Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirty-sixth chapter of Pride and Prejudice.

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Today we'll be continuing pride and prejudice by Jane Austen chapter 36 Elizabeth, when Mr.

Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers.

She had formed no expectation at all of its contents.

But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerly she went through them, and what a contrity of emotion they excited.

Her feelings, as she read, were scarcely to be defined with amazement.

Did she first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power.

Instead, vastly was she persuaded that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal?

With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she began his account of what had happened at Netherfield.

She read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of tending to the sense of the one before her eyes.

His belief of her sister's insensibility she instantly resolved to be false, and his account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice.

He expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied her.

His style was not penitent, but haughty.

It was all pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr.

Wickham, when she read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of the events which, if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.

Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her.

She wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, this must be false, this cannot be.

This must be the grossest falsehood.

When she had gone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing anything of the last page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not regard it, that she would never look in it again.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she walked on, but it would not do.

In half a minute the letter was unfolded again, and, collecting herself as well as she could, she again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.

The account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself, and the kindness of the late Mr.

Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words.

So far, each recital confirmed the other.

But when she came to the will, the difference was great.

What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the other.

And for a few moments she flattered herself that her wishes did not err.

But when she read and reread with the closest attention the particulars immediately following of Wickham's, resigning all pretensions to the living, of his receiving in Lou so considerable a sum as 3000 pounds, again was she forced to hesitate.

She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be.

Impartiality, deliberated on the probability of each statement, but with little success on both sides.

It was only assertion.

Again she read on, but every line proved more clearly that the affair which she had believed it impossible, that any contrivance could so represent, as to render Mr.

Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.

The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay to Mr.

Wickham's charge exceedingly shocked her, the more so as she could bring no proof of its injustice.

She had never heard of him before his entrance into the shire militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance of his former way of life.

Nothing had been known in Herdfordshire but what he told himself as to his real character.

Had information been in her power?

She had never felt a wish of inquiring.

His countenance, voice and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue.

She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr.

Darcy, or at least by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors under which she would endeavor to class what Mr.

Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years'continuance.

But no such recollection befriended her.

She could see him instantly before her in every charm of air and address, but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighborhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.

After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to read.

But, alas.

The story which followed of his designs on Miss Darcy received some confirmation from what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before.

And at last she was referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, from whom she had previously received the information of his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no reason to question.

At one time she had almost resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr.

Darcy would never have hazarded such a proposal if he had not been well assured of his cousin's cooperation.

She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself in their first evening at Mr.

Phillips.

Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory.

She was now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and wondered.

It had escaped her before she saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct.

She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr.

Darcy, that Mr.

Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground.

Yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week.

She remembered also that till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself, but that after their removal, it had been everywhere discussed that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr.

Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned?

His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary.

And the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything.

His behavior to herself could now have had no tolerable motive.

He had either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most unconsciously shown.

Every lingering struggle in his favor grew fainter and fainter.

And in further justification of Mr.

Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr.

Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair.

Not proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their acquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much together, and given her sort of intimacy with his ways, seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust, anything that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits that among its own connections he was esteemed and valued that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling, that, had his actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of everything right, could hardly have been concealed from the world, and that friendship between a person capable of it and such an amiable man as Mr.

Bingley, was incomprehensible.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself, of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

How despicable have I acted.

She cried.

I, who have prided myself on my discernment, I, who have valued myself on my abilities, who have often disdained the generous candor of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameless distrust.

How humiliating is this discovery?

Yet how just a humiliation.

Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind.

But vanity, not love, has been my folly.

Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other.

On the very beginning of our acquaintance I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away where either were concerned.

Till this moment I never knew myself from herself to Jane, from Jane to Bingley.

Her thoughts were in a line which soon brought her recollection, that Mr.

Darcy's explanation there had appeared very insufficient, and she read it again widely.

Different was the effect of a second perusal.

How could she deny that credit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in the other, he declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister's attachment, and she could not help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.

Neither could she deny the justice of its description of Jane.

She felt that Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.

When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were mentioned, in tones of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense of shame was severe.

The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.

The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt it soothed, but it could not console her, for the contempt which had been thus self attracted by the rest of her family.

And as she considered that Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had ever known before.

After wandering along the lane for 2 hours, giving way to every variety of thought, reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself as well as she could to a change so sudden and so important, fatigue and the recollection of her long absence, made her at length return home.

She entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.

She was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each called during her absence, Mr.

Darcy only for a few minutes to take leave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be found.

Elizabeth could but just effect concern in missing him.

She really rejoiced at it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer an object.

She could think only of her letter.

Thank you for joining bite at a time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of pride and Prejudice.

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