able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written."
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth
on finishing this letter instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read
as follows: it had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I wish this may be more
intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for
being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you,
and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia
would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason
to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the
day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to
understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing
his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to
Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B. intending to trace their route. He did
trace them easily to Clapham, but no further; for on entering that place, they removed into a
hackney coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after
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this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making
every possible inquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously
renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any
success—no such people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to
Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am
sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my
dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him.
Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to
pursue their first plan; and even if HE could form such a design against a young woman of
Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything? Impossible! I
grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook
his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he fear W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor
mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better; but this is not
to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger
for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I
am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes;
but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish,
however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just
told you I would not; but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to
come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of
requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to
London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure I
know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and
safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again to-morrow evening. In such
and exigence, my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will
immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness."
"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter,
in eagerness to follow him, without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as she reached
the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous
manner made him start, and before he could recover himself to speak, she, in whose mind every
idea was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg your pardon, but I must leave
you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an
instant to loose."
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"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting
himself, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how little would be gained by
her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him,
though in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and
mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so miserably ill,
that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness
and commiseration, "Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present
relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."
"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There is nothing the matter with
me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from
Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word.
Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe
her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane, with
such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her
friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off
together from Brighton. YOU know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no
connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost for ever."
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I consider," she added in a yet more agitated voice,
"that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it
only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could
not have happened. But it is all—all too late now."
"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved—shocked. But is it certain—absolutely certain?"
"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but
not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"