Emma Jane Austen (13 inch ebook reader TXT) 📖

to address Emma would have renounced their own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable!⁠—The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband’s plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had been a continual impediment⁠—less acknowledged by Mr. Weston than by herself⁠—but even he had never been able to finish the subject better than by saying⁠—“Those matters will take care of themselves; the young people will find a way.” But here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name. It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If anything could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first set of caps.

The news was universally a surprise wherever it spread; and Mr. Weston had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough to familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.⁠—He saw the advantages of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he was not far from believing that he had always foreseen it.

“It is to be a secret, I conclude,” said he. “These matters are always a secret, till it is found out that everybody knows them. Only let me be told when I may speak out.⁠—I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.”

He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest daughter?⁠—he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately afterwards. It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity.

In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him, and others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend their all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys; and another might predict disagreements among their servants; but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in one habitation, the Vicarage.⁠—There, the surprise was not softened by any satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife; he only hoped “the young lady’s pride would now be contented;” and supposed “she had always meant to catch Knightley if she could;” and, on the point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, “Rather he than I!”⁠—But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.⁠—“Poor Knightley! poor fellow!⁠—sad business for him.”⁠—She was extremely concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good qualities.⁠—How could he be so taken in?⁠—Did not think him at all in love⁠—not in the least.⁠—Poor Knightley!⁠—There would be an end of all pleasant intercourse with him.⁠—How happy he had been to come and dine with them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now.⁠—Poor fellow!⁠—No more exploring parties to Donwell made for her. Oh! no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on everything.⁠—Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other day.⁠—Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter.

LIV

Time passed on. A few more tomorrows, and the party from London would be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it one morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. After the first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began with,

“I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.”

“Good or bad?” said she, quickly, looking up in his face.

“I do not know which it ought to be called.”

“Oh! good I am sure.⁠—I see it in your countenance. You are trying not to smile.”

“I am afraid,” said he, composing his features, “I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.”

“Indeed! but why so?⁠—I can hardly imagine that anything which pleases or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too.”

“There is one subject,” he replied, “I hope but one, on which we do not think alike.” He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face. “Does nothing occur to you?⁠—Do not you recollect?⁠—Harriet Smith.”

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though she knew not what.

“Have you heard from her yourself this morning?” cried he. “You have, I believe, and know the whole.”

“No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me.”

“You are prepared for the worst, I see⁠—and very bad it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin.”

Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared⁠—and her eyes, in eager gaze, said, “No, this is impossible!” but her lips were closed.

“It is so, indeed,” continued Mr. Knightley; “I have it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago.”

She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement.

“You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.⁠—I wish our opinions were the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one