The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition

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AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION



While I acknowledge the success of the present work to have been
greater than I anticipated, and the praises it has elicited from a
few kind critics to have been greater than it deserved, I must also
admit that from some other quarters it has been censured with an
asperity which I was as little prepared to expect, and which my
judgment, as well as my feelings, assures me is more bitter than
just.  It is scarcely the province of an author to refute the
arguments of his censors and vindicate his own productions; but I
may be allowed to make here a few observations with which I would
have prefaced the first edition, had I foreseen the necessity of
such precautions against the misapprehensions of those who would
read it with a prejudiced mind or be content to judge it by a hasty
glance.

My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse
the Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to
ingratiate myself with the Press and the Public:  I wished to tell
the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are
able to receive it.  But as the priceless treasure too frequently
hides at the bottom of a well, it needs some courage to dive for
it, especially as he that does so will be likely to incur more
scorn and obloquy for the mud and water into which he has ventured
to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he procures; as, in like
manner, she who undertakes the cleansing of a careless bachelor's
apartment will be liable to more abuse for the dust she raises than
commendation for the clearance she effects.  Let it not be
imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the
errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute
my humble quota towards so good an aim; and if I can gain the
public ear at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths
therein than much soft nonsense.

As the story of 'Agnes Grey' was accused of extravagant over-
colouring in those very parts that were carefully copied from the
life, with a most scrupulous avoidance of all exaggeration, so, in
the present work, I find myself censured for depicting CON AMORE,
with 'a morbid love of the coarse, if not of the brutal,' those
scenes which, I will venture to say, have not been more painful for
the most fastidious of my critics to read than they were for me to
describe.  I may have gone too far; in which case I shall be
careful not to trouble myself or my readers in the same way again;
but when we have to do with vice and vicious characters, I maintain
it is better to depict them as they really are than as they would
wish to appear.  To represent a bad thing in its least offensive
light is, doubtless, the most agreeable course for a writer of
fiction to pursue; but is it the most honest, or the safest?  Is it
better to reveal the snares and pitfalls of life to the young and
thoughtless traveller, or to cover them with branches and flowers?
Oh, reader! if there were less of this delicate concealment of
facts - this whispering, 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace,
there would be less of sin and misery to the young of both sexes
who are left to wring their bitter knowledge from experience.

I would not be understood to suppose that the proceedings of the
unhappy scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here
introduced, are a specimen of the common practices of society - the
case is an extreme one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive;
but I know that such characters do exist, and if I have warned one
rash youth from following in their steps, or prevented one
thoughtless girl from falling into the very natural error of my
heroine, the book has not been written in vain.  But, at the same
time, if any honest reader shall have derived more pain than
pleasure from its perusal, and have closed the last volume with a
disagreeable impression on his mind, I humbly crave his pardon, for
such was far from my intention; and I will endeavour to do better
another time, for I love to give innocent pleasure.  Yet, be it
understood, I shall not limit my ambition to this - or even to
producing 'a perfect work of art':  time and talents so spent, I
should consider wasted and misapplied.  Such humble talents as God
has given me I will endeavour to put to their greatest use; if I am
able to amuse, I will try to benefit too; and when I feel it my
duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the help of God, I WILL
speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name and to the
detriment of my reader's immediate pleasure as well as my own.

One word more, and I have done.  Respecting the author's identity,
I would have it to he distinctly understood that Acton Bell is
neither Currer nor Ellis Bell, and therefore let not his faults be
attributed to them.  As to whether the name be real or fictitious,
it cannot greatly signify to those who know him only by his works.
As little, I should think, can it matter whether the writer so
designated is a man, or a woman, as one or two of my critics
profess to have discovered.  I take the imputation in good part, as
a compliment to the just delineation of my female characters; and
though I am bound to attribute much of the severity of my censors
to this suspicion, I make no effort to refute it, because, in my
own mind, I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so
whatever the sex of the author may be.  All novels are, or should
be, written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to
conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that
would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be
censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for
a man.

JULY 22nd, 1848.




The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 01



You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.

My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in -shire;
and I, by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quiet
occupation, not very willingly, for ambition urged me to higher
aims, and self-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its voice,
I was burying my talent in the earth, and hiding my light under a
bushel.  My mother had done her utmost to persuade me that I was
capable of great achievements; but my father, who thought ambition
was the surest road to ruin, and change but another word for
destruction, would listen to no scheme for bettering either my own
condition, or that of my fellow mortals.  He assured me it was all
rubbish, and exhorted me, with his dying breath, to continue in the
good old way, to follow his steps, and those of his father before
him, and let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through the
world, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and to
transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, as
flourishing a condition as he left them to me.

'Well! - an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful
members of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation
of my farm, and the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall
thereby benefit, not only my own immediate connections and
dependants, but, in some degree, mankind at large:- hence I shall
not have lived in vain.'  With such reflections as these I was
endeavouring to console myself, as I plodded home from the fields,
one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the close of October.  But
the gleam of a bright red fire through the parlour window had more
effect in cheering my spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings,
than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced my
mind to frame; - for I was young then, remember - only four-and-
twenty - and had not acquired half the rule over my own spirit that
I now possess - trifling as that may be.

However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had
exchanged my miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough
surtout for a respectable coat, and made myself generally
presentable before decent society; for my mother, with all her
kindness, was vastly particular on certain points.

In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart,
pretty girl of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face,
bright, blooming cheeks, glossy, clustering curls, and little merry
brown eyes.  I need not tell you this was my sister Rose.  She is,
I know, a comely matron still, and, doubtless, no less lovely - in
your eyes - than on the happy day you first beheld her.  Nothing
told me then that she, a few years hence, would be the wife of one
entirely unknown to me as yet, but destined hereafter to become a
closer friend than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerly
lad of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage, on coming
down, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who, in
correction for his impudence, received a resounding whack over the
sconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury from the
infliction; as, besides being more than commonly thick, it was
protected by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that my
mother called auburn.

On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady seated in her
arm-chair at the fireside, working away at her knitting, according
to her usual custom, when she had nothing else to do.  She had
swept the hearth, and made a bright blazing fire for our reception;
the servant had just brought in the tea-tray; and Rose was
producing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy from the cupboard in the
black oak side-board, that shone like polished ebony, in the
cheerful parlour twilight.

'Well! here they both are,' cried my mother, looking round upon us
without retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering
needles.  'Now shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets
the tea ready; I'm sure you must be starved; - and tell me what
you've been about all day; - I like to know what my children have
been about.'

'I've been breaking in the grey colt - no easy business that -
directing the ploughing of the last wheat stubble - for the
ploughboy has not the sense to direct himself - and carrying out a
plan for the extensive and efficient draining of the low
meadowlands.'

'That's my brave boy! - and Fergus, what have you been doing?'

'Badger-baiting.'

And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport,
and the respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the
dogs; my mother pretending to listen with deep attention, and
watching his animated countenance with a degree of maternal
admiration I thought highly disproportioned to its object.

'It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus,' said I, as
soon as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in a
word.

'What can I do?' replied he; 'my mother won't let me go to sea or
enter the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else - except make
myself such a nuisance to you all, that you will be thankful to get
rid of me on any terms.'

Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls.  He growled,
and tried to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the
table, in obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.

'Now take your tea,' said she; 'and I'll tell you what I've been
doing.  I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand
pities you didn't go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was
there!'

'Well! what of her?'

'Oh, nothing! - I'm not going to tell you about her; - only that
she's a nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour,
and I shouldn't mind calling her - '

'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered my
mother earnestly, holding up her finger.

'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was going to tell you an important piece
of news I heard there - I have been bursting with it ever since.
You know it was reported a month ago, that somebody was going to
take Wildfell Hall - and - what do you think?  It has actually been
inhabited above a week! - and we never knew!'

'Impossible!' cried my mother.

'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.

'It has indeed! - and by a single lady!'

'Good gracious, my dear!  The place is in ruins!'

'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she
lives, all alone - except an old woman for a servant!'

'Oh, dear! that spoils it - I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed
Fergus, while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.

'Nonsense, Fergus!  But isn't it strange, mamma?'

'Strange!  I can hardly believe it.'

'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her.  She went
with her mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being
in the neighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she had
seen her and got all she could out of her.  She is called Mrs.
Graham, and she is in mourning - not widow's weeds, but slightish
mourning - and she is quite young, they say, - not above five or
six and twenty, - but so reserved!  They tried all they could to
find out who she was and where she came from, and, all about her,
but neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinent
home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could
manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even a casual
remark, or chance expression calculated to allay their curiosity,
or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances,
or connections.  Moreover, she was barely civil to them, and
evidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you do.'
But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon,
to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though
she is known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she
did not make her appearance at church on Sunday; and she - Eliza,
that is - will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in
wheedling something out of her - you know, Gilbert, she can do
anything.  And we should call some time, mamma; it's only proper,
you know.'

'Of course, my dear.  Poor thing!  How lonely she must feel!'

'And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how much
sugar she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she
wears, and all about it; for I don't know how I can live till I
know,' said Fergus, very gravely.

But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke of
wit, he signally failed, for nobody laughed.  However, he was not
much disconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of
bread and butter and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour
of the thing burst upon him with such irresistible force, that he
was obliged to jump up from the table, and rush snorting and
choking from the room; and a minute after, was heard screaming in
fearful agony in the garden.

As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently
demolishing the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister
went on talking, and continued to discuss the apparent or non-
apparent circumstances, and probable or improbable history of the
mysterious lady; but I must confess that, after my brother's
misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and put it
down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I should
injure my dignity by a similar explosion.

The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments
to the fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went;
though my mother declared she did not regret the journey, for if
she had not gained much good, she flattered herself she had
imparted some, and that was better:  she had given some useful
advice, which, she hoped, would not be thrown away; for Mrs.
Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and appeared
somewhat self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of reflection, -
though she did not know where she had been all her life, poor
thing, for she betrayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points,
and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it.

'On what points, mother?' asked I.

'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and
such things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she
be required to make a practical use of her knowledge or not.  I
gave her some useful pieces of information, however, and several
excellent receipts, the value of which she evidently could not
appreciate, for she begged I would not trouble myself, as she lived
in such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure she should never make
use of them.  "No matter, my dear," said I; "it is what every
respectable female ought to know; - and besides, though you are
alone now, you will not be always so; you have been married, and
probably - I might say almost certainly - will be again."  "You are
mistaken there, ma'am," said she, almost haughtily; "I am certain I
never shall." - But I told her I knew better.'

'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end
her days in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed -
but it won't last long.'

'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very
disconsolate after all; and she's excessively pretty - handsome
rather - you must see her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect
beauty, though you could hardly pretend to discover a resemblance
between her and Eliza Millward.'

'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though
not more charming.  I allow she has small claims to perfection; but
then, I maintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be less
interesting.'

'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'

'Just so - saving my mother's presence.'

'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don't
mean it; it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting
up, and bustling out of the room, under pretence of household
business, in order to escape the contradiction that was trembling
on my tongue.

After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting
Mrs. Graham.  Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very
furniture of the room she inhabited, were all set before me, with
rather more clearness and precision than I cared to see them; but,
as I was not a very attentive listener, I could not repeat the
description if I would.

The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered
whether or not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's
remonstrance, and come to church.  I confess I looked with some
interest myself towards the old family pew, appertaining to
Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimson cushions and lining had been
unpressed and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned so
sternly from the wall above.

And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in black.  Her
face was towards me, and there was something in it which, once
seen, invited me to look again.  Her hair was raven black, and
disposed in long glossy ringlets, a style of coiffure rather
unusual in those days, but always graceful and becoming; her
complexion was clear and pale; her eyes I could not see, for, being
bent upon her prayer-book, they were concealed by their drooping
lids and long black lashes, but the brows above were expressive and
well defined; the forehead was lofty and intellectual, the nose, a
perfect aquiline and the features, in general, unexceptionable -
only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeks and eyes, and
the lips, though finely formed, were a little too thin, a little
too firmly compressed, and had something about them that betokened,
I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in my heart -
'I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than be
the partner of your home.'

Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I did
not choose to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book,
but with a momentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that
was inexpressibly provoking to me.

'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I.  'Humph! - she shall
change her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'

But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts
for a place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present
occasion, was anything but what it ought to be.  Previous, however,
to directing my mind to the service, I glanced round the church to
see if any one had been observing me; - but no, - all, who were not
attending to their prayer-books, were attending to the strange
lady, - my good mother and sister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilson
and her daughter; and even Eliza Millward was slily glancing from
the corners of her eyes towards the object of general attraction.
Then she glanced at me, simpered a little, and blushed, modestly
looked at her prayer-book, and endeavoured to compose her features.

Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensible
of it by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pert
brother.  For the present, I could only resent the insult by
pressing my foot upon his toes, deferring further vengeance till we
got out of church.

Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza
Millward was:  she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very
engaging little creature, for whom I felt no small degree of
partiality; - and she knew it, though I had never come to any
direct explanation, and had no definite intention of so doing, for
my mother, who maintained there was no one good enough for me
within twenty miles round, could not bear the thoughts of my
marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition to her
numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call her
own.  Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small,
and nearly as round as my sister's, - complexion, something similar
to hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, - nose,
retrousse, - features, generally irregular; and, altogether, she
was rather charming than pretty.  But her eyes - I must not forget
those remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay -
in outward aspect at least; - they were long and narrow in shape,
the irids black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and
ever changing, but always either preternaturally - I had almost
said diabolically - wicked, or irresistibly bewitching - often
both.  Her voice was gentle and childish, her tread light and soft
as that of a cat:- but her manners more frequently resembled those
of a pretty playful kitten, that is now pert and roguish, now timid
and demure, according to its own sweet will.

Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller,
and of a larger, coarser build - a plain, quiet, sensible girl, who
had patiently nursed their mother, through her last long, tedious
illness, and been the housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence
to the present time.  She was trusted and valued by her father,
loved and courted by all dogs, cats, children, and poor people, and
slighted and neglected by everybody else.

The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly
gentleman, who placed a shovel hat above his large, square,
massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand,
and incased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters,
- or black silk stockings on state occasions.  He was a man of
fixed principles, strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerant
of dissent in any shape, acting under a firm conviction that his
opinions were always right, and whoever differed from them must be
either most deplorably ignorant, or wilfully blind.

In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a
feeling of reverential awe - but lately, even now, surmounted, for,
though he had a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a
strict disciplinarian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenile
failings and peccadilloes; and moreover, in those days, whenever he
called upon our parents, we had to stand up before him, and say our
catechism, or repeat, 'How doth the little busy bee,' or some other
hymn, or - worse than all - be questioned about his last text, and
the heads of the discourse, which we never could remember.
Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would reprove my mother for being
over-indulgent to her sons, with a reference to old Eli, or David
and Absalom, which was particularly galling to her feelings; and,
very highly as she respected him, and all his sayings, I once heard
her exclaim, 'I wish to goodness he had a son himself!  He wouldn't
be so ready with his advice to other people then; - he'd see what
it is to have a couple of boys to keep in order.'

He had a laudable care for his own bodily health - kept very early
hours, regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastly
particular about warm and dry clothing, had never been known to
preach a sermon without previously swallowing a raw egg - albeit he
was gifted with good lungs and a powerful voice, - and was,
generally, extremely particular about what he ate and drank, though
by no means abstemious, and having a mode of dietary peculiar to
himself, - being a great despiser of tea and such slops, and a
patron of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and other
strong meats, which agreed well enough with his digestive organs,
and therefore were maintained by him to be good and wholesome for
everybody, and confidently recommended to the most delicate
convalescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive the
promised benefit from his prescriptions, were told it was because
they had not persevered, and if they complained of inconvenient
results therefrom, were assured it was all fancy.

I will just touch upon two other persons whom I have mentioned, and
then bring this long letter to a close.  These are Mrs. Wilson and
her daughter.  The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, a
narrow-minded, tattling old gossip, whose character is not worth
describing.  She had two sons, Robert, a rough countrified farmer,
and Richard, a retiring, studious young man, who was studying the
classics with the vicar's assistance, preparing for college, with a
view to enter the church.

