Chapter - 12 | Pride and Prejudice

Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not ﬁnding a letter from
Jane on their ﬁrst arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been re-
newed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the
third her repining was over, and her sister justiﬁed, by the receipt of two let-
ters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent
elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direc-
tion remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her uncle
and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one
missent must ﬁrst be attended to; it had been written ﬁve days ago. The be-
ginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements,
with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated
a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelli-
gence. It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a
most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be
assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An
express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from
Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of
his ofﬁcers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kit-
ty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry.
So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and
that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can
easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing
bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father
can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it

better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said
against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night
about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning
at eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have
passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him
here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their inten-
tion. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am
afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have
written."
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing
what she felt, Elizabeth on ﬁnishing this letter instantly seized the other, and
opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been written a
day later than the conclusion of the ﬁrst.
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I
wish this may be more intelligible, but though not conﬁned for time, my
head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest
Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and
it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham and
our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken
place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland.
Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not
many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave
them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was
dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there,
or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly
taking the alarm, set off from B. intending to trace their route. He did trace
them easily to Clapham, but no further; for on entering that place, they re-
moved into a hackney coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them
from Epsom. All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue
the London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible in-
quiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously
renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatﬁeld,
but without any success—no such people had been seen to pass through.
With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his appre-
hensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely griev-
ed for him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on them. Our dis-
tress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst,

but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more
eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their ﬁrst
plan; and even if he could form such a design against a young woman of
Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to every-
thing? Impossible! I grieve to ﬁnd, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed
to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my
hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother
is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better;
but this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw
him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment;
but as it was a matter of conﬁdence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad,
dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing
scenes; but now, as the ﬁrst shock is over, shall I own that I long for your
return? I am not so selﬁsh, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient.
Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not;
but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to
come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that
I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of
the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to
try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure I know not; but his ex-
cessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and
safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again to-mor-
row evening. In such an exigence, my uncle's advice and assistance would
be everything in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must
feel, and I rely upon his goodness."
"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as
she ﬁnished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing a moment
of the time so precious; but as she reached the door it was opened by a ser-
vant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made
him start, and before he could recover himself to speak, she, in whose mind
every idea was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg
your pardon, but I must leave you. I must ﬁnd Mr. Gardiner this moment,
on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."
"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than polite-
ness; then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me,
or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough;
you cannot go yourself."

Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how
little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the
servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent
as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home
instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and
looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to
refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, "Let me call
your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A
glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."
"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There is
nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some
dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not
speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something
indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At
length she spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dread-
ful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all
her friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr.
Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too
well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can
tempt him to—she is lost for ever."
Darcy was ﬁxed in astonishment. "When I consider," she added in a yet
more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he
was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt,
to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have hap-
pened. But it is all—all too late now."
"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved—shocked. But is it certain
—absolutely certain?"
"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced
almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's im-
mediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But nothing
can be done—I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a
man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the
smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.
"When my eyes were opened to his real character—Oh! had I known
what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not—I was afraid of doing too
much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking
up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air
gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power
was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness,
such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor
condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to
her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, ex-
actly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she
so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must
be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia—the hu-
miliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up
every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth
was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was
only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion,
who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise re-
straint, said, "I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have
I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing con-
cern. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my
part that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you
with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This
unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of see-
ing you at Pemberley to-day."
"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent
business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it
is possible, I know it cannot be long."
He readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for her
distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to
hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious,
parting look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they
should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had marked
their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a retrospective

glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and
varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now
have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have rejoiced in its
termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's
change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise
—if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in
comparison of what is so often described as arising on a ﬁrst interview with
its object, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be
said in her defence, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the lat-
ter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might, per-
haps, authorise her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be
that as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what
Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reﬂected on
that wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she
entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane,
she thought, could ﬂatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the
least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the ﬁrst let-
ter remained in her mind, she was all surprise—all astonishment that Wick-
ham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money;
and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensi-
ble. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this she might
have sufﬁcient charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliber-
ately engaging in an elopement without the intention of marriage, she had
no difﬁculty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding
would preserve her from falling an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that
Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia wanted
only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one ofﬁcer,
sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in
her opinion. Her affections had continually been ﬂuctuating but never with-
out an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards
such a girl—oh! how acutely did she now feel it!
She was wild to be at home—to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to share
with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so de-
ranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and requiring con-
stant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing could be done

for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till
he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had
hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant's account that their niece
was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she eager-
ly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud,
and dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy, though Ly-
dia had never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not
but be deeply afﬂicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and af-
ter the ﬁrst exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promised
every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked
him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit, every-
thing relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to be off as
soon as possible. "But what is to be done about Pemberley?" cried Mrs.
Gardiner. "John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us; was it
so?"
"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our
engagement. That is all settled."
"What is all settled?" repeated the other, as she ran into her room to pre-
pare. "And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth?
Oh, that I knew how it was!"
But wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in the
hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to
be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was impossi-
ble to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of business as well
as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to all their
friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. An hour,
however, saw the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having
settled his account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go; and
Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter
space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on
the road to Longbourn.