Chapter XV

F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL.

CHAPTER XV

This letter m ust m ake its way to Em m a’s feelings. She was obliged, in spite of her previous determ ination to the contrary, to do it all the j ustice that Mrs.

Weston foretold. As soon as she cam e to her own nam e, it was irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting, and alm ost every line agreeable; and when this charm ceased, the subj ect could still m aintain itself, by the natural return of her form er regard for the writer, and the very strong attraction which any picture of love m ust have for her at that m om ent. She never stopt till she had gone through the whole; and though it was im possible not to feel that he had been wrong, y et 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 m uch 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 m ust have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever.

She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley cam e again, she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs. Weston’s wishing it to be com m unicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so m uch to blam e in his conduct.

“I shall be very glad to look it over,” said he; “but it seem s long. I will take it hom e with m e at night.”

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

“I would rather be talking to y ou,” he replied; “but as it seem s a m atter of j ustice, it shall be done.”

He began – stopping, however, alm ost directly to say, “Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentlem an’s letters to his m other-in-law a few m onths ago, Em m a, it would not have been taken with such indifference.”

He proceeded a little farther, reading to him self; and then, with a sm ile, observed, “Hum ph! a fine com plim entary opening: But it is his way. One m an’s sty le m ust not be the rule of another’s. We will not be severe.”

“It will be natural for m e,” he added shortly afterwards, “to speak m y opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I am near y ou. It will not be so great a loss of tim e: but if y ou 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 tem ptation. He knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge. – Bad. – He ought not to have form ed the engagem ent. – ‘His father’s disposition:’ – he is unj ust, however, to his father. Mr.

Weston’s sanguine tem per was a blessing on all his upright and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston earned every present com fort before he endeavoured to gain it. – Very true; he did not com e till Miss Fairfax was here.”

“And I have not forgotten,” said Em m a, “how sure y ou were that he m ight have com e sooner if he would. You pass it over very handsom ely – but y ou were perfectly right.”

“I was not quite im partial in m y j udgm ent, Em m a: – but y et, I think –

had y ou not been in the case – I should still have distrusted him .”

When he cam e to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole of it aloud – all that related to her, with a sm ile; a look; a shake of the head; a word or two of assent, or disapprobation; or m erely of love, as the subj ect required; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady reflection, thus –

“Very bad – though it m ight have been worse. – Play ing a m ost dangerous gam e. Too m uch indebted to the event for his acquittal. – No j udge of his own m anners by y ou. – Alway s deceived in fact by his own wishes, and regardless of little besides his own convenience. – Fancy ing y ou to have fathom ed his secret. Natural enough! – his own m ind full of intrigue, that he should suspect it in others. – My stery ; Finesse – how they pervert the understanding! My Em m a, does not every thing serve to prove m ore and m ore the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?”

Em m a 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 y oung m an, one too y oung to consider whether the inconvenience of it m ight not very m uch exceed the pleasure. A boy ish schem e, indeed! – I cannot com prehend a m an’s wishing to give a wom an any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrum ent’s com ing if she could.”

After this, he m ade som e progress without any pause. Frank Churchill’s confession of having behaved sham efully was the first thing to call for m ore than a word in passing.

“I perfectly agree with y ou, sir,” – was then his rem ark. “You did behave very sham efully. You never wrote a truer line.” And having gone through what im m ediately followed of the basis of their disagreem ent, and his persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax’s sense of right, he m ade a fuller pause to say, “This is very bad. – He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extrem e difficulty and uneasiness, and it should have been his first obj ect to prevent her from suffering unnecessarily. – She m ust have had m uch m ore to contend with, in carry ing on the correspondence, than he could. He should have respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were all reasonable. We m ust look to her one fault, and rem em ber that she had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagem ent, to bear that she should have been in such a state of punishm ent.”

Em m a knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew uncom fortable. Her own behaviour had been so very im proper! She was deeply asham ed, and a little afraid of his next look. It was all read, however, steadily, attentively, and without the sm allest rem ark; and, excepting one m om entary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear of giving pain – no rem em brance of Box Hill seem ed to exist.