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and more
ambition.  She had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-
school education, superior to what any member of the family had
obtained before.  She had taken the polish well, acquired
considerable elegance of manners, quite lost her provincial accent,
and could boast of more accomplishments than the vicar's daughters.
She was considered a beauty besides; but never for a moment could
she number me amongst her admirers.  She was about six and twenty,
rather tall and very slender, her hair was neither chestnut nor
auburn, but a most decided bright, light red; her complexion was
remarkably fair and brilliant, her head small, neck long, chin well
turned, but very short, lips thin and red, eyes clear hazel, quick,
and penetrating, but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling.  She
had, or might have had, many suitors in her own rank of life, but
scornfully repulsed or rejected them all; for none but a gentleman
could please her refined taste, and none but a rich one could
satisfy her soaring ambition.  One gentleman there was, from whom
she had lately received some rather pointed attentions, and upon
whose heart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she had serious
designs.  This was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire, whose family had
formerly occupied Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteen
years ago, for a more modern and commodious mansion in the
neighbouring parish.

Now, Halford, I bid you adieu for the present.  This is the first
instalment of my debt.  If the coin suits you, tell me so, and I'll
send you the rest at my leisure:  if you would rather remain my
creditor than stuff your purse with such ungainly, heavy pieces, -
tell me still, and I'll pardon your bad taste, and willingly keep
the treasure to myself.

Yours immutably,

GILBERT MARKHAM.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter  02



I perceive, with joy, my most valued friend, that the cloud of your
displeasure has passed away; the light of your countenance blesses
me once more, and you desire the continuation of my story:
therefore, without more ado, you shall have it.

I think the day I last mentioned was a certain Sunday, the latest
in the October of 1827.  On the following Tuesday I was out with my
dog and gun, in pursuit of such game as I could find within the
territory of Linden-Car; but finding none at all, I turned my arms
against the hawks and carrion crows, whose depredations, as I
suspected, had deprived me of better prey.  To this end I left the
more frequented regions, the wooded valleys, the corn-fields, and
the meadow-lands, and proceeded to mount the steep acclivity of
Wildfell, the wildest and the loftiest eminence in our
neighbourhood, where, as you ascend, the hedges, as well as the
trees, become scanty and stunted, the former, at length, giving
place to rough stone fences, partly greened over with ivy and moss,
the latter to larches and Scotch fir-trees, or isolated
blackthorns.  The fields, being rough and stony, and wholly unfit
for the plough, were mostly devoted to the posturing of sheep and
cattle; the soil was thin and poor:  bits of grey rock here and
there peeped out from the grassy hillocks; bilberry-plants and
heather - relics of more savage wildness - grew under the walls;
and in many of the enclosures, ragweeds and rushes usurped
supremacy over the scanty herbage; but these were not my property.

Near the top of this hill, about two miles from Linden-Car, stood
Wildfell Hall, a superannuated mansion of the Elizabethan era,
built of dark grey stone, venerable and picturesque to look at, but
doubtless, cold and gloomy enough to inhabit, with its thick stone
mullions and little latticed panes, its time-eaten air-holes, and
its too lonely, too unsheltered situation, - only shielded from the
war of wind and weather by a group of Scotch firs, themselves half
blighted with storms, and looking as stern and gloomy as the Hall
itself.  Behind it lay a few desolate fields, and then the brown
heath-clad summit of the hill; before it (enclosed by stone walls,
and entered by an iron gate, with large balls of grey granite -
similar to those which decorated the roof and gables - surmounting
the gate-posts) was a garden, - once stocked with such hard plants
and flowers as could best brook the soil and climate, and such
trees and shrubs as could best endure the gardener's torturing
shears, and most readily assume the shapes he chose to give them, -
now, having been left so many years untilled and untrimmed,
abandoned to the weeds and the grass, to the frost and the wind,
the rain and the drought, it presented a very singular appearance
indeed.  The close green walls of privet, that had bordered the
principal walk, were two-thirds withered away, and the rest grown
beyond all reasonable bounds; the old boxwood swan, that sat beside
the scraper, had lost its neck and half its body:  the castellated
towers of laurel in the middle of the garden, the gigantic warrior
that stood on one side of the gateway, and the lion that guarded
the other, were sprouted into such fantastic shapes as resembled
nothing either in heaven or earth, or in the waters under the
earth; but, to my young imagination, they presented all of them a
goblinish appearance, that harmonised well with the ghostly legions
and dark traditions our old nurse had told us respecting the
haunted hall and its departed occupants.

I had succeeded in killing a hawk and two crows when I came within
sight of the mansion; and then, relinquishing further depredations,
I sauntered on, to have a look at the old place, and see what
changes had been wrought in it by its new inhabitant.  I did not
like to go quite to the front and stare in at the gate; but I
paused beside the garden wall, and looked, and saw no change -
except in one wing, where the broken windows and dilapidated roof
had evidently been repaired, and where a thin wreath of smoke was
curling up from the stack of chimneys.

While I thus stood, leaning on my gun, and looking up at the dark
gables, sunk in an idle reverie, weaving a tissue of wayward
fancies, in which old associations and the fair young hermit, now
within those walls, bore a nearly equal part, I heard a slight
rustling and scrambling just within the garden; and, glancing in
the direction whence the sound proceeded, I beheld a tiny hand
elevated above the wall:  it clung to the topmost stone, and then
another little hand was raised to take a firmer hold, and then
appeared a small white forehead, surmounted with wreaths of light
brown hair, with a pair of deep blue eyes beneath, and the upper
portion of a diminutive ivory nose.

The eyes did not notice me, but sparkled with glee on beholding
Sancho, my beautiful black and white setter, that was coursing
about the field with its muzzle to the ground.  The little creature
raised its face and called aloud to the dog.  The good-natured
animal paused, looked up, and wagged his tail, but made no further
advances.  The child (a little boy, apparently about five years
old) scrambled up to the top of the wall, and called again and
again; but finding this of no avail, apparently made up his mind,
like Mahomet, to go to the mountain, since the mountain would not
come to him, and attempted to get over; but a crabbed old cherry-
tree, that grew hard by, caught him by the frock in one of its
crooked scraggy arms that stretched over the wall.  In attempting
to disengage himself his foot slipped, and down he tumbled - but
not to the earth; - the tree still kept him suspended.  There was a
silent struggle, and then a piercing shriek; - but, in an instant,
I had dropped my gun on the grass, and caught the little fellow in
my arms.

I wiped his eyes with his frock, told him he was all right and
called Sancho to pacify him.  He was just putting little hand on
the dog's neck and beginning to smile through his tears, when I
heard behind me a click of the iron gate, and a rustle of female
garments, and lo! Mrs. Graham darted upon me - her neck uncovered,
her black locks streaming in the wind.

'Give me the child!' she said, in a voice scarce louder than a
whisper, but with a tone of startling vehemence, and, seizing the
boy, she snatched him from me, as if some dire contamination were
in my touch, and then stood with one hand firmly clasping his, the
other on his shoulder, fixing upon me her large, luminous dark eyes
- pale, breathless, quivering with agitation.

'I was not harming the child, madam,' said I, scarce knowing
whether to be most astonished or displeased; 'he was tumbling off
the wall there; and I was so fortunate as to catch him, while he
hung suspended headlong from that tree, and prevent I know not what
catastrophe.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' stammered she; - suddenly calming down, -
the light of reason seeming to break upon her beclouded spirit, and
a faint blush mantling on her cheek - 'I did not know you; - and I
thought - '

She stooped to kiss the child, and fondly clasped her arm round his
neck.

'You thought I was going to kidnap your son, I suppose?'

She stroked his head with a half-embarrassed laugh, and replied, -
'I did not know he had attempted to climb the wall. - I have the
pleasure of addressing Mr. Markham, I believe?' she added, somewhat
abruptly.

I bowed, but ventured to ask how she knew me.

'Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Markham.'

'Is the resemblance so strong then?' I asked, in some surprise, and
not so greatly flattered at the idea as I ought to have been.

'There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think,'
replied she, somewhat dubiously surveying my face; - 'and I think I
saw you at church on Sunday.'

I smiled. - There was something either in that smile or the
recollections it awakened that was particularly displeasing to her,
for she suddenly assumed again that proud, chilly look that had so
unspeakably roused my aversion at church - a look of repellent
scorn, so easily assumed, and so entirely without the least
distortion of a single feature, that, while there, it seemed like
the natural expression of the face, and was the more provoking to
me, because I could not think it affected.

'Good-morning, Mr. Markham,' said she; and without another word or
glance, she withdrew, with her child, into the garden; and I
returned home, angry and dissatisfied - I could scarcely tell you
why, and therefore will not attempt it.

I only stayed to put away my gun and powder-horn, and give some
requisite directions to one of the farming-men, and then repaired
to the vicarage, to solace my spirit and soothe my ruffled temper
with the company and conversation of Eliza Millward.

I found her, as usual, busy with some piece of soft embroidery (the
mania for Berlin wools had not yet commenced), while her sister was
seated at the chimney-corner, with the cat on her knee, mending a
heap of stockings.

'Mary - Mary! put them away!' Eliza was hastily saying, just as I
entered the room.

'Not I, indeed!' was the phlegmatic reply; and my appearance
prevented further discussion.

'You're so unfortunate, Mr. Markham!' observed the younger sister,
with one of her arch, sidelong glances.  'Papa's just gone out into
the parish, and not likely to be back for an hour!'

'Never mind; I can manage to spend a few minutes with his
daughters, if they'll allow me,' said I, bringing a chair to the
fire, and seating myself therein, without waiting to be asked.

'Well, if you'll be very good and amusing, we shall not object.'

'Let your permission be unconditional, pray; for I came not to give
pleasure, but to seek it,' I answered.

However, I thought it but reasonable to make some slight exertion
to render my company agreeable; and what little effort I made, was
apparently pretty successful, for Miss Eliza was never in a better
humour.  We seemed, indeed, to be mutually pleased with each other,
and managed to maintain between us a cheerful and animated though
not very profound conversation.  It was little better than a TETE-
E-TETE, for Miss Millward never opened her lips, except
occasionally to correct some random assertion or exaggerated
expression of her sister's, and once to ask her to pick up the ball
of cotton that had rolled under the table.  I did this myself,
however, as in duty bound.

'Thank you, Mr. Markham,' said she, as I presented it to her.  'I
would have picked it up myself; only I did not want to disturb the
cat.'

'Mary, dear, that won't excuse you in Mr. Markham's eyes,' said
Eliza; 'he hates cats, I daresay, as cordially as he does old maids
- like all other gentlemen.  Don't you, Mr. Markham?'

'I believe it is natural for our unamiable sex to dislike the
creatures,' replied I; 'for you ladies lavish so many caresses upon
them.'

'Bless them - little darlings!' cried she, in a sudden burst of
enthusiasm, turning round and overwhelming her sister's pet with a
shower of kisses.

'Don't, Eliza!' said Miss Millward, somewhat gruffly, as she
impatiently pushed her away.

But it was time for me to be going:  make what haste I would, I
should still be too late for tea; and my mother was the soul of
order and punctuality.

My fair friend was evidently unwilling to bid me adieu.  I tenderly
squeezed her little hand at parting; and she repaid me with one of
her softest smiles and most bewitching glances.  I went home very
happy, with a heart brimful of complacency for myself, and
overflowing with love for Eliza.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 03



Two days after, Mrs. Graham called at Linden-Car, contrary to the
expectation of Rose, who entertained an idea that the mysterious
occupant of Wildfell Hall would wholly disregard the common
observances of civilized life, - in which opinion she was supported
by the Wilsons, who testified that neither their call nor the
Millwards' had been returned as yet.  Now, however, the cause of
that omission was explained, though not entirely to the
satisfaction of Rose.  Mrs. Graham had brought her child with her,
and on my mother's expressing surprise that he could walk so far,
she replied, - 'It is a long walk for him; but I must have either
taken him with me, or relinquished the visit altogether; for I
never leave him alone; and I think, Mrs. Markham, I must beg you to
make my excuses to the Millwards and Mrs. Wilson, when you see
them, as I fear I cannot do myself the pleasure of calling upon
them till my little Arthur is able to accompany me.'

'But you have a servant,' said Rose; 'could you not leave him with
her?'

'She has her own occupations to attend to; and besides, she is too
old to run after a child, and he is too mercurial to be tied to an
elderly woman.'

'But you left him to come to church.'

'Yes, once; but I would not have left him for any other purpose;
and I think, in future, I must contrive to bring him with me, or
stay at home.'

'Is he so mischievous?' asked my mother, considerably shocked.

'No,' replied the lady, sadly smiling, as she stroked the wavy
locks of her son, who was seated on a low stool at her feet; 'but
he is my only treasure, and I am his only friend:  so we don't like
to be separated.'

'But, my dear, I call that doting,' said my plain-spoken parent.
'You should try to suppress such foolish fondness, as well to save
your son from ruin as yourself from ridicule.'

'Ruin!  Mrs. Markham!'

'Yes; it is spoiling the child.  Even at his age, he ought not to
be always tied to his mother's apron-string; he should learn to be
ashamed of it.'

'Mrs. Markham, I beg you will not say such things, in his presence,
at least.  I trust my son will never be ashamed to love his
mother!' said Mrs. Graham, with a serious energy that startled the
company.

My mother attempted to appease her by an explanation; but she
seemed to think enough had been said on the subject, and abruptly
turned the conversation.

'Just as I thought,' said I to myself:  'the lady's temper is none
of the mildest, notwithstanding her sweet, pale face and lofty
brow, where thought and suffering seem equally to have stamped
their impress.'

All this time I was seated at a table on the other side of the
room, apparently immersed in the perusal of a volume of the
FARMER'S MAGAZINE, which I happened to have been reading at the
moment of our visitor's arrival; and, not choosing to be over
civil, I had merely bowed as she entered, and continued my
occupation as before.

In a little while, however, I was sensible that some one was
approaching me, with a light, but slow and hesitating tread.  It
was little Arthur, irresistibly attracted by my dog Sancho, that
was lying at my feet.  On looking up I beheld him standing about
two yards off, with his clear blue eyes wistfully gazing on the
dog, transfixed to the spot, not by fear of the animal, but by a
timid disinclination to approach its master.  A little
encouragement, however, induced him to come forward.  The child,
though shy, was not sullen.  In a minute he was kneeling on the
carpet, with his arms round Sancho's neck, and, in a minute or two
more, the little fellow was seated on my knee, surveying with eager
interest the various specimens of horses, cattle, pigs, and model
farms portrayed in the volume before me.  I glanced at his mother
now and then to see how she relished the new-sprung intimacy; and I
saw, by the unquiet aspect of her eye, that for some reason or
other she was uneasy at the child's position.

'Arthur,' said she, at length, 'come here.  You are troublesome to
Mr. Markham:  he wishes to read.'

'By no means, Mrs. Graham; pray let him stay.  I am as much amused
as he is,' pleaded I.  But still, with hand and eye, she silently
called him to her side.

'No, mamma,' said the child; 'let me look at these pictures first;
and then I'll come, and tell you all about them.'

'We are going to have a small party on Monday, the fifth of
November,' said my mother; 'and I hope you will not refuse to make
one, Mrs. Graham.  You can bring your little boy with you, you know
- I daresay we shall be able to amuse him; - and then you can make
your own apologies to the Millwards and Wilsons - they will all be
here, I expect.'

'Thank you, I never go to parties.'

'Oh! but this will be quite a family concern - early hours, and
nobody here but ourselves, and just the Millwards and Wilsons, most
of whom you already know, and Mr. Lawrence, your landlord, with
whom you ought to make acquaintance.'

'I do know something of him - but you must excuse me this time; for
the evenings, now, are dark and damp, and Arthur, I fear, is too
delicate to risk exposure to their influence with impunity.  We
must defer the enjoyment of your hospitality till the return of
longer days and warmer nights.'

