The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 10

When all were gone, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed been
circulated throughout the company, in the very presence of the
victim.  Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it,
and my mother made the same declaration, though not, I fear, with
the same amount of real, unwavering incredulity.  It seemed to
dwell continually on her mind, and she kept irritating me from time
to time by such expressions as - 'Dear, dear, who would have
thought it! - Well!  I always thought there was something odd about
her. - You see what it is for women to affect to be different to
other people.'  And once it was, - 'I misdoubted that appearance of
mystery from the very first - I thought there would no good come of
it; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!'

'Why, mother, you said you didn't believe these tales,' said
Fergus.

'No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some
foundation.'

'The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,'
said I, 'and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go that
way once or twice of an evening - and the village gossips say he
goes to pay his addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-
mongers have greedily seized the rumour, to make it the basis of
their own infernal structure.'

'Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to
countenance such reports.'

'Did you see anything in her manner?'

'No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was
something strange about her.'

I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on another
invasion of Wildfell Hall.  From the time of our party, which was
upwards of a week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet its
mistress in her walks; and always disappointed (she must have
managed it so on purpose), had nightly kept revolving in my mind
some pretext for another call.  At length I concluded that the
separation could be endured no longer (by this time, you will see,
I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the book-case an old
volume that I thought she might be interested in, though, from its
unsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not yet
ventured to offer it for perusal, I hastened away, - but not
without sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me, or how I
could summon courage to present myself with so slight an excuse.
But, perhaps, I might see her in the field or the garden, and then
there would be no great difficulty:  it was the formal knocking at
the door, with the prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel,
to the presence of a surprised, uncordial mistress, that so greatly
disturbed me.

My wish, however, was not gratified.  Mrs. Graham herself was not
to be seen; but there was Arthur playing with his frolicsome little
dog in the garden.  I looked over the gate and called him to me.
He wanted me to come in; but I told him I could not without his
mother's leave.

'I'll go and ask her,' said the child.

'No, no, Arthur, you mustn't do that; but if she's not engaged,
just ask her to come here a minute.  Tell her I want to speak to
her.'

He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother.
How lovely she looked with her dark ringlets streaming in the light
summer breeze, her fair cheek slightly flushed, and her countenance
radiant with smiles.  Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you for
this and every other happy meeting?  Through him I was at once
delivered from all formality, and terror, and constraint.  In love
affairs, there is no mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child -
ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf of
custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow the
separating walls of dread formality and pride.

'Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?' said the young mother, accosting
me with a pleasant smile.

'I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it,
and peruse it at your leisure.  I make no apology for calling you
out on such a lovely evening, though it be for a matter of no
greater importance.'

'Tell him to come in, mamma,' said Arthur.

'Would you like to come in?' asked the lady.

'Yes; I should like to see your improvements in the garden.'

'And how your sister's roots have prospered in my charge,' added
she, as she opened the gate.

And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the
trees, and the book, and then of other things.  The evening was
kind and genial, and so was my companion.  By degrees I waxed more
warm and tender than, perhaps, I had ever been before; but still I
said nothing tangible, and she attempted no repulse, until, in
passing a moss rose-tree that I had brought her some weeks since,
in my sister's name, she plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bade
me give it to Rose.

'May I not keep it myself?' I asked.

'No; but here is another for you.'

Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand that offered
it, and looked into her face.  She let me hold it for a moment, and
I saw a flash of ecstatic brilliance in her eye, a glow of glad
excitement on her face - I thought my hour of victory was come -
but instantly a painful recollection seemed to flash upon her; a
cloud of anguish darkened her brow, a marble paleness blanched her
cheek and lip; there seemed a moment of inward conflict, and, with
a sudden effort, she withdrew her hand, and retreated a step or two
back.

'Now, Mr. Markham,' said she, with a kind of desperate calmness, 'I
must tell you plainly that I cannot do with this.  I like your
company, because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me
more than that of any other person; but if you cannot be content to
regard me as a friend - a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend
- I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter:  in
fact, we must be strangers for the future.'

'I will, then - be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish,
if you will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why I
cannot be anything more?'

There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.

'Is it in consequence of some rash vow?'

'It is something of the kind,' she answered.  'Some day I may tell
you, but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert,
put me to the painful necessity of repeating what I have just now
said to you,' she earnestly added, giving me her hand in serious
kindness.  How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!

'I will not,' I replied.  'But you pardon this offence?'

'On condition that you never repeat it.'

'And may I come to see you now and then?'

'Perhaps - occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.'

'I make no empty promises, but you shall see.'

'The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that's all.'

'And will you always call me Gilbert?  It sounds more sisterly, and
it will serve to remind me of our contract.'

She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged it
prudent to obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down the
hill.  But as I went the tramp of horses' hoofs fell on my ear, and
broke the stillness of the dewy evening; and, looking towards the
lane, I saw a solitary equestrian coming up.  Inclining to dusk as
it was, I knew him at a glance:  it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey
pony.  I flew across the field, leaped the stone fence, and then
walked down the lane to meet him.  On seeing me, he suddenly drew
in his little steed, and seemed inclined to turn back, but on
second thought apparently judged it better to continue his course
as before.  He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging close to
the wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded.  Seizing
his horse by the bridle, I exclaimed, - 'Now, Lawrence, I will have
this mystery explained!  Tell me where you are going, and what you
mean to do - at once, and distinctly!'

'Will you take your hand off the bridle?' said he, quietly -
'you're hurting my pony's mouth.'

'You and your pony be - '

'What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham?  I'm quite ashamed
of you.'

'You answer my questions - before you leave this spot I will know
what you mean by this perfidious duplicity!'

'I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle, - if you
stand till morning.'

'Now then,' said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing before
him.

'Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,'
returned he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quickly
re-captured the pony, scarce less astonished than its master at
such uncivil usage.

'Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!' said the latter.  'Can I
not go to see my tenant on matters of business, without being
assaulted in this manner by -?'

'This is no time for business, sir! - I'll tell you, now, what I
think of your conduct.'

