sister’s reckless behaviour. The seriousness of your countenance when you left the inn, led me to believe that Lydia’s elopement with Wickham disgusted you; I thought you must have rejoiced in escaping our misfortune.”

“I could never have rejoiced in it. On learning the cause of your distress, I had no other thought but how I might alleviate it, and my resolution of following you from Derbyshire in quest of your sister had been formed before I quitted the inn. My gravity and thoughtfulness there arose from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.”

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.

“What could become of Mr Bingley and Jane!” was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it, saying he had felt sure it would happen when he left.

“On the evening before my going to London,” said he, “I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together. This was my particular reason for coming to Netherfield, to confirm to myself of her continued affection.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.

“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.”

“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgement in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.”

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.