Rose, now, at a hint from my mother, produced a decanter of wine,
with accompaniments of glasses and cake, from the cupboard and the
oak sideboard, and the refreshment was duly presented to the
guests.  They both partook of the cake, but obstinately refused the
wine, in spite of their hostess's hospitable attempts to force it
upon them.  Arthur, especially shrank from the ruby nectar as if in
terror and disgust, and was ready to cry when urged to take it.

'Never mind, Arthur,' said his mamma; 'Mrs. Markham thinks it will
do you good, as you were tired with your walk; but she will not
oblige you to take it! - I daresay you will do very well without.
He detests the very sight of wine,' she added, 'and the smell of it
almost makes him sick.  I have been accustomed to make him swallow
a little wine or weak spirits-and-water, by way of medicine, when
he was sick, and, in fact, I have done what I could to make him
hate them.'

Everybody laughed, except the young widow and her son.

'Well, Mrs. Graham,' said my mother, wiping the tears of merriment
from her bright blue eyes - 'well, you surprise me!  I really gave
you credit for having more sense. - The poor child will be the
veriest milksop that ever was sopped!  Only think what a man you
will make of him, if you persist in - '

'I think it a very excellent plan,' interrupted Mrs. Graham, with
imperturbable gravity.  'By that means I hope to save him from one
degrading vice at least.  I wish I could render the incentives to
every other equally innoxious in his case.'

'But by such means,' said I, 'you will never render him virtuous. -
What is it that constitutes virtue, Mrs. Graham?  Is it the
circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation; or
that of having no temptations to resist? - Is he a strong man that
overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements,
though by dint of great muscular exertion, and at the risk of some
subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in his chair all day, with
nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fire, and carrying
his food to his mouth?  If you would have your son to walk
honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the
stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them - not
insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go
alone.'

'I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to
go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can,
and teach him to avoid the rest - or walk firmly over them, as you
say; - for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance,
there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility,
steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. - It is all very
well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue; but for
fifty - or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation, show
me one that has had virtue to resist.  And why should I take it for
granted that my son will be one in a thousand? - and not rather
prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his - like the
rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it?'

'You are very complimentary to us all,' I observed.

'I know nothing about you - I speak of those I do know - and when I
see the whole race of mankind (with a few rare exceptions)
stumbling and blundering along the path of life, sinking into every
pitfall, and breaking their shins over every impediment that lies
in their way, shall I not use all the means in my power to insure
for him a smoother and a safer passage?'

'Yes, but the surest means will be to endeavour to fortify him
against temptation, not to remove it out of his way.'

'I will do both, Mr. Markham.  God knows he will have temptations
enough to assail him, both from within and without, when I have
done all I can to render vice as uninviting to him, as it is
abominable in its own nature - I myself have had, indeed, but few
incentives to what the world calls vice, but yet I have experienced
temptations and trials of another kind, that have required, on many
occasions, more watchfulness and firmness to resist than I have
hitherto been able to muster against them.  And this, I believe, is
what most others would acknowledge who are accustomed to
reflection, and wishful to strive against their natural
corruptions.'

'Yes,' said my mother, but half apprehending her drift; 'but you
would not judge of a boy by yourself - and, my dear Mrs. Graham,
let me warn you in good time against the error - the fatal error, I
may call it - of taking that boy's education upon yourself.
Because you are clever in some things and well informed, you may
fancy yourself equal to the task; but indeed you are not; and if
you persist in the attempt, believe me you will bitterly repent it
when the mischief is done.'

'I am to send him to school, I suppose, to learn to despise his
mother's authority and affection!' said the lady, with rather a
bitter smile.

'Oh, no! - But if you would have a boy to despise his mother, let
her keep him at home, and spend her life in petting him up, and
slaving to indulge his follies and caprices.'

'I perfectly agree with you, Mrs. Markham; but nothing can be
further from my principles and practice than such criminal weakness
as that.'

'Well, but you will treat him like a girl - you'll spoil his
spirit, and make a mere Miss Nancy of him - you will, indeed, Mrs.
Graham, whatever you may think.  But I'll get Mr. Millward to talk
to you about it:- he'll tell you the consequences; - he'll set it
before you as plain as the day; - and tell you what you ought to
do, and all about it; - and, I don't doubt, he'll be able to
convince you in a minute.'

'No occasion to trouble the vicar,' said Mrs. Graham, glancing at
me - I suppose I was smiling at my mother's unbounded confidence in
that worthy gentleman - 'Mr. Markham here thinks his powers of
conviction at least equal to Mr. Millward's.  If I hear not him,
neither should I be convinced though one rose from the dead, he
would tell you.  Well, Mr. Markham, you that maintain that a boy
should not be shielded from evil, but sent out to battle against
it, alone and unassisted - not taught to avoid the snares of life,
but boldly to rush into them, or over them, as he may - to seek
danger, rather than shun it, and feed his virtue by temptation, -
would you -?'

'I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham - but you get on too fast.  I have
not yet said that a boy should be taught to rush into the snares of
life, - or even wilfully to seek temptation for the sake of
exercising his virtue by overcoming it; - I only say that it is
better to arm and strengthen your hero, than to disarm and enfeeble
the foe; - and if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse,
tending it carefully night and day, and shielding it from every
breath of wind, you could not expect it to become a hardy tree,
like that which has grown up on the mountain-side, exposed to all
the action of the elements, and not even sheltered from the shock
of the tempest.'

'Granted; - but would you use the same argument with regard to a
girl?'

'Certainly not.'

'No; you would have her to be tenderly and delicately nurtured,
like a hot-house plant - taught to cling to others for direction
and support, and guarded, as much as possible, from the very
knowledge of evil.  But will you be so good as to inform me why you
make this distinction?  Is it that you think she has no virtue?'

'Assuredly not.'

'Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by temptation; -
and you think that a woman cannot be too little exposed to
temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or anything
connected therewith.  It must be either that you think she is
essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded, that she cannot
withstand temptation, - and though she may be pure and innocent as
long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint, yet, being
destitute of real virtue, to teach her how to sin is at once to
make her a sinner, and the greater her knowledge, the wider her
liberty, the deeper will be her depravity, - whereas, in the nobler
sex, there is a natural tendency to goodness, guarded by a superior
fortitude, which, the more it is exercised by trials and dangers,
is only the further developed - '

'Heaven forbid that I should think so!' I interrupted her at last.

'Well, then, it must be that you think they are both weak and prone
to err, and the slightest error, the merest shadow of pollution,
will ruin the one, while the character of the other will be
strengthened and embellished - his education properly finished by a
little practical acquaintance with forbidden things.  Such
experience, to him (to use a trite simile), will be like the storm
to the oak, which, though it may scatter the leaves, and snap the
smaller branches, serves but to rivet the roots, and to harden and
condense the fibres of the tree.  You would have us encourage our
sons to prove all things by their own experience, while our
daughters must not even profit by the experience of others.  Now I
would have both so to benefit by the experience of others, and the
precepts of a higher authority, that they should know beforehand to
refuse the evil and choose the good, and require no experimental
proofs to teach them the evil of transgression.  I would not send a
poor girl into the world, unarmed against her foes, and ignorant of
the snares that beset her path; nor would I watch and guard her,
till, deprived of self-respect and self-reliance, she lost the
power or the will to watch and guard herself; - and as for my son -
if I thought he would grow up to be what you call a man of the
world - one that has "seen life," and glories in his experience,
even though he should so far profit by it as to sober down, at
length, into a useful and respected member of society - I would
rather that he died to-morrow! - rather a thousand times!' she
earnestly repeated, pressing her darling to her side and kissing
his forehead with intense affection.  He had already left his new
companion, and been standing for some time beside his mother's
knee, looking up into her face, and listening in silent wonder to
her incomprehensible discourse.

'Well! you ladies must always have the last word, I suppose,' said
I, observing her rise, and begin to take leave of my mother.

'You may have as many words as you please, - only I can't stay to
hear them.'

'No; that is the way:  you hear just as much of an argument as you
please; and the rest may be spoken to the wind.'

'If you are anxious to say anything more on the subject,' replied
she, as she shook hands with Rose, 'you must bring your sister to
see me some fine day, and I'll listen, as patiently as you could
wish, to whatever you please to say.  I would rather be lectured by
you than the vicar, because I should have less remorse in telling
you, at the end of the discourse, that I preserve my own opinion
precisely the same as at the beginning - as would be the case, I am
persuaded, with regard to either logician.'

'Yes, of course,' replied I, determined to be as provoking as
herself; 'for when a lady does consent to listen to an argument
against her own opinions, she is always predetermined to withstand
it - to listen only with her bodily ears, keeping the mental organs
resolutely closed against the strongest reasoning.'

'Good-morning, Mr. Markham,' said my fair antagonist, with a
pitying smile; and deigning no further rejoinder, she slightly
bowed, and was about to withdraw; but her son, with childish
impertinence, arrested her by exclaiming, - 'Mamma, you have not
shaken hands with Mr. Markham!'

She laughingly turned round and held out her hand.  I gave it a
spiteful squeeze, for I was annoyed at the continual injustice she
had done me from the very dawn of our acquaintance.  Without
knowing anything about my real disposition and principles, she was
evidently prejudiced against me, and seemed bent upon showing me
that her opinions respecting me, on every particular, fell far
below those I entertained of myself.  I was naturally touchy, or it
would not have vexed me so much.  Perhaps, too, I was a little bit
spoiled by my mother and sister, and some other ladies of my
acquaintance; - and yet I was by no means a fop - of that I am
fully convinced, whether you are or not.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 04



Our party, on the 5th of November, passed off very well, in spite
of Mrs. Graham's refusal to grace it with her presence.  Indeed, it
is probable that, had she been there, there would have been less
cordiality, freedom, and frolic amongst us than there was without
her.

My mother, as usual, was cheerful and chatty, full of activity and
good-nature, and only faulty in being too anxious to make her
guests happy, thereby forcing several of them to do what their soul
abhorred in the way of eating or drinking, sitting opposite the
blazing fire, or talking when they would be silent.  Nevertheless,
they bore it very well, being all in their holiday humours.

Mr. Millward was mighty in important dogmas and sententious jokes,
pompous anecdotes and oracular discourses, dealt out for the
edification of the whole assembly in general, and of the admiring
Mrs. Markham, the polite Mr. Lawrence, the sedate Mary Millward,
the quiet Richard Wilson, and the matter-of-fact Robert in
particular, - as being the most attentive listeners.

Mrs. Wilson was more brilliant than ever, with her budgets of fresh
news and old scandal, strung together with trivial questions and
remarks, and oft-repeated observations, uttered apparently for the
sole purpose of denying a moment's rest to her inexhaustible organs
of speech.  She had brought her knitting with her, and it seemed as
if her tongue had laid a wager with her fingers, to outdo them in
swift and ceaseless motion.

Her daughter Jane was, of course, as graceful and elegant, as witty
and seductive, as she could possibly manage to be; for here were
all the ladies to outshine, and all the gentlemen to charm, - and
Mr. Lawrence, especially, to capture and subdue.  Her little arts
to effect his subjugation were too subtle and impalpable to attract
my observation; but I thought there was a certain refined
affectation of superiority, and an ungenial self-consciousness
about her, that negatived all her advantages; and after she was
gone, Rose interpreted to me her various looks, words, and actions
with a mingled acuteness and asperity that made me wonder, equally,
at the lady's artifice and my sister's penetration, and ask myself
if she too had an eye to the squire - but never mind, Halford; she
had not.

Richard Wilson, Jane's younger brother, sat in a corner, apparently
good-tempered, but silent and shy, desirous to escape observation,
but willing enough to listen and observe:  and, although somewhat
out of his element, he would have been happy enough in his own
quiet way, if my mother could only have let him alone; but in her
mistaken kindness, she would keep persecuting him with her
attentions - pressing upon him all manner of viands, under the
notion that he was too bashful to help himself, and obliging him to
shout across the room his monosyllabic replies to the numerous
questions and observations by which she vainly attempted to draw
him into conversation.

Rose informed me that he never would have favoured us with his
company but for the importunities of his sister Jane, who was most
anxious to show Mr. Lawrence that she had at least one brother more
gentlemanly and refined than Robert.  That worthy individual she
had been equally solicitous to keep away; but he affirmed that he
saw no reason why he should not enjoy a crack with Markham and the
old lady (my mother was not old, really), and bonny Miss Rose and
the parson, as well as the best; - and he was in the right of it
too.  So he talked common-place with my mother and Rose, and
discussed parish affairs with the vicar, farming matters with me,
and politics with us both.

Mary Millward was another mute, - not so much tormented with cruel
kindness as Dick Wilson, because she had a certain short, decided
way of answering and refusing, and was supposed to be rather sullen
than diffident.  However that might be, she certainly did not give
much pleasure to the company; - nor did she appear to derive much
from it.  Eliza told me she had only come because her father
insisted upon it, having taken it into his head that she devoted
herself too exclusively to her household duties, to the neglect of
such relaxations and innocent enjoyments as were proper to her age
and sex.  She seemed to me to be good-humoured enough on the whole.
Once or twice she was provoked to laughter by the wit or the
merriment of some favoured individual amongst us; and then I
observed she sought the eye of Richard Wilson, who sat over against
her.  As he studied with her father, she had some acquaintance with
him, in spite of the retiring habits of both, and I suppose there
was a kind of fellow-feeling established between them.

My Eliza was charming beyond description, coquettish without
affectation, and evidently more desirous to engage my attention
than that of all the room besides.  Her delight in having me near
her, seated or standing by her side, whispering in her ear, or
pressing her hand in the dance, was plainly legible in her glowing
face and heaving bosom, however belied by saucy words and gestures.
But I had better hold my tongue:  if I boast of these things now, I
shall have to blush hereafter.

To proceed, then, with the various individuals of our party; Rose
was simple and natural as usual, and full of mirth and vivacity.

Fergus was impertinent and absurd; but his impertinence and folly
served to make others laugh, if they did not raise himself in their
estimation.

And finally (for I omit myself), Mr. Lawrence was gentlemanly and
inoffensive to all, and polite to the vicar and the ladies,
especially his hostess and her daughter, and Miss Wilson -
misguided man; he had not the taste to prefer Eliza Millward.  Mr.
Lawrence and I were on tolerably intimate terms.  Essentially of
reserved habits, and but seldom quitting the secluded place of his
birth, where he had lived in solitary state since the death of his
father, he had neither the opportunity nor the inclination for
forming many acquaintances; and, of all he had ever known, I
(judging by the results) was the companion most agreeable to his
taste.  I liked the man well enough, but he was too cold, and shy,
and self-contained, to obtain my cordial sympathies.  A spirit of
candour and frankness, when wholly unaccompanied with coarseness,
he admired in others, but he could not acquire it himself.  His
excessive reserve upon all his own concerns was, indeed, provoking
and chilly enough; but I forgave it, from a conviction that it
originated less in pride and want of confidence in his friends,
than in a certain morbid feeling of delicacy, and a peculiar
diffidence, that he was sensible of, but wanted energy to overcome.
His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in
the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest
touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind.  And, upon the
whole, our intimacy was rather a mutual predilection than a deep
and solid friendship, such as has since arisen between myself and
you, Halford, whom, in spite of your occasional crustiness, I can
liken to nothing so well as an old coat, unimpeachable in texture,
but easy and loose - that has conformed itself to the shape of the
wearer, and which he may use as he pleases, without being bothered
with the fear of spoiling it; - whereas Mr. Lawrence was like a new
garment, all very neat and trim to look at, but so tight in the
elbows, that you would fear to split the seams by the unrestricted
motion of your arms, and so smooth and fine in surface that you
scruple to expose it to a single drop of rain.

Soon after the arrival of the guests, my mother mentioned Mrs.
Graham, regretted she was not there to meet them, and explained to
the Millwards and Wilsons the reasons she had given for neglecting
to return their calls, hoping they would excuse her, as she was
sure she did not mean to be uncivil, and would be glad to see them
at any time. - 'But she is a very singular lady, Mr. Lawrence,'
added she; 'we don't know what to make of her - but I daresay you
can tell us something about her, for she is your tenant, you know,
- and she said she knew you a little.'