'You'd better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,'
interrupted he in a low tone - 'here's the vicar.'  And, in truth,
the vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remote
corner of his parish.  I immediately released the squire; and he
went on his way, saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.

'What! quarrelling, Markham?' cried the latter, addressing himself
to me, - 'and about that young widow, I doubt?' he added,
reproachfully shaking his head.  'But let me tell you, young man'
(here he put his face into mine with an important, confidential
air), 'she's not worth it!' and he confirmed the assertion by a
solemn nod.

'MR. MILLWARD,' I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that made
the reverend gentleman look round - aghast - astounded at such
unwonted insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look that
plainly said, 'What, this to me!'  But I was too indignant to
apologise, or to speak another word to him:  I turned away, and
hastened homewards, descending with rapid strides the steep, rough
lane, and leaving him to follow as he pleased.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 11



You must suppose about three weeks passed over.  Mrs. Graham and I
were now established friends - or brother and sister, as we rather
chose to consider ourselves.  She called me Gilbert, by my express
desire, and I called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in
her books.  I seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and
still I made our meetings appear the result of accident as often as
I could - for I found it necessary to be extremely careful - and,
altogether, I behaved with such exceeding propriety that she never
had occasion to reprove me once.  Yet I could not but perceive that
she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied with herself or her
position, and truly I myself was not quite contented with the
latter:  this assumption of brotherly nonchalance was very hard to
sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded hypocrite with
it all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, 'I
was not indifferent to her,' as the novel heroes modestly express
it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I could
not fail to wish and hope for something better in future; but, of
course, I kept such dreams entirely to myself.

'Where are you going, Gilbert?' said Rose, one evening, shortly
after tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day.

'To take a walk,' was the reply.

'Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so
nicely, and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?'

'Not always.'

'You're going to Wildfell Hall, aren't you?'

'What makes you think so?'

'Because you look as if you were - but I wish you wouldn't go so
often.'

'Nonsense, child!  I don't go once in six weeks - what do you
mean?'

'Well, but if I were you, I wouldn't have so much to do with Mrs.
Graham.'

'Why, Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevailing opinion?'

'No,' returned she, hesitatingly - 'but I've heard so much about
her lately, both at the Wilsons' and the vicarage; - and besides,
mamma says, if she were a proper person she would not be living
there by herself - and don't you remember last winter, Gilbert, all
that about the false name to the picture; and how she explained it
- saying she had friends or acquaintances from whom she wished her
present residence to be concealed, and that she was afraid of their
tracing her out; - and then, how suddenly she started up and left
the room when that person came - whom she took good care not to let
us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such an air of mystery,
told us was his mamma's friend?'

'Yes, Rose, I remember it all; and I can forgive your uncharitable
conclusions; for, perhaps, if I did not know her myself, I should
put all these things together, and believe the same as you do; but
thank God, I do know her; and I should be unworthy the name of a
man, if I could believe anything that was said against her, unless
I heard it from her own lips. - I should as soon believe such
things of you, Rose.'

'Oh, Gilbert!'

'Well, do you think I could believe anything of the kind, -
whatever the Wilsons and Millwards dared to whisper?'

'I should hope not indeed!'

'And why not? - Because I know you - Well, and I know her just as
well.'

'Oh, no! you know nothing of her former life; and last year, at
this time, you did not know that such a person existed.'

'No matter.  There is such a thing as looking through a person's
eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth,
and depth of another's soul in one hour than it might take you a
lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it,
or if you had not the sense to understand it.'

'Then you are going to see her this evening?'

'To be sure I am!'

'But what would mamma say, Gilbert!'

'Mamma needn't know.'

'But she must know some time, if you go on.'

'Go on! - there's no going on in the matter.  Mrs. Graham and I are
two friends - and will be; and no man breathing shall hinder it, -
or has a right to interfere between us.'

'But if you knew how they talk you would be more careful, for her
sake as well as for your own.  Jane Wilson thinks your visits to
the old hall but another proof of her depravity - '

'Confound Jane Wilson!'

'And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.'

'I hope she is.'

'But I wouldn't, if I were you.'

'Wouldn't what? - How do they know that I go there?'

'There's nothing hid from them:  they spy out everything.'

'Oh, I never thought of this! - And so they dare to turn my
friendship into food for further scandal against her! - That proves
the falsehood of their other lies, at all events, if any proof were
wanting. - Mind you contradict them, Rose, whenever you can.'

'But they don't speak openly to me about such things:  it is only
by hints and innuendoes, and by what I hear others say, that I knew
what they think.'

'Well, then, I won't go to-day, as it's getting latish.  But oh,
deuce take their cursed, envenomed tongues!' I muttered, in the
bitterness of my soul.

And just at that moment the vicar entered the room:  we had been
too much absorbed in our conversation to observe his knock.  After
his customary cheerful and fatherly greeting of Rose, who was
rather a favourite with the old gentleman, he turned somewhat
sternly to me:-

'Well, sir!' said he, 'you're quite a stranger.  It is - let - me -
see,' he continued, slowly, as he deposited his ponderous bulk in
the arm-chair that Rose officiously brought towards him; 'it is
just - six-weeks - by my reckoning, since you darkened - my -
door!'  He spoke it with emphasis, and struck his stick on the
floor.

'Is it, sir?' said I.

'Ay!  It is so!'  He added an affirmatory nod, and continued to
gaze upon me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his
substantial stick between his knees, with his hands clasped upon
its head.

'I have been busy,' I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.

'Busy!' repeated he, derisively.

'Yes, you know I've been getting in my hay; and now the harvest is
beginning.'

'Humph!'

Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour
by her loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest.  She
regretted deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for
tea, but offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do
her the favour to partake of it.

'Not any for me, I thank you,' replied he; 'I shall be at home in a
few minutes.'

'Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five
minutes.'

But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.

'I'll tell you what I'll take, Mrs. Markham,' said he:  'I'll take
a glass of your excellent ale.'

'With pleasure!' cried my mother, proceeding with alacrity to pull
the bell and order the favoured beverage.

