Austen Said:

“My dear Sir,

“I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family in your present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune — or that may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others the most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this. And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you are grievously to be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others;

as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says,

And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event of last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, my dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offense.

“I am, dear Sir, etc. etc.”

“A gamester!”

“This is wholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it.”

had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better.

It would have spared her,

one sleepless night out of two.

“You must not be too severe upon yourself,”

“Do you suppose them to be in London?”

“And Lydia used to want to go to London,”

“I am not going to run away, papa,”

“If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.”

“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”

“Oh, papa, what news — what news? Have you heard from my uncle?”

“Well, and what news does it bring — good or bad?”

“Then it is as I always hoped,”

“they are married!”

“Is it possible?”

“Can it be possible that he will marry her?”

“Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him,”

“My dear father, I congratulate you.”

“And have you answered the letter?”

to lose no more time before he wrote.

“Oh! my dear father,”

“come back and write immediately. Consider how important every moment is in such a case.”

“Let me write for you,”

“if you dislike the trouble yourself.”

“And may I ask —”

“but the terms, I suppose, must be complied with.”

“And they must marry! Yet he is such a man!”

“Money! My uncle!”

“what do you mean, sir?”

“That is very true,”

“though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this.”

“Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?”

“And they are really to be married!”

“How strange this is! And for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice. Oh, Lydia!”

“I comfort myself with thinking,”

“that he certainly would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced. He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten thousand pounds?”

“If he were ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been,”

“and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is actually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt!”

“We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side,”

“I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in time make their past imprudence forgotten.”

“Their conduct has been such,”

“as neither you, nor I, nor anybody, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it.”

“May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?”

her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.