VOLUME III
13. CHAPTER XIII
(continued)
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised,
or a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct
is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.--
Mr. Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than
she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.
He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence.
He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it.
He had come, in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill's
engagement, with no selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring,
if she allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her.--The rest
had been the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard,
on his feelings. The delightful assurance of her total indifference
towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart completely disengaged
from him, had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain
her affection himself;--but it had been no present hope--he had only,
in the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment, aspired to be
told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach her.--The superior
hopes which gradually opened were so much the more enchanting.--
The affection, which he had been asking to be allowed to create,
if he could, was already his!--Within half an hour, he had passed
from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so like
perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name.
Her change was equal.--This one half-hour had given to each the
same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each
the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.--On his side,
there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival,
or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill.--He had been in love
with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period,
one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other.
It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from
the country.--The Box Hill party had decided him on going away.
He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted,
encouraged attentions.--He had gone to learn to be indifferent.--
But he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic
happiness in his brother's house; woman wore too amiable a form in it;
Isabella was too much like Emma--differing only in those striking
inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before him,
for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.--He had
stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day--till this very morning's
post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.--Then, with the
gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel,
having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma,
was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her,
that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the rain;
and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest
and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults,
bore the discovery.
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