“There is no say ing m uch 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 engagem ent to be a source of repentance and m isery to each – she dissolved it. – What a view this gives of her sense of his behaviour! – Well, he m ust be a m ost extraordinary – “

“Nay, nay, read on. – You will find how very m uch he suffers.”

“I hope he does,” replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resum ing the letter.

“’Sm allridge!’ – What does this m ean? What is all this?”

“She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Sm allridge’s children – a dear friend of Mrs. Elton’s – a neighbour of Maple Grove; and, by the by e, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointm ent?”

“Say nothing, m y dear Em m a, while y ou oblige m e to read – not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page m ore. I shall soon have done. What a letter the m an writes!”

“I wish y ou 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, m uch dearer than ever.’ I hope he m ay 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.’ Com e, he knows him self there. ‘Miss

Woodhouse calls m e 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 y our nam e for him , was it?”

“You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am ; but still y ou m ust, at least I hope y ou m ust, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him som e service with y ou.”

“Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very m uch of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, bey ond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it m ay be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will im prove, and acquire from hers the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let m e talk to y ou of som ething else. I have another person’s interest at present so m uch at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. Ever since I left y ou this m orning, Em m a, m y m ind has been hard at work on one subj ect.”

The subj ect followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlem anlike English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the wom an he was in love with, how to be able to ask her to m arry him , without attacking the happiness of her father.

Em m a’s answer was ready at the first word. “While her dear father lived, any change of condition m ust be im possible for her. She could never quit him .” Part only of this answer, however, was adm itted. The im possibility of her quitting her father, Mr. Knightley felt as strongly as herself; but the inadm issibility of any other change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking it over m ost deeply, m ost intently ; he had at first hoped to induce Mr. Woodhouse to rem ove with her to Donwell; he had wanted to believe it feasible, but his knowledge of Mr.

Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive him self long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a transplantation would be a risk of her father’s com fort, perhaps even of his life, which m ust not be hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield! – No, he felt that it ought not to be attem pted. But the plan which had arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Em m a would not find in any respect obj ectionable; it was, that he should be received at Hartfield; that so long as her father’s happiness in other words his life – required Hartfield to continue her hom e, it should be his likewise.

Of their all rem oving to Donwell, Em m a had already had her own passing thoughts. Like him , she had tried the schem e and rej ected it; but such an alternative as this had not occurred to her. She was sensible of all the affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he m ust be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits; that in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there would be m uch, very m uch, to be borne with. She

prom ised to think of it, and advised him to think of it m ore; but he was fully convinced, that no reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subj ect.

He had given it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration; he had been walking away from William Larkins the whole m orning, to have his thoughts to him self.

“Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,” cried Em m a. “I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You m ust get his consent before y ou ask m ine.”

She prom ised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly prom ised, m oreover, to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good schem e.

It is rem arkable, that Em m a, in the m any, very m any, points of view in which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of inj ury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir-expectant had form erly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she m ust of the possible difference to the poor little boy ; and y et she only gave herself a saucy conscious sm ile about it, and found am usem ent in detecting the real cause of that violent dislike of Mr.

Knightley ’s m arry ing Jane Fairfax, or any body else, which at the tim e she had wholly im puted to the am iable solicitude of the sister and the aunt.

This proposal of his, this plan of m arry ing and continuing at Hartfield –

the m ore she contem plated it, the m ore pleasing it becam e. His evils seem ed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their m utual good to outweigh every drawback. Such a com panion for herself in the periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her! – Such a partner in all those duties and cares to which tim e m ust be giving increase of m elancholy !

She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet; but every blessing of her own seem ed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, who m ust now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful fam ily party which Em m a was securing for herself, poor Harriet m ust, in m ere charitable caution, be kept at a distance from . She would be a loser in every way. Em m a could not deplore her future absence as any deduction from her own enj oy m ent. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seem ed a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of unm erited punishm ent.