Emma by Jane Austen (free ereaders txt) 📕

friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her forever; but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.⁠—She spoke then, on being so entreated.⁠—What did she say?⁠—Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does.⁠—She said enough to show there need not be despair⁠—and to invite him to say more himself. He had despaired at one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed every hope;⁠—she had begun by refusing to hear him.⁠—The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;⁠—her proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!⁠—She felt its inconsistency; but Mr. Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no farther explanation.

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.⁠—Mr. Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.

He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He had come, in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill’s engagement, with no selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her.⁠—The rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The delightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain her affection himself;⁠—but it had been no present hope⁠—he had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach her.⁠—The superior hopes which gradually opened were so much the more enchanting.⁠—The affection, which he had been asking to be allowed to create, if he could, was already his!⁠—Within half an hour, he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name.

Her change was equal.⁠—This one half-hour had given to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.⁠—On his side, there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill.⁠—He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country.⁠—The Box Hill party had decided him on going away. He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted, encouraged attentions.⁠—He had gone to learn to be indifferent.⁠—But he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic happiness in his brother’s house; woman wore too amiable a form in it; Isabella was too much like Emma⁠—differing only in those striking inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before him, for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.⁠—He had stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day⁠—till this very morning’s post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.⁠—Then, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.

He had found her agitated and low.⁠—Frank Churchill was a villain.⁠—He heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill’s character was not desperate.⁠—She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow.

L

What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house from what she had brought out!⁠—she had then been only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering;⁠—she was now in an exquisite flutter of happiness, and such happiness moreover as she believed must still be greater when the flutter should have passed away.

They sat down to tea⁠—the same party round the same table⁠—how often it had been collected!⁠—and how often had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the western sun!⁠—But never in such a state of spirits, never in anything like it; and it was with difficulty that she could summon enough of her usual self to be the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive daughter.

Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting against him in the breast of that man whom he was so cordially welcoming, and so anxiously hoping might not have taken cold from his ride.⁠—Could he have seen the heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs; but without the most distant imagination of the impending evil, without the slightest perception of anything extraordinary in the looks or ways of either, he repeated to them very comfortably all the articles of news he had received from Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment, totally unsuspicious of what they could have told him in return.

As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma’s fever