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> 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 con-

> nection 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 diffi-

> culty 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 re-

> fusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition

> of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his cir-

> cumstances -- 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 dropped. 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,

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