Emma

But she was always right. If I had followed her judgment, and subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed proper, I should have escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known.-We quarrelled.-Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell?-There every little dissatisfaction that had occurred before came to a crisis. I was late;



I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, but she would not suffer it. She absolutely refused to allow me, which I then thought most unreasonable. Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very natural and consistent degree of discretion.



While I, to blind the world to our engagement, was behaving one hour with objectionable particularity to another woman, was she to be consenting the next to a proposal which might have made every previous caution useless?-Had we been met walking together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth must have been suspected.-I was mad enough, however, to resent.-I doubted her affection.



I doubted it more the next day on Box Hill; when, provoked by such conduct on my side, such shameful, insolent neglect of her, and such apparent devotion to Miss W., as it would have been impossible for any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in a form of words perfectly intelligible to me.-In short, my dear madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abominable on mine; and I returned the same evening to Richmond, though I might have staid with you till the next morning, merely because I would be as angry with her as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to be reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured by her coldness, and I went away determined that she should make the first advances.-I shall always congratulate myself that you were not of the Box Hill party.



Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly suppose you would ever have thought well of me again. Its effect upon her appears in the immediate resolution it produced: as soon as she found I was really gone from Randalls, she closed with the offer of that officious Mrs. Elton; the whole system of whose treatment of her, by the bye, has ever filled me with indignation and hatred.



I must not quarrel with a spirit of forbearance which has been so richly extended towards myself; but, otherwise, I should loudly protest against the share of it which that woman has known.-"Jane," indeed!-You will observe that I have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that name, even to you. Think, then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall soon have done.-She closed with this offer, resolving to break with me entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me that we never were to meet again.-She felt the engagement to be a source of repentance and misery to each: she dissolved it.-This letter reached me on the very morning of my poor aunt's death. I answered it within an hour; but from the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity of business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of being sent with all the many other letters of that day, was locked up in my writing-desk; and I, trusting that I had written enough, though but a few lines, to satisfy her, remained without any uneasiness.-I was rather disappointed that I did not hear from her again speedily; but I made excuses for her, and was too busy, and-may I add?-too cheerful in my views to be captious.-We removed to Windsor; and two days afterwards I received a parcel from her, my own letters all returned!-and a few lines at the same time by the post, stating her extreme surprize at not having had the smallest reply to her last; and adding, that as silence on such a point could not be misconstrued, and as it must be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly command hers, so as to send them to Highbury within a week, I would forward them after that period to her at-: in short, the full direction to Mr. Smallridge's, near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew the name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had been doing.



It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character which I knew her to possess; and the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to threaten me.-Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post.-What was to be done?-One thing only.-I must speak to my uncle.



Without his sanction I could not hope to be listened to again.-I spoke; circumstances were in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and he was, earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; and could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that he wished I might find as much happiness in the marriage state as he had done.-I felt that it would be of a different sort.-Are you disposed to pity me for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, for my suspense while all was at stake?-No; do not pity me till I reached Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. Do not pity me till I saw her wan, sick looks.-I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my knowledge of their late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance of finding her alone.-I was not disappointed; and at last I was not disappointed either in the object of my journey. A great deal of very reasonable, very just displeasure I had to persuade away.



But it is done; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment's uneasiness can ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will release you; but I could not conclude before.



A thousand and a thousand thanks for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.-If you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.-Miss W. calls me the child of good fortune. I hope she is right.-In one respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe myself, Your obliged and affectionate Son,



F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL.



CHAPTER XV



This letter must make its way to Emma's feelings. She was obliged, in spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all the justice that Mrs. Weston foretold. As soon as she came to her own name, it was irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting, and almost every line agreeable; and when this charm ceased, the subject could still maintain itself, by the natural return of her former regard for the writer, and the very strong attraction which any picture of love must have for her at that moment. She never stopt till she had gone through the whole; and though it was impossible not to feel that he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed-and he had suffered, and was very sorry-and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that there was no being severe; and could he have entered the room, she must have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever.



She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley came again, she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to blame in his conduct.



"I shall be very glad to look it over," said he; "but it seems long.



I will take it home with me at night."



But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she must return it by him.



"I would rather be talking to you," he replied; "but as it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done."



He began-stopping, however, almost directly to say, "Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's letters to his mother-in-law a few months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken with such indifference."



He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and then, with a smile, observed, "Humph! a fine complimentary opening:



But it is his way. One man's style must not be the rule of another's.



We will not be severe."



"It will be natural for me," he added shortly afterwards, "to speak my opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I am near you.



It will not be so great a loss of time: but if you dislike it-"



"Not at all. I should wish it."



Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity.



"He trifles here," said he, "as to the temptation. He knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge.-Bad.-He ought not to have formed the engagement.-`His father's disposition:'-he is unjust, however, to his father. Mr. Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston earned every present comfort before he endeavoured to gain it.-Very true; he did not come till Miss Fairfax was here."



"And I have not forgotten," said Emma, "how sure you were that he might have come sooner if he would. You pass it over very handsomely-but you were perfectly right."



"I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:-but yet, I think-had you not been in the case-I should still have distrusted him."



When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole of it aloud-all that related to her, with a smile; a look; a shake of the head; a word or two of assent, or disapprobation; or merely of love, as the subject required; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady reflection, thus-"Very bad-though it might have been worse.-Playing a most dangerous game. Too much indebted to the event for his acquittal.-No judge of his own manners by you.-Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and regardless of little besides his own convenience.-Fancying you to have fathomed his secret. Natural enough!-his own mind full of intrigue, that he should suspect it in others.-Mystery; Finesse-how they pervert the understanding!



My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?"



Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet's account, which she could not give any sincere explanation of.



"You had better go on," said she.



He did so, but very soon stopt again to say, "the pianoforte!



Ah! That was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider whether the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure. A boyish scheme, indeed!-I cannot comprehend a man's wishing to give a woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument's coming if she could."



After this, he made some progress without any pause.



Frank Churchill's confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call for more than a word in passing.



"I perfectly agree with you, sir,"-was then his remark.



"You did behave very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line."



And having gone through what immediately followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense of right, he made a fuller pause to say, "This is very bad.-He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and it should have been his first object to prevent her from suffering unnecessarily.-She must have had much more to contend with, in carrying on the correspondence, than he could. He should have respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were all reasonable. We must look to her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she should have been in such a state of punishment."



Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so very improper!



She was deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look.



It was all read, however, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark; and, excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear of giving pain-no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist.



"There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the Eltons," was his next observation.-"His feelings are natural.-What! actually resolve to break with him entirely!-She felt the engagement to be a source of repentance and misery to each-she dissolved it.-What a view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!-Well, he must be a most extraordinary-"



"Nay, nay, read on.-You will find how very much he suffers."



"I hope he does," replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resuming the letter.



"`Smallridge!'-What does this mean? What is all this?"



"She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's children-a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's-a neighbour of Maple Grove; and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?"



"Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read-not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done.



What a letter the man writes!"



"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him."



"Well, there is feeling here.-He does seem to have suffered in finding her ill.-Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of her. `Dearer, much dearer than ever.' I hope he may long continue to feel all the value of such a reconciliation.-He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.-`Happier than I deserve.'



Come, he knows himself there. `Miss Woodhouse calls me the child of good fortune.'-Those were Miss Woodhouse's words, were they?-And a fine ending-and there is the letter. The child of good fortune!



That was your name for him, was it?"



"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."



"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of something else.