Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the forty-ninth chapter of Emma by Jane Austen

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our Patreon

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story Tuesdays wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

Welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one Bite at a Time.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

All of the links for our show are show notes.

Today we will be continuing Emma by Jane Austin chapter 13 the weather continued much the same all the following morning, and the same loneliness and the same melancholy seemed to rain 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 16 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 do you dos?

Were quiet and constrained on each side.

She asked after their mutual friends.

They were all well.

When had he left them?

Only that morning.

He must have had a wet ride.

Yes, he meant to walk with her, she found he had just looked into the dining room and asked.

He was not wanted there, preferred being out of doors, she thought.

He neither looked nor spoke cheerfully, and the first possible cause for it, suggested by her fears, was that he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his brother and was pained by the manner in which they had been received.

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.

You have some news to hear.

Now you are come back.

That will rather surprise you.

Have I?

Said he quietly, and looking at her.

Of what nature?

Oh, the best in the world.

A wedding.

After waiting a moment as if to be sure she intended to say no more.

He replied, if you mean Ms.

Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that already.

How is it possible?

Cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards him, for while she spoke it occurred to her that he might have called at Mrs.

Goddard's in his way.

I had a few lines on Parish business from Mr.

Weston this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened.

Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say with a little composure, you probably have been less surprised than any of us, for you have had your suspicions.

I have not forgotten that you once tried to give me a caution.

I wish I had attended to it.

But with a sinking voice and a heavy sigh I seemed to have been doomed to blindness.

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 time, My dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.

Your own excellent sense, your exertions.

For your father's sake, I know you will not allow yourself.

Her arm was pressed again as he added in a more broken and subdued accent, the feelings of the warmest friendship indignation abominable scoundrel, and in a louder, steadier tone he concluded with, he will soon be gone.

They will soon be in Yorkshire.

I am sorry for her.

She deserves a better fate.

Emma understood him, and as soon as.

She could recover from the flutter of.

Pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied, you are very kind, but you are mistaken, and I must set you right.

I am not in want of that sort of compassion.

My blindness to what was going on led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures.

But I have no other reason to regret that I was not in the secret earlier.

Emma cried.

He, looking eagerly at her, are you indeed?

But checking himself no.

I understand you forgive me.

I am pleased that you can say even so much.

He is no object of regret indeed, and it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgement of more than your reason fortunate that your affections were not farther entangled.

I could never, I confess from your manners, assure myself as to the degree of what you felt.

I could only be certain that there was a preference, and a preference which I never believed him to deserve.

He is a disgrace to the name of man, and is he to be rewarded with that sweet young woman?

Jane?

Jane, you will be a miserable creature, Mr.

Knightley, said Emma, trying to be lively but really confused.

I am in a very extraordinary situation.

I cannot let you continue in your error.

And yet, perhaps since my manners gave such an impression, I have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I have never been at all attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse.

But I never have.

He listened in perfect silence.

She wished him to speak, but he would not.

She supposed she must say more before she was entitled to his clemency.

But it was a hard case to be obliged to lower herself in his opinion.

She went on, however, I have very little to say for my own conduct.

I was tempted by his attentions and allowed myself to appear pleased.

An old story, probably a common case, and no more than has happened to hundreds of my sex before.

And yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up, as I do, for understanding many circumstances assisted the temptation.

He was the son of Mr.

Weston.

He was continually here.

I always found him very pleasant, and in short, for with a sigh let me spell out the causes ever so ingeniously.

They all center in this.

At last my vanity was flattered, and I allowed his attention latterly.

However, for some time indeed, I have had no idea of their meaning anything.

I fought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side.

He has imposed on me, but has not injured me.

I have never been attached to him, and now I can tolerably comprehend his behavior.

He never wished to attach me.

It was merely a blind to conceal.

His real situation with another.

It was his object to blind all about him, and no one, I am sure, could be more effectively blinded than myself, except that I was not blinded, that it was my good fortune that.

In short, I was somehow or other safe from him.

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, I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.

I can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him.

My acquaintance with him has been but trifling, and even if I have not underrated him hitherto, he may yet turn out well with such a woman.

He has a chance.

I have no motive for wishing him ill, and for her sake, whose happiness will be involved in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him well.

I have no doubt of their being happy together, said Emma.

I believe them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached.

He is a most fortunate man, returned Mr.

Knightley with energy so early in life at three and 20, a period when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses ill at three and 20 to have drawn such a prize here's a Felicity that man in all human calculation has before him assured of the love of such a woman.

The disinterested love for Jane Fairfax's character vouches for her, disinterestedness everything in his favor.

Equality of situation, I mean, as far as regards society and all the habits and manners that are important, equality in every point but one and that one, since the purity of her heart is not to be doubted, such as must increase his Felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only advantages she wants.

A man would always wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her from, and he who can do it where there is no doubt of her regard, must, I.

Think, be the happiest of mortals.

Frank Churchill is indeed the favorite of fortune.

Everything turns out for his good.

He meets with a young woman at a watering place, gains her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treatment.

And had he and all his family sought around the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found her superior.

His aunt is in the way.

His aunt dies.

He is only to speak.

His friends are eager to promote his happiness.

He had used everybody ill, and they are all delighted to forgive him.

He is a fortunate man indeed.

You speak as if you envied him.

I do envy him, Emma.