'I thought,' continued he, 'I'd just look in upon you as I passed,
and taste your home-brewed ale.  I've been to call on Mrs. Graham.'

'Have you, indeed?'

He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis - 'I thought it
incumbent upon me to do so.'

'Really!' ejaculated my mother.

'Why so, Mr. Millward?' asked I.

He looked at me with some severity, and turning again to my mother,
repeated, - 'I thought it incumbent upon me!' and struck his stick
on the floor again.  My mother sat opposite, an awe-struck but
admiring auditor.

'"Mrs. Graham," said I,' he continued, shaking his head as he
spoke, '"these are terrible reports!"  "What, sir?" says she,
affecting to be ignorant of my meaning.  "It is my - duty - as -
your pastor," said I, "to tell you both everything that I myself
see reprehensible in your conduct, and all I have reason to
suspect, and what others tell me concerning you." - So I told her!'

'You did, sir?' cried I, starting from my seat and striking my fist
on the table.  He merely glanced towards me, and continued -
addressing his hostess:-

'It was a painful duty, Mrs. Markham - but I told her!'

'And how did she take it?' asked my mother.

'Hardened, I fear - hardened!' he replied, with a despondent shake
of the head; 'and, at the same time, there was a strong display of
unchastened, misdirected passions.  She turned white in the face,
and drew her breath through her teeth in a savage sort of way; -
but she offered no extenuation or defence; and with a kind of
shameless calmness - shocking indeed to witness in one so young -
as good as told me that my remonstrance was unavailing, and my
pastoral advice quite thrown away upon her - nay, that my very
presence was displeasing while I spoke such things.  And I withdrew
at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done - and
sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless.  But I am fully
determined, Mrs. Markham, that my daughters - shall - not - consort
with her.  Do you adopt the same resolution with regard to yours! -
As for your sons - as for you, young man,' he continued, sternly
turning to me -

'As for ME, sir,' I began, but checked by some impediment in my
utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I
said no more, but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and
bolting from the room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang
that shook the house to its foundations, and made my mother scream,
and gave a momentary relief to my excited feelings.

The next minute saw me hurrying with rapid strides in the direction
of Wildfell Hall - to what intent or purpose I could scarcely tell,
but I must be moving somewhere, and no other goal would do - I must
see her too, and speak to her - that was certain; but what to say,
or how to act, I had no definite idea.  Such stormy thoughts - so
many different resolutions crowded in upon me, that my mind was
little better than a chaos of conflicting passions.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 12



In little more than twenty minutes the journey was accomplished.  I
paused at the gate to wipe my streaming forehead, and recover my
breath and some degree of composure.  Already the rapid walking had
somewhat mitigated my excitement; and with a firm and steady tread
I paced the garden-walk.  In passing the inhabited wing of the
building, I caught a sight of Mrs. Graham, through the open window,
slowly pacing up and down her lonely room.

She seemed agitated and even dismayed at my arrival, as if she
thought I too was coming to accuse her.  I had entered her presence
intending to condole with her upon the wickedness of the world, and
help her to abuse the vicar and his vile informants, but now I felt
positively ashamed to mention the subject, and determined not to
refer to it, unless she led the way.

'I am come at an unseasonable hour,' said I, assuming a
cheerfulness I did not feel, in order to reassure her; 'but I won't
stay many minutes.'

She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly - I had
almost said thankfully, as her apprehensions were removed.

'How dismal you are, Helen!  Why have you no fire?' I said, looking
round on the gloomy apartment.

'It is summer yet,' she replied.

'But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we can bear it; and
you especially require one in this cold house and dreary room.'

'You should have come a little sooner, and I would have had one
lighted for you:  but it is not worth while now - you won't stay
many minutes, you say, and Arthur is gone to bed.'

'But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless.  Will you order one,
if I ring?'

'Why, Gilbert, you don't look cold!' said she, smilingly regarding
my face, which no doubt seemed warm enough.

'No,' replied I, 'but I want to see you comfortable before I go.'

'Me comfortable!' repeated she, with a bitter laugh, as if there
were something amusingly absurd in the idea.  'It suits me better
as it is,' she added, in a tone of mournful resignation.

But determined to have my own way, I pulled the bell.

'There now, Helen!' I said, as the approaching steps of Rachel were
heard in answer to the summons.  There was nothing for it but to
turn round and desire the maid to light the fire.

I owe Rachel a grudge to this day for the look she cast upon me ere
she departed on her mission, the sour, suspicious, inquisitorial
look that plainly demanded, 'What are you here for, I wonder?'  Her
mistress did not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasiness
darkened her brow.

'You must not stay long, Gilbert,' said she, when the door was
closed upon us.

'I'm not going to,' said I, somewhat testily, though without a
grain of anger in my heart against any one but the meddling old
woman.  'But, Helen, I've something to say to you before I go.'

'What is it?'

'No, not now - I don't know yet precisely what it is, or how to say
it,' replied I, with more truth than wisdom; and then, fearing lest
she should turn me out of the house, I began talking about
indifferent matters in order to gain time.  Meanwhile Rachel came
in to kindle the fire, which was soon effected by thrusting a red-
hot poker between the bars of the grate, where the fuel was already
disposed for ignition.  She honoured me with another of her hard,
inhospitable looks in departing, but, little moved thereby, I went
on talking; and setting a chair for Mrs. Graham on one side of the
hearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to sit down,
though half suspecting she would rather see me go.

In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and continued for
several minutes gazing abstractedly into the fire - she intent upon
her own sad thoughts, and I reflecting how delightful it would be
to be seated thus beside her with no other presence to restrain our
intercourse - not even that of Arthur, our mutual friend, without
whom we had never met before - if only I could venture to speak my
mind, and disburden my full heart of the feelings that had so long
oppressed it, and which it now struggled to retain, with an effort
that it seemed impossible to continue much longer, - and revolving
the pros and cons for opening my heart to her there and then, and
imploring a return of affection, the permission to regard her
thenceforth as my own, and the right and the power to defend her
from the calumnies of malicious tongues.  On the one hand, I felt a
new-born confidence in my powers of persuasion - a strong
conviction that my own fervour of spirit would grant me eloquence -
that my very determination - the absolute necessity for succeeding,
that I felt must win me what I sought; while, on the other, I
feared to lose the ground I had already gained with so much toil
and skill, and destroy all future hope by one rash effort, when
time and patience might have won success.  It was like setting my
life upon the cast of a die; and yet I was ready to resolve upon
the attempt.  At any rate, I would entreat the explanation she had
half promised to give me before; I would demand the reason of this
hateful barrier, this mysterious impediment to my happiness, and,
as I trusted, to her own.

