Elizabeth caught a low noise: someone nearby was singing. She could hear the tone and snatches of the tune, but not the words, as she wandered through the grove. Not wanting to disturb whoever it was who had chosen this out-of-the-way corner of the estate to exercise their lungs, she walked carefully, making as little sound as she could. With luck, she would pass them by without being noticed.
As she got closer, she recognised the voice. It was not one she had ever expected to hear raised in song! Indeed, she had thought the gentleman too proud and conscious to be caught in such an activity. But then, she had wandered a long way from the usual paths. Perhaps Mr Darcy had deliberately sought such a lonely spot in order to preserve his reputation from the indignity of being known to sing.
She had to admit he had a nice voice. It was a mellow baritone, and carried the tune well. She was close enough now to recognise the air, and she felt a grudging respect for his ability to deliver it so well without the benefit of accompaniment. She was even more surprised to realise that the austere Mr Darcy was singing a sentimental love song, with such apparent feeling in his tone as to give rise to the suspicion that the gentleman was indeed suffering those very pangs the song spoke of.
Elizabeth considered retreating quietly the way she had come, but it was now only a few yards more before she could turn onto the path that led back towards the parsonage. Who knew how long Mr Darcy's performance would last? She could hardly wait the whole morning for him to depart before she made her way home. No, if she took care to place her feet quietly, she should be able to escape his notice. He was shielded from the path she walked by a thin screen of trees, through which she could see enough to know that he faced away from her route.
She trod on an edging of the turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel might not betray her presence. He was standing in a small clearing to one side of the path at a yard or two distant from where she had to pass. His song continued, strangely compelling in its mournful intensity, and he seemed absorbed by the view in front of him. "I shall get by him very well," she meditated.
As Elizabeth crossed his shadow Darcy stopped singing. Without turning he asked in a gentle voice, "Are you here, then? Or did my song summon your likeness to my side?"
Elizabeth knew not how to reply to such a question. Whoever it was he had been thinking of as he sang, he would be sorely disappointed to find himself discovered by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, that woman he had declared "tolerable", who he only ever looked on to find fault. She took another silent step, meaning to continue on her way before he turned, but was again arrested by the sorrow in his voice as he said, "And will you leave me without a word, beloved spirit? Gentle, soft dream, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go – embrace me Elizabeth."
She had already been quite amazed at this outburst, but on hearing him speak her name (although it must be some other Elizabeth he imagined), she let out an involuntary gasp. The sound seemed to break him from an enchantment, and he turned so fast he staggered before regaining his balance.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he cried, in shock.
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