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"I am grieved, indeed," cried Darcy: "grieved--shocked. But is it

certain, absolutely certain?"

"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were

traced almost to London, but not beyond: they are certainly not

gone to Scotland."

"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover

her?"

"My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my

uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in

half an hour. But nothing can be done; I know very well that

nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are

they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is

every way horrible!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

"When my eyes were opened to his real character, oh! had I known

what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of

doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"