But while I considered in what manner I could best frame my
request, my companion, wakened from her reverie with a scarcely
audible sigh, and looking towards the window, where the blood-red
harvest moon, just rising over one of the grim, fantastic
evergreens, was shining in upon us, said, - 'Gilbert, it is getting
late.'

'I see,' said I.  'You want me to go, I suppose?'

'I think you ought.  If my kind neighbours get to know of this
visit - as no doubt they will - they will not turn it much to my
advantage.'

It was with what the vicar would doubtless have called a savage
sort of smile that she said this.

'Let them turn it as they will,' said I.  'What are their thoughts
to you or me, so long as we are satisfied with ourselves - and each
other.  Let them go to the deuce with their vile constructions and
their lying inventions!'

This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.

'You have heard, then, what they say of me?'

'I heard some detestable falsehoods; but none but fools would
credit them for a moment, Helen, so don't let them trouble you.'

'I did not think Mr. Millward a fool, and he believes it all; but
however little you may value the opinions of those about you -
however little you may esteem them as individuals, it is not
pleasant to be looked upon as a liar and a hypocrite, to be thought
to practise what you abhor, and to encourage the vices you would
discountenance, to find your good intentions frustrated, and your
hands crippled by your supposed unworthiness, and to bring disgrace
on the principles you profess.'

'True; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish disregard to
appearances, have at all assisted to expose you to these evils, let
me entreat you not only to pardon me, but to enable me to make
reparation; authorise me to clear your name from every imputation:
give me the right to identify your honour with my own, and to
defend your reputation as more precious than my life!'

'Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to be
suspected and despised by all around you, and identify your
interests and your honour with hers?  Think! it is a serious
thing.'

'I should be proud to do it, Helen! - most happy - delighted beyond
expression! - and if that be all the obstacle to our union, it is
demolished, and you must - you shall be mine!'

And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I seized her hand
and would have pressed it to my lips, but she as suddenly caught it
away, exclaiming in the bitterness of intense affliction, - 'No,
no, it is not all!'

'What is it, then?  You promised I should know some time, and - '

'You shall know some time - but not now - my head aches terribly,'
she said, pressing her hand to her forehead, 'and I must have some
repose - and surely I have had misery enough to-day!' she added,
almost wildly.

'But it could not harm you to tell it,' I persisted:  'it would
ease your mind; and I should then know how to comfort you.'

She shook her head despondingly.  'If you knew all, you, too, would
blame me - perhaps even more than I deserve - though I have cruelly
wronged you,' she added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.

'You, Helen?  Impossible?'

'Yes, not willingly; for I did not know the strength and depth of
your attachment.  I thought - at least I endeavoured to think your
regard for me was as cold and fraternal as you professed it to be.'

'Or as yours?'

'Or as mine - ought to have been - of such a light and selfish,
superficial nature, that - '

'There, indeed, you wronged me.'

I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought,
upon the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving your
fancies and your hopes to dream themselves to nothing - or flutter
away to some more fitting object, while your friendly sympathies
remained with me; but if I had known the depth of your regard, the
generous, disinterested affection you seem to feel - '

'Seem, Helen?'

'That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.'

'How?  You could not have given me less encouragement, or treated
me with greater severity than you did!  And if you think you have
wronged me by giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting
me to the enjoyment of your company and conversation, when all
hopes of closer intimacy were vain - as indeed you always gave me
to understand - if you think you have wronged me by this, you are
mistaken; for such favours, in themselves alone, are not only
delightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting, ennobling to my
soul; and I would rather have your friendship than the love of any
other woman in the world!'

Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, and
glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divine
assistance; then, turning to me, she calmly said, - 'To-morrow, if
you meet me on the moor about mid-day, I will tell you all you seek
to know; and perhaps you will then see the necessity of
discontinuing our intimacy - if, indeed, you do not willingly
resign me as one no longer worthy of regard.'

'I can safely answer no to that:  you cannot have such grave
confessions to make - you must be trying my faith, Helen.'

'No, no, no,' she earnestly repeated - 'I wish it were so!  Thank
heaven!' she added, 'I have no great crime to confess; but I have
more than you will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse, -
and more than I can tell you now; so let me entreat you to leave
me!'

'I will; but answer me this one question first; - do you love me?'

'I will not answer it!'

'Then I will conclude you do; and so good-night.'

She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control;
but I took her hand and fervently kissed it.

'Gilbert, do leave me!' she cried, in a tone of such thrilling
anguish that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.

But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw her
leaning forward on the table, with her hands pressed against her
eyes, sobbing convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence.  I felt that
to obtrude my consolations on her then would only serve to
aggravate her sufferings.

To tell you all the questionings and conjectures - the fears, and
hopes, and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other through
my mind as I descended the hill, would almost fill a volume in
itself.  But before I was half-way down, a sentiment of strong
sympathy for her I had left behind me had displaced all other
feelings, and seemed imperatively to draw me back:  I began to
think, 'Why am I hurrying so fast in this direction?  Can I find
comfort or consolation - peace, certainty, contentment, all - or
anything that I want at home? and can I leave all perturbation,
sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?'

