Austen Said:

"I am quite sure,"

"that

he told me

she had accepted him;

and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so.

He asked my opinion as to

what he was now to do. He knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard?

I assured him that I could not.

Then,

he said,

he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day."

"I am perfectly satisfied,"

"and most sincerely wish them happy."

"You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before."

"I hope so—for at that time I was a fool."

"And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in the affections and utility of domestic life.—Much of this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for."

"Me!"

"Ah! poor Harriet!"

What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own. Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility and circumspection in future.

She must laugh at such a close! Such an end of the doleful disappointment of five weeks back! Such a heart— such a Harriet!

Now there would be pleasure in her returning— Every thing would be a pleasure. It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin.

all necessity of concealment from Mr. Knightley would soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to practise, might soon be over. She could now look forward to giving him that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to welcome as a duty.

"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said."

"No, indeed,"

"not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you—and to give you joy in person."

"Is not she looking well?"

"Better than she ever used to do?—You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."

its being pronounced in her hearing.

"I can never think of it,"

"without extreme shame."

"The shame,"

"is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?—I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none."

"I never had the smallest, I assure you."

"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near —and I wish I had— it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.—It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."

"It is not now worth a regret,"

"I have some hope,"

"of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.—But now, I am at such a distance from her— is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?—Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?"

"Ah! by the bye,"

"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?"

"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.—I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.—He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise."

his own Jane,

"Did you ever see such a skin?—such smoothness! such delicacy!—and yet without being actually fair.—One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair— a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.—Just colour enough for beauty."

"I have always admired her complexion,"

"but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?—When we first began to talk of her.—Have you quite forgotten?"

"Oh! no— what an impudent dog I was!—How could I dare—"

"I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.—I am sure you had.—I am sure it was a consolation to you."

"Oh! no, no, no— — how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!"

"Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.—Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us."

"If not in our dispositions,"

"there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own."