All eyes were turned to Mr. Lawrence.  I thought he looked
unnecessarily confused at being so appealed to.

'I, Mrs. Markham!' said he; 'you are mistaken - I don't - that is -
I have seen her, certainly; but I am the last person you should
apply to for information respecting Mrs. Graham.'

He then immediately turned to Rose, and asked her to favour the
company with a song, or a tune on the piano.

'No,' said she, 'you must ask Miss Wilson:  she outshines us all in
singing, and music too.'

Miss Wilson demurred.

'She'll sing readily enough,' said Fergus, 'if you'll undertake to
stand by her, Mr. Lawrence, and turn over the leaves for her.'

'I shall be most happy to do so, Miss Wilson; will you allow me?'

She bridled her long neck and smiled, and suffered him to lead her
to the instrument, where she played and sang, in her very best
style, one piece after another; while he stood patiently by,
leaning one hand on the back of her chair, and turning over the
leaves of her book with the other.  Perhaps he was as much charmed
with her performance as she was.  It was all very fine in its way;
but I cannot say that it moved me very deeply.  There was plenty of
skill and execution, but precious little feeling.

But we had not done with Mrs. Graham yet.

'I don't take wine, Mrs. Markham,' said Mr. Millward, upon the
introduction of that beverage; 'I'll take a little of your home-
brewed ale.  I always prefer your home-brewed to anything else.'

Flattered at this compliment, my mother rang the bell, and a china
jug of our best ale was presently brought and set before the worthy
gentleman who so well knew how to appreciate its excellences.

'Now THIS is the thing!' cried he, pouring out a glass of the same
in a long stream, skilfully directed from the jug to the tumbler,
so as to produce much foam without spilling a drop; and, having
surveyed it for a moment opposite the candle, he took a deep
draught, and then smacked his lips, drew a long breath, and
refilled his glass, my mother looking on with the greatest
satisfaction.

'There's nothing like this, Mrs. Markham!' said he.  'I always
maintain that there's nothing to compare with your home-brewed
ale.'

'I'm sure I'm glad you like it, sir.  I always look after the
brewing myself, as well as the cheese and the butter - I like to
have things well done, while we're about it.'

'Quite right, Mrs. Markham!'

'But then, Mr. Millward, you don't think it wrong to take a little
wine now and then - or a little spirits either!' said my mother, as
she handed a smoking tumbler of gin-and-water to Mrs. Wilson, who
affirmed that wine sat heavy on her stomach, and whose son Robert
was at that moment helping himself to a pretty stiff glass of the
same.

'By no means!' replied the oracle, with a Jove-like nod; 'these
things are all blessings and mercies, if we only knew how to make
use of them.'

'But Mrs. Graham doesn't think so.  You shall just hear now what
she told us the other day - I told her I'd tell you.'

And my mother favoured the company with a particular account of
that lady's mistaken ideas and conduct regarding the matter in
hand, concluding with, 'Now, don't you think it is wrong?'

'Wrong!' repeated the vicar, with more than common solemnity -
'criminal, I should say - criminal!  Not only is it making a fool
of the boy, but it is despising the gifts of Providence, and
teaching him to trample them under his feet.'

He then entered more fully into the question, and explained at
large the folly and impiety of such a proceeding.  My mother heard
him with profoundest reverence; and even Mrs. Wilson vouchsafed to
rest her tongue for a moment, and listen in silence, while she
complacently sipped her gin-and-water.  Mr. Lawrence sat with his
elbow on the table, carelessly playing with his half-empty wine-
glass, and covertly smiling to himself.

'But don't you think, Mr. Millward,' suggested he, when at length
that gentleman paused in his discourse, 'that when a child may be
naturally prone to intemperance - by the fault of its parents or
ancestors, for instance - some precautions are advisable?'  (Now it
was generally believed that Mr. Lawrence's father had shortened his
days by intemperance.)

'Some precautions, it may be; but temperance, sir, is one thing,
and abstinence another.'

'But I have heard that, with some persons, temperance - that is,
moderation - is almost impossible; and if abstinence be an evil
(which some have doubted), no one will deny that excess is a
greater.  Some parents have entirely prohibited their children from
tasting intoxicating liquors; but a parent's authority cannot last
for ever; children are naturally prone to hanker after forbidden
things; and a child, in such a case, would be likely to have a
strong curiosity to taste, and try the effect of what has been so
lauded and enjoyed by others, so strictly forbidden to himself -
which curiosity would generally be gratified on the first
convenient opportunity; and the restraint once broken, serious
consequences might ensue.  I don't pretend to be a judge of such
matters, but it seems to me, that this plan of Mrs. Graham's, as
you describe it, Mrs. Markham, extraordinary as it may be, is not
without its advantages; for here you see the child is delivered at
once from temptation; he has no secret curiosity, no hankering
desire; he is as well acquainted with the tempting liquors as he
ever wishes to be; and is thoroughly disgusted with them, without
having suffered from their effects.'

'And is that right, sir?  Have I not proven to you how wrong it is
- how contrary to Scripture and to reason, to teach a child to look
with contempt and disgust upon the blessings of Providence, instead
of to use them aright?'

'You may consider laudanum a blessing of Providence, sir,' replied
Mr. Lawrence, smiling; 'and yet, you will allow that most of us had
better abstain from it, even in moderation; but,' added he, 'I
would not desire you to follow out my simile too closely - in
witness whereof I finish my glass.'

'And take another, I hope, Mr. Lawrence,' said my mother, pushing
the bottle towards him.

He politely declined, and pushing his chair a little away from the
table, leant back towards me - I was seated a trifle behind, on the
sofa beside Eliza Millward - and carelessly asked me if I knew Mrs.
Graham.

'I have met her once or twice,' I replied.

'What do you think of her?'

'I cannot say that I like her much.  She is handsome - or rather I
should say distinguished and interesting - in her appearance, but
by no means amiable - a woman liable to take strong prejudices, I
should fancy, and stick to them through thick and thin, twisting
everything into conformity with her own preconceived opinions - too
hard, too sharp, too bitter for my taste.'

He made no reply, but looked down and bit his lip, and shortly
after rose and sauntered up to Miss Wilson, as much repelled by me,
I fancy, as attracted by her.  I scarcely noticed it at the time,
but afterwards I was led to recall this and other trifling facts,
of a similar nature, to my remembrance, when - but I must not
anticipate.

We wound up the evening with dancing - our worthy pastor thinking
it no scandal to be present on the occasion, though one of the
village musicians was engaged to direct our evolutions with his
violin.  But Mary Millward obstinately refused to join us; and so
did Richard Wilson, though my mother earnestly entreated him to do
so, and even offered to be his partner.

We managed very well without them, however.  With a single set of
quadrilles, and several country dances, we carried it on to a
pretty late hour; and at length, having called upon our musician to
strike up a waltz, I was just about to whirl Eliza round in that
delightful dance, accompanied by Lawrence and Jane Wilson, and
Fergus and Rose, when Mr. Millward interposed with:- 'No, no; I
don't allow that!  Come, it's time to be going now.'

'Oh, no, papa!' pleaded Eliza.

'High time, my girl - high time!  Moderation in all things,
remember!  That's the plan - "Let your moderation be known unto all
men!"'

But in revenge I followed Eliza into the dimly-lighted passage,
where, under pretence of helping her on with her shawl, I fear I
must plead guilty to snatching a kiss behind her father's back,
while he was enveloping his throat and chin in the folds of a
mighty comforter.  But alas! in turning round, there was my mother
close beside me.  The consequence was, that no sooner were the
guests departed, than I was doomed to a very serious remonstrance,
which unpleasantly checked the galloping course of my spirits, and
made a disagreeable close to the evening.

'My dear Gilbert,' said she, 'I wish you wouldn't do so!  You know
how deeply I have your advantage at heart, how I love you and prize
you above everything else in the world, and how much I long to see
you well settled in life - and how bitterly it would grieve me to
see you married to that girl - or any other in the neighbourhood.
What you see in her I don't know.  It isn't only the want of money
that I think about - nothing of the kind - but there's neither
beauty, nor cleverness, nor goodness, nor anything else that's
desirable.  If you knew your own value, as I do, you wouldn't dream
of it.  Do wait awhile and see!  If you bind yourself to her,
you'll repent it all your lifetime when you look round and see how
many better there are.  Take my word for it, you will.'

'Well, mother, do be quiet! - I hate to be lectured! - I'm not
going to marry yet, I tell you; but - dear me! mayn't I enjoy
myself at all?'

'Yes, my dear boy, but not in that way.  Indeed, you shouldn't do
such things.  You would be wronging the girl, if she were what she
ought to be; but I assure you she is as artful a little hussy as
anybody need wish to see; and you'll got entangled in her snares
before you know where you are.  And if you marry her, Gilbert,
you'll break my heart - so there's an end of it.'

'Well, don't cry about it, mother,' said I, for the tears were
gushing from her eyes; 'there, let that kiss efface the one I gave
Eliza; don't abuse her any more, and set your mind at rest; for
I'll promise never - that is, I'll promise to think twice before I
take any important step you seriously disapprove of.'

So saying, I lighted my candle, and went to bed, considerably
quenched in spirit.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 05

It was about the close of the month, that, yielding at length to
the urgent importunities of Rose, I accompanied her in a visit to
Wildfell Hall.  To our surprise, we were ushered into a room where
the first object that met the eye was a painter's easel, with a
table beside it covered with rolls of canvas, bottles of oil and
varnish, palette, brushes, paints, &c.  Leaning against the wall
were several sketches in various stages of progression, and a few
finished paintings - mostly of landscapes and figures.

'I must make you welcome to my studio,' said Mrs. Graham; 'there is
no fire in the sitting-room to-day, and it is rather too cold to
show you into a place with an empty grate.'

And disengaging a couple of chairs from the artistical lumber that
usurped them, she bid us be seated, and resumed her place beside
the easel - not facing it exactly, but now and then glancing at the
picture upon it while she conversed, and giving it an occasional
touch with her brush, as if she found it impossible to wean her
attention entirely from her occupation to fix it upon her guests.
It was a view of Wildfell Hall, as seen at early morning from the
field below, rising in dark relief against a sky of clear silvery
blue, with a few red streaks on the horizon, faithfully drawn and
coloured, and very elegantly and artistically handled.

'I see your heart is in your work, Mrs. Graham,' observed I:  'I
must beg you to go on with it; for if you suffer our presence to
interrupt you, we shall be constrained to regard ourselves as
unwelcome intruders.'

'Oh, no!' replied she, throwing her brush on to the table, as if
startled into politeness.  'I am not so beset with visitors but
that I can readily spare a few minutes to the few that do favour me
with their company.'

'You have almost completed your painting,' said I, approaching to
observe it more closely, and surveying it with a greater degree of
admiration and delight than I cared to express.  'A few more
touches in the foreground will finish it, I should think.  But why
have you called it Fernley Manor, Cumberland, instead of Wildfell
Hall, -shire?' I asked, alluding to the name she had traced in
small characters at the bottom of the canvas.

But immediately I was sensible of having committed an act of
impertinence in so doing; for she coloured and hesitated; but after
a moment's pause, with a kind of desperate frankness, she replied:-

'Because I have friends - acquaintances at least - in the world,
from whom I desire my present abode to be concealed; and as they
might see the picture, and might possibly recognise the style in
spite of the false initials I have put in the corner, I take the
precaution to give a false name to the place also, in order to put
them on a wrong scent, if they should attempt to trace me out by
it.'

'Then you don't intend to keep the picture?' said I, anxious to say
anything to change the subject.

'No; I cannot afford to paint for my own amusement.'

'Mamma sends all her pictures to London,' said Arthur; 'and
somebody sells them for her there, and sends us the money.'

In looking round upon the other pieces, I remarked a pretty sketch
of Linden-hope from the top of the hill; another view of the old
hall basking in the sunny haze of a quiet summer afternoon; and a
simple but striking little picture of a child brooding, with looks
of silent but deep and sorrowful regret, over a handful of withered
flowers, with glimpses of dark low hills and autumnal fields behind
it, and a dull beclouded sky above.

'You see there is a sad dearth of subjects,' observed the fair
artist.  'I took the old hall once on a moonlight night, and I
suppose I must take it again on a snowy winter's day, and then
again on a dark cloudy evening; for I really have nothing else to
paint.  I have been told that you have a fine view of the sea
somewhere in the neighbourhood.  Is it true? - and is it within
walking distance?'

'Yes, if you don't object to walking four miles - or nearly so -
little short of eight miles, there and back - and over a somewhat
rough, fatiguing road.'

'In what direction does it lie?'

I described the situation as well as I could, and was entering upon
an explanation of the various roads, lanes, and fields to be
traversed in order to reach it, the goings straight on, and
turnings to the right and the left, when she checked me with, -

'Oh, stop! don't tell me now:  I shall forget every word of your
directions before I require them.  I shall not think about going
till next spring; and then, perhaps, I may trouble you.  At present
we have the winter before us, and - '

She suddenly paused, with a suppressed exclamation, started up from
her seat, and saying, 'Excuse me one moment,' hurried from the
room, and shut the door behind her.

Curious to see what had startled her so, I looked towards the
window - for her eyes had been carelessly fixed upon it the moment
before - and just beheld the skirts of a man's coat vanishing
behind a large holly-bush that stood between the window and the
porch.

'It's mamma's friend,' said Arthur.

Rose and I looked at each other.

'I don't know what to make of her at all,' whispered Rose.

The child looked at her in grave surprise.  She straightway began
to talk to him on indifferent matters, while I amused myself with
looking at the pictures.  There was one in an obscure corner that I
had not before observed.  It was a little child, seated on the
grass with its lap full of flowers.  The tiny features and large
blue eyes, smiling through a shock of light brown curls, shaken
over the forehead as it bent above its treasure, bore sufficient
resemblance to those of the young gentleman before me to proclaim
it a portrait of Arthur Graham in his early infancy.

In taking this up to bring it to the light, I discovered another
behind it, with its face to the wall.  I ventured to take that up
too.  It was the portrait of a gentleman in the full prime of
youthful manhood - handsome enough, and not badly executed; but if
done by the same hand as the others, it was evidently some years
before; for there was far more careful minuteness of detail, and
less of that freshness of colouring and freedom of handling that
delighted and surprised me in them.  Nevertheless, I surveyed it
with considerable interest.  There was a certain individuality in
the features and expression that stamped it, at once, a successful
likeness.  The bright blue eyes regarded the spectator with a kind
of lurking drollery - you almost expected to see them wink; the
lips - a little too voluptuously full - seemed ready to break into
a smile; the warmly-tinted cheeks were embellished with a luxuriant
growth of reddish whiskers; while the bright chestnut hair,
clustering in abundant, wavy curls, trespassed too much upon the
forehead, and seemed to intimate that the owner thereof was prouder
of his beauty than his intellect - as, perhaps, he had reason to
be; and yet he looked no fool.

I had not had the portrait in my hands two minutes before the fair
artist returned.

'Only some one come about the pictures,' said she, in apology for
her abrupt departure:  'I told him to wait.'

'I fear it will be considered an act of impertinence,' said 'to
presume to look at a picture that the artist has turned to the
wall; but may I ask -'

'It is an act of very great impertinence, sir; and therefore I beg
you will ask nothing about it, for your curiosity will not be
gratified,' replied she, attempting to cover the tartness of her
rebuke with a smile; but I could see, by her flushed cheek and
kindling eye, that she was seriously annoyed.

'I was only going to ask if you had painted it yourself,' said I,
sulkily resigning the picture into her hands; for without a grain
of ceremony she took it from me; and quickly restoring it to the
dark corner, with its face to the wall, placed the other against it
as before, and then turned to me and laughed.

But I was in no humour for jesting.  I carelessly turned to the
window, and stood looking out upon the desolate garden, leaving her
to talk to Rose for a minute or two; and then, telling my sister it
was time to go, shook hands with the little gentleman, coolly bowed
to the lady, and moved towards the door.  But, having bid adieu to
Rose, Mrs. Graham presented her hand to me, saying, with a soft
voice, and by no means a disagreeable smile, - 'Let not the sun go
down upon your wrath, Mr. Markham.  I'm sorry I offended you by my
abruptness.'

When a lady condescends to apologise, there is no keeping one's
anger, of course; so we parted good friends for once; and this time
I squeezed her hand with a cordial, not a spiteful pressure.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 06



During the next four months I did not enter Mrs. Graham's house,
nor she mine; but still the ladies continued to talk about her, and
still our acquaintance continued, though slowly, to advance.  As
for their talk, I paid but little attention to that (when it
related to the fair hermit, I mean), and the only information I
derived from it was, that one fine frosty day she had ventured to
take her little boy as far as the vicarage, and that,
unfortunately, nobody was at home but Miss Millward; nevertheless,
she had sat a long time, and, by all accounts, they had found a
good deal to say to each other, and parted with a mutual desire to
meet again.  But Mary liked children, and fond mammas like those
who can duly appreciate their treasures.

But sometimes I saw her myself, not only when she came to church,
but when she was out on the hills with her son, whether taking a
long, purpose-like walk, or - on special fine days - leisurely
rambling over the moor or the bleak pasture-lands, surrounding the
old hall, herself with a book in her hand, her son gambolling about
her; and, on any of these occasions, when I caught sight of her in
my solitary walks or rides, or while following my agricultural
pursuits, I generally contrived to meet or overtake her, for I
rather liked to see Mrs. Graham, and to talk to her, and I
decidedly liked to talk to her little companion, whom, when once
the ice of his shyness was fairly broken, I found to be a very
amiable, intelligent, and entertaining little fellow; and we soon
became excellent friends - how much to the gratification of his
mamma I cannot undertake to say.  I suspected at first that she was
desirous of throwing cold water on this growing intimacy - to
quench, as it were, the kindling flame of our friendship - but
discovering, at length, in spite of her prejudice against me, that
I was perfectly harmless, and even well-intentioned, and that,
between myself and my dog, her son derived a great deal of pleasure
from the acquaintance that he would not otherwise have known, she
ceased to object, and even welcomed my coming with a smile.

As for Arthur, he would shout his welcome from afar, and run to
meet me fifty yards from his mother's side.  If I happened to be on
horseback he was sure to get a canter or a gallop; or, if there was
one of the draught horses within an available distance, he was
treated to a steady ride upon that, which served his turn almost as
well; but his mother would always follow and trudge beside him -
not so much, I believe, to ensure his safe conduct, as to see that
I instilled no objectionable notions into his infant mind, for she
was ever on the watch, and never would allow him to be taken out of
her sight.  What pleased her best of all was to see him romping and
racing with Sancho, while I walked by her side - not, I fear, for
love of my company (though I sometimes deluded myself with that
idea), so much as for the delight she took in seeing her son thus
happily engaged in the enjoyment of those active sports so
invigorating to his tender frame, yet so seldom exercised for want
of playmates suited to his years:  and, perhaps, her pleasure was
sweetened not a little by the fact of my being with her instead of
with him, and therefore incapable of doing him any injury directly
or indirectly, designedly or otherwise, small thanks to her for
that same.

But sometimes, I believe, she really had some little gratification
in conversing with me; and one bright February morning, during
twenty minutes' stroll along the moor, she laid aside her usual
asperity and reserve, and fairly entered into conversation with me,
discoursing with so much eloquence and depth of thought and feeling
on a subject happily coinciding with my own ideas, and looking so
beautiful withal, that I went home enchanted; and on the way
(morally) started to find myself thinking that, after all, it
would, perhaps, be better to spend one's days with such a woman
than with Eliza Millward; and then I (figuratively) blushed for my
inconstancy.

On entering the parlour I found Eliza there with Rose, and no one
else.  The surprise was not altogether so agreeable as it ought to
have been.  We chatted together a long time, but I found her rather
frivolous, and even a little insipid, compared with the more mature
and earnest Mrs. Graham.  Alas, for human constancy!

'However,' thought I, 'I ought not to marry Eliza, since my mother
so strongly objects to it, and I ought not to delude the girl with
the idea that I intended to do so.  Now, if this mood continue, I
shall have less difficulty in emancipating my affections from her
soft yet unrelenting sway; and, though Mrs. Graham might be equally
objectionable, I may be permitted, like the doctors, to cure a
greater evil by a less, for I shall not fall seriously in love with
the young widow, I think, nor she with me - that's certain - but if
I find a little pleasure in her society I may surely be allowed to
seek it; and if the star of her divinity be bright enough to dim
the lustre of Eliza's, so much the better, but I scarcely can think
it.'

And thereafter I seldom suffered a fine day to pass without paying
a visit to Wildfell about the time my new acquaintance usually left
her hermitage; but so frequently was I baulked in my expectations
of another interview, so changeable was she in her times of coming
forth and in her places of resort, so transient were the occasional
glimpses I was able to obtain, that I felt half inclined to think
she took as much pains to avoid my company as I to seek hers; but
this was too disagreeable a supposition to be entertained a moment
after it could conveniently be dismissed.

One calm, clear afternoon, however, in March, as I was
superintending the rolling of the meadow-land, and the repairing of
a hedge in the valley, I saw Mrs. Graham down by the brook, with a
sketch-book in her hand, absorbed in the exercise of her favourite
art, while Arthur was putting on the time with constructing dams
and breakwaters in the shallow, stony stream.  I was rather in want
of amusement, and so rare an opportunity was not to be neglected;
so, leaving both meadow and hedge, I quickly repaired to the spot,
but not before Sancho, who, immediately upon perceiving his young
friend, scoured at full gallop the intervening space, and pounced
upon him with an impetuous mirth that precipitated the child almost
into the middle of the beck; but, happily, the stones preserved him
from any serious wetting, while their smoothness prevented his
being too much hurt to laugh at the untoward event.

Mrs. Graham was studying the distinctive characters of the
different varieties of trees in their winter nakedness, and
copying, with a spirited, though delicate touch, their various
ramifications.  She did not talk much, but I stood and watched the
progress of her pencil:  it was a pleasure to behold it so
dexterously guided by those fair and graceful fingers.  But ere
long their dexterity became impaired, they began to hesitate, to
tremble slightly, and make false strokes, and then suddenly came to
a pause, while their owner laughingly raised her face to mine, and
told me that her sketch did not profit by my superintendence.

'Then,' said I, 'I'll talk to Arthur till you've done.'

'I should like to have a ride, Mr. Markham, if mamma will let me,'
said the child.

'What on, my boy?'

'I think there's a horse in that field,' replied he, pointing to
where the strong black mare was pulling the roller.

'No, no, Arthur; it's too far,' objected his mother.

But I promised to bring him safe back after a turn or two up and
down the meadow; and when she looked at his eager face she smiled
and let him go.  It was the first time she had even allowed me to
take him so much as half a field's length from her side.

Enthroned upon his monstrous steed, and solemnly proceeding up and
down the wide, steep field, he looked the very incarnation of
quiet, gleeful satisfaction and delight.  The rolling, however, was
soon completed; but when I dismounted the gallant horseman, and
restored him to his mother, she seemed rather displeased at my
keeping him so long.  She had shut up her sketch-book, and been,
probably, for some minutes impatiently waiting his return.

It was now high time to go home, she said, and would have bid me
good-evening, but I was not going to leave her yet:  I accompanied
her half-way up the hill.  She became more sociable, and I was
beginning to be very happy; but, on coming within sight of the grim
old hall, she stood still, and turned towards me while she spoke,
as if expecting I should go no further, that the conversation would
end here, and I should now take leave and depart - as, indeed, it
was time to do, for 'the clear, cold eve' was fast 'declining,' the
sun had set, and the gibbous moon was visibly brightening in the
pale grey sky; but a feeling almost of compassion riveted me to the
spot.  It seemed hard to leave her to such a lonely, comfortless
home.  I looked up at it.  Silent and grim it frowned; before us.
A faint, red light was gleaming from the lower windows of one wing,
but all the other windows were in darkness, and many exhibited
their black, cavernous gulfs, entirely destitute of glazing or
framework.

'Do you not find it a desolate place to live in?' said I, after a
moment of silent contemplation.

'I do, sometimes,' replied she.  'On winter evenings, when Arthur
is in bed, and I am sitting there alone, hearing the bleak wind
moaning round me and howling through the ruinous old chambers, no
books or occupations can represss the dismal thoughts and
apprehensions that come crowding in - but it is folly to give way
to such weakness, I know.  If Rachel is satisfied with such a life,
why should not I? - Indeed, I cannot be too thankful for such an
asylum, while it is left me.'

The closing sentence was uttered in an under-tone, as if spoken
rather to herself than to me.  She then bid me good-evening and
withdrew.

I had not proceeded many steps on my way homewards when I perceived
Mr. Lawrence, on his pretty grey pony, coming up the rugged lane
that crossed over the hill-top.  I went a little out of my way to
speak to him; for we had not met for some time.

'Was that Mrs. Graham you were speaking to just now?' said he,
after the first few words of greeting had passed between us.

'Yes.'

'Humph!  I thought so.'  He looked contemplatively at his horse's
mane, as if he had some serious cause of dissatisfaction with it,
or something else.

'Well! what then?'

'Oh, nothing!' replied he.  'Only I thought you disliked her,' he
quietly added, curling his classic lip with a slightly sarcastic
smile.

'Suppose I did; mayn't a man change his mind on further
acquaintance?'

'Yes, of course,' returned he, nicely reducing an entanglement in
the pony's redundant hoary mane.  Then suddenly turning to me, and
fixing his shy, hazel eyes upon me with a steady penetrating gaze,
he added, 'Then you have changed your mind?'

'I can't say that I have exactly.  No; I think I hold the same
opinion respecting her as before - but slightly ameliorated.'

'Oh!'  He looked round for something else to talk about; and
glancing up at the moon, made some remark upon the beauty of the
evening, which I did not answer, as being irrelevant to the
subject.

'Lawrence,' said I, calmly looking him in the face, 'are you in
love with Mrs. Graham?'

Instead of his being deeply offended at this, as I more than half
expected he would, the first start of surprise, at the audacious
question, was followed by a tittering laugh, as if he was highly
amused at the idea.

'I in love with her!' repeated he.  'What makes you dream of such a
thing?'

'From the interest you take in the progress of my acquaintance with
the lady, and the changes of my opinion concerning her, I thought
you might be jealous.'

He laughed again.  'Jealous! no.  But I thought you were going to
marry Eliza Millward.'

'You thought wrong, then; I am not going to marry either one or the
other - that I know of - '

'Then I think you'd better let them alone.'

'Are you going to marry Jane Wilson?'

He coloured, and played with the mane again, but answered - 'No, I
think not.'

'Then you had better let her alone.'

'She won't let me alone,' he might have said; but he only looked
silly and said nothing for the space of half a minute, and then
made another attempt to turn the conversation; and this time I let
it pass; for he had borne enough:  another word on the subject
would have been like the last atom that breaks the camel's. back.

I was too late for tea; but my mother had kindly kept the teapot
and muffin warm upon the hobs, and, though she scolded me a little,
readily admitted my excuses; and when I complained of the flavour
of the overdrawn tea, she poured the remainder into the slop-basin,
and bade Rose put some fresh into the pot, and reboil the kettle,
which offices were performed with great commotion, and certain
remarkable comments.

'Well! - if it had been me now, I should have had no tea at all -
if it had been Fergus, even, he would have to put up with such as
there was, and been told to be thankful, for it was far too good
for him; but you - we can't do too much for you.  It's always so -
if there's anything particularly nice at table, mamma winks and
nods at me to abstain from it, and if I don't attend to that, she
whispers, "Don't eat so much of that, Rose; Gilbert will like it
for his supper." - I'm nothing at all.  In the parlour, it's "Come,
Rose, put away your things, and let's have the room nice and tidy
against they come in; and keep up a good fire; Gilbert likes a
cheerful fire."  In the kitchen - "Make that pie a large one, Rose;
I daresay the boys'll be hungry; and don't put so much pepper in,
they'll not like it, I'm sure" - or, "Rose, don't put so many
spices in the pudding, Gilbert likes it plain," - or, "Mind you put
plenty of currants in the cake, Fergus liked plenty."  If I say,
"Well, mamma, I don't," I'm told I ought not to think of myself.
"You know, Rose, in all household matters, we have only two things
to consider, first, what's proper to be done; and, secondly, what's
most agreeable to the gentlemen of the house - anything will do for
the ladies."'

'And very good doctrine too,' said my mother.  'Gilbert thinks so,
I'm sure.'

'Very convenient doctrine, for us, at all events,' said I; 'but if
you would really study my pleasure, mother, you must consider your
own comfort and convenience a little more than you do - as for
Rose, I have no doubt she'll take care of herself; and whenever she
does make a sacrifice or perform a remarkable act of devotedness,
she'll take good care to let me know the extent of it.  But for you
I might sink into the grossest condition of self-indulgence and
carelessness about the wants of others, from the mere habit of
being constantly cared for myself, and having all my wants
anticipated or immediately supplied, while left in total ignorance
of what is done for me, - if Rose did not enlighten me now and
then; and I should receive all your kindness as a matter of course,
and never know how much I owe you.'

'Ah! and you never will know, Gilbert, till you're married.  Then,
when you've got some trifling, self-conceited girl like Eliza
Millward, careless of everything but her own immediate pleasure and
advantage, or some misguided, obstinate woman, like Mrs. Graham,
ignorant of her principal duties, and clever only in what concerns
her least to know - then you'll find the difference.'

'It will do me good, mother; I was not sent into the world merely
to exercise the good capacities and good feelings of others - was
I? - but to exert my own towards them; and when I marry, I shall
expect to find more pleasure in making my wife happy and
comfortable, than in being made so by her:  I would rather give
than receive.'

'Oh! that's all nonsense, my dear.  It's mere boy's talk that!
You'll soon tire of petting and humouring your wife, be she ever so
charming, and then comes the trial.'

'Well, then, we must bear one another's burdens.'

'Then you must fall each into your proper place.  You'll do your
business, and she, if she's worthy of you, will do hers; but it's
your business to please yourself, and hers to please you.  I'm sure
your poor, dear father was as good a husband as ever lived, and
after the first six months or so were over, I should as soon have
expected him to fly, as to put himself out of his way to pleasure
me.  He always said I was a good wife, and did my duty; and he
always did his - bless him! - he was steady and punctual, seldom
found fault without a reason, always did justice to my good
dinners, and hardly ever spoiled my cookery by delay - and that's
as much as any woman can expect of any man.'

Is it so, Halford?  Is that the extent of your domestic virtues;
and does your happy wife exact no more?



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 07



Not many days after this, on a mild sunny morning - rather soft
under foot; for the last fall of snow was only just wasted away,
leaving yet a thin ridge, here and there, lingering on the fresh
green grass beneath the hedges; but beside them already, the young
primroses were peeping from among their moist, dark foliage, and
the lark above was singing of summer, and hope, and love, and every
heavenly thing - I was out on the hill-side, enjoying these
delights, and looking after the well-being of my young lambs and
their mothers, when, on glancing round me, I beheld three persons
ascending from the vale below.  They were Eliza Millward, Fergus,
and Rose; so I crossed the field to meet them; and, being told they
were going to Wildfell Hall, I declared myself willing to go with
them, and offering my arm to Eliza, who readily accepted it in lieu
of my brother's, told the latter he might go back, for I would
accompany the ladies.

'I beg your pardon!' exclaimed he.  'It's the ladies that are
accompanying me, not I them.  You had all had a peep at this
wonderful stranger but me, and I could endure my wretched ignorance
no longer - come what would, I must be satisfied; so I begged Rose
to go with me to the Hall, and introduce me to her at once.  She
swore she would not, unless Miss Eliza would go too; so I ran to
the vicarage and fetched her; and we've come hooked all the way, as
fond as a pair of lovers - and now you've taken her from me; and
you want to deprive me of my walk and my visit besides.  Go back to
your fields and your cattle, you lubberly fellow; you're not fit to
associate with ladies and gentlemen like us, that have nothing to
do but to run snooking about to our neighbours' houses, peeping
into their private corners, and scenting out their secrets, and
picking holes in their coats, when we don't find them ready made to
our hands - you don't understand such refined sources of
enjoyment.'