And I turned round to look at the old Hall.  There was little
besides the chimneys visible above my contracted horizon.  I walked
back to get a better view of it.  When it rose in sight, I stood
still a moment to look, and then continued moving towards the
gloomy object of attraction.  Something called me nearer - nearer
still - and why not, pray?  Might I not find more benefit in the
contemplation of that venerable pile with the full moon in the
cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it - with that warm yellow
lustre peculiar to an August night - and the mistress of my soul
within, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively was
light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me in
my present frame of mind, - and the more so that its inmates all
were more or less imbued with that detestable belief, the very
thought of which made my blood boil in my veins - and how could I
endure to hear it openly declared, or cautiously insinuated - which
was worse? - I had had trouble enough already, with some babbling
fiend that would keep whispering in my ear, 'It may be true,' till
I had shouted aloud, 'It is false!  I defy you to make me suppose
it!'

I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlour
window.  I went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it,
with my eyes fixed upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing,
thinking, or suffering now, and wishing I could speak to her but
one word, or even catch one glimpse of her, before I went.

I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before I
vaulted over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of taking
one glance through the window, just to if she were more composed
than when we parted; - and if I found her still in deep distress,
perhaps I might venture attempt a word of comfort - to utter one of
the many things I should have said before, instead of aggravating
her sufferings by my stupid impetuosity.  I looked.  Her chair was
vacant:  so was the room.  But at that moment some one opened the
outer door, and a voice - her voice - said, - 'Come out - I want to
see the moon, and breathe the evening air:  they will do me good -
if anything will.'

Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a walk in the
garden.  I wished myself safe back over the wall.  I stood,
however, in the shadow of the tall holly-bush, which, standing
between the window and the porch, at present screened me from
observation, but did not prevent me from seeing two figures come
forth into the moonlight:  Mrs. Graham followed by another - not
Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall.  O heavens, how
my temples throbbed!  Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but I
thought - yes, and the voice confirmed it - it was Mr. Lawrence!

'You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,' said he; 'I will
be more cautious in future; and in time - '

I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close beside
her and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words.  My heart
was splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply.
I heard it plainly enough.

'But I must leave this place, Frederick,' she said - 'I never can
be happy here, - nor anywhere else, indeed,' she added, with a
mirthless laugh, - 'but I cannot rest here.'

'But where could you find a better place?' replied he, 'so secluded
- so near me, if you think anything of that.'

'Yes,' interrupted she, 'it is all I could wish, if they could only
have left me alone.'

'But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources of
annoyance.  I cannot consent to lose you:  I must go with you, or
come to you; and there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as
here.'

While thus conversing they had sauntered slowly past me, down the
walk, and I heard no more of their discourse; but I saw him put his
arm round her waist, while she lovingly rested her hand on his
shoulder; - and then, a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, my
heart sickened and my head burned like fire:  I half rushed, half
staggered from the spot, where horror had kept me rooted, and
leaped or tumbled over the wall - I hardly know which - but I know
that, afterwards, like a passionate child, I dashed myself on the
ground and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and despair - how long,
I cannot undertake to say; but it must have been a considerable
time; for when, having partially relieved myself by a torment of
tears, and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and carelessly
on, as little influenced by my misery as I was by its peaceful
radiance, and earnestly prayed for death or forgetfulness, I had
risen and journeyed homewards - little regarding the way, but
carried instinctively by my feet to the door, I found it bolted
against me, and every one in bed except my mother, who hastened to
answer my impatient knocking, and received me with a shower of
questions and rebukes.

'Oh, Gilbert! how could you do so?  Where have you been?  Do come
in and take your supper.  I've got it all ready, though you don't
deserve it, for keeping me in such a fright, after the strange
manner you left the house this evening.  Mr. Millward was quite -
Bless the boy! how ill he looks.  Oh, gracious! what is the
matter?'

'Nothing, nothing - give me a candle.'

'But won't you take some supper?'

'No; I want to go to bed,' said I, taking a candle and lighting it
at the one she held in her hand.

'Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!' exclaimed my anxious parent.  'How
white you look!  Do tell me what it is?  Has anything happened?'

'It's nothing,' cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because the
candle would not light.  Then, suppressing my irritation, I added,
'I've been walking too fast, that's all.  Good-night,' and marched
off to bed, regardless of the 'Walking too fast! where have you
been?' that was called after me from below.

My mother followed me to the very door of my room with her
questionings and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but I
implored her to let me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and at
length I had the satisfaction to hear her close her own door.
There was no sleep for me, however, that night as I thought; and
instead of attempting to solicit it, I employed myself in rapidly
pacing the chamber, having first removed my boots, lest my mother
should hear me.  But the boards creaked, and she was watchful.  I
had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was at the
door again.

'Gilbert, why are you not in bed - you said you wanted to go?'

'Confound it!  I'm going,' said I.

'But why are you so long about it?  You must have something on your
mind - '

'For heaven's sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.'

'Can it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?'

'No, no, I tell you - it's nothing.'

'I wish to goodness it mayn't,' murmured she, with a sigh, as she
returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed,
feeling most undutifully disaffected towards her for having
deprived me of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation that
remained, and chained me to that wretched couch of thorns.

Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that.  And yet
it was not wholly sleepless.  Towards morning my distracting
thoughts began to lose all pretensions to coherency, and shape
themselves into confused and feverish dreams, and, at length, there
followed an interval of unconscious slumber.  But then the dawn of
bitter recollection that succeeded - the waking to find life a
blank, and worse than a blank, teeming with torment and misery -
not a mere barren wilderness, but full of thorns and briers - to
find myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections trampled upon,
my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnate - it was
worse than if I had not slept at all.

It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like my
prospects, and the rain was pattering against the window.  I rose,
nevertheless, and went out; not to look after the farm, though that
would serve as my excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if
possible, a sufficient degree of composure to meet the family at
the morning meal without exciting inconvenient remarks.  If I got a
wetting, that, in conjunction with a pretended over-exertion before
breakfast, might excuse my sudden loss of appetite; and if a cold
ensued, the severer the better - it would help to account for the
sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to cloud my brow for long
enough.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 13



'My dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little more
amiable,' said my mother one morning after some display of
unjustifiable ill-humour on my part.  'You say there is nothing the
matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet I
never saw anyone so altered as you within these last few days.  You
haven't a good word for anybody - friends and strangers, equals and
inferiors - it's all the same.  I do wish you'd try to check it.'

