very same distressing and delicate office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her, she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick on hearing Harriet’s footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. Weston felt when she was approaching Randall’s. Could the event of the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!—But of that, unfortunately, there could be no chance.

“Well, Miss Woodhouse!” cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room—“is not this the oddest news that ever was?”

“What news do you mean?” replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint.

“About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!—you need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; and therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you, but he said you knew it.”

“What did Mr. Weston tell you?”—said Emma. still perplexed.

“Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one another this long while. How very odd!”

It was indeed, so odd; Harriet’s behaviour was so etxremely odd, that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared absolutely changed. She seemed to propose showing no agitation, or disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at her quite unable to speak.

“Had you any idea,” cried Harriet, ‘Of his being in love with her?—You perhaps, might.—You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every body’s heart; but nobody else—”

“Upon my word,” said Emma, “I begin to doubt

my having any such talent. Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I amagined him attached to another woman at the very time that I was—tacitly, if not openly—encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?—I never had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank Churchill’s having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.

“Me!” cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. “Why should you caution me?—You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill.”

“I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,” replied Emma, smiling; “but you do not mean to deny that there was a time—and not very distant either—when you gave me reason to understand that you did care about him?”

“Him!—never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?” turning away distressed.

“Harriet!’ cried Emma, after a moment’s pause—“What do you mean?—Good Heaven! what do you mean?—Mistake you!—Am I to suppose then?—”

She could not speak another word.—Her voice was lost; and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.

Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma’s.

“I should not have thought it possible,” she began, “that you could have misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him—but considering how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person. Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in the company of the other. I hope I

VOL. II. Q