'Can't you both go?' suggested Eliza, disregarding the latter half
of the speech.

'Yes, both, to be sure!' cried Rose; 'the more the merrier - and
I'm sure we shall want all the cheerfulness we can carry with us to
that great, dark, gloomy room, with its narrow latticed windows,
and its dismal old furniture - unless she shows us into her studio
again.'

So we went all in a body; and the meagre old maid-servant, that
opened the door, ushered us into an apartment such as Rose had
described to me as the scene of her first introduction to Mrs.
Graham, a tolerably spacious and lofty room, but obscurely lighted
by the old-fashioned windows, the ceiling, panels, and chimney-
piece of grim black oak - the latter elaborately but not very
tastefully carved, - with tables and chairs to match, an old
bookcase on one side of the fire-place, stocked with a motley
assemblage of books, and an elderly cabinet piano on the other.

The lady was seated in a stiff, high-backed arm-chair, with a small
round table, containing a desk and a work-basket on one side of
her, and her little boy on the other, who stood leaning his elbow
on her knee, and reading to her, with wonderful fluency, from a
small volume that lay in her lap; while she rested her hand on his
shoulder, and abstractedly played with the long, wavy curls that
fell on his ivory neck.  They struck me as forming a pleasing
contrast to all the surrounding objects; but of course their
position was immediately changed on our entrance.  I could only
observe the picture during the few brief seconds that Rachel held
the door for our admittance.

I do not think Mrs. Graham was particularly delighted to see us:
there was something indescribably chilly in her quiet, calm
civility; but I did not talk much to her.  Seating myself near the
window, a little back from the circle, I called Arthur to me, and
he and I and Sancho amused ourselves very pleasantly together,
while the two young ladies baited his mother with small talk, and
Fergus sat opposite with his legs crossed and his hands in his
breeches-pockets, leaning back in his chair, and staring now up at
the ceiling, now straight forward at his hostess (in a manner that
made me strongly inclined to kick him out of the room), now
whistling sotto voce to himself a snatch of a favourite air, now
interrupting the conversation, or filling up a pause (as the case
might be) with some most impertinent question or remark.  At one
time it was, - 'It, amazes me, Mrs. Graham, how you could choose
such a dilapidated, rickety old place as this to live in.  If you
couldn't afford to occupy the whole house, and have it mended up,
why couldn't you take a neat little cottage?'

'Perhaps I was too proud, Mr. Fergus,' replied she, smiling;
'perhaps I took a particular fancy for this romantic, old-fashioned
place - but, indeed, it has many advantages over a cottage - in the
first place, you see, the rooms are larger and more airy; in the
second place, the unoccupied apartments, which I don't pay for, may
serve as lumber-rooms, if I have anything to put in them; and they
are very useful for my little boy to run about in on rainy days
when he can't go out; and then there is the garden for him to play
in, and for me to work in.  You see I have effected some little
improvement already,' continued she, turning to the window.  'There
is a bed of young vegetables in that corner, and here are some
snowdrops and primroses already in bloom - and there, too, is a
yellow crocus just opening in the sunshine.'

'But then how can you bear such a situation - your nearest
neighbours two miles distant, and nobody looking in or passing by?
Rose would go stark mad in such a place.  She can't put on life
unless she sees half a dozen fresh gowns and bonnets a day - not to
speak of the faces within; but you might sit watching at these
windows all day long, and never see so much as an old woman
carrying her eggs to market.'

'I am not sure the loneliness of the place was not one of its chief
recommendations.  I take no pleasure in watching people pass the
windows; and I like to be quiet.'

'Oh! as good as to say you wish we would all of us mind our own
business, and let you alone.'

'No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance; but if I have a few
friends, of course I am glad to see them occasionally.  No one can
be happy in eternal solitude.  Therefore, Mr. Fergus, if you choose
to enter my house as a friend, I will make you welcome; if not, I
must confess, I would rather you kept away.'  She then turned and
addressed some observation to Rose or Eliza.

'And, Mrs. Graham,' said he again, five minutes after, 'we were
disputing, as we came along, a question that you can readily decide
for us, as it mainly regarded yourself - and, indeed, we often hold
discussions about you; for some of us have nothing better to do
than to talk about our neighbours' concerns, and we, the indigenous
plants of the soil, have known each other so long, and talked each
other over so often, that we are quite sick of that game; so that a
stranger coming amongst us makes an invaluable addition to our
exhausted sources of amusement.  Well, the question, or questions,
you are requested to solve - '

'Hold your tongue, Fergus!' cried Rose, in a fever of apprehension
and wrath.

'I won't, I tell you.  The questions you are requested to solve are
these:- First, concerning your birth, extraction, and previous
residence.  Some will have it that you are a foreigner, and some an
Englishwoman; some a native of the north country, and some of the
south; some say - '

'Well, Mr. Fergus, I'll tell you.  I'm an Englishwoman - and I
don't see why any one should doubt it - and I was born in the
country, neither in the extreme north nor south of our happy isle;
and in the country I have chiefly passed my life, and now I hope
you are satisfied; for I am not disposed to answer any more
questions at present.'

'Except this - '

'No, not one more!' laughed she, and, instantly quitting her seat,
she sought refuge at the window by which I was seated, and, in very
desperation, to escape my brother's persecutions, endeavoured to
draw me into conversation.

'Mr. Markham,' said she, her rapid utterance and heightened colour
too plainly evincing her disquietude, 'have you forgotten the fine
sea-view we were speaking of some time ago?  I think I must trouble
you, now, to tell me the nearest way to it; for if this beautiful
weather continue, I shall, perhaps, be able to walk there, and take
my sketch; I have exhausted every other subject for painting; and I
long to see it.'

I was about to comply with her request, but Rose would not suffer
me to proceed.

'Oh, don't tell her, Gilbert!' cried she; 'she shall go with us.
It's - Bay you are thinking about, I suppose, Mrs. Graham?  It is a
very long walk, too far for you, and out of the question for
Arthur.  But we were thinking about making a picnic to see it some
fine day; and, if you will wait till the settled fine weather
comes, I'm sure we shall all be delighted to have you amongst us.'

Poor Mrs. Graham looked dismayed, and attempted to make excuses,
but Rose, either compassionating her lonely life, or anxious to
cultivate her acquaintance, was determined to have her; and every
objection was overruled.  She was told it would only be a small
party, and all friends, and that the best view of all was from -
Cliffs, full five miles distant.

'Just a nice walk for the gentlemen,' continued Rose; 'but the
ladies will drive and walk by turns; for we shall have our pony-
carriage, which will be plenty large enough to contain little
Arthur and three ladies, together with your sketching apparatus,
and our provisions.'

So the proposal was finally acceded to; and, after some further
discussion respecting the time and manner of the projected
excursion, we rose, and took our leave.

But this was only March:  a cold, wet April, and two weeks of May
passed over before we could venture forth on our expedition with
the reasonable hope of obtaining that pleasure we sought in
pleasant prospects, cheerful society, fresh air, good cheer and
exercise, without the alloy of bad roads, cold winds, or
threatening clouds.  Then, on a glorious morning, we gathered our
forces and set forth.  The company consisted of Mrs. and Master
Graham, Mary and Eliza Millward, Jane and Richard Wilson, and Rose,
Fergus, and Gilbert Markham.

Mr. Lawrence had been invited to join us, but, for some reason best
known to himself, had refused to give us his company.  I had
solicited the favour myself.  When I did so, he hesitated, and
asked who were going.  Upon my naming Miss Wilson among the rest,
he seemed half inclined to go, but when I mentioned Mrs. Graham,
thinking it might be a further inducement, it appeared to have a
contrary effect, and he declined it altogether, and, to confess the
truth, the decision was not displeasing to me, though I could
scarcely tell you why.

It was about midday when we reached the place of our destination.
Mrs. Graham walked all the way to the cliffs; and little Arthur
walked the greater part of it too; for he was now much more hardy
and active than when he first entered the neighbourhood, and he did
not like being in the carriage with strangers, while all his four
friends, mamma, and Sancho, and Mr. Markham, and Miss Millward,
were on foot, journeying far behind, or passing through distant
fields and lanes.

I have a very pleasant recollection of that walk, along the hard,
white, sunny road, shaded here and there with bright green trees,
and adorned with flowery banks and blossoming hedges of delicious
fragrance; or through pleasant fields and lanes, all glorious in
the sweet flowers and brilliant verdure of delightful May.  It was
true, Eliza was not beside me; but she was with her friends in the
pony-carriage, as happy, I trusted, as I was; and even when we
pedestrians, having forsaken the highway for a short cut across the
fields, beheld the little carriage far away, disappearing amid the
green, embowering trees, I did not hate those trees for snatching
the dear little bonnet and shawl from my sight, nor did I feel that
all those intervening objects lay between my happiness and me; for,
to confess the truth, I was too happy in the company of Mrs. Graham
to regret the absence of Eliza, Millward.

The former, it is true, was most provokingly unsociable at first -
seemingly bent upon talking to no one but Mary Millward and Arthur.
She and Mary journeyed along together, generally with the child
between them; - but where the road permitted, I always walked on
the other side of her, Richard Wilson taking the other side of Miss
Millward, and Fergus roving here and there according to his fancy;
and, after a while, she became more friendly, and at length I
succeeded in securing her attention almost entirely to myself - and
then I was happy indeed; for whenever she did condescend to
converse, I liked to listen.  Where her opinions and sentiments
tallied with mine, it was her extreme good sense, her exquisite
taste and feeling, that delighted me; where they differed, it was
still her uncompromising boldness in the avowal or defence of that
difference, her earnestness and keenness, that piqued my fancy:
and even when she angered me by her unkind words or looks, and her
uncharitable conclusions respecting me, it only made me the more
dissatisfied with myself for having so unfavourably impressed her,
and the more desirous to vindicate my character and disposition in
her eyes, and, if possible, to win her esteem.

At length our walk was ended.  The increasing height and boldness
of the hills had for some time intercepted the prospect; but, on
gaining the summit of a steep acclivity, and looking downward, an
opening lay before us - and the blue sea burst upon our sight! -
deep violet blue - not deadly calm, but covered with glinting
breakers - diminutive white specks twinkling on its bosom, and
scarcely to be distinguished, by the keenest vision, from the
little seamews that sported above, their white wings glittering in
the sunshine:  only one or two vessels were visible, and those were
far away.

I looked at my companion to see what she thought of this glorious
scene.  She said nothing:  but she stood still, and fixed her eyes
upon it with a gaze that assured me she was not disappointed.  She
had very fine eyes, by-the-by - I don't know whether I have told
you before, but they were full of soul, large, clear, and nearly
black - not brown, but very dark grey.  A cool, reviving breeze
blew from the sea - soft, pure, salubrious:  it waved her drooping
ringlets, and imparted a livelier colour to her usually too pallid
lip and cheek.  She felt its exhilarating influence, and so did I -
I felt it tingling through my frame, but dared not give way to it
while she remained so quiet.  There was an aspect of subdued
exhilaration in her face, that kindled into almost a smile of
exalted, glad intelligence as her eye met mine.  Never had she
looked so lovely:  never had my heart so warmly cleaved to her as
now.  Had we been left two minutes longer standing there alone, I
cannot answer for the consequences.  Happily for my discretion,
perhaps for my enjoyment during the remainder of the day, we were
speedily summoned to the repast - a very respectable collation,
which Rose, assisted by Miss Wilson and Eliza, who, having shared
her seat in the carriage, had arrived with her a little before the
rest, had set out upon an elevated platform overlooking the sea,
and sheltered from the hot sun by a shelving rock and overhanging
trees.

Mrs. Graham seated herself at a distance from me.  Eliza was my
nearest neighbour.  She exerted herself to be agreeable, in her
gentle, unobtrusive way, and was, no doubt, as fascinating and
charming as ever, if I could only have felt it.  But soon my heart
began to warm towards her once again; and we were all very merry
and happy together - as far as I could see - throughout the
protracted social meal.

When that was over, Rose summoned Fergus to help her to gather up
the fragments, and the knives, dishes, &c., and restore them to the
baskets; and Mrs. Graham took her camp-stool and drawing materials;
and having begged Miss Millward to take charge of her precious son,
and strictly enjoined him not to wander from his new guardian's
side, she left us and proceeded along the steep, stony hill, to a
loftier, more precipitous eminence at some distance, whence a still
finer prospect was to be had, where she preferred taking her
sketch, though some of the ladies told her it was a frightful
place, and advised her not to attempt it.

When she was gone, I felt as if there was to be no more fun -
though it is difficult to say what she had contributed to the
hilarity of the party.  No jests, and little laughter, had escaped
her lips; but her smile had animated my mirth; a keen observation
or a cheerful word from her had insensibly sharpened my wits, and
thrown an interest over all that was done and said by the rest.
Even my conversation with Eliza had been enlivened by her presence,
though I knew it not; and now that she was gone, Eliza's playful
nonsense ceased to amuse me - nay, grew wearisome to my soul, and I
grew weary of amusing her:  I felt myself drawn by an irresistible
attraction to that distant point where the fair artist sat and
plied her solitary task - and not long did I attempt to resist it:
while my little neighbour was exchanging a few words with Miss
Wilson, I rose and cannily slipped away.  A few rapid strides, and
a little active clambering, soon brought me to the place where she
was seated - a narrow ledge of rock at the very verge of the cliff,
which descended with a steep, precipitous slant, quite down to the
rocky shore.

She did not hear me coming:  the falling of my shadow across her
paper gave her an electric start; and she looked hastily round -
any other lady of my acquaintance would have screamed under such a
sudden alarm.

'Oh!  I didn't know it was you. - Why did you startle me so?' said
she, somewhat testily.  'I hate anybody to come upon me so
unexpectedly.'

'Why, what did you take me for?' said I:  'if I had known you were
so nervous, I would have been more cautious; but - '

'Well, never mind.  What did you come for? are they all coming?'

'No; this little ledge could scarcely contain them all.'

'I'm glad, for I'm tired of talking.'

'Well, then, I won't talk.  I'll only sit and watch your drawing.'

'Oh, but you know I don't like that.'

'Then I'll content myself with admiring this magnificent prospect.'

She made no objection to this; and, for some time, sketched away in
silence.  But I could not help stealing a glance, now and then,
from the splendid view at our feet to the elegant white hand that
held the pencil, and the graceful neck and glossy raven curls that
drooped over the paper.

'Now,' thought I, 'if I had but a pencil and a morsel of paper, I
could make a lovelier sketch than hers, admitting I had the power
to delineate faithfully what is before me.'

But, though this satisfaction was denied me, I was very well
content to sit beside her there, and say nothing.

'Are you there still, Mr. Markham?' said she at length, looking
round upon me - for I was seated a little behind on a mossy
projection of the cliff. - 'Why don't you go and amuse yourself
with your friends?'

'Because I am tired of them, like you; and I shall have enough of
them to-morrow - or at any time hence; but you I may not have the
pleasure of seeing again for I know not how long.'

'What was Arthur doing when you came away?'

'He was with Miss Millward, where you left him - all right, but
hoping mamma would not be long away.  You didn't intrust him to me,
by-the-by,' I grumbled, 'though I had the honour of a much longer
acquaintance; but Miss Millward has the art of conciliating and
amusing children,' I carelessly added, 'if she is good for nothing
else.'

'Miss Millward has many estimable qualities, which such as you
cannot be expected to perceive or appreciate.  Will you tell Arthur
that I shall come in a few minutes?'

'If that be the case, I will wait, with your permission, till those
few minutes are past; and then I can assist you to descend this
difficult path.'

'Thank you - I always manage best, on such occasions, without
assistance.'

'But, at least, I can carry your stool and sketch-book.'

She did not deny me this favour; but I was rather offended at her
evident desire to be rid of me, and was beginning to repent of my
pertinacity, when she somewhat appeased me by consulting my taste
and judgment about some doubtful matter in her drawing.  My
opinion, happily, met her approbation, and the improvement I
suggested was adopted without hesitation.

