mile, began--

"You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather
surprize you."

"Have I?" said he quietly, and looking at her; "of what nature?"

"Oh! the best nature 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 Miss 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 more
composure,

"_You_ probably have been less surprized 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 seem 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, no, I understand you--forgive me--I am pleased
that you ca