my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was
therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge; -- most
important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been
unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society,
whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church
would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I
first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities -- the want of principle,
which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation
of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded
moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain -- to what degree you only
can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature
shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive. My excellent father
died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will
he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession
might allow, and, if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became
vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine,
and within half a year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved
against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate
pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention,
he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be
a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was
perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The
business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible
that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection
between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society
in town. In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being
now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard
little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied
to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty
in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now
absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question -- of which he trusted
there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could
not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with
this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his
circumstances -- and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to
myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not. But
last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I must now mention a circumstance
which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to
unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is
more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam,
and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and
last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham,
undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge,
in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended
himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a
child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then
but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed
the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and
then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked
up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard
for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left
the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief
object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing