Emma and the Werewolves (70 page)

He wanted her to look up
and smile; and having now brought herself not to smile too
broadly—she did—cheerfully answering,

“
You need not be at any
pains to reconcile me to the match. I think Harriet is doing
extremely well. Her connexions may be worse than his. In
respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they are. I
have been silent from surprize merely, excessive surprize. You
cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me! how peculiarly
unprepared I was! for I had reason to believe her very lately more
determined against him, much more, than she was before.”

“
You ought to know your
friend best,” replied Mr. Knightley; “but I should say she was a
good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very
determined against any young man who told her he loved
her.”

Emma could not help
laughing as she answered, “Upon my word, I believe you know her
quite as well as I do. But, Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure
that she has absolutely and downright accepted him. I could suppose
she might in time—but can she already? Did not you misunderstand
him? You were both talking of other things; of business, shows of
cattle, or new drills—and might not you, in the confusion of so
many subjects, mistake him? It was not Harriet’s hand that he was
certain of—it was the dimensions of some famous ox.”

The contrast between the countenance and air
of Mr. Knightley and Robert Martin was, at this moment, so strong
to Emma’s feelings, and so strong was the recollection of all that
had so recently passed on Harriet’s side, so fresh the sound of
those words, spoken with such emphasis, “No, I hope I know better
than to think of Robert Martin,” that she was really expecting the
intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature. It could not be
otherwise.

“
Do you dare say this?”
cried Mr. Knightley. “Do you dare to suppose me so great a
blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of? What do you
deserve?”

“
Oh! I always deserve the
best treatment, because I never put up with any other; and,
therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are you quite
sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and Harriet
now are?”

“
I am quite sure,” he
replied, speaking very distinctly, “that he told me she had
accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in
the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must
be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew of
no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of
her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be
done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard? I assured him that I could not.
Then, he said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of this
day.”

“
I am perfectly satisfied,”
replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, “and most sincerely wish
them happy.”

“
You are materially changed
since we talked on this subject before.”

“
I hope so—for at that time
I was a fool.”

“
And I am changed also; for
I am now very willing to grant you all Harriet’s good qualities. I
have taken some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin’s sake,
(whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love with her
as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often talked to her a
good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, indeed, I have
thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor Martin’s
cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, I
am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good
notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness
in the affections and utility of domestic life. Much of this, I
have no doubt, she may thank you for.”

“
Me!” cried Emma, shaking
her head. “Ah! poor Harriet!”

She checked herself, however, and submitted
quietly to a little more praise than she deserved.

Their conversation was soon afterwards
closed by the entrance of her father. She was not sorry. She wanted
to be alone. Her mind was in a state of flutter and wonder, which
made it impossible for her to be collected. She was in dancing,
singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she had moved about, and
talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she could be fit for
nothing rational.

Her father’s business was to announce
James’s being gone out to put the horses to, preparatory to their
now daily drive to Randalls; and she had, therefore, an immediate
excuse for disappearing.

The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite
delight of her sensations may be imagined. The sole grievance and
alloy thus removed in the prospect of Harriet’s welfare, she was
really in danger of becoming too happy for security. What had she
to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of him, whose
intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own.
Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her
humility and circumspection in future.

Serious she was, very
serious in her thankfulness, and in her resolutions; and yet there
was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the very midst of them. She
must laugh at such a close! Such an end of the doleful
disappointment of five weeks back! Such a heart—such a
Harriet!

Now there would be pleasure
in her returning—Every thing would be a pleasure. It would be a
great pleasure to know Robert Martin.

High in the rank of her most serious and
heartfelt felicities, was the reflection that all necessity of
concealment from Mr. Knightley would soon be over. The disguise,
equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to practise, might soon be
over. She could now look forward to giving him that full and
perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to welcome
as a duty.

In the gayest and happiest spirits she set
forward with her father; not always listening, but always agreeing
to what he said; and, whether in speech or silence, conniving at
the comfortable persuasion of his being obliged to go to Randalls
every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be disappointed.

