Volume I: Chapter XV

by Jane Austen

　　Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank histea he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his threecompanions could do, to entertain away his notice of the latenessof the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston waschatty and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort;but at last the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation.Mr. Elton, in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in.Mrs. Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joinedthem immediately, and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himselfbetween them.

　　Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mindby the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forgethis late improprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before,and on his making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listenwith most friendly smiles.

　　He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend--her fair, lovely, amiable friend. "Did she know?--had sheheard any thing about her, since their being at Randalls?--he felt much anxiety--he must confess that the nature of hercomplaint alarmed him considerably." And in this style he talkedon for some time very properly, not much attending to any answer,but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat;and Emma was quite in charity with him.

　　But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as ifhe were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account,than on Harriet's--more anxious that she should escape the infection,than that there should be no infection in the complaint. He beganwith great earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visitingthe sick-chamber again, for the present--to entreat her to promisehim not to venture into such hazard till he had seen Mr. Perryand learnt his opinion; and though she tried to laugh it offand bring the subject back into its proper course, there was noputting an end to his extreme solicitude about her. She was vexed.It did appear--there was no concealing it--exactly like the pretenceof being in love with her, instead of Harriet; an inconstancy,if real, the most contemptible and abominable! and she had difficultyin behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs. Weston to imploreher assistance, "Would not she give him her support?--would not sheadd her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to goto Mrs. Goddard's till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorderhad no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise--would not she give him her influence in procuring it?"

　　"So scrupulous for others," he continued, "and yet so carelessfor herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day,and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulceratedsore throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?--Judge between us.Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind supportand aid."

　　Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprize, and felt that it must be great,at an address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himselfthe right of first interest in her; and as for herself, she wastoo much provoked and offended to have the power of directlysaying any thing to the purpose. She could only give him a look;but it was such a look as she thought must restore him to his senses,and then left the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and givingher all her attention.

　　She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidlydid another subject succeed; for Mr. John Knightley now cameinto the room from examining the weather, and opened on themall with the information of the ground being covered with snow,and of its still snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind;concluding with these words to Mr. Woodhouse:

　　"This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements,sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be makingtheir way through a storm of snow."

　　Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body elsehad something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized,and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Westonand Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attentionfrom his son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.

　　"I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he, "in venturingout in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snowvery soon. Every body must have seen the snow coming on.I admired your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well.Another hour or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable;and we are two carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak partof the common field there will be the other at hand. I dare say weshall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."

　　Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that hehad known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word,lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excusefor his hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallenor likely to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke;he was afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished the road mightbe impassable, that he might be able to keep them all at Randalls;and with the utmost good-will was sure that accommodation mightbe found for every body, calling on his wife to agree with him,that with a little contrivance, every body might be lodged,which she hardly knew how to do, from the consciousness of therebeing but two spare rooms in the house.

　　"What is to be done, my dear Emma?--what is to be done?"was Mr. Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all that he could sayfor some time. To her he looked for comfort; and her assurancesof safety, her representation of the excellence of the horses,and of James, and of their having so many friends about them,revived him a little.

　　His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own. The horror ofbeing blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield,was full in her imagination; and fancying the road to be now justpassable for adventurous people, but in a state that admitted no delay,she was eager to have it settled, that her father and Emma should remainat Randalls, while she and her husband set forward instantly throughall the possible accumulations of drifted snow that might impede them.

　　"You had better order the carriage directly, my love," said she;"I dare say we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly;and if we do come to any thing very bad, I can get out and walk.I am not at all afraid. I should not mind walking half the way.I could change my shoes, you know, the moment I got home; and it is notthe sort of thing that gives me cold."

　　"Indeed!" replied he. "Then, my dear Isabella, it is the mostextraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general everything does give you cold. Walk home!--you are prettily shodfor walking home, I dare say. It will be bad enough for the horses."

　　Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the plan.Mrs. Weston could only approve. Isabella then went to Emma;but Emma could not so entirely give up the hope of their beingall able to get away; and they were still discussing the point,when Mr. Knightley, who had left the room immediately after hisbrother's first report of the snow, came back again, and told themthat he had been out of doors to examine, and could answer for therenot being the smallest difficulty in their getting home, whenever theyliked it, either now or an hour hence. He had gone beyond the sweep--some way along the Highbury road--the snow was nowhere above halfan inch deep--in many places hardly enough to whiten the ground;a very few flakes were falling at present, but the clouds were parting,and there was every appearance of its being soon over. He had seenthe coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there being nothingto apprehend.

　　To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great, and theywere scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father's account,who was immediately set as much at ease on the subject as his nervousconstitution allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could notbe appeased so as to admit of any comfort for him while he continuedat Randalls. He was satisfied of there being no present danger inreturning home, but no assurances could convince him that it was safeto stay; and while the others were variously urging and recommending,Mr. Knightley and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus--

　　"Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?"

　　"I am ready, if the others are."

　　"Shall I ring the bell?"

　　"Yes, do."

　　And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A fewminutes more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companiondeposited in his own house, to get sober and cool, and the otherrecover his temper and happiness when this visit of hardship were over.

