Emma Jane Austen (13 inch ebook reader TXT) 📖

in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and methodical.⁠—Before this second looking over was begun, however, Emma walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments’ free observation of the entrance and ground-plot of the house⁠—and was hardly there, when Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape.⁠—Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of.

“Will you be so kind,” said she, “when I am missed, as to say that I am gone home?⁠—I am going this moment.⁠—My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent⁠—but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly.⁠—I have said nothing about it to anybody. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?”

“Certainly, if you wish it;⁠—but you are not going to walk to Highbury alone?”

“Yes⁠—what should hurt me?⁠—I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty minutes.”

“But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my father’s servant go with you.⁠—Let me order the carriage. It can be round in five minutes.”

“Thank you, thank you⁠—but on no account.⁠—I would rather walk.⁠—And for me to be afraid of walking alone!⁠—I, who may so soon have to guard others!”

She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, “That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the carriage. The heat even would be danger.⁠—You are fatigued already.”

“I am,”⁠—she answered⁠—“I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue⁠—quick walking will refresh me.⁠—Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can show me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary.”

Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was grateful⁠—and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being sometimes alone!”⁠—seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best.

“Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!” said Emma, as she turned back into the hall again. “I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like you.”

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to think of him⁠—but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; they were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours⁠—and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till very late;⁠—and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered anything like it⁠—almost wished he had stayed at home⁠—nothing killed him like heat⁠—he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable⁠—and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable.

“You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,” said Emma.

“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be spared⁠—but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met one as I came⁠—Madness in such weather!⁠—absolute madness!”

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such might be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of everything in the dining-room⁠—and she humanely pointed out the door.

“No⁠—he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him hotter.” In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma returned all her attention to her father, saying in secret⁠—

“I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet’s sweet easy temper will not mind it.”

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came back all the better⁠—grown quite cool⁠—and, with good manners, like himself⁠—able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking over views in Swisserland.

“As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he. “I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at⁠—or my tour to read⁠—or my poem. I shall do something to expose myself.”

“That may be⁠—but not by