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cried Lydia. “I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that .”
    “Dining out,” said Mrs Bennet, “that is very unlucky.”
    “Can I have the carriage?” said Jane.
    “No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain, and then you must stay all night.”
    “That would be a good scheme,” said Elizabeth, “if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.”
    “Oh, but the gentlemen will have Mr Bingley’s chaise to go to Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.”
    “I had much rather go in the coach.”
    “But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr Bennet, are they not?”
    “They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”
    “But if you have got them today,” said Elizabeth, “my mother’s purpose will be answered.”
    She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgement that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Her hopes were answered, Jane had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission. Jane certainly could not come back.
    “This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs Bennet more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield brought the following note for Elizabeth.
    MY DEAREST LIZZY,
    I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me. Yours, etc.
    “Well, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, “if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr Bingley, and under your orders.”
    “Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”
    Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had, and as she was no horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.
    “How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”
    Elizabeth was not of a mind to care about what the Bingleys thought of the way she looked. She considered briefly what Mr Darcy might think, but her desire to see that her sister was so great, she brushed aside her unease. “I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want.”
    “Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,” said her father, “to send for the horses?”
    “No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive, only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”
    “I admire the activity of your benevolence,” observed Mary, “but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason, and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.”
    “We will go as far as Meryton with you,” said Catherine and Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their company, though she was quite sure they had their own motives for the journey. The three young ladies set off together, and her sister’s aims soon made themselves clear.
    “If we make haste,” said Lydia, as they walked along, “perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he goes.”
    In Meryton