me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession -- I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.''

``Indeed!''

``Yes -- the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.''

``Good heavens!'' cried Elizabeth; ``but how could that be? -- How could his will be disregarded? -- Why did not you seek legal redress?''

``There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it -- or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done any thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me.''

``This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly disgraced.''

``Some time or other he will be -- but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.''

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.

``But what,'' said she after a pause, ``can have been his motive? -- what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?''

``A thorough, determined dislike of me -- a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood -- the sort of preference which was often given me.''

``I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this -- though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him -- I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!''

After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, ``I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.''

``I will not trust myself on the subject,'' replied Wickham, ``I can hardly be just to him.''

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, ``To treat in such a manner, the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!'' -- She could have added, ``A young man too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable'' -- but she contented herself with ``And one, too, who had probably been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!''