'Check what?'

'Why, your strange temper.  You don't know how it spoils you.  I'm
sure a finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, if
you'd let it have fair play:  so you've no excuse that way.'

While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it open
on the table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its
perusal, for I was equally unable to justify myself and unwilling
to acknowledge my errors; and I wished to have nothing to say on
the matter.  But my excellent parent went on lecturing, and then
came to coaxing, and began to stroke my hair; and I was getting to
feel quite a good boy, but my mischievous brother, who was idling
about the room, revived my corruption by suddenly calling out, -
'Don't touch him, mother! he'll bite!  He's a very tiger in human
form.  I've given him up for my part - fairly disowned him - cast
him off, root and branch.  It's as much as my life is worth to come
within six yards of him.  The other day he nearly fractured my
skull for singing a pretty, inoffensive love-song, on purpose to
amuse him.'

'Oh, Gilbert! how could you?' exclaimed my mother.

'I told you to hold your noise first, you know, Fergus,' said I.

'Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble and went on with the
next verse, thinking you might like it better, you clutched me by
the shoulder and dashed me away, right against the wall there, with
such force that I thought I had bitten my tongue in two, and
expected to see the place plastered with my brains; and when I put
my hand to my head, and found my skull not broken, I thought it was
a miracle, and no mistake.  But, poor fellow!' added he, with a
sentimental sigh - 'his heart's broken - that's the truth of it -
and his head's - '

'Will you be silent NOW?' cried I, starting up, and eyeing the
fellow so fiercely that my mother, thinking I meant to inflict some
grievous bodily injury, laid her hand on my arm, and besought me to
let him alone, and he walked leisurely out, with his hands in his
pockets, singing provokingly - 'Shall I, because a woman's fair,'
&c.

'I'm not going to defile my fingers with him,' said I, in answer to
the maternal intercession.  'I wouldn't touch him with the tongs.'

I now recollected that I had business with Robert Wilson,
concerning the purchase of a certain field adjoining my farm - a
business I had been putting off from day to day; for I had no
interest in anything now; and besides, I was misanthropically
inclined, and, moreover, had a particular objection to meeting Jane
Wilson or her mother; for though I had too good reason, now, to
credit their reports concerning Mrs. Graham, I did not like them a
bit the better for it - or Eliza Millward either - and the thought
of meeting them was the more repugnant to me that I could not, now,
defy their seeming calumnies and triumph in my own convictions as
before.  But to-day I determined to make an effort to return to my
duty.  Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksome
than idleness - at all events it would be more profitable.  If life
promised no enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered no
allurements out of it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder to
the wheel and toil away, like any poor drudge of a cart-horse that
was fairly broken in to its labour, and plod through life, not
wholly useless if not agreeable, and uncomplaining if not contented
with my lot.

Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a term
may be allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expecting
to find its owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learn
in what part of the premises he was most likely to be found.

Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes; and I was
desired to step into the parlour and wait.  Mrs. Wilson was busy in
the kitchen, but the room was not empty; and I scarcely checked an
involuntary recoil as I entered it; for there sat Miss Wilson
chattering with Eliza Millward.  However, I determined to be cool
and civil.  Eliza seemed to have made the same resolution on her
part.  We had not met since the evening of the tea-party; but there
was no visible emotion either of pleasure or pain, no attempt at
pathos, no display of injured pride:  she was cool in temper, civil
in demeanour.  There was even an ease and cheerfulness about her
air and manner that I made no pretension to; but there was a depth
of malice in her too expressive eye that plainly told me I was not
forgiven; for, though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, she
still hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her spite
on me.  On the other hand, Miss Wilson was as affable and courteous
as heart could wish, and though I was in no very conversable humour
myself, the two ladies between them managed to keep up a pretty
continuous fire of small talk.  But Eliza took advantage of the
first convenient pause to ask if I had lately seen Mrs. Graham, in
a tone of merely casual inquiry, but with a sidelong glance -
intended to be playfully mischievous - really, brimful and running
over with malice.

'Not lately,' I replied, in a careless tone, but sternly repelling
her odious glances with my eyes; for I was vexed to feel the colour
mounting to my forehead, despite my strenuous efforts to appear
unmoved.

'What! are you beginning to tire already?  I thought so noble a
creature would have power to attach you for a year at least!'

'I would rather not speak of her now.'

'Ah! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake - you have at
length discovered that your divinity is not quite the immaculate -
'

'I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.'

'Oh, I beg your pardon!  I perceive Cupid's arrows have been too
sharp for you:  the wounds, being more than skin-deep, are not yet
healed, and bleed afresh at every mention of the loved one's name.'

'Say, rather,' interposed Miss Wilson, 'that Mr. Markham feels that
name is unworthy to be mentioned in the presence of right-minded
females.  I wonder, Eliza, you should think of referring to that
unfortunate person - you might know the mention of her would be
anything but agreeable to any one here present.'

How could this be borne?  I rose and was about to clap my hat upon
my head and burst away, in wrathful indignation from the house; but
recollecting - just in time to save my dignity - the folly of such
a proceeding, and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merry
laugh at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged in my own
heart to be unworthy of the slightest sacrifice - though the ghost
of my former reverence and love so hung about me still, that I
could not bear to hear her name aspersed by others - I merely
walked to the window, and having spent a few seconds in vengibly
biting my lips and sternly repressing the passionate heavings of my
chest, I observed to Miss Wilson, that I could see nothing of her
brother, and added that, as my time was precious, it would perhaps
be better to call again to-morrow, at some time when I should be
sure to find him at home.

'Oh, no!' said she; 'if you wait a minute, he will be sure to come;
for he has business at L-' (that was our market-town), 'and will
require a little refreshment before he goes.'

I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could; and, happily,
I had not long to wait.  Mr. Wilson soon arrived, and, indisposed
for business as I was at that moment, and little as I cared for the
field or its owner, I forced my attention to the matter in hand,
with very creditable determination, and quickly concluded the
bargain - perhaps more to the thrifty farmer's satisfaction than he
cared to acknowledge.  Then, leaving him to the discussion of his
substantial 'refreshment,' I gladly quitted the house, and went to
look after my reapers.

