The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice;
they took themselves off in a hurry. The young
ladies of Highbury might have walked again in safety
before their panic began, and the whole history dwindled
soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma
and her nephews:—in her imagination it maintained
its ground, and Henry and John were still asking every
day for the story of Harriet and the gipsies, and
still tenaciously setting her right if she varied
in the slightest particular from the original recital.
A very few days had passed after this adventure, when
Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel
in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating,
thus began:
“Miss Woodhouse—if you are at leisure—I
have something that I should like to tell you—a
sort of confession to make—and then, you
know, it will be over.”
Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to
speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet’s
manner which prepared her, quite as much as her words,
for something more than ordinary.
“It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,”
she continued, “to have no reserves with you
on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered
creature in one respect, it is very fit
that you should have the satisfaction of knowing it.
I do not want to say more than is necessary—I
am too much ashamed of having given way as I have
done, and I dare say you understand me.”
“Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I do.”
“How I could so long a time be fancying myself!
. . .” cried Harriet, warmly. “It
seems like madness! I can see nothing at all
extraordinary in him now.—I do not care
whether I meet him or not—except that of
the two I had rather not see him— and indeed
I would go any distance round to avoid him—but
I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire
her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very
charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think her
very ill-tempered and disagreeable—I shall
never forget her look the other night!—However,
I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.—No,
let them be ever so happy together, it will not give
me another moment’s pang: and to convince
you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going
to destroy—what I ought to have destroyed
long ago—what I ought never to have kept—
I know that very well (blushing as she spoke).—However,
now I will destroy it all—and it is my
particular wish to do it in your presence, that you
may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess
what this parcel holds?” said she, with a conscious
look.
“Not the least in the world.—Did
he ever give you any thing?”
“No—I cannot call them gifts; but
they are things that I have valued very much.”
She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the
words Most precious treasures
on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.
Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with
impatience. Within abundance of silver paper
was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet
opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton;
but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece
of court-plaister.