'I have often wished in vain,' said she, 'for another's judgment to
appeal to when I could scarcely trust the direction of my own eye
and head, they having been so long occupied with the contemplation
of a single object as to become almost incapable of forming a
proper idea respecting it.'

'That,' replied I, 'is only one of many evils to which a solitary
life exposes us.'

'True,' said she; and again we relapsed into silence.

About two minutes after, however, she declared her sketch
completed, and closed the book.

On returning to the scene of our repast we found all the company
had deserted it, with the exception of three - Mary Millward,
Richard Wilson, and Arthur Graham.  The younger gentleman lay fast
asleep with his head pillowed on the lady's lap; the other was
seated beside her with a pocket edition of some classic author in
his hand.  He never went anywhere without such a companion
wherewith to improve his leisure moments:  all time seemed lost
that was not devoted to study, or exacted, by his physical nature,
for the bare support of life.  Even now he could not abandon
himself to the enjoyment of that pure air and balmy sunshine - that
splendid prospect, and those soothing sounds, the music of the
waves and of the soft wind in the sheltering trees above him - not
even with a lady by his side (though not a very charming one, I
will allow) - he must pull out his book, and make the most of his
time while digesting his temperate meal, and reposing his weary
limbs, unused to so much exercise.

Perhaps, however, he spared a moment to exchange a word or a glance
with his companion now and then - at any rate, she did not appear
at all resentful of his conduct; for her homely features wore an
expression of unusual cheerfulness and serenity, and she was
studying his pale, thoughtful face with great complacency when we
arrived.

The journey homeward was by no means so agreeable to me as the
former part of the day:  for now Mrs. Graham was in the carriage,
and Eliza Millward was the companion of my walk.  She had observed
my preference for the young widow, and evidently felt herself
neglected.  She did not manifest her chagrin by keen reproaches,
bitter sarcasms, or pouting sullen silence - any or all of these I
could easily have endured, or lightly laughed away; but she showed
it by a kind of gentle melancholy, a mild, reproachful sadness that
cut me to the heart.  I tried to cheer her up, and apparently
succeeded in some degree, before the walk was over; but in the very
act my conscience reproved me, knowing, as I did, that, sooner or
later, the tie must be broken, and this was only nourishing false
hopes and putting off the evil day.

When the pony-carriage had approached as near Wildfell Hall as the
road would permit - unless, indeed, it proceeded up the long rough
lane, which Mrs. Graham would not allow - the young widow and her
son alighted, relinquishing the driver's seat to Rose; and I
persuaded Eliza to take the latter's place.  Having put her
comfortably in, bid her take care of the evening air, and wished
her a kind good-night, I felt considerably relieved, and hastened
to offer my services to Mrs. Graham to carry her apparatus up the
fields, but she had already hung her camp-stool on her arm and
taken her sketch-book in her hand, and insisted upon bidding me
adieu then and there, with the rest of the company.  But this time
she declined my proffered aid in so kind and friendly a manner that
I almost forgave her.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 08



Six weeks had passed away.  It was a splendid morning about the
close of June.  Most of the hay was cut, but the last week had been
very unfavourable; and now that fine weather was come at last,
being determined to make the most of it, I had gathered all hands
together into the hay-field, and was working away myself, in the
midst of them, in my shirt-sleeves, with a light, shady straw hat
on my head, catching up armfuls of moist, reeking grass, and
shaking it out to the four winds of heaven, at the head of a goodly
file of servants and hirelings - intending so to labour, from
morning till night, with as much zeal and assiduity as I could look
for from any of them, as well to prosper the work by my own
exertion as to animate the workers by my example - when lo! my
resolutions were overthrown in a moment, by the simple fact of my
brother's running up to me and putting into my hand a small parcel,
just arrived from London, which I had been for some time expecting.
I tore off the cover, and disclosed an elegant and portable edition
of 'Marmion.'

'I guess I know who that's for,' said Fergus, who stood looking on
while I complacently examined the volume.  'That's for Miss Eliza,
now.'

He pronounced this with a tone and look so prodigiously knowing,
that I was glad to contradict him.

'You're wrong, my lad,' said I; and, taking up my coat, I deposited
the book in one of its pockets, and then put it on (i.e. the coat).
'Now come here, you idle dog, and make yourself useful for once,' I
continued.  'Pull off your coat, and take my place in the field
till I come back.'

'Till you come back? - and where are you going, pray?

'No matter where - the when is all that concerns you; - and I shall
be back by dinner, at least.'

'Oh - oh! and I'm to labour away till then, am I? - and to keep all
these fellows hard at it besides?  Well, well!  I'll submit - for
once in a way. - Come, my lads, you must look sharp:  I'm come to
help you now:- and woe be to that man, or woman either, that pauses
for a moment amongst you - whether to stare about him, to scratch
his head, or blow his nose - no pretext will serve - nothing but
work, work, work in the sweat of your face,' &c., &c.

Leaving him thus haranguing the people, more to their amusement
than edification, I returned to the house, and, having made some
alteration in my toilet, hastened away to Wildfell Hall, with the
book in my pocket; for it was destined for the shelves of Mrs.
Graham.

'What! then had she and you got on so well together as to come to
the giving and receiving of presents?' - Not precisely, old buck;
this was my first experiment in that line; and I was very anxious
to see the result of it.

We had met several times since the - Bay excursion, and I had found
she was not averse to my company, provided I confined my
conversation to the discussion of abstract matters, or topics of
common interest; - the moment I touched upon the sentimental or the
complimentary, or made the slightest approach to tenderness in word
or look, I was not only punished by an immediate change in her
manner at the time, but doomed to find her more cold and distant,
if not entirely inaccessible, when next I sought her company.  This
circumstance did not greatly disconcert me, however, because I
attributed it, not so much to any dislike of my person, as to some
absolute resolution against a second marriage formed prior to the
time of our acquaintance, whether from excess of affection for her
late husband, or because she had had enough of him and the
matrimonial state together.  At first, indeed, she had seemed to
take a pleasure in mortifying my vanity and crushing my presumption
- relentlessly nipping off bud by bud as they ventured to appear;
and then, I confess, I was deeply wounded, though, at the same
time, stimulated to seek revenge; - but latterly finding, beyond a
doubt, that I was not that empty-headed coxcomb she had first
supposed me, she had repulsed my modest advances in quite a
different spirit.  It was a kind of serious, almost sorrowful
displeasure, which I soon learnt carefully to avoid awakening.

'Let me first establish my position as a friend,' thought I - 'the
patron and playfellow of her son, the sober, solid, plain-dealing
friend of herself, and then, when I have made myself fairly
necessary to her comfort and enjoyment in life (as I believe I
can), we'll see what next may be effected.'

So we talked about painting, poetry, and music, theology, geology,
and philosophy:  once or twice I lent her a book, and once she lent
me one in return:  I met her in her walks as often as I could; I
came to her house as often as I dared.  My first pretext for
invading the sanctum was to bring Arthur a little waddling puppy of
which Sancho was the father, and which delighted the child beyond
expression, and, consequently, could not fail to please his mamma.
My second was to bring him a book, which, knowing his mother's
particularity, I had carefully selected, and which I submitted for
her approbation before presenting it to him.  Then, I brought her
some plants for her garden, in my sister's name - having previously
persuaded Rose to send them.  Each of these times I inquired after
the picture she was painting from the sketch taken on the cliff,
and was admitted into the studio, and asked my opinion or advice
respecting its progress.

My last visit had been to return the book she had lent me; and then
it was that, in casually discussing the poetry of Sir Walter Scott,
she had expressed a wish to see 'Marmion,' and I had conceived the
presumptuous idea of making her a present of it, and, on my return
home, instantly sent for the smart little volume I had this morning
received.  But an apology for invading the hermitage was still
necessary; so I had furnished myself with a blue morocco collar for
Arthur's little dog; and that being given and received, with much
more joy and gratitude, on the part of the receiver, than the worth
of the gift or the selfish motive of the giver deserved, I ventured
to ask Mrs. Graham for one more look at the picture, if it was
still there.

'Oh, yes! come in,' said she (for I had met them in the garden).
'It is finished and framed, all ready for sending away; but give me
your last opinion, and if you can suggest any further improvement,
it shall be - duly considered, at least.'

The picture was strikingly beautiful; it was the very scene itself,
transferred as if by magic to the canvas; but I expressed my
approbation in guarded terms, and few words, for fear of
displeasing her.  She, however, attentively watched my looks, and
her artist's pride was gratified, no doubt, to read my heartfelt
admiration in my eyes.  But, while I gazed, I thought upon the
book, and wondered how it was to be presented.  My heart failed me;
but I determined not to be such a fool as to come away without
having made the attempt.  It was useless waiting for an
opportunity, and useless trying to concoct a speech for the
occasion.  The more plainly and naturally the thing was done, the
better, I thought; so I just looked out of the window to screw up
my courage, and then pulled out the book, turned round, and put it
into her hand, with this short explanation:

'You were wishing to see 'Marmion,' Mrs. Graham; and here it is, if
you will be so kind as to take it.'

A momentary blush suffused her face - perhaps, a blush of
sympathetic shame for such an awkward style of presentation:  she
gravely examined the volume on both sides; then silently turned
over the leaves, knitting her brows the while, in serious
cogitation; then closed the book, and turning from it to me,
quietly asked the price of it - I felt the hot blood rush to my
face.

'I'm sorry to offend you, Mr. Markham,' said she, 'but unless I pay
for the book, I cannot take it.'  And she laid it on the table.

'Why cannot you?'

'Because,' - she paused, and looked at the carpet.

'Why cannot you?' I repeated, with a degree of irascibility that
roused her to lift her eyes and look me steadily in the face.

'Because I don't like to put myself under obligations that I can
never repay - I am obliged to you already for your kindness to my
son; but his grateful affection and your own good feelings must
reward you for that.'

'Nonsense!' ejaculated I.

She turned her eyes on me again, with a look of quiet, grave
surprise, that had the effect of a rebuke, whether intended for
such or not.

'Then you won't take the book?' I asked, more mildly than I had yet
spoken.

'I will gladly take it, if you will let me pay for it.'  I told her
the exact price, and the cost of the carriage besides, in as calm a
tone as I could command - for, in fact, I was ready to weep with
disappointment and vexation.

She produced her purse, and coolly counted out the money, but
hesitated to put it into my hand.  Attentively regarding me, in a
tone of soothing softness, she observed, - 'You think yourself
insulted, Mr Markham - I wish I could make you understand that -
that I - '

'I do understand you, perfectly,' I said.  'You think that if you
were to accept that trifle from me now, I should presume upon it
hereafter; but you are mistaken:- if you will only oblige me by
taking it, believe me, I shall build no hopes upon it, and consider
this no precedent for future favours:- and it is nonsense to talk
about putting yourself under obligations to me when you must know
that in such a case the obligation is entirely on my side, - the
favour on yours.'

'Well, then, I'll take you at your word,' she answered, with a most
angelic smile, returning the odious money to her purse - 'but
remember!'

'I will remember - what I have said; - but do not you punish my
presumption by withdrawing your friendship entirely from me, - or
expect me to atone for it by being more distant than before,' said
I, extending my hand to take leave, for I was too much excited to
remain.

'Well, then! let us be as we were,' replied she, frankly placing
her hand in mine; and while I held it there, I had much difficulty
to refrain from pressing it to my lips; - but that would be
suicidal madness:  I had been bold enough already, and this
premature offering had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes.

It was with an agitated, burning heart and brain that I hurried
homewards, regardless of that scorching noonday sun - forgetful of
everything but her I had just left - regretting nothing but her
impenetrability, and my own precipitancy and want of tact - fearing
nothing but her hateful resolution, and my inability to overcome it
- hoping nothing - but halt, - I will not bore you with my
conflicting hopes and fears - my serious cogitations and resolves.



The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Deluxe Edition Anne Bronte chapter 09



Though my affections might now be said to be fairly weaned from
Eliza Millward, I did not yet entirely relinquish my visits to the
vicarage, because I wanted, as it were, to let her down easy;
without raising much sorrow, or incurring much resentment, - or
making myself the talk of the parish; and besides, if I had wholly
kept away, the vicar, who looked upon my visits as paid chiefly, if
not entirely, to himself, would have felt himself decidedly
affronted by the neglect.  But when I called there the day after my
interview with Mrs. Graham, he happened to be from home - a
circumstance by no means so agreeable to me now as it had been on
former occasions.  Miss Millward was there, it is true, but she, of
course, would be little better than a nonentity.  However, I
resolved to make my visit a short one, and to talk to Eliza in a
brotherly, friendly sort of way, such as our long acquaintance
might warrant me in assuming, and which, I thought, could neither
give offence nor serve to encourage false hopes.

It was never my custom to talk about Mrs. Graham either to her or
any one else; but I had not been seated three minutes before she
brought that lady on to the carpet herself in a rather remarkable
manner.

'Oh, Mr. Markham!' said she, with a shocked expression and voice
subdued almost to a whisper, 'what do you think of these shocking
reports about Mrs. Graham? - can you encourage us to disbelieve
them?'

'What reports?'

'Ah, now! you know!' she slily smiled and shook her head.

'I know nothing about them.  What in the world do you mean, Eliza?'

'Oh, don't ask me!  I can't explain it.'  She took up the cambric
handkerchief which she had been beautifying with a deep lace
border, and began to be very busy.

'What is it, Miss Millward? what does she mean?' said I, appealing
to her sister, who seemed to be absorbed in the hemming of a large,
coarse sheet.

'I don't know,' replied she.  'Some idle slander somebody has been
inventing, I suppose.  I never heard it till Eliza told me the
other day, - but if all the parish dinned it in my ears, I
shouldn't believe a word of it - I know Mrs. Graham too well!'

'Quite right, Miss Millward! - and so do I - whatever it may be.'

'Well,' observed Eliza, with a gentle sigh, 'it's well to have such
a comfortable assurance regarding the worth of those we love.  I
only wish you may not find your confidence misplaced.'

And she raised her face, and gave me such a look of sorrowful
tenderness as might have melted my heart, but within those eyes
there lurked a something that I did not like; and I wondered how I
ever could have admired them - her sister's honest face and small
grey optics appeared far more agreeable.  But I was out of temper
with Eliza at that moment for her insinuations against Mrs. Graham,
which were false, I was certain, whether she knew it or not.

I said nothing more on the subject, however, at the time, and but
little on any other; for, finding I could not well recover my
equanimity, I presently rose and took leave, excusing myself under
the plea of business at the farm; and to the farm I went, not
troubling my mind one whit about the possible truth of these
mysterious reports, but only wondering what they were, by whom
originated, and on what foundations raised, and how they could the
most effectually be silenced or disproved.

A few days after this we had another of our quiet little parties,
to which the usual company of friends and neighbours had been
invited, and Mrs. Graham among the number.  She could not now
absent herself under the plea of dark evenings or inclement
weather, and, greatly to my relief, she came.  Without her I should
have found the whole affair an intolerable bore; but the moment of
her arrival brought new life to the house, and though I might not
neglect the other guests for her, or expect to engross much of her
attention and conversation to myself alone, I anticipated an
evening of no common enjoyment.

Mr. Lawrence came too.  He did not arrive till some time after the
rest were assembled.  I was curious to see how he would comport
himself to Mrs. Graham.  A slight bow was all that passed between
them on his entrance; and having politely greeted the other members
of the company, he seated himself quite aloof from the young widow,
between my mother and Rose.

'Did you ever see such art?' whispered Eliza, who was my nearest
neighbour.  'Would you not say they were perfect strangers?'

'Almost; but what then?'

'What then; why, you can't pretend to be ignorant?'

'Ignorant of what?' demanded I, so sharply that she started and
replied, -

'Oh, hush! don't speak so loud.'

'Well, tell me then,' I answered in a lower tone, 'what is it you
mean?  I hate enigmas.'

'Well, you know, I don't vouch for the truth of it - indeed, far
from it - but haven't you heard -?'

'I've heard nothing, except from you.'

'You must be wilfully deaf then, for anyone will tell you that; but
I shall only anger you by repeating it, I see, so I had better hold
my tongue.'

