Chapter 49

TWO days after Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and concluding that she came to call them to their mother, went forward to meet her; but instead of the expected summons, when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”

Two days after Mr. Bennet’s return, Jane and Elizabeth were walking among the shrubs behind the house. They saw the housekeeper coming towards them and assumed their mother had sent for them. So they went to meet her. But instead of asking them to come inside, the housekeeper said to Miss Bennet, “Excuse me for interrupting you, madam. I hoped you might have received some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”

“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”

“What do you mean, Hill? We haven’t heard anything from town.”

“Dear madam,” cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, “don’t you know there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here this half hour, and master has had a letter.”

“Dear madam,” Mrs. Hill exclaimed in great surprise, “didn’t you know a messenger has arrived from Mr. Gardiner for the master? The messenger has been here for half an hour, and the master has received a letter.”

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; from thence to the library;—their father was in neither; and they were on the point of seeking him upstairs with their mother, when they were met by the butler, who said,—

The girls ran off, too eager to get inside to speak. They rushed through the entrance hall into the breakfast room, then into the library. Their father was in neither room. They were about to go upstairs with their mother to look for him when the butler met them and said:

“If you are looking for my master, ma’am, he is walking towards the little copse.”

“If you’re looking for my master, ma’am, he’s walking toward the small grove of trees.”

Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.

On hearing this, they immediately went back through the hall and ran across the lawn after their father. He was walking at a leisurely pace toward a small wood on one side of the paddock.

Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath, came up with him, and eagerly cried out,—

Jane was not as light on her feet as Elizabeth, nor as used to running, and soon fell behind. Meanwhile, her sister caught up with him, panting for breath, and eagerly called out:

“Oh, papa, what news? what news? have you heard from my uncle?”

“Oh, Dad, what’s the news? What’s the news? Have you heard from my uncle?”

“Yes, I have had a letter from him by express.”

“Yes, I’ve received a letter from him by special messenger.”

“Well, and what news does it bring—good or bad?”

“Well, what news does it bring, good or bad?”

“What is there of good to be expected?” said he, taking the letter from his pocket; “but perhaps you would like to read it.”

“What good can be expected?” he said, taking the letter from his pocket. “But perhaps you would like to read it.”

Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.

Elizabeth impatiently snatched it from his hand. Jane came over just then.

“Read it aloud,” said their father, “for I hardly know myself what it is about.”

“Read it aloud,” their father said, “because I hardly know what it’s about myself.”

“Is it possible?” cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. “Can it be possible that he will marry her?”

“Is it possible?” Elizabeth exclaimed when she had finished. “Is he really going to marry her?”

“Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him,” said her sister. “My dear father, I congratulate you.”

“So Wickham isn't as unworthy as we thought,” said her sister. “My dear father, congratulations.”

“And have you answered the letter?” said Elizabeth.

“And have you replied to the letter?” Elizabeth asked.

“No; but it must be done soon.”

“No, but it must be done soon.”

Most earnestly did she then entreat him to lose no more time before he wrote.

She then begged him in earnest not to wait any longer before writing.

“Oh! my dear father,” she cried, “come back and write immediately. Consider how important every moment is in such a case.”

“Oh, my dear father!” she cried. “Come back and write right away. Think how much every moment matters in a situation like this.”

“Let me write for you,” said Jane, “if you dislike the trouble yourself.”

“Let me write for you,” said Jane, “if you don’t want the trouble of writing yourself.”

“I dislike it very much,” he replied; “but it must be done.”

“I really don’t like it,” he replied. “But it has to be done.”

And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.

As he said this, he turned back with them and walked toward the house.

“And—may I ask?” said Elizabeth; “but the terms, I suppose, must be complied with.”

“And may I ask?” said Elizabeth. “But I suppose the terms must be met.”

“Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little.”

“Agreed to! I’m only ashamed that he’s asking for so little.”

“And they must marry! Yet he is such a man.”

“And they must get married! But he is such a man.”

“Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there are two things that I want very much to know:—one is, how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about; and the other, how I am ever to pay him.”

“Yes, yes, they must marry. There’s nothing else to be done. But there are two things I really want to know. First, how much money has your uncle paid to arrange the marriage? And second, how am I ever going to pay him back?”

“Money! my uncle!” cried Jane, “what do you mean, sir?”

“Money! My uncle!” Jane cried. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that no man in his proper senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone.”

“I mean no man in his right mind would marry Lydia for such a small financial incentive. The offer is only a hundred a year while I’m alive, and fifty after I’m dead.”

“That is very true,” said Elizabeth; “though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh, it must be my uncle’s doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this.”

“That is very true,” said Elizabeth. “Though I hadn’t thought of it before. His debts paid off, and still some money left over! Oh, my uncle must be behind it all! Such a generous, good man! I’m afraid he has left himself short of money. A small amount couldn’t cover all this.”

“No,” said her father. “Wickham’s a fool if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds: I should be sorry to think so ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship.”

“No,” said her father. “Wickham’s a fool if he marries her for even a penny less than ten thousand pounds. I’d be sorry to think so poorly of him right at the start of our relationship.”

“Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?”

“Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How can even half that amount be paid back?”

Mr. Bennet made no answer; and each of them, deep in thought, continued silent till they reached the house. Their father then went to the library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

Mr. Bennet did not answer. All of them were deep in thought and stayed silent until they reached the house. Their father then went to the library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast room.

“And they are really to be married!” cried Elizabeth, as soon as they were by themselves. “How strange this is! and for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!”

“And they really are getting married!” Elizabeth cried as soon as they were alone. “How strange! And we’re supposed to be grateful for this. They have so little chance of happiness, and his character is so awful. Yet we’re forced to celebrate their marriage! Oh, Lydia!”

