VOLUME III
12. CHAPTER XII
(continued)
The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably
comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter's side,
and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before.
It reminded her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening
of Mrs. Weston's wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked
in then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy.
Alas! such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as those
sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The picture which
she had then drawn of the privations of the approaching winter,
had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, no pleasures
had been lost.--But her present forebodings she feared would
experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now,
was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled--
that might not be even partially brightened. If all took place
that might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must
be comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the
spirits only of ruined happiness.
The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer
than herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and time would be occupied
by it. They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure,
her husband also.--Frank Churchill would return among them no more;
and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease
to belong to Highbury. They would be married, and settled either
at or near Enscombe. All that were good would be withdrawn; and if
to these losses, the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would
remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach?
Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!--
No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change
his own home for their's!--How was it to be endured? And if he were
to be lost to them for Harriet's sake; if he were to be thought
of hereafter, as finding in Harriet's society all that he wanted;
if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, the dearest, the friend,
the wife to whom he looked for all the best blessings of existence;
what could be increasing Emma's wretchedness but the reflection never far
distant from her mind, that it had been all her own work?
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