Leaving them busy at work on the side of the valley, I ascended the
hill, intending to visit a corn-field in the more elevated regions,
and see when it would be ripe for the sickle.  But I did not visit
it that day; for, as I approached, I beheld, at no great distance,
Mrs. Graham and her son coming down in the opposite direction.
They saw me; and Arthur already was running to meet me; but I
immediately turned back and walked steadily homeward; for I had
fully determined never to encounter his mother again; and
regardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon me to 'wait
a moment,' I pursued the even tenor of my way; and he soon
relinquished the pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by his
mother.  At all events, when I looked back, five minutes after, not
a trace of either was to be seen.

This incident agitated and disturbed me most unaccountably - unless
you would account for it by saying that Cupid's arrows not only had
been too sharp for me, but they were barbed and deeply rooted, and
I had not yet been able to wrench them from my heart.  However that
be, I was rendered doubly miserable for the remainder of the day.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 14



Next morning, I bethought me, I, too, had business at L-; so I
mounted my horse, and set forth on the expedition soon after
breakfast.  It was a dull, drizzly day; but that was no matter:  it
was all the more suitable to my frame of mind.  It was likely to be
a lonely journey; for it was no market-day, and the road I
traversed was little frequented at any other time; but that suited
me all the better too.

As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of - bitter fancies, I
heard another horse at no great distance behind me; but I never
conjectured who the rider might be, or troubled my head about him,
till, on slackening my pace to ascend a gentle acclivity, or
rather, suffering my horse to slacken his pace into a lazy walk -
for, rapt in my own reflections, I was letting it jog on as
leisurely as it thought proper - I lost ground, and my fellow-
traveller overtook me.  He accosted me by name, for it was no
stranger - it was Mr. Lawrence!  Instinctively the fingers of my
whip-hand tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy;
but I restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a
nod, attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to
talk about the weather and the crops.  I gave the briefest possible
answers to his queries and observations, and fell back.  He fell
back too, and asked if my horse was lame.  I replied with a look,
at which he placidly smiled.

I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular
pertinacity and imperturbable assurance on his part.  I had thought
the circumstances of our last meeting would have left such an
impression on his mind as to render him cold and distant ever
after:  instead of that, he appeared not only to have forgotten all
former offences, but to be impenetrable to all present
incivilities.  Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied
coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him:  now,
positive rudeness could not drive him away.  Had he heard of my
disappointment; and was he come to witness the result, and triumph
in my despair?  I grasped my whip with more determined energy than
before - but still forbore to raise it, and rode on in silence,
waiting for some more tangible cause of offence, before I opened
the floodgates of my soul and poured out the dammed-up fury that
was foaming and swelling within.

'Markham,' said he, in his usual quiet tone, 'why do you quarrel
with your friends, because you have been disappointed in one
quarter?  You have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame
for it?  I warned you beforehand, you know, but you would not - '

He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had
seized my whip by the small end, and - swift and sudden as a flash
of lightning - brought the other down upon his head.  It was not
without a feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant,
deadly pallor that overspread his face, and the few red drops that
trickled down his forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle,
and then fell backward to the ground.  The pony, surprised to be so
strangely relieved of its burden, started and capered, and kicked a
little, and then made use of its freedom to go and crop the grass
of the hedge-bank:  while its master lay as still and silent as a
corpse.  Had I killed him? - an icy hand seemed to grasp my heart
and check its pulsation, as I bent over him, gazing with breathless
intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face.  But no; he moved his
eyelids and uttered a slight groan.  I breathed again - he was only
stunned by the fall.  It served him right - it would teach him
better manners in future.  Should I help him to his horse?  No.
For any other combination of offences I would; but his were too
unpardonable.  He might mount it himself, if he liked - in a while:
already he was beginning to stir and look about him - and there it
was for him, quietly browsing on the road-side.

So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and
clapping spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a
combination of feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and
perhaps, if I did so, the result would not be very creditable to my
disposition; for I am not sure that a species of exultation in what
I had done was not one principal concomitant.

Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many
minutes elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the
fate of my victim.  It was no generous impulse - no kind relentings
that led me to this - nor even the fear of what might be the
consequences to myself, if I finished my assault upon the squire by
leaving him thus neglected, and exposed to further injury; it was,
simply, the voice of conscience; and I took great credit to myself
for attending so promptly to its dictates - and judging the merit
of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I was not far wrong.

Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in some
degree.  The pony had wandered eight or ten yards further away; and
he had managed, somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the
road:  I found him seated in a recumbent position on the bank, -
looking very white and sickly still, and holding his cambric
handkerchief (now more red than white) to his head.  It must have
been a powerful blow; but half the credit - or the blame of it
(which you please) must be attributed to the whip, which was
garnished with a massive horse's head of plated metal.  The grass,
being sodden with rain, afforded the young gentleman a rather
inhospitable couch; his clothes were considerably bemired; and his
hat was rolling in the mud on the other side of the road.  But his
thoughts seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was
wistfully gazing - half in helpless anxiety, and half in hopeless
abandonment to his fate.

I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own animal to the
nearest tree, first picked up his hat, intending to clap it on his
head; but either he considered his head unfit for a hat, or the
hat, in its present condition, unfit for his head; for shrinking
away the one, he took the other from my hand, and scornfully cast
it aside.

'It's good enough for you,' I muttered.

My next good office was to catch his pony and bring it to him,
which was soon accomplished; for the beast was quiet enough in the
main, and only winced and flirted a trifle till I got hold of the
bridle - but then, I must see him in the saddle.

'Here, you fellow - scoundrel - dog - give me your hand, and I'll
help you to mount.'

No; he turned from me in disgust.  I attempted to take him by the
arm.  He shrank away as if there had been contamination in my
touch.

'What, you won't!  Well! you may sit there till doomsday, for what
I care.  But I suppose you don't want to lose all the blood in your
body - I'll just condescend to bind that up for you.'