“I comfort myself with thinking,” replied Jane, “that he certainly would not marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced. He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten thousand pounds?”

“I take comfort in the thought,” Jane replied, “that he certainly wouldn’t marry Lydia if he didn’t truly care for her. Though our kind uncle has helped pay his debts, I can’t believe he’s paid ten thousand pounds, or anything close. He has children of his own and may have more. How could he spare even five thousand pounds?”

“If we are ever able to learn what Wickham’s debts have been,” said Elizabeth, “and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is actually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt!”

“If we ever learn how much Wickham owed,” said Elizabeth, “and how much money he has set aside for our sister, we’ll know exactly what Mr. Gardiner has done for them. That’s because Wickham hasn’t a penny of his own. We can never repay my uncle and aunt’s kindness. Taking her into their home and giving her their protection and support is such a sacrifice for her sake. Even years of gratitude could not thank them enough. By now she is actually with them! If such kindness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting it will be when she first sees my aunt!”

“We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side,” said Jane: “I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in time make their past imprudence forgotten.”

“We must try to forget all that has happened on both sides,” said Jane: “I hope and trust they will still be happy. I choose to believe his agreeing to marry her proves he has started to think as he should. Their love for each other will steady them. And I like to think they will settle down quietly and live sensibly. In time, living that way may make people forget their past foolishness.”

“Their conduct has been such,” replied Elizabeth, “as neither you, nor I, nor anybody, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it.”

“The way they behaved,” Elizabeth replied, “is something neither you nor I nor anyone else can ever forget. There’s no point in talking about their behavior.”

It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library, therefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to make it known to her. He was writing, and, without raising his head, coolly replied,—

The girls now realized that their mother most likely knew nothing about what had happened. So they went to the library and asked their father if he wanted them to tell her. He was writing and, without looking up, replied coolly:

“Just as you please.”

“Whatever you prefer.”

“May we take my uncle’s letter to read to her?”

“Can we take my uncle’s letter to read to her?”

“Take whatever you like, and get away.”

“Take whatever you want, and go away.”

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-table, and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one communication would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner’s hope of Lydia’s being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from delight as she had ever been fidgety from alarm and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.

Elizabeth took the letter from his desk, and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet, so everyone could hear the news at once. After a brief hint that good news was coming, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane read that Mr. Gardiner hoped Lydia would soon be married, Mrs. Bennet’s joy burst out. Every sentence that followed made her more excited. Her delight now made her just as restless as worry and frustration ever had. Knowing her daughter would be married was enough. She felt no fear for Lydia’s happiness and no shame at the memory of her daughter’s misconduct.

“My dear, dear Lydia!” she cried: “this is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be—I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!”

“My dear, dear Lydia!” she cried. “This is wonderful news! She will be married! I’ll see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how things would turn out. I knew he would arrange everything. How I long to see her! And to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I’ll write to my sister Gardiner about them right away. Lizzy, my dear, run downstairs to your father and ask him how much money he will give her. Wait, wait, I’ll go myself. Kitty, ring the bell for Hill. I’ll get ready to go in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! What fun we’ll have together when we meet!”

Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of these transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardiner’s behaviour laid them all under.

Her eldest daughter tried to ease her intense emotions a little. She did so by reminding her how much they all owed Mr. Gardiner for his actions.

“For we must attribute this happy conclusion,” she added, “in a great measure to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money.”

“For we owe this happy outcome largely to his kindness,” she added. “We are convinced he has promised to help Mr. Wickham financially.”

“Well,” cried her mother, “it is all very right; who should do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it is the first time we have ever had anything from him except a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a short time, I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I can’t write; so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with your father about the money afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately.”

“Well,” her mother exclaimed, “it’s all quite right. Who should do it but her own uncle? If he hadn’t had a family of his own, my children and I would have inherited all his money, you know. And this is the first time we’ve ever had anything from him except a few presents. Well! I’m so happy. Soon I’ll have a married daughter. Mrs. Wickham! How lovely it sounds! And she only turned sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I’m so excited that I’m sure I can’t write. So I’ll tell you what to say, and you can write for me. We’ll sort out the money with your father afterwards. But the things should be ordered immediately.”

She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till her father was at leisure to be consulted. One day’s delay, she observed, would be of small importance; and her mother was too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into her head.

She then began going through all the details of calico, muslin, and cambric. She would soon have placed some very large orders, but Jane persuaded her to wait, though not without difficulty. She should wait until her father had time to be consulted. A day’s delay would matter little, Jane pointed out. Her mother was too happy to be quite as stubborn as usual. Other plans came into her head, too.

“I will go to Meryton,” said she, “as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at her wedding.”

“I’ll go to Meryton,” she said, “as soon as I’m dressed, and tell my sister Philips the wonderful, wonderful news. And on my way back, I can visit Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run downstairs and have the carriage brought around. I’m sure some fresh air would do me a great deal of good. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is getting married. And you shall all have a bowl of punch to celebrate her wedding.”

Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom. Poor Lydia’s situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in looking forward, neither rational happiness, nor worldly prosperity could be justly expected for her sister, in looking back to what they had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had gained.

Mrs. Hill immediately began expressing her joy. Elizabeth accepted her congratulations along with everyone else’s. Then, sick of all this foolishness, she retreated to her own room so she could think freely. Poor Lydia’s situation must be bad enough even at best. But Elizabeth had reason to be thankful that her sister’s situation was no worse. She did feel thankful. Looking ahead, she could not reasonably expect either sensible happiness or financial prosperity for her sister. Yet when she remembered what they had feared only two hours earlier, she fully appreciated all they had gained.