She closed her lips and folded her hands before her, with an air of
injured meekness.

'If you had wished not to anger me, you should have held your
tongue from the beginning, or else spoken out plainly and honestly
all you had to say.'

She turned aside her face, pulled out her handkerchief, rose, and
went to the window, where she stood for some time, evidently
dissolved in tears.  I was astounded, provoked, ashamed - not so
much of my harshness as for her childish weakness.  However, no one
seemed to notice her, and shortly after we were summoned to the
tea-table:  in those parts it was customary to sit to the table at
tea-time on all occasions, and make a meal of it, for we dined
early.  On taking my seat, I had Rose on one side of me and an
empty chair on the other.

'May I sit by you?' said a soft voice at my elbow.

'If you like,' was the reply; and Eliza slipped into the vacant
chair; then, looking up in my face with a half-sad, half-playful
smile, she whispered, - 'You're so stern, Gilbert.'

I handed down her tea with a slightly contemptuous smile, and said
nothing, for I had nothing to say.

'What have I done to offend you?' said she, more plaintively.  'I
wish I knew.'

'Come, take your tea, Eliza, and don't be foolish,' responded I,
handing her the sugar and cream.

Just then there arose a slight commotion on the other side of me,
occasioned by Miss Wilson's coming to negotiate an exchange of
seats with Rose.

'Will you be so good as to exchange places with me, Miss Markham?'
said she; 'for I don't like to sit by Mrs. Graham.  If your mamma
thinks proper to invite such persons to her house, she cannot
object to her daughter's keeping company with them.'

This latter clause was added in a sort of soliloquy when Rose was
gone; but I was not polite enough to let it pass.

'Will you be so good as to tell me what you mean, Miss Wilson?'
said I.

The question startled her a little, but not much.

'Why, Mr. Markham,' replied she, coolly, having quickly recovered
her self-possession, 'it surprises me rather that Mrs. Markham
should invite such a person as Mrs. Graham to her house; but,
perhaps, she is not aware that the lady's character is considered
scarcely respectable.'

'She is not, nor am I; and therefore you would oblige me by
explaining your meaning a little further.'

'This is scarcely the time or the place for such explanations; but
I think you can hardly be so ignorant as you pretend - you must
know her as well as I do.'

'I think I do, perhaps a little better; and therefore, if you will
inform me what you have heard or imagined against her, I shall,
perhaps, be able to set you right.'

'Can you tell me, then, who was her husband, or if she ever had
any?'

Indignation kept me silent.  At such a time and place I could not
trust myself to answer.

'Have you never observed,' said Eliza, 'what a striking likeness
there is between that child of hers and - '

'And whom?' demanded Miss Wilson, with an air of cold, but keen
severity.

Eliza was startled; the timidly spoken suggestion had been intended
for my ear alone.

'Oh, I beg your pardon!' pleaded she; 'I may be mistaken - perhaps
I was mistaken.'  But she accompanied the words with a sly glance
of derision directed to me from the corner of her disingenuous eye.

'There's no need to ask my pardon,' replied her friend, 'but I see
no one here that at all resembles that child, except his mother,
and when you hear ill-natured reports, Miss Eliza, I will thank
you, that is, I think you will do well, to refrain from repeating
them.  I presume the person you allude to is Mr. Lawrence; but I
think I can assure you that your suspicions, in that respect, are
utterly misplaced; and if he has any particular connection with the
lady at all (which no one has a right to assert), at least he has
(what cannot be said of some others) sufficient sense of propriety
to withhold him from acknowledging anything more than a bowing
acquaintance in the presence of respectable persons; he was
evidently both surprised and annoyed to find her here.'

'Go it!' cried Fergus, who sat on the other side of Eliza, and was
the only individual who shared that side of the table with us.  'Go
it like bricks! mind you don't leave her one stone upon another.'

Miss Wilson drew herself up with a look of freezing scorn, but said
nothing.  Eliza would have replied, but I interrupted her by saying
as calmly as I could, though in a tone which betrayed, no doubt,
some little of what I felt within, - 'We have had enough of this
subject; if we can only speak to slander our betters, let us hold
our tongues.'

'I think you'd better,' observed Fergus, 'and so does our good
parson; he has been addressing the company in his richest vein all
the while, and eyeing you, from time to time, with looks of stern
distaste, while you sat there, irreverently whispering and
muttering together; and once he paused in the middle of a story or
a sermon, I don't know which, and fixed his eyes upon you, Gilbert,
as much as to say, "When Mr. Markham has done flirting with those
two ladies I will proceed."'

What more was said at the tea-table I cannot tell, nor how I found
patience to sit till the meal was over.  I remember, however, that
I swallowed with difficulty the remainder of the tea that was in my
cup, and ate nothing; and that the first thing I did was to stare
at Arthur Graham, who sat beside his mother on the opposite side of
the table, and the second to stare at Mr. Lawrence, who sat below;
and, first, it struck me that there was a likeness; but, on further
contemplation, I concluded it was only in imagination.

Both, it is true, had more delicate features and smaller bones than
commonly fall to the lot of individuals of the rougher sex, and
Lawrence's complexion was pale and clear, and Arthur's delicately
fair; but Arthur's tiny, somewhat snubby nose could never become so
long and straight as Mr. Lawrence's; and the outline of his face,
though not full enough to be round, and too finely converging to
the small, dimpled chin to be square, could never be drawn out to
the long oval of the other's, while the child's hair was evidently
of a lighter, warmer tint than the elder gentleman's had ever been,
and his large, clear blue eyes, though prematurely serious at
times, were utterly dissimilar to the shy hazel eyes of Mr.
Lawrence, whence the sensitive soul looked so distrustfully forth,
as ever ready to retire within, from the offences of a too rude,
too uncongenial world.  Wretch that I was to harbour that
detestable idea for a moment!  Did I not know Mrs. Graham?  Had I
not seen her, conversed with her time after time?  Was I not
certain that she, in intellect, in purity and elevation of soul,
was immeasurably superior to any of her detractors; that she was,
in fact, the noblest, the most adorable, of her sex I had ever
beheld, or even imagined to exist?  Yes, and I would say with Mary
Millward (sensible girl as she was), that if all the parish, ay, or
all the world, should din these horrible lies in my ears, I would
not believe them, for I knew her better than they.

Meantime, my brain was on fire with indignation, and my heart
seemed ready to burst from its prison with conflicting passions.  I
regarded my two fair neighbours with a feeling of abhorrence and
loathing I scarcely endeavoured to conceal.  I was rallied from
several quarters for my abstraction and ungallant neglect of the
ladies; but I cared little for that:  all I cared about, besides
that one grand subject of my thoughts, was to see the cups travel
up to the tea-tray, and not come down again.  I thought Mr.
Millward never would cease telling us that he was no tea-drinker,
and that it was highly injurious to keep loading the stomach with
slops to the exclusion of more wholesome sustenance, and so give
himself time to finish his fourth cup.

At length it was over; and I rose and left the table and the guests
without a word of apology - I could endure their company no longer.
I rushed out to cool my brain in the balmy evening air, and to
compose my mind or indulge my passionate thoughts in the solitude
of the garden.

To avoid being seen from the windows I went down a quiet little
avenue that skirted one side of the inclosure, at the bottom of
which was a seat embowered in roses and honeysuckles.  Here I sat
down to think over the virtues and wrongs of the lady of Wildfell
Hall; but I had not been so occupied two minutes, before voices and
laughter, and glimpses of moving objects through the trees,
informed me that the whole company had turned out to take an airing
in the garden too.  However, I nestled up in a corner of the bower,
and hoped to retain possession of it, secure alike from observation
and intrusion.  But no - confound it - there was some one coming
down the avenue!  Why couldn't they enjoy the flowers and sunshine
of the open garden, and leave that sunless nook to me, and the
gnats and midges?

But, peeping through my fragrant screen of the interwoven branches
to discover who the intruders were (for a murmur of voices told me
it was more than one), my vexation instantly subsided, and far
other feelings agitated my still unquiet soul; for there was Mrs.
Graham, slowly moving down the walk with Arthur by her side, and no
one else.  Why were they alone?  Had the poison of detracting
tongues already spread through all; and had they all turned their
backs upon her?  I now recollected having seen Mrs. Wilson, in the
early part of the evening, edging her chair close up to my mother,
and bending forward, evidently in the delivery of some important
confidential intelligence; and from the incessant wagging of her
head, the frequent distortions of her wrinkled physiognomy, and the
winking and malicious twinkle of her little ugly eyes, I judged it
was some spicy piece of scandal that engaged her powers; and from
the cautious privacy of the communication I supposed some person
then present was the luckless object of her calumnies:  and from
all these tokens, together with my mother's looks and gestures of
mingled horror and incredulity, I now concluded that object to have
been Mrs. Graham.  I did not emerge from my place of concealment
till she had nearly reached the bottom of the walk, lest my
appearance should drive her away; and when I did step forward she
stood still and seemed inclined to turn back as it was.

'Oh, don't let us disturb you, Mr. Markham!' said she.  'We came
here to seek retirement ourselves, not to intrude on your
seclusion.'

'I am no hermit, Mrs. Graham - though I own it looks rather like it
to absent myself in this uncourteous fashion from my guests.'

'I feared you were unwell,' said she, with a look of real concern.

'I was rather, but it's over now.  Do sit here a little and rest,
and tell me how you like this arbour,' said I, and, lifting Arthur
by the shoulders, I planted him in the middle of the seat by way of
securing his mamma, who, acknowledging it to be a tempting place of
refuge, threw herself back in one corner, while I took possession
of the other.

But that word refuge disturbed me.  Had their unkindness then
really driven her to seek for peace in solitude?

'Why have they left you alone?' I asked.

'It is I who have left them,' was the smiling rejoinder.  'I was
wearied to death with small talk - nothing wears me out like that.
I cannot imagine how they can go on as they do.'

I could not help smiling at the serious depth of her wonderment.

'Is it that they think it a duty to be continually talking,'
pursued she:  'and so never pause to think, but fill up with
aimless trifles and vain repetitions when subjects of real interest
fail to present themselves, or do they really take a pleasure in
such discourse?'

'Very likely they do,' said I; 'their shallow minds can hold no
great ideas, and their light heads are carried away by trivialities
that would not move a better-furnished skull; and their only
alternative to such discourse is to plunge over head and ears into
the slough of scandal - which is their chief delight.'

'Not all of them, surely?' cried the lady, astonished at the
bitterness of my remark.

'No, certainly; I exonerate my sister from such degraded tastes,
and my mother too, if you included her in your animadversions.'

'I meant no animadversions against any one, and certainly intended
no disrespectful allusions to your mother.  I have known some
sensible persons great adepts in that style of conversation when
circumstances impelled them to it; but it is a gift I cannot boast
the possession of.  I kept up my attention on this occasion as long
as I could, but when my powers were exhausted I stole away to seek
a few minutes' repose in this quiet walk.  I hate talking where
there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or
received.'

'Well,' said I, 'if ever I trouble you with my loquacity, tell me
so at once, and I promise not to be offended; for I possess the
faculty of enjoying the company of those I - of my friends as well
in silence as in conversation.'

'I don't quite believe you; but if it were so you would exactly
suit me for a companion.'

'I am all you wish, then, in other respects?'

'No, I don't mean that.  How beautiful those little clusters of
foliage look, where the sun comes through behind them!' said she,
on purpose to change the subject.

And they did look beautiful, where at intervals the level rays of
the sun penetrating the thickness of trees and shrubs on the
opposite side of the path before us, relieved their dusky verdure
by displaying patches of semi-transparent leaves of resplendent
golden green.

'I almost wish I were not a painter,' observed my companion.

'Why so? one would think at such a time you would most exult in
your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and
delightful touches of nature.'

'No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of
them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could
produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done,
it is more vanity and vexation of spirit.'

'Perhaps you cannot do it to satisfy yourself, but you may and do
succeed in delighting others with the result of your endeavours.'

'Well, after all, I should not complain:  perhaps few people gain
their livelihood with so much pleasure in their toil as I do.  Here
is some one coming.'

She seemed vexed at the interruption.

'It is only Mr. Lawrence and Miss Wilson,' said I, 'coming to enjoy
a quiet stroll.  They will not disturb us.'

I could not quite decipher the expression of her face; but I was
satisfied there was no jealousy therein.  What business had I to
look for it?

'What sort of a person is Miss Wilson?' she asked.

'She is elegant and accomplished above the generality of her birth
and station; and some say she is ladylike and agreeable.'

'I thought her somewhat frigid and rather supercilious in her
manner to-day.'

'Very likely she might be so to you.  She has possibly taken a
prejudice against you, for I think she regards you in the light of
a rival.'

'Me!  Impossible, Mr. Markham!' said she, evidently astonished and
annoyed.

'Well, I know nothing about it,' returned I, rather doggedly; for I
thought her annoyance was chiefly against myself.

The pair had now approached within a few paces of us.  Our arbour
was set snugly back in a corner, before which the avenue at its
termination turned off into the more airy walk along the bottom of
the garden.  As they approached this, I saw, by the aspect of Jane
Wilson, that she was directing her companion's attention to us;
and, as well by her cold, sarcastic smile as by the few isolated
words of her discourse that reached me, I knew full well that she
was impressing him with the idea, that we were strongly attached to
each other.  I noticed that he coloured up to the temples, gave us
one furtive glance in passing, and walked on, looking grave, but
seemingly offering no reply to her remarks.

It was true, then, that he had some designs upon Mrs. Graham; and,
were they honourable, he would not be so anxious to conceal them.
She was blameless, of course, but he was detestable beyond all
count.

While these thoughts flashed through my mind, my companion abruptly
rose, and calling her son, said they would now go in quest of the
company, and departed up the avenue.  Doubtless she had heard or
guessed something of Miss Wilson's remarks, and therefore it was
natural enough she should choose to continue the TETE-E-TETE no
longer, especially as at that moment my cheeks were burning with
indignation against my former friend, the token of which she might
mistake for a blush of stupid embarrassment.  For this I owed Miss
Wilson yet another grudge; and still the more I thought upon her
conduct the more I hated her.

It was late in the evening before I joined the company.  I found
Mrs. Graham already equipped for departure, and taking leave of the
rest, who were now returned to the house.  I offered, nay, begged
to accompany her home.  Mr. Lawrence was standing by at the time
conversing with some one else.  He did not look at us, but, on
hearing my earnest request, he paused in the middle of a sentence
to listen for her reply, and went on, with a look of quiet
satisfaction, the moment he found it was to be a denial.

A denial it was, decided, though not unkind.  She could not be
persuaded to think there was danger for herself or her child in
traversing those lonely lanes and fields without attendance.  It
was daylight still, and she should meet no one; or if she did, the
people were quiet and harmless she was well assured.  In fact, she
would not hear of any one's putting himself out of the way to
accompany her, though Fergus vouchsafed to offer his services in
case they should be more acceptable than mine, and my mother begged
she might send one of the farming-men to escort her.

When she was gone the rest was all a blank or worse.  Lawrence
attempted to draw me into conversation, but I snubbed him and went
to another part of the room.  Shortly after the party broke up and
he himself took leave.  When he came to me I was blind to his
extended hand, and deaf to his good-night till he repeated it a
second time; and then, to get rid of him, I muttered an
inarticulate reply, accompanied by a sulky nod.

'What is the matter, Markham?' whispered he.

I replied by a wrathful and contemptuous stare.

'Are you angry because Mrs. Graham would not let you go home with
her?' he asked, with a faint smile that nearly exasperated me
beyond control.

But, swallowing down all fiercer answers, I merely demanded, -
'What business is it of yours?'

'Why, none,' replied he with provoking quietness; 'only,' - and he
raised his eyes to my face, and spoke with unusual solemnity, -
'only let me tell you, Markham, that if you have any designs in
that quarter, they will certainly fail; and it grieves me to see
you cherishing false hopes, and wasting your strength in useless
efforts, for - '

'Hypocrite!' I exclaimed; and he held his breath, and looked very
blank, turned white about the gills, and went away without another
word.

I had wounded him to the quick; and I was glad of it.