'Let me alone, if you please.'

'Humph; with all my heart.  You may go to the d-l, if you choose -
and say I sent you.'

But before I abandoned him to his fate I flung his pony's bridle
over a stake in the hedge, and threw him my handkerchief, as his
own was now saturated with blood.  He took it and cast it back to
me in abhorrence and contempt, with all the strength he could
muster.  It wanted but this to fill the measure of his offences.
With execrations not loud but deep I left him to live or die as he
could, well satisfied that I had done my duty in attempting to save
him - but forgetting how I had erred in bringing him into such a
condition, and how insultingly my after-services had been offered -
and sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he should choose
to say I had attempted to murder him - which I thought not
unlikely, as it seemed probable he was actuated by such spiteful
motives in so perseveringly refusing my assistance.

Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to see how he was
getting on, before I rode away.  He had risen from the ground, and
grasping his pony's mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the
saddle; but scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a
sickness or dizziness seemed to overpower him:  he leant forward a
moment, with his head drooped on the animal's back, and then made
one more effort, which proving ineffectual, he sank back on the
bank, where I left him, reposing his head on the oozy turf, and to
all appearance, as calmly reclining as if he had been taking his
rest on his sofa at home.

I ought to have helped him in spite of himself - to have bound up
the wound he was unable to staunch, and insisted upon getting him
on his horse and seeing him safe home; but, besides my bitter
indignation against himself, there was the question what to say to
his servants - and what to my own family.  Either I should have to
acknowledge the deed, which would set me down as a madman, unless I
acknowledged the motive too - and that seemed impossible - or I
must get up a lie, which seemed equally out of the question -
especially as Mr. Lawrence would probably reveal the whole truth,
and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace - unless I were villain
enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to persist in my own
version of the case, and make him out a still greater scoundrel
than he was.  No; he had only received a cut above the temple, and
perhaps a few bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony:
that could not kill him if he lay there half the day; and, if he
could not help himself, surely some one would be coming by:  it
would be impossible that a whole day should pass and no one
traverse the road but ourselves.  As for what he might choose to
say hereafter, I would take my chance about it:  if he told lies, I
would contradict him; if he told the truth, I would bear it as best
I could.  I was not obliged to enter into explanations further than
I thought proper.  Perhaps he might choose to be silent on the
subject, for fear of raising inquiries as to the cause of the
quarrel, and drawing the public attention to his connection with
Mrs. Graham, which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so
very desirous to conceal.

Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I duly transacted
my business, and performed various little commissions for my mother
and Rose, with very laudable exactitude, considering the different
circumstances of the case.  In returning home, I was troubled with
sundry misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence.  The question,
What if I should find him lying still on the damp earth, fairly
dying of cold and exhaustion - or already stark and chill? thrust
itself most unpleasantly upon my mind, and the appalling
possibility pictured itself with painful vividness to my
imagination as I approached the spot where I had left him.  But no,
thank heaven, both man and horse were gone, and nothing was left to
witness against me but two objects - unpleasant enough in
themselves to be sure, and presenting a very ugly, not to say
murderous appearance - in one place, the hat saturated with rain
and coated with mud, indented and broken above the brim by that
villainous whip-handle; in another, the crimson handkerchief,
soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of water - for much rain had
fallen in the interim.

Bad news flies fast:  it was hardly four o'clock when I got home,
but my mother gravely accosted me with - 'Oh, Gilbert! - Such an
accident!  Rose has been shopping in the village, and she's heard
that Mr. Lawrence has been thrown from his horse and brought home
dying!'

This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted
to hear that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a
leg; for, assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of
the story was equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and
sister so feelingly deploring his condition, I had considerable
difficulty in preventing myself from telling them the real extent
of the injuries, as far as I knew them.

'You must go and see him to-morrow,' said my mother.

'Or to-day,' suggested Rose:  'there's plenty of time; and you can
have the pony, as your horse is tired.  Won't you, Gilbert - as
soon as you've had something to eat?'

'No, no - how can we tell that it isn't all a false report?  It's
highly im-'

'Oh, I'm sure it isn't; for the village is all alive about it; and
I saw two people that had seen others that had seen the man that
found him.  That sounds far-fetched; but it isn't so when you think
of it.'

'Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not likely he would fall
from his horse at all; and if he did, it is highly improbable he
would break his bones in that way.  It must be a gross exaggeration
at least.'

'No; but the horse kicked him - or something.'

'What, his quiet little pony?'

'How do you know it was that?'

'He seldom rides any other.'

'At any rate,' said my mother, 'you will call to-morrow.  Whether
it be true or false, exaggerated or otherwise, we shall like to
know how he is.'

'Fergus may go.'

'Why not you?'

'He has more time.  I am busy just now.'

'Oh! but, Gilbert, how can you be so composed about it?  You won't
mind business for an hour or two in a case of this sort, when your
friend is at the point of death.'

'He is not, I tell you.'

'For anything you know, he may be:  you can't tell till you have
seen him.  At all events, he must have met with some terrible
accident, and you ought to see him:  he'll take it very unkind if
you don't.'

'Confound it!  I can't.  He and I have not been on good terms of
late.'

'Oh, my dear boy!  Surely, surely you are not so unforgiving as to
carry your little differences to such a length as - '

'Little differences, indeed!' I muttered.

'Well, but only remember the occasion.  Think how - '

'Well, well, don't bother me now - I'll see about it,' I replied.

And my seeing about it was to send Fergus next morning, with my
mother's compliments, to make the requisite inquiries; for, of
course, my going was out of the question - or sending a message
either.  He brought back intelligence that the young squire was
laid up with the complicated evils of a broken head and certain
contusions (occasioned by a fall - of which he did not trouble
himself to relate the particulars - and the subsequent misconduct
of his horse), and a severe cold, the consequence of lying on the
wet ground in the rain; but there were no broken bones, and no
immediate prospects of dissolution.

It was evident, then, that for Mrs. Graham's sake it was not his
intention to criminate me.