Emma, Jane Austen [best romance novels of all time .TXT] 📗

have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable⁠—I shall never forget her look the other night!⁠—However, I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.⁠—No, let them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy⁠—what I ought to have destroyed long ago⁠—what I ought never to have kept⁠—I know that very well (blushing as she spoke).⁠—However, now I will destroy it all⁠—and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?” said she, with a conscious look.

“Not the least in the world.⁠—Did he ever give you anything?”

“No⁠—I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued very much.”

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words Most precious treasures on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaster.

“Now,” said Harriet, “you must recollect.”

“No, indeed I do not.”

“Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what passed in this very room about court-plaster, one of the very last times we ever met in it!⁠—It was but a very few days before I had my sore throat⁠—just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came⁠—I think the very evening.⁠—Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and your recommending court-plaster?⁠—But, as you had none about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it⁠—so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now and then as a great treat.”

“My dearest Harriet!” cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, and jumping up, “you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this relic⁠—I knew nothing of that till this moment⁠—but the cutting the finger, and my recommending court-plaster, and saying I had none about me!⁠—Oh! my sins, my sins!⁠—And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!⁠—One of my senseless tricks!⁠—I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life.⁠—Well⁠—(sitting down again)⁠—go on⁠—what else?”

“And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally.”

“And so you actually put this piece of court-plaster by for his sake!” said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a piece of court-plaster that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I never was equal to this.”

“Here,” resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, “here is something still more valuable, I mean that has been more valuable, because this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaster never did.”

Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an old pencil⁠—the part without any lead.

“This was really his,” said Harriet.⁠—“Do not you remember one morning?⁠—no, I dare say you do not. But one morning⁠—I forget exactly the day⁠—but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocketbook; it was about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.”

“I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it.⁠—Talking about spruce-beer.⁠—Oh! yes⁠—Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.⁠—Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an idea he was standing just here.”

“Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.⁠—It is very odd, but I cannot recollect.⁠—Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now.”⁠—

“Well, go on.”

“Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to show you, or to say⁠—except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it.”

“My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these things?”

“Yes, simpleton as I was!⁠—but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was⁠—but had not resolution enough to part with them.”

“But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaster?⁠—I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaster might be useful.”

“I shall be happier to burn it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of everything.⁠—There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton.”

“And when,” thought Emma, “will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?”

She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already made, and could not