　　The carriage came: and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first object onsuch occasions, was carefully attended to his own by Mr. Knightleyand Mr. Weston; but not all that either could say could prevent somerenewal of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen,and the discovery of a much darker night than he had been prepared for."He was afraid they should have a very bad drive. He was afraidpoor Isabella would not like it. And there would be poor Emmain the carriage behind. He did not know what they had best do.They must keep as much together as they could;" and James was talked to,and given a charge to go very slow and wait for the other carriage.

　　Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that hedid not belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally;so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the secondcarriage by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them,and that they were to have a tete-a-tete drive. It would not have beenthe awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure,previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talkedto him of Harriet, and the three-quarters of a mile would haveseemed but one. But now, she would rather it had not happened.She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's good wine,and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.

　　To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she wasimmediately preparing to speak with exquisite calmness and gravityof the weather and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely hadthey passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than shefound her subject cut up--her hand seized--her attention demanded,and Mr. Elton actually making violent love to her: availing himselfof the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be alreadywell known, hoping--fearing--adoring--ready to die if she refused him;but flattering himself that his ardent attachment and unequalledlove and unexampled passion could not fail of having some effect,and in short, very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soonas possible. It really was so. Without scruple--without apology--without much apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet,was professing himself her lover. She tried to stop him; but vainly;he would go on, and say it all. Angry as she was, the thought ofthe moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and thereforecould hope that it might belong only to the passing hour.Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which shehoped would best suit his half and half state, she replied,

　　"I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to me! you forget yourself--you take me for my friend--any message to Miss Smith I shallbe happy to deliver; but no more of this to me, if you please."

　　"Miss SmithWhat could she possibly mean!"--And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such boastfulpretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with quickness,

　　"Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! and I can accountfor it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speakeither to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Command yourselfenough to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it."

　　But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits,not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning;and having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious,and slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,--but acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentionedat all,--he resumed the subject of his own passion, and was veryurgent for a favourable answer.

　　As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancyand presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied,

　　"It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have madeyourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyondany thing I can express. After such behaviour, as I have witnessedduring the last month, to Miss Smith--such attentions as Ihave been in the daily habit of observing--to be addressing mein this manner--this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed,which I had not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far,very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions."

　　"Good Heaven!" cried Mr. Elton, "what can be the meaning of this?--Miss Smith!--I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole courseof my existence--never paid her any attentions, but as your friend:never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend.If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her,and I am very sorry--extremely sorry--But, Miss Smith, indeed!--Oh!Miss Woodhouse! who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouseis near! No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of character.I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallestattention to any one else. Every thing that I have said or done,for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking myadoration of yourself. You cannot really, seriously, doubt it.NoI am sure you have seenand understood me."

　　It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this--which of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She wastoo completely overpowered to be immediately able to reply:and two moments of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton'ssanguine state of mind, he tried to take her hand again, as hejoyously exclaimed--

　　"Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting silence.It confesses that you have long understood me."

　　"No, sir," cried Emma, "it confesses no such thing. So far fromhaving long understood you, I have been in a most complete errorwith respect to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I amvery sorry that you should have been giving way to any feelings--Nothing could be farther from my wishes--your attachment to myfriend Harriet--your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave megreat pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing you success:but had I supposed that she were not your attraction to Hartfield,I should certainly have thought you judged ill in making your visitsso frequent. Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommendyourself particularly to Miss Smith?--that you have never thoughtseriously of her?"

　　"Never, madam," cried he, affronted in his turn: "never, I assure you.I think seriously of Miss Smith!--Miss Smith is a very good sortof girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled.I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might notobject to--Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not,I think, quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally despairof an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith!--No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only;and the encouragement I received--"

　　"EncouragementSir, you have been entirelymistaken in supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirerof my friend. In no other light could you have been more to me thana common acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well thatthe mistake ends where it does. Had the same behaviour continued,Miss Smith might have been led into a misconception of your views;not being aware, probably, any more than myself, of the verygreat inequality which you are so sensible of. But, as it is,the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting.I have no thoughts of matrimony at present."

　　He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decidedto invite supplication; and in this state of swelling resentment,and mutually deep mortification, they had to continue together a fewminutes longer, for the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined themto a foot-pace. If there had not been so much anger, there would havebeen desperate awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions leftno room for the little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowingwhen the carriage turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped,they found themselves, all at once, at the door of his house;and he was out before another syllable passed.--Emma then felt itindispensable to wish him a good night. The compliment was just returned,coldly and proudly; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits,she was then conveyed to Hartfield.

　　There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father,who had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive fromVicarage Lane--turning a corner which he could never bear to think of--and in strange hands--a mere common coachman--no James; and there itseemed as if her return only were wanted to make every thing go well:for Mr. John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour, was now allkindness and attention; and so particularly solicitous for the comfortof her father, as to seem--if not quite ready to join him in a basinof gruel--perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome;and the day was concluding in peace and comfort to all their little party,except herself.--But her mind had never been in such perturbation;and it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful tillthe usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.