Music Welcome to Snuescast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Mr. Wickham. Tonight, we shall read the next part to Pride and Prejudice, written by Jane Austen. In the last episode, Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner pay a visit to Pemberley and have an awkward with shy Miss Georgiana Darcy and conniving Miss Caroline Bingley.

We will pick up right after Darcy has made an entrance.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. No sooner did Darcy appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarassed. a resolution the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she saw that the whole of the party had suspicions that were awakened against them. And no countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in misbinglies. In spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its objects, for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no no means over. On brother's entrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded as much as possible every attempt at conversation on either side. This bingly saw this likewise, and in the imprudence of anger took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility, pray, Miss Eliza, are not the militia removed from Maryton? They must be a great loss to your family. In Darcy's presence, she dared not mention Wickham's name, but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts, and the various recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress. exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered the question in a tolerably detached tone. While she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her d'Arcy with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with confusion and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint, but she had merely

intended to decompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in Darcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that core. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elotement. To no creature had it been revealed where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth. And from all Bingley's connections, her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from the very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him of their becoming hereafter, her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his endeavor to separate him from Miss Bennett, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern for the welfare of his friend. Elizabeth's collected behavior, however, soon quieted his emotion, and, as miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana, also recovered time, though not enough to be able to speak anymore. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully. Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above mentioned, and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage, image. Miss Bingley was venting her feelings and criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behavior, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favor. His judgment could not air. and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise, then lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister. How very ill Miss Eliza Bennett looks this morning, Mr. Darcy. She cried, I never saw in my life anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She has grown so brown in course. Luisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again. However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address. He contented himself with coolly replying that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of traveling in the summer. For my own part, she rejoined. I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin. Her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character. There is nothing market in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way. And as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all. And in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable. her sweet as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth. This was not the best method of recommending herself, but angry people are not always wise, and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettold, she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, and from a determination of making him speak, she continued, I remember when we first knew her how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty, and I particularly recollect your saying one night after they had been dining at Netherfield. She a beauty, I should as soon call her mother a wit. But afterwards, she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.

Yes, replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance. he then went away.

And Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself. Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit as they returned, except what had particularly

interested them both. The look and behavior of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked to his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit of everything but himself. Yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by her nieces beginning the subject. Chapter 46 Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lampton. And this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there. But on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been misscent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it as Jane had ridden the direction remarkably ill. They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in, and her uncle-in-aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one Miss Sent must first be attended to, it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded. But the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect. Since writing the above, Dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature, but I am afraid of alarming you. Be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at 12 last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers, own the truth with Wicom. Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry, so imprudent a match on both sides. But I am willing to hope the best and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet, I can easily believe him, but this step and let us rejoice over it marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, For he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against him. We must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about 12 as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at 8. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within 10 miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon.

Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long for my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written. 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 Lizzie, I hardly know what I could write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Improodant 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. The Lydia's short letter to Mrs. Forster gave them to understand that they were going to Gretenegreen, something was dropped

by Denny expressing his belief that W never intended to go there, or to Mary Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel Correster, who instantly taking the alarm set off from be intending to trace the root. He did trace them easily to clap them, but no further, for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach and dismissed the coach that brought them from Epson. All that is known after this is that they were seen to continue the London road. I do not want to think. After making every possible inquiry on that side, London, Colonel F came on into heart for sure, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes and at the ends in Barnett and Hatfield. But without any success, no such people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to long-born, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grief 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, then 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 feared 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. A do, 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 to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle-in-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 not sure I know, 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 up bright and again tomorrow evening.

In such an 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 is my uncle, Crite 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. 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. Gardener this moment on business that cannot be delayed. I have not an instant to lose." "'Good God! What is the matter?' He cried, 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. Gardener, 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, thank you. She replied, endeavoring 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 Longborn. 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 aloped, has thrown herself into the power 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 contempt him to. She is lost forever. 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 learned to my own family. That is character been known. This could not have happened, but it is all too late now. I am grieved indeed. Christ 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? My father has gone to London, and Jane has ridden to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible.

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. When my eyes were open to his real character, oh, had I known what I ought, what I dared to do, but I knew not. I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake. Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation. His brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking. Everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes, and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him as now when all love must be vain. But self that it would intrude could not engross her. Lydia, the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up every private care, and covering her face with her handkerchief. Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else, and after a pause of several minutes was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead an excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern, would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer

consolation to such distress. But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sisters having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today.

Oh, yes.

Be so kind as... will, I fear, prevent my sisters having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today.

Oh, yes, be so kind as to apologize for us to Ms. Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long." He readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations with only one serious parting look went away.

As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of courteality as had marked their several meetings in Darbyshire, and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its

continuance and would formerly have rejoiced in its termination. If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise, if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a first interview with its object. And even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defense, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorize her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go with her grit. And in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first letter remained in her mind, she was all surprised. All astonishment that Wickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money. And how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this she might have sufficient charms, and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in any lopement without the intention of marriage. She had no difficulty

in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling

an easy prey. you

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