Emma eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 469 pages of information about Emma.

Time did not compose her.  As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel it more.  She never had been so depressed.  Happily it was not necessary to speak.  There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears running down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as they were.

CHAPTER VIII

The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma’s thoughts all the evening.  How it might be considered by the rest of the party, she could not tell.  They, in their different homes, and their different ways, might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view it was a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection, than any she had ever passed.  A whole evening of back-gammon with her father, was felicity to it. There, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort; and feeling that, unmerited as might be the degree of his fond affection and confiding esteem, she could not, in her general conduct, be open to any severe reproach.  As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart.  She hoped no one could have said to her, “How could you be so unfeeling to your father?—­ I must, I will tell you truths while I can.”  Miss Bates should never again—­no, never!  If attention, in future, could do away the past, she might hope to be forgiven.  She had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious.  But it should be so no more.  In the warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse.

She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that nothing might prevent her.  It was not unlikely, she thought, that she might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were paying her visit.  She had no objection.  She would not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers.  Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not.

“The ladies were all at home.”  She had never rejoiced at the sound before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule.

There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking.  She heard Miss Bates’s voice, something was to be done in a hurry; the maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased to wait a moment, and then ushered her in too soon.  The aunt and niece seemed both escaping into the adjoining room.  Jane she had a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill; and, before the door had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates saying, “Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough.”

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Emma from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.