They arrived. Mrs. Weston was alone in the
drawing-room: but hardly had they been told of the baby, and Mr.
Woodhouse received the thanks for coming, which he asked for, when
a glimpse was caught through the blind, of two figures passing near
the window.

“
It is Frank and Miss
Fairfax,” said Mrs. Weston. “I was just going to tell you of our
agreeable surprize in seeing him arrive this morning. He stays till
to-morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the day
with us. They are coming in, I hope.”

In half a minute they were
in the room. Emma was extremely glad to see him—but there was a
degree of confusion—a number of embarrassing recollections on each
side. They met readily and smiling, but with a consciousness which
at first allowed little to be said; and having all sat down again,
there was for some time such a blank in the circle, that Emma began
to doubt whether the wish now indulged, which she had long felt, of
seeing Frank Churchill once more, and of seeing him with Jane,
would yield its proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined the
party, however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no longer
a want of subject or animation—or of courage and opportunity for
Frank Churchill to draw near her and say,

“
I have to thank you, Miss
Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs.
Weston’s letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to
pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said.”

“
No, indeed,” cried Emma,
most happy to begin, “not in the least. I am particularly glad to
see and shake hands with you—and to give you joy in
person.”

He thanked her with all his heart, and
continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude
and happiness.

“
Is not she looking well?”
said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. “Better than she ever used
to do? You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon
her.”

But his spirits were soon rising again, and
with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the
Campbells, he named the name of Dixon. Emma blushed, and forbade
its being pronounced in her hearing.

“
I can never think of it,”
she cried, “without extreme shame.”

“
The shame,” he answered,
“is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no
suspicion? I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none.”

“
I never had the smallest,
I assure you.”

“
That appears quite
wonderful. I was once very near—and I wish I had—it would have been
better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very
bad wrong things, and such as did me no service. It would have been
a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and
told you every thing.”

“
It is not now worth a
regret,” said Emma.

“
I have some hope,” resumed
he, “of my uncle’s being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he
wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we
shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may
carry her northward. But now, I am at such a distance from her—is
not it hard, Miss Woodhouse? Till this morning, we have not once
met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity
me?”

Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that
with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried,

“
Ah! by the bye,” then
sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment— “I hope Mr.
Knightley is well?” He paused. She coloured and laughed. “I know
you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your
favour. Let me return your congratulations. I assure you that I
have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction. He
is a man whom I cannot presume to praise.”

Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to
go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his
own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were,

“
Did you ever see such a
skin? such smoothness! such delicacy! and yet without being
actually fair. One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon
complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair—a most distinguishing
complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it. Just colour enough for
beauty.”

“
I have always admired her
complexion,” replied Emma, archly; “but do not I remember the time
when you found fault with her for being so pale? When we first
began to talk of her. Have you quite forgotten?”

“
Oh! no—what an impudent
dog I was! How could I dare—”

But he laughed so heartily at the
recollection, that Emma could not help saying,

“
I do suspect that in the
midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great
amusement in tricking us all. I am sure you had. I am sure it was a
consolation to you.”

“
Oh! no, no, no—how can you
suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable
wretch!”

“
Not quite so miserable as
to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high
entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.
Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the
truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the
same situation. I think there is a little likeness between
us.”

He bowed.

“
If not in our
dispositions,” she presently added, with a look of true
sensibility, “there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which
bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our
own.”

“
True, true,” he answered,
warmly. “No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but
most true on mine. She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she
an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe
her eyes, as she is looking up at my father. You will be glad to
hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle
means to give her all my aunt’s jewels. They are to be new set. I
am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it
be beautiful in her dark hair?”

“
Very beautiful, indeed,”
replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst
out, “How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such
excellent looks! I would not have missed this meeting for the
world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed
to come.”

The others had been talking of the child,
Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under,
the evening before, from the infant’s appearing not quite well. She
believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had
been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she
ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as
herself. In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well
again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to
Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending
for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. “She should
always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest
degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too
soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps,
that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well
now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if
Perry had seen it.”

Frank Churchill caught the name.

“
Perry!” said he to Emma,
and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax’s eye. “My friend
Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry? Has he been here
this morning? And how does he travel now? Has he set up his
carriage?”