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She was on the crutch, making for the front door in a borrowed cloak. Her face was set. The crutch thumped on the marble, and every thump made her flinch. She was going as fast as it would let her. It was not fast enough.

"My fair cousin!" Mr. Collins had the Cowper under his arm. "You have left us in the very middle of the sofa. I have found a passage on the garden. It is most improving, and not at all warm."

"You are very good, sir," said Elizabeth, without turning. "I want air."

"Then I shall walk beside you and read. Lady Catherine holds that improving verse is doubly beneficial out of doors."

Halfway across, the tip of the crutch skidded.

She caught herself on a hall chair. It scraped on the marble. She stood there with one hand on the chair back, her weight on her good foot, breathing hard.

He was ten feet from her. He was the nearest person in the hall.

He saw her look at him. He saw her wait. He knew what she was waiting for. His arm. Lean on me.

He felt the words in his mouth, and he did not say them. "Thomas," he said instead. The footman by the door came forward at once. "Your arm for Miss Elizabeth, if you please. She wishes to go out."

Something went out of her face.

It happened very fast. He nearly missed it.

Then her chin came up, and she smiled at the footman, and took his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said. "You are very considerate."

It was what Mr. Collins had said. The most considerate of her nephews. She said it in exactly the same voice.

Thomas took her out and down the steps. Mr. Collins followed as far as the door. There the wind lifted his hair, and he stopped. Lady Catherine had warned him most particularly against a chill on the chest. He called after his cousin that he would read her the garden at dinner instead. He went back to the fire.

Darcy stood at the hall window.

Thomas set her at the foot of the steps and gave her the crutch. She thanked him and sent him in. Then she set off down the drive alone, in the thin November sun. She went slowly, swing and step. She did not look back at the house.

He could have followed her. Nobody would have seen them on the drive. He could have given her his arm in the open air, where it was nobody's business but theirs.

He did not. He had done the right thing. He was sure he had done the right thing.

He went into the library and shut the door.

He did not read. He could not have turned the page. He sat in his chair and watched the sun move across the carpet. Her chair stood across from him, empty. The Cowper was gone. Mr. Collins had taken it.

The clock had just struck three when the door opened.

It was not Elizabeth. It was Jane.

He was on his feet before he knew it. Jane Bennet had not once come to the library.

She stood in the doorway with her hand at her throat. Her face was as white as her gown. "Mr. Darcy," she said. "Forgive me. I did not know who else to ask. Papa has gone to Longbourn with Mr. Phillips, and Mr. Bingley has ridden out with Mr. Hurst."

"What is it?"

"It is Lizzy." Jane's voice shook. "She went out for a turn on the drive after luncheon, and she has not come back. I thought she had gone to the shrubbery, to be rid of Mr. Collins. I have been all through it. Thomas ran down to the lodge. The keeper's wife saw her go out at the gates. She did not see which way Lizzy turned. That was nearly two hours ago."

It is where I go when I do not wish to be found.

He looked at the window. The light on the lawn had already begun to turn gold.

"On that crutch," said Jane. "And it will be dark within the hour."

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