In one respect, he is the object of my envy.

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.

She would speak of something totally different, the children in Brunswick Square.

And she only waited for breath to.

Begin when Mr.

Knightley startled her by saying, you will not ask me what is the point of envy?

You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.

You are wise, but I cannot be wise, Emma.

I must tell you what you will.

Not ask, though I may wish it unset the next moment.

Oh, then don't speak it.

Don't speak it, she eagerly cried.

Take a little time.

Consider.

Do not commit yourself.

Thank you, said he in an accent.

Of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed.

Emma could not bear to give him pain.

He was wishing to confide in her, perhaps to consult her, cost her what it would.

She would listen.

She might assist his resolution or reconcile him to it.

She might give just praise to Harriet.

Or by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of.

Indecision which must be more intolerable than any alternatives to such a mind as his.

They had reached the house.

You're going in, I suppose, said he.

No, replied Emma, quite confirmed by the.

Depressed manner in which he still spoke.

I should like to take another turn.

Mr.

Perry is not gone, and after proceeding a few steps, she added, I.

Stopped you ungraciously just now, Mr.

Knightley.

And I am afraid I gave you pain.

But if you have any wish to.

Speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of anything.

That you may have in contemplation as.

A friend indeed you may command me.

I will hear whatever you like.

I will tell you exactly what I think as a friend, repeated Mr.

Knightley.

Emma, that, I fear, is a word.

No, I have no wish.

Stay.

Yes.

Why should I hesitate?

I have gone too far already for concealment.

Emma, I accept your offer.

Extraordinary as it may seem, I accept.

It and refer myself to you as a friend.

Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?

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

My dearest Emma, said he for dearest.

You will always be.

Whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma, tell me at once.

Say no.

If it is to be said, she.

Could really say nothing.

You are silent, he cried with great animation, absolutely silent at present.

I ask no more.

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.

I cannot make speeches, Emma, he soon resumed, and in a tone of such.

Sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing, if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

But you know what I am.

You hear nothing but truth from me.

I have blamed you and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.

Bear with the truths I would tell.

You now, dearest Emma, as well as you have born with them, the manner perhaps may have as little to recommend them.

God knows I have been a very indifferent lover.

But you understand me.

Yes, you see it.

You understand my feelings, and we'll return them if you can.

At present I ask only to hear.

Once, to hear your voice.

While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and with all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been able, and yet, without losing a word to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole, to see that Harriet's hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion as complete a delusion as any of her own, that Harriet was nothing, that she was everything herself, that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings, and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been.

All received as discouragement from herself.

And not only was there time for these convictions with all the glow of attendant happiness.

There was time also to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not and should not.

It was all the service she could now render her poor friend for us to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him, to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet as infinitely the most worthy of the two, or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and forever without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not marry them both.

Emma had it not, she felt, for Harriet with pain and with contrition, but no flight of generosity run mad opposing all that could be probable or reasonable entered her brain.

She had led her friend astray and it would be a reproach to her forever.

But her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever been before in reprobrating any such alliance for him as most unequal and degrading.

Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.

She spoke then, on being so entreated.

What did she say?

Just what she ought, of course.

A lady always does, she said, enough to show there need not be despair and to invite him to say more himself.

He had despaired.

At one period he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed every hope she had begun by refusing to hear him.

The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden.

Her proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary.

She felt its inconsistency.

But Mr.

Knightley was so obliging us to put up with it and seek no further explanation.

Very seldom does complete truth belong to any human disclosure.

Seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.

But where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not.

It may not be very material.

Mr.

Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.

He had in fact been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence.

He had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it.

He had come in his anxiety, to see how she bore Frank Churchill's engagement.

With no selfish view, no view at.

All, but of endeavoring, if she allowed him an opening to soothe or to counsel her.

The rest had been the work of the moment.

The immediate effect of what he heard on his feelings, the delightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth to the hope that in time he might gain her affection himself.

But it had been no present hope.

He had only in the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment aspired to be told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach her.

The superior hopes which gradually opened were so much the more enchanting.

The affection which he had been asking.

To be allowed to create if he.

Could, was already his.

Within half an hour he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind to something so like perfect happiness that it could bear no other name.

Her change was equal.

This one half hour had given to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust on his side.

There had been a longstanding jealousy, old as the arrival or even the expectation of Frank Churchill.

He had been in love with Emma and jealous of Frank Churchill from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other.

It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country.

The Box Hill party had decided him on going away.

He would save himself from witnessing against such permitted encouraged attentions.

He had gone to learn to be indifferent, but he had gone to the wrong place.

There was too much domestic happiness in his brother?

S house.

Women wore too amiable of form in it.

Isabella was too much like Emma, differing only in those striking inferiorities which always brought the other in.

Brilliancy before him for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.

He had stayed on, however vigorously, day after day, till this very morning's post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.

Then with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel.

Having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving of Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer.

He had ridden home through the rain and had walked up directly after dinner to see how the sweetest and best of all creatures faultless, in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.

He had found her agitated and low.

Frank Churchill was a villain.

He heard her declare that she had never loved him.

Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.

She was his own Emma by hand and word when they returned to the house.

And if he could have thought of Frank Churchill, then he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

All of the links for our show are in the Show Notes.

We are part of the Bike at A Time Books Productions Network.

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story Tuesdays.