amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an
hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health,
imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better.
She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few
moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth
was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of
several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner,
and thus began:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not
be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire
and love you."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared,
coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient
encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long
felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there
were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he
was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride.
His sense of her inferiority--of its being a degradation--of the
family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination, were
dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he
was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible
to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her
intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for
the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his
subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. She
tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience,
when he should have done. He concluded with representing to
her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his
endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with
expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her
acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily
see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He _spoke_ of
apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real
security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther,
and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she
said:

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode
to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,
however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that
obligation should be felt, and if I could _feel_ gratitude, I would
now thank you. But I cannot--I have never desired your good
opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I
am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most
unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short
duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented
the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in
overcoming it after this explanation."

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his
eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less
resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with
anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every
feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure,
and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have
attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful.
At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of
expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so
little _endeavour_ at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of
small importance."

"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a
desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that
you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even
against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility,
if I _was_ uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I
have. Had not my feelings decided against you--had they been
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that
any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has
been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a
most beloved sister?"

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but
the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting
to interrupt her while she continued:

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive
can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted _there_.
You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal,
if not the only means of dividing them from each other--of
exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and
instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,
and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was
listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any
feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of
affected incredulity.

"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: "I have no wish of
denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend
from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards _him_


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