Austen Said:

The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield. The weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights the longer visible.

The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter's side, and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It reminded her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening of Mrs. Weston's wedding-day;

she feared

When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to refrain from a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking about the room for a few seconds—and the only source whence any thing like consolation or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better conduct, and

the hope that,

The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at Hartfield—but in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a softer quarter; the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer again. With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm, been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they might gradually introduce; and on Mr. Perry's coming in soon after dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time in hurrying into the shrubbery.—There, with spirits freshened, and thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her.—It was the first intimation of his being returned from London. She had been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant.—There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. The "How d'ye do's" were quiet and constrained on each side.

She asked after

she found.

She thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible cause for it,

suggested by her fears,

was, that

They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to give. And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for encouragement to begin.—She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the way to any such subject. He must do it all himself. Yet she could not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural. She considered— resolved —and, trying to smile, began—

said he quietly, and looking at her;

After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, he replied,

cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards him; for, while she spoke,

it occurred to her that

Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more composure,

(with a sinking voice and a heavy sigh)

For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of having excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great sensibility, speaking low,

Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued accent,

And in a louder, steadier tone, he concluded with,

Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied,

cried he, looking eagerly at her,

but checking himself—

said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confused—

He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would not.

She supposed

She went on, however.

(with a sigh)

She had hoped for an answer here— for a few words to say that her conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said,

said Emma;

returned Mr. Knightley, with energy.

Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan;

and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying,

she eagerly cried.

said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed.

Emma could not bear to give him pain.

They had reached the house.

said he.

replied Emma —quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which he still spoke—

And, after proceeding a few steps, she added—

repeated Mr. Knightley.—

He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her.

said he,

She could really say nothing.—

he cried, with great animation;

Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.

he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.—

While he spoke,

Emma's mind